Against the Wind

by Bodie Thoene

  “We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out. The Lord giveth and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the Name of the Lord.”

  At Mariah’s direction we took the three life vests, Patsy’s coat, and their socks. These things we might need, and they had no further use of them.

  “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth gives way, though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea.”16

  I remembered sitting on a park bench on Primrose Hill with Murphy, looking out across London. I thought of the verdant hills of my youth and remembered how my papa had taken us on holiday to the Alps. I had grown up in Germany before Hitler. It was the most civilized, most modern nation in Europe. I had been part of a blessed family. I had all the comforts imaginable. I had found the love of my life in John Murphy.

  Now here I was, floating on the expanse of waters. I owned the clothes I wore. I might live to be rescued and reunited with my family, but what happened to Newcastle and then to Mariah proved nothing was certain.

  Truly, all the steady, trustworthy hills of my life had been uprooted and cast into the sea. Could I continue to rely on God? Could I escape from fear?

  “Jesus said, ‘Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto Me; for of such is the kingdom of heaven.’”17

  Number 7 was ballasted with bars of iron laid down next to the keel. Silently Matt Wilson dug three of these from beneath the floorboards and passed them forward.

  We knew what he was suggesting.

  Digging in her handbag, Raquel produced needle and thread. Mariah wiped away a tear and nodded her approval. Raquel and I began sewing the weights into the clothing of Patsy, Moira, and Michael.

  “Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in Me. In My Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.”18

  For twenty centuries these words comforted the grieving and gave hope to the brokenhearted. We would see our loved ones again; we would be reunited. Sometimes it felt as if that trust in a future reunion was all that kept us going in this tired, wicked world. Even while believing, our hearts’ cry remained “How long, O Lord!”

  Mariah, Raquel, and I and all the girls wept. So did all the boys except John, who had his arms folded and his chin tucked hard against his chest.

  “Unto Almighty God we commend the souls of our dear departed, and we commit their bodies to the deep; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection unto eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ; at whose coming in glorious majesty to judge the world the sea shall give up her dead.

  “Almighty God, Father of mercies and giver of all comfort, deal graciously, we pray Thee, with all those who mourn, that, casting every care on Thee, we may know the consolation of Thy love. Through Jesus Christ our Lord.

  “Amen.”

  And then there were only twenty-four aboard Lifeboat Number 7.

  15 Traditional African-American lullaby

  16 Psalm 46:1–2 ESV

  17 Matthew 19:14 KJV

  18 John 14:1–2 KJV

  18

  LIFEBOAT NUMBER 7

  NORTH ATLANTIC

  AUTUMN 1940

  Angel looked into my face and asked quietly, “I saw all the girls from Lindy’s cabin in the boat with Miss Pike. But I did not see Lindy.”

  “There was such confusion, Angel. She had to be with them.” I imagined the lie was kinder than the truth on such a day.

  I thought about the words of the officer as he compelled me to leave Lindy in the cabin or die. “Lindy’s got to go home now.… I’ll take care of her.… You must leave now or you won’t make it out.”

  How I had run as I stumbled from that place of death! Without looking back, I had left Lindy in the hands of a stranger and had saved my own life. How would I ever face her mother? How would I ever tell the story of the final terrible moments of her daughter’s life?

  Reaching deep into the pocket of my coat, I felt again for the small volume containing the lock of Lindy’s hair. I would at least return that treasure to the hands of Mrs. Petticaris. I would tell her that Lindy’s last conscious thought was for her.

  Raising my eyes I saw the steady gaze of Cedric Barrett on my face. What was that in his expression? Pity? Did he know I had left Lindy behind? Had he sensed I was not telling Angel the truth about her best friend?

  I silently prayed, O God! Please let me sleep without dreams. Give me an hour to rest so I can be strong!

  The sea grew calm. Mariah clasped my hand, laid her head upon my lap, and slept the deep sleep of grief. Stroking her hair as if she were a child, I sensed the warmth of the sun on my back. The only sound was the rush of the water split by the bow. I prayed for sleep, hoping that for a moment I would not be tortured by the memory of Lindy dying before me. Again the image of her sweet face appeared before me. Had I done all I could do for her? I could only think of her mother and the last letter she had written: Do not write me because I will be mid-Atlantic and cannot answer.

  My promise to her mother that I would protect Lindy had followed. I had failed miserably. Was it my fault? Should I have stayed and died with her when the very angels had abandoned ship?

  At last my head nodded forward and I dozed off.

  I do not know how long I slept. It was not a dreamless sleep but filled with images of Murphy’s face smiling above me. “You’re okay, Elisa. It’s Evensong. Can you hear the boys singing? Can you hear me praying for you? for the kids? I’m at Westminster Abbey now. Everyone here is praying for you.”

  It came to me clearly that I was asleep and dreaming of a happier moment. I asked, “But what about Lindy? All the others?” I felt Murphy’s hand on my arm. He shook his head sadly from side to side. “What about Lindy?” I asked and then spoke his name aloud. “Murphy!”

  My eyes flew open, and I jerked awake. The sun was setting, and Cedric Barrett was framed by light. He was very close to my face. “Elisa? Are you all right?”

  Nodding, I swept my hair back from my face. Poor Mariah was mercifully still asleep on my lap. “I was dreaming,” I said quietly.

  “Yes,” Barrett answered.

  Suddenly conscious that half a dozen children were staring at me, I managed a slight smile and said to Connor, “In my dream, my husband told me it was Evensong. He said that he was at the Abbey praying for us. He told me to listen to the singing.”

  Connor nodded as if it was a command. Taking out his tin whistle, he said to the Apostles, “It is Evensong.”

  At his direction, the boys began to sing the benediction in close harmony.

  “Praise God from whom all blessings flow.

  Praise Him all creatures here below.

  Praise Him, above ye heavenly host.

  Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost.

  Amen.”

  Barrett inhaled deeply and removed a battered notebook from his pocket. “Lindy’s.”

  “Oh! Oh, Cedric! It isn’t lost!”

  “In my pocket all the time.”

  I touched the cover where Lindy had inscribed her name beneath the words The Long Journey Home.

  “I was meant for Lifeboat 6, you see. I came to the station. No room. But your girls were there. All of them except…” He tucked his chin. “Well, little Betsy was there without Lindy. She told an officer you had stayed behind with Lindy—that Lindy had been hurt.”

  So Barrett had guessed the worst.

  I looked at the gold reflection of the water. I thought of what I had heard…about the streets of heaven being paved with gold. I thought of Lindy’s feet walking on water, walking on golden streets. “Yes. Yes.”

  “We want to take this home…”

  “…to her mother.”

  His eyes flickered with a memory. “She was quite a good little writer. I mean, honest critique, right? That’s what she wanted and…well…she was, you know, wonderful.”
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br />   He turned away, his back toward me when he sat. I thought I saw his shoulders shudder as he rested his head in his hands.

  Angel did not turn her eyes from my face. “So,” she said quietly. “Even so.” Angel was too young to know about death and dying, yet she had lived through enough to know. Lindy was not in Lifeboat Number 6. Lindy was not coming home.

  “Under your feet and in compartments below the gunnels are supplies for our survival. I want all of you to get busy checking to see what we have aboard and get ready to inventory it.”

  As soon as the committal service ended Harold Browne called us to a variety of tasks. His attempt to set our minds on life and take our thoughts off of death was transparent, but I was grateful.

  I think we all were, except Mr. Podlaski. “What’s the point? Either we’re going to be rescued, or we aren’t. If we are, we don’t need to play games. If we aren’t, none of your toys will matter.”

  “Shall I remind you of that when sharing the food, Mister Podlaski?”

  “What? No, no!”

  “Then make yourself useful.”

  In the forward compartments near where the women and children sat were tools. We found fishing line and hooks, a compass, rope, and a mirror, flares, and smoke bombs.

  Beneath the floorboards we also located a mast and a sail, a can of grease, a bucket, and a hand axe.

  “Like Robinson Crusoe,” Connor said.

  “Leave the mast and sail stowed for the moment,” Browne ordered. “It’s going to take some serious rearranging to uncover it and set it up. That can come later.”

  Of greatest interest to us all, now that the seas were calmer, were the food and water supplies in lockers and tanks at the stern. An entire canned-goods shop was on board, it seemed. There were tins of condensed milk, sardines, peaches, salmon, pineapple, and sealed cartons of ship’s biscuit.

  Peter’s stomach growled and he looked embarrassed. “S–sorry.”

  “He’s hungry,” Tomas said. “We all are now.”

  I overheard Browne question Matt Wilson about the amount of water.

  “Forty gallons,” was the reply.

  “Plenty,” Tomas said. “And I’m thirsty.”

  I saw James staring at the sky. His lips moved without making any sound.

  He caught me looking at him and grinned sheepishly.

  “What are you calculating?” I asked.

  “Forty gallons. Three hundred twenty pints. Thirteen and a bit more pints for each of us.”

  “That’s a lot, isn’t it?” Robert remarked.

  James ducked his head and muttered something I didn’t catch. “What was that?”

  “I said, depends on how long it has to last.”

  John fixed his eye on Angelique. “That’s no worry. Now that the weather’s improved, the destroyers will be along most any time. They got slowed down yesterday, but they’ll make it up today. You’ll see.”

  “Unless they missed us already,” Podlaski offered, chiming in, uninvited, into the conversation.

  “Mister Podlaski,” Cedric Barrett said, “I wish you’d take the advice offered by the great American humorist, Will Rogers: ‘Never miss an opportunity to shut up!’”

  Our first meal aboard Number 7 was issued around noon the second day after the sinking of Newcastle. It consisted, per person, of one hard ship’s biscuit, about the size and thickness of a dime novel, topped by one sardine. Each ration had to be passed forward from the stern, where Browne did the sharing out. By the time a girl received her portion it had been handled five or six times but was no more chewable because of that.

  “Hard tack,” Connor said. “Like Admiral Nelson’s navy. And I love sardines.”

  Yael turned up her snub nose at the aroma. “I do not like these little fishes. You have it, Simcha,” she said to her sister.

  “No, sweetheart,” Raquel corrected. “You must eat it. It will make you strong.”

  There was some grumbling from the lascars. Though no one spoke in English, it was clear they did not approve of the small amount of food.

  Water had to be distributed the same way, one eight-ounce measure at a time. The dipper was about the size and shape of one of Podlaski’s fat cigars.

  Before passing the first beaker forward, the officer held it aloft. “You should hear how I determined the amount,” he said. “Newcastle was three days out of Liverpool when we were struck. For her, Ireland would be a day’s steaming at most. For us”—Browne shrugged—“it depends on if we have favorable winds or have to go against them. With the sail drawing fully we could see Galway in six days.”

  “Please, sir,” Connor asked, waving his hand as if in a classroom, “are we sailing back to Ireland, then? Are we not going to stay where the navy will be looking for us?”

  Browne spoke quickly before Podlaski could remind us again how he was the senior political official on board. “The destroyers will do a box search. They will comb an area twenty miles across. Each pass will take an hour; then they move a mile or so and make another run. This searching they can do in a day and they will find us…if we are still inside that box. What I propose is that we remain here for one more day. I have apportioned our rations, especially the water, to last twice as long as our voyage should take, just in case. Are we all clear on that?”

  None of us, not even Podlaski, had any comment to make. We were all sobered and thoughtful as we chewed salty, oily sardines and gnawed on brick-like biscuits.

  The officer announced that supper and the next water ration would be shared at six in the evening. I tried not to count how many hours remained until then.

  It was late afternoon of the second day afloat when Connor spotted another rescue vessel. This time no one, not even Podlaski, dismissed the claim. All strained their eyes toward the point indicated by the boy.

  “I hope it’s not the Germans again,” John said.

  “Will they take us prisoner?” James asked.

  Peter began to tremble violently, as if with cold. Tomas hugged him and whispered in Czech, “Don’t be afraid, my brother. No fear.”

  “Coming back to finish us off,” Podlaski ventured.

  “Them Jerries monitor our radio, same as we do theirs,” Wilson said. “We’d blow that sub-tender out of the water was we to catch him. No worries, lads. They won’t come near us again, ’cause they know the whole bloomin’ navy is out hunting for us.”

  So not the Germans. But where was the rescue ship?

  I held my breath with anticipation. Rescue! Safety! No anxiety about making a sea voyage to Ireland in an open boat on the North Atlantic.

  “There!” Raquel exclaimed. “I see it too.”

  “Me too,” Robert said, tossing back his hood. “Shall I wave my cloak, Aunt Elisa? Shall I?”

  “Not yet, sweetheart. Wait a bit.”

  Beneath the low-hanging clouds a dark object rose against the horizon, hung there a moment, then disappeared again.

  “I don’t understand,” Tomas said. “The big waves have gone down. Why do we see that ship and then not see it? Is it another submarine?”

  A jet of spray shot upward where we had last marked the approaching vessel.

  “It’s a whale,” Wilson remarked. “Whole pod of ’em, looks like.”

  Within minutes Number 7 was surrounded by a half score of whales, passing us on both sides.

  “Amazing!” Connor exulted. “Look how fast they swim. Could we throw out a line and get a tow?”

  “They’re headed toward America,” James observed, holding a compass in his hand.

  “Isn’t that where we want to go as well?”

  The biggest animal in the pod rose no more than twenty yards away. Carried by the breeze, his jet floated across us like another drenching rain. Immediately afterward he stood on his head and dove, giving a mighty slap of his tail that rocked us with the waves.

  “I’ve heard tales they sometimes come up underneath small boats,” Podlaski said. “One whip of such a tail will splinter u
s to toothpicks.”

  First fears of Nazis and now of malicious whales.

  The lascar crewmen evidently took Podlaski’s warning seriously. Jerking the oars up and down, they pounded out a warning to the whales intended to keep them away from us. Either the demonstration worked, or perhaps the animals were not really dangerous, but either way they disappeared into the west.

  On board Number 7, disappointment once again reigned.

  “The wind is dead against us,” Browne noted, “so there’s no point in raising the sail. But we’ll row awhile, I think.”

  Somehow, without further discussion, the false alarm had determined our course. We were going to attempt to make it to Ireland. We would no longer wait for, or expect, rescue.

  “Two men to an oar,” Browne continued. “Fifteen-minute shifts. The exercise will do us good. I think all the men should take a turn.”

  “Not me,” Podlaski demurred.

  “I will,” John offered. “If you’ll let me.”

  “Glad to have you,” Browne said approvingly.

  There was muttering among the native sailors.

  “Sanjay,” Browne called to one of the lascars, “what are they saying?”

  “They say the ration is too small. How can we row?”

  Browne put his hands on his hips. “I already explained the amounts. Anyone want to question a direct order? Do they?”

  There was a tense silence.

  “One moment, Cap’n,” Wilson said. “We won’t be stopping again for a time, will we? If I’ve got a chance to warm up after, then I fancy a swim first.”

  Tomas and Peter exchanged incredulous looks, as did James and John. We had spent two days trying to remain dry and out of the clutches of the waves. Now this crazy man was going to deliberately jump in? Besides, we had just witnessed the power of the whales. What other great, sinister creatures of the deep were out there?

  “Who’s coming with me? Sanjay? Haji?”

  Many turbans shook in response.

  “I will!” Connor volunteered.

  “You most certainly will not,” I corrected. “You’re staying inside the boat.”