Liner

by James Barlow

  There was a row going on, almost unnoticed, between the German girl from the Forward Bar and the chief purser. She stormed at him: ‘I had to go on for four hours –’but Demetropoulos was as enigmatic and indifferent as ever. The slight smile and the stare at something just above the attractive angry face. ‘The contract says –’ The girl dismissed it with fury. ‘I don’t care, it’s crazy. I didn’t come on this ship to do overtime; I came to see Hong Kong’ – ‘You should have come as a passenger’ – ‘I wouldn’t be so stupid.’

  And on the desk were twenty or thirty passports. No one was looking after them. Typical, Tornetta thought. He edged around toward that end of the counter, his fingers hot and moist on the two passports in his coat pocket.

  He put them with the others and walked away, his head and neck rigid, as if, seeing nothing himself he therefore could not be seen. No one said anything and he went back to the Parade Deck. The siren blew in a plaintive blast of steam. Particles of oil drifted down, spotted passengers and the deck. A cat miaowed somewhere.

  The passengers were crowded along the rail, staring at the activities, the movement of men, trucks, cranes, and the last minute arrival of taxis. The urge to flee or hid in a lavatory was enormous. Visitors were pouring ashore. Again the siren. Already it was an hour after the scheduled time of departure. Tornetta wanted to scream with alarm and impatience. Wouldn’t the cursed thing ever sail? Even now the gangways were there. Lights flashed all around and now on flickered on a vehicle racing around Kowloon Point. The police! They’d come. But it was an ambulance. Nothing important. Someone else’s pain.

  The gangways had gone. Steam hissed. Beside Tornetta a girl sobbed. It was Diane. The fool, he thought, hope and arrogance returning. What is there to weep about?

  Cheers. No sensation of movement; it caught him unawares, but suddenly the Ocean Terminal and the cranes and people standing on shore had receded a few feet.

  The Areopagus reversed into the Central Fairway with agonizing caution, for this was a crowded merchant ship anchorage. There was a merchant ship directly in line with her reversal and some of her crew stood watching the discomforts of the Areopagus with interest as she came within seventy feet, the tugs straining. It took twenty-five minutes simply to move out and turn around. The lights of Green Island and Kau Yi Chau flashed ahead. The Areopagus was not leaving Hong Kong the way she had arrived.

  In the cabin Squibb was indulging in the ritual of his feet – deodorants and towels. He noticed at once: ‘You’ve got some new shoes.’

  It shook Tornetta.

  ‘Yes. I’m not sure I like them.’

  ‘What did you do with the old ones?’

  Tornetta countered: ‘Why? Did you want them?’ and then, more cautiously: ‘Did you have a good time?’

  In the morning the sky was streaked with cloud and it was as though Hong Kong had never existed.

  But he was startled at breakfast, for a woman came up to him and asked, ‘Where’s your friend this morning?’

  ‘My friend?’

  ‘Mr. Rossi. He never misses breakfast.’

  Tornetta took the cue. ‘Ah! But perhaps this time he was too late going to bed.’

  And at lunch the same woman again inquired, although not with great anxiety: ‘I can’t think where he’s got to.’

  ‘Didn’t he disembark at Hong Kong?’

  ‘He’s listed to go to Melbourne.’

  ‘He had business; he told me that.’

  ‘What a pity,’ she complained. ‘Such a nice man to talk to. Did you buy anything?’

  ‘Not much,’ said Tornetta. ‘Just a camera and a pair of shoes, and the camera’s been stolen.’

  PART THREE

  LAT 21⁰ 40’N/LONG 120⁰ 50’E

  To God let us pray:

  Bless our voyage this day:

  And through the Blessed Mother,

  Our advocate on high,

  Protect us from the waterspout

  And send no tempest high.

  COLUMBUS

  How pleasant it is, when a gale of wind is blowing, to stand on the shore and watch the other fellow, out there, in trouble.

  LUCRETIUS

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Tomazos, in the chartroom, was hidden from Yannopoulos the helmsman, and he took a quick swallow of whiskey from the flask he had taken to carrying. He wasn’t drunk, just depressed.

  A radio fix told him that he was north of the desired course; he went on to the bridge and instructed Yannopoulos, ‘Three degrees to starboard.’

  It was evening and still light. Tomazos returned to the chartroom and examined the log. He accepted the entries made by Mollon, the previous officer of the watch: their course (true, gyro, standard and steering); the latitude and longitude; the steaming time from Hong Kong; their estimated time of arrival in Guam; the amounts of fuel used and remaining and those of water; the revolutions of the engines (port was 103.7 per minute, starboard was 104.7); standard compass error and gyro compass error (which latter was, as usual nil). He noted Mollon’s remark, in English: ‘The master attended a fancy dress ball.’ This was inaccurate, for the ball was still in progress; in fact it had only just got going. It was what had triggered off the depression and caused Tomazos to feel very lonely.

  He did not like the sea or air temperatures, and he noted an increase in wind. He checked now and the anemometer told him what the force of the wind was. Since the ship herself created a wind, the direction of the true wind had to be worked out by a parallelogram of forces. Tomazos worked it out again and there was no doubt: the force of the wind was increasing.

  He went onto the wing of the bridge. The surface of the sea reduced the wind by friction. The diurnal variation of sea surface temperature and that of the air at sea level was negligible normally, for solar radiation penetrated to a considerable depth and wave turbulence caused surface heat to be spread downwards. There was now a large variation. As well, Tomazos saw that the ocean swell was that of a different nature to the afternoon’s sea. The waves were long – about seven hundred feet with a period of about twelve seconds. The height of each wave – from trough to crest – was not enough to disturb passengers; rather it caused the Areopagus to roll very slowly and, if anything, gave an impression of stability.

  Before returning to the wheelhouse Tomazos stood facing the direction of the true wind. It had altered in an hour by nine points. He knew that the centre of low pressure would be eight to twelve points now on his right hand, and he saw in mild alarm that this was the direction from which the big long waves were coming. The wind had veered, that is, moved clockwise from east to south or even south-southwest. The implications were that a big storm was from a hundred to five hundred miles away.

  In the chartroom he examined the barometer. In the tropics the barometric pressure altered very little except for diurnal variation. Tomazos checked in the Pilot book as to what the barometric reading should be in the area for the time of year. He confirmed that the barometer itself was adjusted for height, latitude temperature and index error. But the reading was still five millibars below normal.

  There were two other things, then, to do. While there was light he looked at the sky. Extensive cirrus clouds covered the southern half of the sky and on the horizon he fancied he saw altostratus.

  It was not an ordinary storm moving about. Almost certainly it was a typhoon.

  Tomazos phoned the engine room. ‘Raise steam. There’s a storm coming.’

  He knew that the swell of the sea extended to a distance of a thousand miles from the storm centre and would make itself felt four hundred miles away.

  Tomazos switched on a radar set. They were in the Bashi Straight, south of Formosa. The storm indicated by the swell was in the forward starboard direction, it seemed. It would be advisable to leave both radar sets on, o
ne at a range of forty-eight nautical miles to watch the storm if it came that near, and the other at twelve nautical miles to observe other ships and avoid them.

  There was nothing on the twelve nautical mile radar and no storm revealed on the forty eight nautical miles. That was a relief. It gave time for avoiding action, even a retreat to Hong Kong.

  He went aft of the chartroom to the Turkish radio officer.

  ‘Any recent weather signals?’

  ‘Normal from Hong Kong.’

  ‘How about Guam or Manila?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Radio other vessels and shore authorities that I suspect the presence of a tropical revolving storm south of our position.’

  This was required under Article 35 of the International Convention for Safety of Life at Sea.

  He ordered the standby: ‘Go and inform the captain that I would request his presence on the bridge.’

  This, too, was an obligation upon the officer of the watch.

  On the forty eight nautical miles radar was a small yellow pip at thirty four miles. Another ship. While he waited for Captain Vafiadis, Tomazos recorded into he log the symptoms of the barometer and swell and, hesitating, for it was rather far off (but he wondered if the moment might come when, being nearer to the storm, she might need help), he recorded the echo of an unknown ship with a hearing of two degrees to starboard of his present heading marker. At the moment he did not know if the vessel was approaching or steaming in more or less the same direction as the Areopagus.

  Captain Vafiadis came on the bridge, caution and resentment on his face.

  ‘Something wrong, Mr. Tomazos?’

  ‘I think there’s a tropical revolving storm, south or south-east.’

  Captain Vafiadis said, ‘You think there is?’

  Tomazos explained: ‘There’s been a change in the sea, the wind has veered nine points; it has increased to about force six; and the barometer’s gone down five millibars.’

  ‘And what do your gadgets tell you?’ the master asked sourly.

  ‘Nothing yet.’

  ‘And the radio?’

  ‘No signals yet.’

  ‘What is the reading of the barometer now?’

  ‘Down another two points.’

  Captain Vafiadis thought about it. ‘Thank you, Mr. Tomazos, for informed me. You were right to do so. But my recollection is that the barometer will have to go down much more than that before we’re in trouble: ten millibars in fifteen miles, perhaps, as much as sixty in the storm centre.’

  ‘Sir, the sea indicates an approach this way.’

  ‘No, Mr. Tomazos, I do not think so. The swell extends from the centre of the storm in a radius of a thousand miles. The thing itself is a mere thirty miles in diameter and should miss us by five hundred or a thousand miles. It will probably be moving west and will break itself on Hainan Island or turn northeast and dissipate on Hong Kong, which we have mercifully left at least five hundred miles behind.’

  ‘Shall I keep you informed, sir?’

  ‘Of course, Mr.Tomazos. You see, if it is as I say, there is no point in turning back to Hong Kong: and if it is as you say, where can we run to? There is nowhere!’

  ‘We could take avoiding action, sir.’

  ‘We will, if it becomes necessary,’ agreed the master, and there was a touch of a sneer in his tone.

  The Turkish radio officer, Barutou, came onto the bridge. He informed them: ‘Radio signal from the Philippines says that a typhoon passed over a few hours ago, putting them out of action. The storm was heading west-northwest.

  ‘Good,’ argued Captain Vafiadis. ‘It is as I say.’

  Tomazos opened his mouth to dispute: ‘But that was several hours ago, perhaps half a day. By now the storm could have turned in a clockwise direction, as the storms often do in the Northern Hemisphere.’

  There was, he accepted, some truth in the master’s calm analysis. Even if the storm had turned around to west-northwest and even to a northern or northeast heading, it might well miss them by hundreds of miles, and if it passed to the east of the Areopagus, however close, the tendency of the storm centre – which revolved in an anticlockwise direction (i.e. north, west, south, east) – would be to push the ship away from itself. There was good calm sense in the captain’s decision to go on, but there was commercial apprehension too. In theory, Captain Vafiadis should do something to protect his passengers, but in fact he was taking a risk to be sure of the company’s profits. The Areopagus was at last on schedule. The company wouldn’t be impressed by a timid captain who returned in fair seas to Hong Kong. There would be fuel wasted, immense harbour and pilot charges; the 550 passengers would expect their three or four heavy meals a day. Other possible cargoes in the next ports would be kept waiting and intending passengers would be irritated and some would make claims. Commercially, then, it was not easy for the master to forgo his schedule.

  Tomazos had almost forgotten the other ship seen on radar. It was still there, nearer, and he found with irritation that it was on a reciprocal course. A quarter of an hour later it had disappeared. There was a lot of clutter and when Tomazos had cleared some of that with the anticlutter device he saw on the PPI (plan position indicator), at forty miles distance, bright and distinct echoes of a storm. He knew that the radar meteorological echo was produced by moisture droplets scattering part of the incident radar energy back along a parallel path to the receiver. What disturbed him was the brightness: for the intensity of the echo depended upon the amount of water per unit volume, that is, upon the sheer bulk of the weather, and upon the size of individual water droplets.

  Forty miles away and approaching with the sea and wind was a bad storm.

  Tomazos altered course a few degrees to avoid the other ship and waited for the storm to define its quality on the little screen.

  The storm began in the Doldrums, gathering volume and strength somewhere in the blank thousand miles between the Truk and Palau Islands, about seven and a half degrees above the equator. Very soon the wind within it reached Force 12 by the Beaufort Scale, that is, over sixty-five knots, which represented an air pressure of just under seventeen pounds per square foot. The storm moved in the direction of 280 degrees, that is, just north of west. The whole extensive disturbance progressed at ten knots, increasing a little with latitude, but within a radius of two hundred miles of its centre there were marked and very unpleasant differences. At two hundred miles the wind didn’t exceed Force 7, and was less on the equatorial side, and winds of Force 8 were the maximum at more than one hundred miles from the centre. But hurricane-force winds b4elow within seventy-five miles of the centre and within fifty miles there were gusts of over 150 knots. The significance lay in that a ‘standard wind’ was about sixteen knots and it exerted a pressure of about one pound per square foot. Under these sorts of increased pressures the sea began to heave about in mountains – the more so as the winds of carrying violence revolved. Further, as the storm moved along its track at ten to fifteen knots, the radius of these violently circling winds nearly doubled. Understandably, the swell of the sea extended a thousand miles from the storm centre. The currents of wind for hundreds of miles around were inevitably altered, too. The sky changed from the vast layers of cirrus cloud – some of which Tomazos had seen – to altostratus where the storm centre moved, and as it passed there was much nimbostratus and ‘scud’.

  The typhoon passed north of Mindanao and crossed the Philippines just south of Manila. By now winds were reaching a velocity of 250 feet a second, that is, 158 miles per hour. Boats were thrown from the harbours into streets. Trees were bent and broken. Automobiles were tossed around. Poles were snapped and power lines went down; fires began ad soon roared. Broken pieces of tile were driven like shards of shrapnel into wooden boards and tree trunks.

  In addition to the destructi
on by wind was the devastation by water. Such a storm approaching the coast of the Philippines caused serious flooding. The largest waves, originating in the rear right-hand quadrant of the storm, travelled through the cyclonic area and reached the shore where they caused a rise in the water in front of and two hundred miles to the right of the line of advance of the storm. This rise began when the centre of the typhoon was four hundred miles away and it continued until the typhoon had crossed the coast. The height of the flood level reached at the shore near the centre of the storm was fourteen feet above the predicted tide level.

  In a few hours the revolving tropical storm destroyed 341,271 houses, flooded or damaged 1,393,001 acres of crops and forests, and killed 154 people and 19,998 animals.

  Scarcely fifty miles beyond this unhappy destruction and loss of life the track of the storm (i.e., the direction taken by its centre) altered, and the whole revolving mass of wind and turbulence turned in the clockwise motion so that by latitude 15 north it was already moving north. The centre of the storm was two or three miles in diameter and fairly calm, but with confused and agitated water. Around the centre, revolving anticlockwise, was the bulk of the storm, fifteen miles across, with winds of a hundred miles per hour and more, and massive waves fifty and even eighty feet high.

  Captain Vafiadis was therefore wrong and had placed his ship in hazard. For the path of the storm was now north and it was likely to revolve even farther around to northeast. Whether it passed behind or in front of the Areopagus she would be in the dangerous semicircle, with winds likely to thrust her farther into the storm if the storm centre went behind her and liable to push her onto a lee shore in any case.

  There were about 250 revolving tropical storms a year in this vast area of the Pacific and South China Sea, but by October the season was ‘normally’ over. There was often insufficient evidence available for an accurate warning to be given, and it was up to ships to be guided by their own observations. For frequently very little warning could be given of an intense storm because of its small diameter. A tropical storm was nothing like as extensive as the depression of higher latitudes. The winds had a spiral movement toward the centre.