Voyage to Somewhere (4 page)

“I just thought I'd look in,” I said. “How's it going?”

There was a rustle of movement, and I heard a sort of anonymous, “Very well, sir. Everything's fine, sir.”

I stood there uncertainly. My eyes became used to the dim light and penetrated the dark corners of the compartment. Over every bunk some kind of photograph had been pasted up. There were snapshots and enlargements, and a few pictures of movie stars. The forecastle had lost its bare newness.

“In the morning, sir …”

A mild little voice came from a far corner. I looked and saw a very slight seaman with a shock of straw-colored hair. “He looks like someone,” I thought, and in a flash it came to me that the face looked like some juvenile actor I had seen.

“In the morning, sir, would it be all right if we sent telegrams?”

“I'm afraid not. Only if there is an emergency.”

“Oh, there's no emergency, sir.”

Another pause.

“I don't really have to send a telegram, sir.”

All the men seemed to be waiting expectantly.

I took out my pipe and lit it. “It's pretty hard to have to stay aboard like this,” I said. “But you see there is a reason. If everybody got ashore it would be easy to find out just when the ship was sailing. It would make it lots easier for the enemy.”

There was a respectful silence.

“And you know,” I went on, “this isn't going to be a bad trip. We're going to see lots of places. You'll have lots to remember. And if we all learn our jobs there won't be anything particularly dangerous about it.”

There was another rustle of movement that somehow signified assent.

“Well,” I said, “good night. If you're worried about anything, let me know.”

There was a muffled chorus this time. “Yes, sir. Good night, sir.”

I turned and walked out. When I had reached the deck I heard someone behind me. I turned and saw the huge, gray-haired first class boatswain's mate I had noticed before.

“Good evening, Boats,” I said.

“Good evening, sir. I just though I'd tell you—they're all right. They're green as grass, but they're all right.”

“Yes, Boats, I think they are all right.”

He hitched up his shirt and took out a package of cigarettes. Carefully he lit one.

“Well,” he said, “good night, sir.”

“Good night, Boats.”

He went back into the forecastle and shut the heavy iron door behind him. I stood by the rail looking down into the narrow strip of water that divided the ship from the land.

CHAPTER SIX

T
HE MORNING
of the day we sailed we spent snugging everything down. I prepared a last list of gear we did not have and telephoned it to the Commander.

“That's all right,” he said. “You can get everything you need in Hawaii.”

At two in the afternoon, an hour before we were to cast off our lines, a truck came down on the dock with a huge drum of steel cable. This we were to carry to New Guinea as deck cargo. I was busy making a last minute check of the charts and told the chief boatswain's mate to get it aboard. He was a thin little man with a very loud voice, and he seemed pleased at the prospect of using the booms for the first time. All the time I was working on the charts I heard him shouting. The booms squeaked, and when they picked up their load I felt the ship heel over perceptibly as she bowed under her burden. The drum of cable weighed over two tons and was over eight feet in diameter. As the booms brought it amidships the ship straightened up again. Looking down on deck, I could see the men struggling to set the drum down just forward of number one hatch where it would be most out of the way. There was a jolt as the deck felt the impact of the weight, and the tackle swung free. The seamen stood in a circle around the drum looking pleased with themselves.

At three o'clock sharp the harbor pilot came aboard. He was a big man by the name of Mr. King.

“Let's get going,” he said. “I've got five more ships to take out this afternoon. I haven't been home on time for supper for a week, and tonight's my wedding anniversary.”

Over the ship's public address system we called mooring stations. Mr. Rudd hurried down into the engine room. Boats took the wheel, and the quartermaster stood by the engine-room telegraph. On deck the chief boatswain's mate rallied the men around the mooring lines. On the wharf yard workmen waited to cast off the lines.

“I'll take her away from the dock,” I said to the pilot. “Then you take over.”

The engine-room telegraph jingled as we rang up “Stand by.” I paused for an instant.

“Cast off number one,” I said finally.

There was a splash as the line fell from the wharf into the water, and the seamen on the bow heaved it in.

“
Together
, now!” I heard the chief boatswain's mate say. “Damn it, heave
together!
”

“Cast off number four.”

There was a strain on number four, and the workmen on the wharf could not get the line off the cleat. The chief boatswain's mate ran aft.

“Give her slack there, boys, give her slack,” he said, and the line slumped into the water. I watched the end of the line as it snaked through the water toward the ship and came dripping up on deck.

“Cast off number three.”

There was a flurry of activity on the after part of the well deck and a cheery voice called up, “Number three is all free, sir!”

“Right full rudder.”

Boats swept his huge arm around and spun the wheel.

“The rudder is right full, sir,” he said. His voice sounded very sure and matter of fact.

“Port engine ahead slow.”

The engine-room telegraph jingled, and almost immediately I felt the heavy throb of the engines and the deep-throated hollow coughing of the exhaust.

“The port engine is ahead slow, sir,” the quartermaster said. He sounded nervous.

I leaned over the wing of the bridge and watched the bow nudge into the dock. Number two line creaked at the strain. The stern slowly swung out.

“Port engine stop,” I said.

The engine-room telegraph jingled almost before I had finished the sentence and the quartermaster said, “The port engine is stopped, sir.”

“All engines back slow.”

Again the engine-room telegraph. The quartermaster looked up, smiling. “All engines are backing slow, sir.”

The ship moved backwards through the water slowly, and number two line, the last to hold us to the wharf, lost its strain.

“Cast off number two,” I said.

The workmen on the dock cast it off, and without waiting to see it hauled aboard, hurried off. The line trailed for a moment in the water, then the seamen hauled it in and coiled it on deck.

“All lines are aboard, sir,” the chief boatswain's mate called. “Shall I secure the deck for sea?”

“Yes, Chief. Secure the deck for sea.”

The narrow strip of water that separated the ship from the land was widening. Already it was as wide as a river.

Slowly we threaded our way out of San Pedro harbor. Mr. King stood in the port wing conning the ship, and I sat on a stool in the starboard wing full of the luxury of for a little while letting someone else do the worrying. The pilot boat, a small launch with an enormous “Prep” flag flying from the bow, followed us. We wound our way down the crowded channel and passed through the mouth of the harbor. Mr. King stopped the ship and blew a long blast on the whistle. As the pilot boat came alongside we stood chatting by the rail.

“Good luck,” he said. He stood looking out to sea. The horizon was misty and indeterminate, and because it made no sharp line to limit space, the extent of the ocean seemed infinite.

“You go that way,” he said, waved in the general direction of the Hawaiian Islands, grinned, and climbed over the side into his boat. The coxswain of the boat raced his engine, and the boat veered away. We were alone.

We set the four to eight watch. Mr. Warren was officer of the deck, and I sat on my stool on the starboard side of the bridge. White, the seaman who had asked me about sending the telegram, came up and relieved Boats on the wheel. Immediately the ship began weaving back and forth across her course. Each time she swung she swung wider, until finally we were tacking like a sailing vessel. Mr. Warren went over and gave what instructions he could to White. The boy stood there with the sweat pouring from his face and worked the wheel from one side to the other. I walked over and looked at the chart. Catalina Island lay on our port bow, and we were to pass by St. Nicholas Island too. In a few hours it would be dark, and with the men steering the way poor White was, I would have no idea where we were.

“You better get Boats again,” I said to Mr. Warren, “and the quartermaster. Have them stand your wheel watches until we get clear of the land.”

Boats was called, and appeared grinning upon the bridge. White gave him the wheel and walked disconsolately to the companionway.

“Don't you worry,” I heard Mr. Warren say to him. “You'll learn. It'll just take a little time.”

As the ship passed Catalina Island she began to feel the motion of the sea. Almost imperceptibly at first she began to roll. It was getting dark, and a fresh wind was just beginning to whisper in the rigging. After we had rounded Catalina Island and were on our new course, I went down to my cabin to lie down. I had been on my feet so long that my bunk felt good to me. Drowsily I lay there and listened to the creaking of the ship, the still restrained sound of the wind, and the steady caressing of the water against the hull. Without wishing to, I slept.

I awoke in the dark. The first thing of which I was conscious was that the ship was rolling heavily. “We must be about abeam of St. Nicholas Island,” I thought, and hurried to the bridge. A glance at the clock showed me that it was five minutes after ten, just fifteen minutes before it was time to change course. In the dull light of the binnacle I could see Boats towering above the wheel.

“Tired, Boats?” I said. “You've been at it quite a while. We're clear of the land now, and we'll have you relieved.”

“Everything's going fine, sir,” he said, but nodded at the starboard wing of the bridge. “You better have a look at Mr. Crane.”

I walked out on the wing of the bridge. The wind was blowing hard, and for a moment I stood in the darkness a little confused. Then I saw a form huddled on the stool in the corner and heard the sound of someone retching. It was Mr. Crane and he was seasick. I waited till he straightened up.

“About time to change course?” I asked.

“Yes. I was just about to call you.”

“Well, I think you can have Boats relieved now. Unless they double back on the course there's not much they can hit.”

“Yes, sir. The messenger and the quartermaster were sick and I sent them below. I'll call up the forecastle for them.”

I hesitated, and then said, “Better let them stand their watches. They've got to get used to it sometime.”

Mr. Crane gave me a glance that I saw held little sympathy for my convictions, but he telephoned the forecastle and told two of the seamen and the gunner's mate who was to be the quartermaster of the watch to come up. Then he went out to the wing of the bridge and was sick again.

A moment later two very pale seamen appeared on the bridge, followed by the gunner's mate. Guns was a fine-looking man, about twenty-six years old, tall and powerful looking. He came armed with a bucket. Arriving on the bridge, he set the bucket down, and was immediately sick into it. One of the seamen relieved Boats at the wheel. He hung onto the wheel as though to support himself upon it. In the baleful light of the binnacle I could see him swallowing hard. Guns sympathetically shoved the bucket toward him and he gratefully leaned toward it.

“Can you lash it near here?” he asked.

Boats took a piece of marline from his pocket and lashed the bucket to the base of the engine-room telegraph. The seaman seemed relieved. The ship swung wildly from her course. I peered into the binnacle and shuddered, but, I reflected, it didn't really matter. In the morning we could find our position.

At ten-twenty we, nominally at least, changed course and headed directly for Honolulu. I stood on the wing of the bridge and stared ahead into the blackness of the night. The ship was rolling about twenty-five degrees, and the wind, though it was blowing a good thirty knots, was steady and did not appear to be making up into a storm. Overhead a few stars showed themselves occasionally from behind the clouds. The bridge was quiet until one of the men was sick. Each time one was sick he started off the others, and for a moment they retched in chorus—then silence again.

Moving another stool from the chart room to the wing of the bridge, I decided to keep a lookout there until the next watch came on deck. “Just as long as we don't get a real blow now,” I thought, “we'll be all right.” The question of what would happen if we ran into any enemy action entered my mind, and I brushed it away.

At quarter to twelve the chief boatswain's mate came up to relieve Mr. Crane, and I saw with relief that he was not seasick. One by one others came up to take the places of the helmsman, the messenger, and the quartermaster, but they were in very little better condition than the men they relieved.

The bucket stayed where it was. The Chief settled down on his stool in the wing of the bridge and seemed alert enough to be left alone. From time to time he took soda crackers from his pocket and tried to press them on the sick helmsman.

“Best thing in the world,” he kept saying. “All you have to do is keep eating.”

Finding his efforts went unappreciated, he gave up and sat alone staring ahead and munching his crackers.

“You go ahead below, sir,” he said to me. “I'll keep this sanitarium going right along like a ship.”

Going below, I knocked at the door of Mr. Rudd's stateroom. Getting no answer, I looked in, saw his bunk unruffled, and went to the door that led down to the engine room. As soon as I opened it the increased beat of the machinery deafened me for a moment, and a blast of heat brushed my face. I started down the steel companionway and stopped on the middle step. Below me I saw a machinist's mate stretched full length on his back, and as I looked at him his head lolled over and he was sick. The pounding of the engines mercifully drowned out the sound. I descended the rest of the way and saw another seaman hanging onto the stanchion upon which was the engine-room telegraph. He was hanging on in such a way that he looked as though he had been trussed up by the wrists, and as the ship rolled his body swayed. Standing forward of these men between the two engines was Mr. Rudd. He was stripped to the waist, and his great belly gleamed with sweat. In his mouth was a huge unlit cigar. When he saw me he waved cheerily.