“How many?”
“The whole stock. To anyone who asks.”
Natalie took over my post at the stairs, and Stephanie and I walked the decks giving out pen-size flashlights and helping people move their bedding to their open doorways, where they might catch some semblance of a breeze. I was sweaty from the back of my neck to the soles of my feet. Perspiration trickled down my spine and between my breasts. Stephanie must have been miserable too, but you wouldn’t hear it from her.
At about four o’clock, a few of us made our way toward crew quarters to use the bathrooms. We could hear Haggerty’s muffled voice coming from below, and we squatted on the steps listening. Only scraps of conversation came from the engine room.
“… only one more thing to try, and the chances are next to nothing.” Frank.
“So try, damn it!” Haggerty. “Do what you have to do. The last thing I want is to tell the front office I can’t even get this thing into port.”
We turned around and headed back up, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping. We stood to one side at the top of the stairs as Haggerty and Quinton came up.
“Could I have some coffee up on the bridge?” the captain asked in irritation. Then, “Oh. Guess not. What are you doing about the passengers’ breakfasts?”
“It will be a cold one, of course, but it’s what we do after that that concerns me,” Quinton said. “We can serve food for only a limited time after the refrigeration’s off.”
They went on up the next flight, and we ran down to use the restrooms while our flashlights still worked. Josh and Curtis were standing in the hallway. They shone their flashlights on our faces to see who we were and then went on talking.
“Doesn’t look good, does it?” Barry asked.
“Worse than bad,” Curtis replied. “That sorry thing isn’t going to start again. Generator’s shot and Frank knows it. He said it should have been replaced before the Seascape ever sailed.”
“Are they going to send us a new one?” Liz asked.
We could barely see Curtis’s face as he turned toward her.
“What? A helicopter drop or something?” he said, and we could tell he was laughing.
“I don’t know. By ship, maybe,” she said.
“This crate needs to be back at port. Takes at least a week to replace a generator,” Curtis said.
“What the heck do we do?” asked Emily “People are going to wake up in a couple of hours if they haven’t already.”
“Be glad you’re not the captain,” said Josh. “He’s the one who has to tell them they can’t flush their toilets, can’t turn on the lights, can’t have coffee. That everything in the refrigerator is melting or defrosting. Some cruise, huh?”
I was embarrassed that one of my first thoughts was that I had something else exciting to tell Patrick.
17
UNDER A CLOUDLESS SKY
We’d been up all night—the whole crew—and looked it.
Any minute, we expected the captain to make an appearance and explain everything.
Wrong.
It was Quinton who faced the disheveled passengers at a breakfast of cold cereal, fruit juice, bananas, and yesterday’s muffins, on paper plates. No toast, no eggs, no oatmeal, and—what caused the biggest uproar—no coffee.
“By now,” he said, “you’re all aware that the Seascape is experiencing a mechanical problem. Around midnight last night, our generator broke down, and when that happens, we are totally without power. This means no hot water, no toilets operating, no laundry, no cooking, no air-conditioning, fans, lights, or TV. We’re doing everything we can to correct the situation and deeply regret the disappointment and inconvenience to our passengers. We do hope you’ll understand that loss of electricity means that many accommodations have to be made.”
That didn’t satisfy anyone, and though some passengers joked (“Well, we wanted an adventure, didn’t we?”) and others took a stoical view and prepared to endure, most of them—by the looks on their faces—wanted more information now.
“We’ll bring you updates at every meal,” Quinton promised. “Sooner, if there are any new developments.”
The stewards assigned to housekeeping were instructed to make beds without changing the linens and to ask passengers to please use their towels for one more day. And to keep the lids of their toilets closed.
Dianne told the stewards we could sleep in four-hour shifts, but it was stifling in crew quarters, so we strung ups sheets for shade among all the mechanical stuff on the “crew only” section of the main deck and piled blankets underneath to lie on. Some of us succeeded in a few hours’ sleep until someone else came to take our place.
There was, of course, no excursion to Tangier Island, and lunch—served late—consisted of chef’s salad, deli sandwiches, cookies, and soft ice cream. Quinton simply made an announcement that there was no word yet from the pilothouse, but he expected news of some kind by dinner. We would be eating at six o’clock, he told us, and choices were obviously limited.
“What’s Haggerty waiting for?” we asked Josh after we’d seen him talking with Quinton.
“Wants to review his options,” Josh said.
The restroom outside the dining room had a CLOSED sign on it. Understandably, passengers had been choosing to use that room rather than their own staterooms, since they couldn’t flush.
We hated mingling with passengers. Sweltering, exhausted people were draped over chairs, over railings, like laundry, waiting for every little breeze. Every part of the body that touched a deck chair or railing soon grew too warm for comfort. Each time one of us crew members walked by, people called out to us, confronted us, asked how long we’d be here—stranded in the middle of the Chesapeake Bay—with no land in sight. They didn’t believe us when we said we didn’t know any more than they did. One woman asked if we were sure we hadn’t drifted out into the Atlantic Ocean.
There was no cheerful steward walking through the ship ringing the dinner bell that evening. No welcoming scent of croissants fresh from the oven. Staff members were dressed in the same wrinkled shirts they’d worn the day before, even Quinton. There were no white cloths on the tables, no ice in the glasses, and the buffet was a repeat of what had been available at lunch, with applesauce and sliced beets added.
And there were few smiles. Voices were low, the mood grim. When the meal was over, both Quinton and Ken faced the passengers as promised, the rest of us standing at the back, listening. Quinton began:
“I know this has been a frustrating day for you, as it has for all of us. It’s now evident to our engineer that the generator will have to be replaced, and that’s not something we can do out here in the middle of the bay. While this is certainly a logistical problem for the company, our main concern is you, our passengers—your comfort and safety, as well as your expectations of a pleasant trip. The captain and first mate have been discussing our options, so I’ll let Officer McCoy take it from here.”
What was immediately evident was that First Mate McCoy would rather be anywhere else on the planet than here.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, and cleared his throat. “If I sound as if I haven’t had any sleep, I haven’t, but neither have most of you.”
“Uh-uh, Kenny boy,” I heard Curtis whisper behind me. “Don’t whine.”
Ken continued: “I guess it’s pretty obvious that this ship is not going to make it back to Baltimore on its own, but that’s our problem, not yours.”
Curtis groaned again.
“All I can tell you at this point in time is that one of our options is to send our newly built sister ship, the Spellbound, down here and transfer you all to that—”
“Are they crazy?” Josh whispered, but the passengers perked up. The thought of a transfer at sea, a brand-new ship, air-conditioning, food …
“—but no decision has been made yet. And I want to assure you that we will remedy this situation as soon as possible. That’s all I can tell you at this point in
time, but if you have any questions …”
When did “this point in time” get so popular? I wondered. But yes, the passengers had questions.
“How is it you don’t have the necessary parts with you?” a man called out.
“We have extra parts for many of the things we might need on the cruise, but a generator, unfortunately, is not one of them,” Ken said. “Too big a job.”
“I thought this was a ‘completely refurbished ship,’” the man shot back. “Was that everything but the generator?”
“Bingo,” Curtis murmured.
“I’m sure it was checked before we started our season, but there were some other malfunctions in connection with the generator,” said Ken, and his face was slightly flushed.
“So we’ve got a whole damn engine room breaking down? Is that what you’re saying?” the irate man shouted.
“No, sir. But sometimes, regardless, parts do give out, especially in the weather we’ve experienced,” Ken said.
“How long can we go without fresh water?” asked a woman, clutching her half-filled glass.
“If we’re careful to conserve what we have, there should be enough for drinking and brief washups at your sinks. Please, folks, no showers until the cruise starts up again.”
“Can you give us any idea when that will be?” the man next to her asked. “We’ve already been sitting out here not going anywhere for eighteen hours.”
“At this moment I cannot,” Ken replied. And again, a murmur ran through the crowd. “But we’re not in the middle of the ocean. The Coast Guard knows exactly where we are.”
“What about food?” someone else called. But at that precise moment, Ken’s walkie-talkie buzzed, and I even wondered if that was prearranged with Haggerty up in the pilothouse.
“If you’ll excuse me, the captain needs me up on the bridge,” Ken said. “I’m sure that Quinton can answer the rest of your questions.”
For a brief moment I could see clear irritation on Quinton’s face. He was already weary and looking more like Lincoln than Abe himself. But he stepped right up.
“Although we have plenty of food on board, we can’t keep it refrigerated, so we’ve had to discard some,” he said. “The food in the freezer will keep a few more days, but there’s no way to cook it when it thaws. I don’t think you will go hungry, but we have to conserve the ice that’s left and will offer only those foods we know are safe. Remember, we’re just fifteen miles from shore, so we can get a delivery if necessary, but first we need to know where we’ll be tomorrow. As for sleeping, we will be glad to move mattresses to the upper deck for those of you who find your staterooms too uncomfortable. Right now we’re going to feed our crew before it gets too dark to see. Then, if we can help you in any way, please speak to a crew member and we’ll do our best.”
The passengers began talking heatedly among themselves as they filed out of the dining room. We turned to one another.
“Is the captain insane?” asked Lauren. “They can’t be serious about getting another ship. The Spellbound is up in Rhode Island.”
Curtis found it funny. “The last I heard, they were three weeks behind in getting it furnished. Even if they just threw stuff together, stocked it, and brought it down, it would take a week. If we just want to transport one hundred and ten people fifteen miles, let’s rent a ferry.”
“Shoot,” said Mitch, “I’ll call my dad and tell him to hire some men in their oyster boats to carry us off. It’s not all that complicated.”
“Yeah, it is, actually,” said Josh. “There’s insurance, there’s refunds, there’s safety, there’s all that luggage. The company is responsible for everything that happens to passengers until they disembark.”
“It’s even more than that,” Lauren added. “It’s saving face. If there’s any rescuing to be done, the front office wants it done by the company—keep it all in the family, you know.”
“How are they going to do that?” asked Barry. “There was already a WTOP helicopter circling this afternoon taking pictures. Probably covered on the evening news.”
We had to patrol the lower decks from time to time to assist passengers who stayed in their rooms. The most we could see were the little pinheads of light from the tiny key chain flashlights we’d distributed earlier or an occasional beam from a crew flashlight. Some of the passengers had already holed up on the observation deck, using blankets and pillows to reserve the chaise longues. When I checked on them, I found only the slightest breeze fanning the humid air. We were too far from the mainland to see any lights. Not even a faint glow in the sky. All we had were stars and moon.
Mitch and I stood together at the railing.
“This will be the end of our summer jobs,” he said.
“You think?”
“What else are we going to do? Say we get to Baltimore before this week is over. This particular cruise is kaput. So is the ninth cruise, because they’ll be using that week to replace the generator. If we stick around for the last cruise of the season, who’s going to put us up meanwhile? Our paychecks are already delayed.”
“You could always go home and come back when the ship is ready,” I said, considering.
“Don’t think I haven’t thought about it.” He put an arm around my shoulder and gave me a playful hug. “You could come too. Sleep on the couch with the dog.”
I laughed. “What’s its name?”
“Rags.”
“Rags?”
“Because when she was a pup, she tore everything to shreds. Grab hold of a shirt and you could pull it forever, she wouldn’t let go. Springer spaniel.”
“I’m sure your mom would appreciate having me there.”
“Oh, she’s used to it.”
“Bringing girls home to sleep on the couch?”
“Bringing friends home—usually guys who are going out trapping with me the next day.”
“What would you tell your mom about me?”
“I’d say, ‘Mom, this is my friend Alice. She’s sleeping with the dog,’ and she’d say, ‘Fine, she can set the table.’ And you’re in.”
Why did I feel so comfortable around Mitch? I wondered. Why did I believe it would almost be that way if I took him up on it?
“We’ll see what happens tomorrow,” I said. “A mutiny might decide the whole thing.”
The top deck was crowded with people now, like a beach on a summer day, except it was night and there were even a few mattresses. So Mitch and I and a few of the others took our pillows to the lounge deck fantail around one in the morning and crawled into the sleeping space the others had rigged up.
Sleepy as I was, I lay on my back and looked out between the gaps in the sheets strung over us, studying the stars. Every so often one seemed to wink at me, and I wondered how many light-years away it was and whether it even was any longer. I could hear Mitch’s soft breathing on one side of me, Gwen’s on the other. How special was it to be lying here between two friends, and when, if ever, had I had a male friend, other than my brother, whom I felt so close to and comfortable with, just staying friends? So far, at least.
* * *
I slept longer that I thought was allowed. No one woke me, anyway. I had to pee and desperately needed to stretch one leg, which was cramping. I managed to extricate myself from the tangle of bodies around me without nudging either Gwen or Mitch. I made my way down to crew quarters and could smell the toilets even before I got there. I took a deep breath, then zipped in and out.
No one else on the ship seemed to be up—not surprising since we were all exhausted, passengers and crew alike. But if there was a coolest part of the day, this was it—more breeze than we’d had for the last two days. I took the stairs to the Chesapeake deck, wanting to go around the walkway a few times to stretch my legs. When I turned at the bow, I saw a man leaning his arms on the rail, smoking, as dejected a figure as I’d ever seen.
The captain saw me, dropped his cigarette in the water, and turned his head away.
The bree
ze didn’t last. When the sun rose, the shimmering orange ball seemed even more threatening than it had the day before, and its reflection on the water was like a warning arrow pointing directly at the ship. I rinsed my face in the crew washroom beside the others, brushed my teeth, tied my stringy, limp hair back away from my face, and went to the galley.
Quinton was there, dark circles under his eyes.
“Start filling trash bags,” he was saying to Carlo and the assistant cook. “The sausage, the ham. If it wasn’t frosted over when you took it out, it goes in the garbage. Eggs—out. Butter we’ll use one more day. I’d rather have a hungry ship than a sick one.”
“Any update from the front office?” Carlo asked.
“We’re supposed to find out today if the Spellbound’s coming down. There was talk of giving the passengers a free cruise on it later in the fall.”
“Makes no bloody sense to me,” Carlo said. “If the ship’s not ready for a September launch, it’s not ready now.”
“I don’t know, Carlo. We’re taking one step at a time. Check the milk to see if we can offer cereal for breakfast. Cereal, cheese, and fruit. That’s it.”
An occasional fishing boat passed that morning, the watermen staring up at us talking among themselves. When two men came out in a speedboat and cut the engine, one of them yelled, “You guys having problems?”
And one of the passengers yelled back, “We’re being held prisoner because the generator went out. Send food!”
The men laughed and the passenger did too.
“Can you give us a tow?” someone else shouted.
“Good luck with that,” one of the men called, and they sped off again.
When Dianne found that a couple had taken a Magic Marker and printed SOS in huge letters on a sheet and hung it from the railing, she took it down. Quinton went through the ship with the megaphone and announced that the captain would speak to us in the dining room at noon.
Not even Ken McCoy was smiling this time.
When Haggerty came into the room at twelve, walking swiftly, like the president holding a press conference, he used “I,” we noticed, when he talked about action taken, “we,” when action was delayed.
Alice on Board Page 17