by D. F. Jones
Whatever the circumstances, it was difficult to be depressed on a day like that. By midday the land had disappeared over the horizon; no longer was there that visual reminder of what we had left.
For good or ill, we were on our way, busy settling down into the sea routine. It was as well for our peace of mind that we did not know if the swell was due to natural causes, or SARAH.
As always, there was plenty to do. Bill took time out to teach Karen and myself some of the finer points of sailing, and even if he was not staggered by our progress, he appeared reasonably satisfied. For two days we steered slightly west of south, and shortly after dark on the second day, the wind still holding from the north, we came round to a westerly course.
That must have been the second day, because I remember it coincided with the consumption of the last bag of water, which was an event of some pleasure to me. Negotiating those damned bags on the narrow strip of deck on either side of the cabin top, in the dark, had been very tricky.
As part of the routine, we listened to the Coast Guard radio while on passage down the coast, but by the third day we were well clear of their area and the reception was getting very poor, so we packed that in. Bill was very keen to economize on the batteries, and once we had lost touch with the USCG, he restricted our listening to a twice daily check on the International Distress Wave on 500 k/hz at distress periods and a quick hunt for a news bulletin on short wave.
It was on the fourth night that I picked up the New York broadcast.
“… transmitters located at Schenectady, New York. Here is the news as of 3 A.M. Eastern Daylight Time. Following the declaration of nationwide martial law by the President last evening, this statement was issued from the White House at midnight, local time.
“As the nation has known for some time, there exists off our West Coast a large pocket of natural, harmless gas, which, due to earth movement, has been released into the atmosphere. This gas, ordinary nitrogen, is of itself quite harmless, and in nature forms a large part of the air we breathe. Unfortunately, when it mixes with ordinary air, it reduces the amount of oxygen in any given volume. This nitrogen cloud has now drifted across our country, and in certain areas has diluted the normal air to a degree that presents a hazard to some people suffering from heart or chest disabilities.
“Regrettably, rumors have spread, or have been spread deliberately by persons ill-disposed toward our country, which have, in certain isolated areas, led to unnecessary panic and disruption of normal life. Panic is far more dangerous than the nitrogen, and it is for that reason that martial law has been imposed. In support of that law, and after consultation with the National Defense Committee, the leaders of the Senate and Congress, the President, as Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces, has issued the following decrees, effective forthwith:
“One. So that the USA may not appear to be undefended or in disarray at this time of crisis, the entire nuclear strike and deterrent forces of this nation, together with their associated order of battle, has been placed in a condition of total readiness.
“Two. All communications: radio, TV, telephone, and postal have been placed under military control.
“Three. All nonessential movement is banned. Pending the introduction of rationing, gasoline and other fuels will only be sold to persons authorized to receive them by the local civil or military administration. Private fuel stocks are to be declared to the military authorities forthwith. All internal civil aviation, including all private flying, is now under Air Force control. All ground transportation is now under Army control. All sea transportation is now under Navy control.
“Four. All banks, and all stock and commodity markets will be closed for business for twenty-four hours as of tomorrow morning.
“Five. All Service reservists are hereby recalled for service and are to report to their units forthwith. Transportation will be authorized by local military control on production of identity papers. Reservists unable to reach their units are to report to the nearest service unit, irrespective of which branch of the Armed Forces it may be.
“That ends the White House announcement. Citizens of the United States of America, our national anthem!”
Bill finally broke the silence. “Well, the US Government has certainly grasped the nettle! My God—what a mess!”
“The situation must be unbelievably bad to justify all that,” said Bette. “I mean, that just about wrecks the life of the whole country! Unless they’ve gone raving mad, which I doubt, they must think that the lesser evil.”
Bill rubbed his nose with his pipe. “Oh yes, clearly. Personally, I didn’t care overmuch for that bit about ‘reservists unable to join.’ I don’t imagine they would have put that in unless there was a significant number likely to be in that position.”
“I feel like a lousy, rotten heel!” Bette burst out, suddenly.
“Don’t,” said Bill calmly. “Suffren said something to me about Mitch being of more use later. The same thing applies to you.”
“That’s all very fine, Bill, but you’re not in our situation! How would you feel if you knew you had run out on England?”
“You’re wrong to regard it in that light. I would prefer to think of it as a tactical withdrawal, no more than that.”
“Well, for sure we can’t help here and now, Bette. As you said back in San Francisco, that night outside the railroad depot, given half a chance—”
“I know, I know! But it doesn’t make me feel any better.”
All next day we were a subdued crew. To make matters worse, radio reception in daylight hours was hopeless: one solid block of roaring static. After supper, when our part of the world was in darkness, we tried again and got a badly distorted, garbled snatch from the BBC Overseas Service.
“… has also offered assistance, evacuees from Canada and the United States will be welcomed. At a special emergency meeting of the North Atlantic Shipowners Conference it was decided to place all shipping at the disposal of the US Government. All scheduled crossings have been….”
And then it faded out. Half an hour later, I took another quick swing around the dial, and picked up New York, fading badly.
“… dealings postponed for a further … staff stated that the … well under control … strongly denied rumors … Chicago and Pittsburgh … agreement with. Mexico in the early hours … and is proceeding according to plan … been removed to Vancouver, British Columbia….”
Then we lost him. I swept slowly along the dial, and suddenly, with that near magical unpredictability of shortwave radio, a station came in with crystal clarity, free of interference, an amateur.
“CQ CQ CQ! Calling any station! CQ CQ CQ! This is W9XLA2 calling any station! Anyone—come in please! I have an urgent message!”
We sat, three tense figures in the lamplight, staring blankly at the radio, our minds far away, reaching out to that labored, frightened voice.
“CQ CQ CQ! Calling any station! Urgent message from W9XLA2, located at Milfer’s Gap, west of Dubois, Wyoming. We need help! All telephone lines down in thunderstorms and no gasoline. Ten dead, including doctor. Twenty-five bad cases. We can’t breathe! In the name of God—help!”
Clear across two thousand miles we could hear the man panting, fighting for breath, life.
And then he began again, gamely fighting fear and death, “CQ CQ—”
“For Christ’s sake—turn it off!” Bette’s voice was sharp, bordering on the hysterical. “No more! No more!”
Later, Bill got me alone and said that, unless I felt very strongly about it, we should try to miss out on newscasts as much as we could without rousing Bette’s suspicions. It was doing her no good; Denver was still too fresh in her memory. I agreed with him, although I was not so sure she was that much off-balance.
In any event, these views were purely academic. For the next few days radio conditions got steadily worse. As I had expected, Bette fretted most about this. Bill explained that reception was affected by sunspots, small black patches on the f
ace of the sun that emitted extremely strong bursts of radioactivity. This activity upset the ionized layers enveloping the earth, which, instead of reflecting signals back to earth, allowed them to escape into space. These sunspots, it seemed, waxed and waned in regular seven-year cycles, and, as luck would have it, we were nearing the peak of activity. As Bill also pointed out, there could be few radio transmissions beamed to this, one of the most thinly populated areas of the globe.
We got odd bits, generally unintelligible. It was in the cussed nature of things that the only really clear reception we got at that time was an English transmission from Radio Peking. The state of the US was not the main story. Instead we were given a review of the past year’s iron and steel production in China. After that, the US crisis did get a mention, SARAH was, we were told, all part of a fantastic plot, engineered by the fascist-capitalistic-imperialistic-demagogues to seize power and impose a neo-Nazi dictatorship in order to fight—unavailingly, of course—the rising tide, etc. etc.
While life went on smoothly enough, strain was never very far away. It was ironical in a way that the weather was so good. Day after day we just sailed in perfect weather. A kid could have handled Mayfly. We had no immediate problems to engage our minds. There was less talk at meals, fewer jokes. Bill cracked down sharply on Karen several times, and Bette bit my head off once or twice.
Mayfly sailed on. We began to accept that one hundred and twenty miles every twenty-four hours was standard, despite Bill’s warnings that this was exceptional progress. He extended his idea of training Karen and me, and gave forenoon instruction in navigation, including the use of the sextant, and to keep Bette’s mind engaged, he got her to give lectures on first aid. Karen had nothing to offer to this sea-school, except her cooking, and that we took as a matter of course, which was a typical Karen situation. I did not volunteer to talk about geology, and Bill did not suggest it. Somehow, I had the impression it would not be a popular subject, and it hardly had any practical application in our situation.
And then Bill, who had persistently refused to give a probable date for our arrival in Honolulu, announced casually after the midday sunsight, that with luck—once again he emphasized how much of that we had had thus far—we should sight Oahu around midday the next day. That did a lot for morale. So far, we had been in four watches, but now that we were approaching a focal point of several shipping routes, we would go into two watches. An everpresent fear in small boat sailing is that of being run down by a big ship. Radar has done nothing to reduce that fear; in fact it is a good deal worse, for many ships rely far too much on their radar, and keep only the most perfunctory visual watch.
His estimate was pretty accurate. We got our first sight of the island shortly before ten the next morning, and by the late afternoon we were threading our way into the crowded harbor of Honolulu. I felt like a cross between Captain Slocum and Sir Francis Drake. Bill, who was somewhat blasé about such matters, frowned at the sight of the anchorage. To my untrained eye, it did look full, but he was chiefly struck by the assortment of ships, and muttered something about some of them being museum pieces.
It was a repetition of our experience on arriving at San Diego; no one was faintly interested. We managed to get a berth alongside a quay, not far from a yacht club. A sweating, harassed Customs officer gave our papers a careful five-second examination and no answers to our questions. He was far too busy. Bill headed for the yacht club, Bette stayed aboard, and Karen and I set off in search of fresh food, mail, and, above all, news. The resemblance to San Diego did not end with our arrival. Honolulu was just as crowded, and some of the tension had arched across the ocean.
Our first move was to get hold of newspapers and to sit down in an open air cafe with tall, iced, lime drinks, something we had been promising ourselves for the last thousand miles. The drinks may have been very good, but the newspapers ruined that small treat.
It was at once obvious that there were large gaps in our knowledge. Events had clearly marched on swiftly, pressing earlier news into oblivion. It was like doing a jigsaw puzzle with half the pieces missing. For instance, one item, “Federal Loans for Stricken Areas,” was under a dateline in New Orleans—another item gave the clue to this one. This US Government had an “advanced echelon” in Washington, but there was a sizable “rear echelon” in New Orleans.
We were further hampered by the papers being local— there were none from the States—and these viewed the crisis from a very local angle. “Hawaii Takes a Million” flared one headline. “Water Supply Sufficient, Says Mayor” and “Crisis on Kanai—No More Room!” were others.
“Gee, this is the darndest game!” Karen said with exasperation, and very inadequately.
By the time we had finished, it boiled down to this: SARAH gas, in varying density, had blanketed the northern half of the US. The old, the sick, and children, very roughly north of a line Fresno—Colorado Springs—Kansas City—Norfolk, Va., were being or had been evacuated as fast as possible to anywhere that would take them, the southern states, Mexico, South America—even Australia and New Zealand. Planes, flying round the clock, crammed with kids … ships packed beyond capacity were taking refugees—I thought it a sinister undertone that the less ominous word “evacuee” had given place to “refugee”— ships, sailing from Norfolk, Savannah, Pensacola, Galveston, taking their cargoes anywhere, sailing and being given a destination when at sea … liners, freighters, aircraft carriers, anything….
“Order,” I learned, had been “restored” in New York and the New Yorkers were “taking well” the total ban on automobiles. Horses were mentioned….
Sitting there, it all seemed so unreal, such a nightmare, but the many middle-aged and elderly people, immobile and silent over their spun-out drinks, were no dream. Some, the northern city pallor still on their faces; others, blistered, sunburned, peeling. All had one thing in common: a desolate, hopeless expression; they were not making the Trip of a Lifetime. And these were the really fortunate ones; they’d escaped, and had the price of a drink.
Karen had caught the atmosphere, and she shivered. We finished our drinks and left. The prices staggered me. We located the main post office; there was some mail for Bill, and one letter for me. It was postmarked San Diego five days ago. I put it away for later.
The crowded streets made shopping hell, but we got what we wanted although the prices were wicked. Everything, I was told, was going up faster than an express elevator. As we made our way back, I got one of those particularly vivid mental photographs which stays, although it was a picture of no personal importance.
An old woman, lined, sallow-face framed in a cheap, incongruously gay headscarf, dressed in a shabby raincoat despite the heat, sitting on a sidewalk bench. Beside her, a cheap fiber suitcase which she clutched defensively to her side. Her other hand rested in her lap, holding a change purse—she had no handbag. Her feet, drawn well back away from the passing crowds, wore bedroom slippers.
Bedroom slippers! The merest glance revealed she was from the very wrong side of some eastern city. I wondered what grim trick of fate had snatched her up, dumping her down in this exotic setting five thousand miles from her native antheap. Judging from that blank, hopeless face, she would not know….
Very thankfully we got back aboard Mayfly, the one pillar in a dissolving world.
Bill and Bette had not been idle. The water tanks had been flushed out and refilled—and so had the plastic bags. When Bill heard about the prices ashore, he decided that we would not completely restock our canned stores, only fresh food. Bette had been using her charm in the yacht club. The clubhouse was full of “mainlanders” on camp beds, even at that hour of the day. They had nowhere else to go. All the distracted club secretary could offer us was the use of the showers, imploring us to go easy on the water. The mayor might be happy about the water situation, but some weren’t.
Bette had also contacted the medical authorities, and was both downcast and relieved to find that she was not needed. That set
tled one problem.
Over supper, the main topic was the state of affairs in Hawaii. Karen and I were convinced, from our brief experience, that we could not stay here even if we wanted to, and were all for sailing again as soon as possible. The islands were full of people who were helpless, and had no option. We had, and must go. That was the least we could do. Bill and Bette were not quite so keen on a quick getaway, Bill because of some obscure nautical point, Bette because this was her first visit to any tropical island and she was in favor of a little leg stretching for the good of all. We let it ride for the moment. After a somber meal, I read Suffren’s letter, and then I sat silent, thinking, aware of Bette’s curiosity, but I didn’t feel like talking. I read the letter again.
My dear Mitch,
You have been gone for a week now, and one of my few consolations is the knowledge that I was right to urge you to go. I would delay this letter, but fear the postal system may soon collapse. I must write now, or possibly, never.
The position has not, I fear, improved. Indeed, it has got rapidly worse, SARAH goes on, yet I cannot believe it can do so much longer, then the collapse must come.
You may remember I told you plant life was coming to our aid. Here, too, we have suffered a terrible, ironical blow. For weeks now, there has been a much higher rainfall than usual, in the West and Midwest— that, plus the heavily nitrogenated air, has caused the crops to grow fantastically. Now, in the last three weeks, with the growth of SARAH, we have even more rain and terrible storms. Tremendous damage has been done by these side-effects. Hail has stripped trees, flattened crops. Worst of all, many plants, overgrown and tender, are very susceptible to disease, particularly a gray fungoid condition, botryitis. So far from getting more oxygen, we are getting markedly less with the death of so much plant life. Everything conspires against us.