So Gil won the first hand with a pair of jacks. Not surprising. He obviously had played many times. He scooped the little pot of matchsticks into his own pile.
My next hand was a little better. I had four clubs, not in sequence, and the king of hearts. OK. So if I discarded the king and drew another club, I’d have a flush. Unfortunately, I drew the eight of hearts and wound up with nothing. So I folded. So did Olive. Ronan appeared to have a good hand and kept tossing matchsticks into the pot, vying with Gil. But when Ronan slapped down his pair of tens, Gil trumped him with two queens and two threes.
Gil’s stack of matches grew while ours shrank. More disturbing to me, though, was that Gil seemed to revel in winning. There was a triumphant gleam in his eye when he threw his winning hands down. The others didn’t seem to notice, but I didn’t like it. So I watched him shuffle and deal, which he did very quickly and competently. I didn’t like the placement of the little finger on his right hand directly under the deck.
Sure enough, Gil won the next hand, too. This time with just a pair of eights, but Ronan, Olive and I had nothing. It occurred to me that I hadn’t seen a single ace yet. And the deck of cards was his; he’d taken it out of his coat pocket at the beginning of the game.
‘Let me shuffle and deal,’ I said. ‘I’d like to practice.’ Gil had no choice but to hand the deck over to me. I carefully and completely shuffled the cards and dealt them out. In my hand were two aces. I discarded three cards and drew three, one of which was a two of hearts. I had three of a kind – the winning hand. I scooped up the pot and for just a second I met Gil’s eyes. I wouldn’t say he looked guilty – it was more like anger I saw there – but I knew he’d been cheating, and he knew I knew. He’d stacked the deck and dealt from the bottom. For a game with friends over matches.
I didn’t say anything to the others. We all had to live on this ship for another three dangerous weeks and I didn’t want to introduce any dissension. But I filed away the pure fact that Gilbert Fox couldn’t be trusted.
SIX
Our convoy’s departure from the St John’s Harbor was quite a spectacle. For the first time since leaving DC, the sky was clear and blue. A brass band on one of the docks played ‘Yankee Doodle Dandy’, while a crowd that had gathered on the shore cheered, waving Canadian and American flags and throwing their hats high.
Two fighter planes zoomed out to sea to scout for German submarines that might be lying in wait, while a US Navy blimp shadowed us overhead, its metal skin gleaming in the sun. So many chunks of ice floated in the ocean that it gave us the feeling we were plowing through snow. A flock of seabirds flew overhead, making a raucous noise, waiting for our ships to jettison their garbage once the convoy was well out of the harbor.
We casual passengers, bundled up in the usual coats, hats, scarves and gloves, and wearing our life preservers, lined the Amelia Earhart’s rail, trying to count the number of ships in our convoy. We settled on perhaps forty, including seven corvettes, two escort destroyers and a sloop, the Robin. Escort destroyers were smaller and slower than fleet destroyers because the convoys, and their prey, German submarines, were slow. They had fewer torpedoes and guns than fleet destroyers, but a heavy anti-submarine battery. The Robin was a Royal Navy vessel and much faster than our other escorts. It could travel at sixteen knots.
The Brits had trouble naming their vessels, too; there just weren’t enough halfway famous dead people. So the sloops were named after birds and the corvettes after flowers. One of our corvettes was Daisy, another Violet. Not terribly warlike!
One of the two escort destroyers, the Evans, was the convoy commodore ship, which meant it was the flagship for the convoy commander. The Evans had a corvette painted on the side as camouflage. We sailed near it since our cargo, all those munitions, needed the most protection. The second destroyer was the Lawrence, which I couldn’t see. It flanked the convoy miles behind us.
I was grateful for all our escorts, but, honestly, the corvettes were surprisingly small – not much bigger than the Coast Guard patrol boats I was used to seeing on the North Carolina coast. It was hard to imagine that one could take on a submarine.
‘Look at that,’ Alida said, pointing out to an ocean liner, painted gray and converted to a troopship, that steamed along behind us. ‘Do you think it’s the Queen Mary?’
‘I doubt it,’ I said. ‘It’s too small. And the Queen Mary is much faster than this convoy.’ I’d heard the Grey Ghost was so swift she often steamed alone and unprotected across the Atlantic.
Most of the cargo ships in our convoy were either Liberty ships or the newer Victory ships, packed until they were low in the water. Food, vehicle parts, fuel, airplanes, jeeps, troops, even mules. Not just supplies for England any more, but provisions for an invasion. The Allies were going to attack the German occupiers of Fortress Europe at last, with everything they had. Please God, let it be enough!
As we steamed out to sea, the passengers slowly drifted away from the rail, motivated by the freezing cold and Grace’s announcement that coffee and cocoa were available in the wardroom. Until just Olive and I stood together.
‘Well,’ Olive said, ‘we’re on our way. There’s no turning back now.’
I’d had the same thought. The next land we saw would be Northern Ireland. In three weeks.
SEVEN
We knew there was a storm coming. We’d been on the open sea for a week. Fog and heavy clouds surrounded us again. The convoy ships’ foghorns sounded endlessly. One night I thought of stuffing my ears with cotton to block out the sound but then realized I might miss the siren to run for the lifeboats. The ocean’s swells were deep and choppy waves smacked our hull, sending Mrs Smit to her bed with seasickness. Grace doled out peppermint candy and ginger, which she seemed to possess in endless supply, and Olive and I chewed ginger constantly to keep our stomachs settled. Reading was out of the question. We passed the days playing hearts and gin rummy with the Smit girls. Blanche taught us all how to play cribbage with a set she’d brought with her. We danced to records on the record player set up in the wardroom.
On the third morning I awoke to even rougher seas. I decided to take a sponge bath instead of submerging myself naked in the bathtub. I dressed quickly and joined the others in the mess line. The chalkboard menu announced that for the duration of the voyage fresh eggs would be rationed. One per person every other day. This was not an egg day. We had pancakes with margarine and table syrup.
We saw Sparky in the mess and asked him about the weather forecast, even though we knew he wasn’t supposed to tell us. And he didn’t, but his expression told us it wasn’t good. The master and Chief Popeye in the wardroom didn’t seem particularly worried, but they were sitting alone having an intense conversation.
Olive, Gil and Ronan went outside to smoke. I joined them for some fresh air.
Clearly the ship was in ‘all hands on deck’ mode. The deck crawled with seamen, including oilers and wipers from the engine room. All the cables holding down the vehicles were tested. The ‘deck chairs’ – the empty wooden cable spools – were tied to the railings. Loose equipment was stowed away. Gunners stationed at all the guns were securing them, under Tom’s direction. When I looked up at the bridge deck, I could see the master and four other people, all with their eyes on the sky.
When we went back to our quarters, we met Grace in the gangway. She confirmed what we already knew. ‘There’s a gale on the way,’ she said. ‘Dress in as many clothes as you can. Do not take off your life vest for any reason. Make sure all your gear is stowed away. You don’t want to be smacked in the head by a flying hairbrush or cologne bottle.’
Lunch was cold sandwiches, fruit and cookies. The seamen ate quickly, stuffing cookies and fruit into the pockets of their foul-weather gear before going back to their chores. Smit packed enough food for his wife and daughters into a bag to take back to their cabin. I ate little – half a sandwich, and that was only because I knew I needed something in my stomach. Olive left half of
her sandwich, too.
‘If you’re not going to finish those, can I have them?’ Blanche asked.
The woman must have had a tapeworm. ‘Sure,’ I said, pushing my plate over to her.
‘You want mine, too?’ Olive asked.
Blanche took both our sandwich halves and the cookies donated by Ronan, wrapped them in her handkerchief and stuffed them in her pocketbook. ‘Just in case I want to eat dinner in my bunk,’ she said. ‘Walking around the ship could be pretty treacherous in a few hours.’
As if to warn us all, a huge swell hit the ship, tilting the floor of the wardroom sharply.
Ronan grabbed me by the arm or I would have fallen. Gil, who was on the downside of the tilt, blocked dishes and cutlery from crashing off the table. The ship righted itself and a couple of messmen scurried about clearing the tables and picking up what had fallen on the floor.
‘Anyone want to go outside and get a last breath of fresh air and a smoke with me?’ Gil asked.
‘I’ll come,’ Ronan said, feeling in his pocket for his pipe. ‘Just for a minute.’
‘I think the place for me is my bunk,’ I said. ‘Until this passes.’ Olive and Blanche agreed. So the three of us struggled back to our berths. We used both hands to fend off the bulkheads as we worked our way down our staircase to the passenger quarters. When Olive and I reached the bottom, we caught our breath, hanging on to the staircase rail. Blanche wasn’t behind us.
‘Where does that woman go?’ Olive said.
‘Perhaps she’s meeting Tom somewhere,’ I answered.
‘That can’t be it. All the officers are on duty. He’ll be on deck.’
Ronan clattered down the stairs, holding on to the rail with both hands. He was soaking wet. ‘It’s impossible outside,’ he said. ‘We stood inside the door to the deck and still couldn’t light up. Master passed by and ordered all of us to stay in our berths until the storm passes.’
‘Wants us out of the way, and I’m happy to oblige him,’ said Gil, who’d followed Ronan down the stairs.
Another huge wave struck the ship. The four of us were flung up against the interior bulkhead, grabbing at anything we could to keep our footing. Only Gil managed to stay upright; he’d gotten hold of one of the bars riveted to the bulkhead and clung on to it with both hands.
‘Holy Mother of God,’ Ronan said. ‘It’s times like this I hope welding holds as well as rivets.’
The ship shifted back to a level pitch, but who knew how long that would last. Ronan helped Olive and me to our feet. ‘I wish I had two life jackets,’ Olive said. ‘I’d wrap another one around my waist.’
‘Speaking of two life jackets,’ Ronan said, ‘did one of you take the second one out of my berth?’
‘What are you talking about?’ Gil said.
‘I had a second one in my berth because it’s a double bunk. I went to get it in case someone else needed it, but it was gone.’
‘One of the stewards took it, I’ll bet,’ I said. ‘They’d know you had two; they might want some extras on hand in a storm like this.’
We felt the ship begin to pitch again and all headed straight to our berths.
‘Time to batten down the hatches,’ Olive shouted, as she closed her door.
I slammed my door and climbed into my bunk, hanging on to the grab bar welded to the head of my bunk. I wondered where on earth Blanche was. What a strange woman! But wherever she was hunkered down, she was going to have to fend for herself; it was all the rest of us could do to take care of ourselves.
EIGHT
No one went to dinner. The ship was pitching and rolling so much that it would be worth your life to try to walk around. The thought of eating was nauseating anyway. I kept my bucket in the bunk with me until I had nothing left in my stomach to barf up. Only by gripping the grab bar with both hands could I prevent myself from being thrown out of bed.
Waves and rain pounded my little porthole over and over again. The ship creaked until I was sure the rumors about her lousy construction were true and she was breaking apart. I could hear foghorns blaring as the ships in the convoy tried to keep from crashing into each other. I thought I could hear the Smit girls crying and occasionally an Irish curse from Ronan. I screamed myself several times, the loudest when I swear the ship was standing on end.
I heard the bells for the watch change at six in the morning and the sound of feet overhead. The storm was abating, thank God. My heart was pounding and I had sweated through my heavy clothing.
Before long I felt I could stand up, though I was dizzy when I did. I changed into dry clothes, shivering with cold. After buttoning up my peacoat, pulling on my watch cap and buckling my life preserver, I went to my door and opened it.
‘Is everyone OK?’ I called out. Ronan opened his door. Gil followed. He had a bruise forming on his forehead. ‘Are you all right?’ I asked.
‘Damn grab bar pulled loose from the bulkhead and I banged my head. I’m fine,’ he said.
I went down the hall, still bouncing off the bulkheads, and knocked on the Smits’ door.
Mrs Smit opened the door. ‘We are fine,’ she said in her heavy Dutch accent. ‘But hungry. The girls are getting dressed to go to breakfast.’ We were all hungry now that the ship was on a stable keel. Most of us had missed dinner.
Olive met me in the passageway. ‘Blanche still isn’t in her room, the dope. Where do you think she is?’ she said.
‘We’ll find out soon enough, I guess,’ I said. I was losing patience with Blanche. We all had enough to worry about without babysitting her.
Blanche was in the wardroom, calm as she could be, eating cornflakes and canned fruit from the cold breakfast that had been set out for us.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, before Olive and I had a chance to reprimand her. ‘I waited a second too long on deck and couldn’t make it to my berth without risking injury. I spent the storm in a utility closet – very uncomfortable it was, too. I hope you weren’t worried.’
‘Of course we were,’ I said, setting down my tray. Olive didn’t join us; she was too annoyed with Blanche. She took her tray and went to sit with the Smits, Ronan and Gil.
‘Well, don’t be. I can take care of myself.’
‘None of us can take care of ourselves completely. We all need help sometimes.’
She didn’t answer me. We finished breakfast in silence.
All hands were on deck. Seamen rushed through the breakfast line, ate standing up and returned to their posts as soon as they were done. Some were wearing soaked foul-weather gear, which must have meant they were on deck during the gale. I couldn’t imagine it.
All of us passengers trooped outside, swathed in the usual layers of sweaters, coats, scarves and mittens. The gale was well past us, but it was still freezing outside. Otherwise, the sea was calm and even the sun shone occasionally through white clouds. The smokers in our crowd lit their cigarettes immediately and Ronan lit his pipe while the Smits and I watched the chaos on deck.
Despite the frenetic preparations for the gale, ropes, cables, electrical cords, pieces of tarp and unidentifiable – to me, anyway – detritus littered the deck. Seamen pushed water off the side of the ship with wide brooms and mops. Others secured vehicle cables that had slipped off the cargo. Tom and the gunners removed the tarps protecting the artillery and checked the guns by firing them in short bursts.
We were shocked to see an ambulance hanging by one cable off the side of the ship. The master, Popeye and the chief engineer were talking about what to do while a group of seamen waited for instructions.
‘We should cut it loose, sir,’ the engineer said. ‘It’s just one vehicle.’
‘But it’s an ambulance, not just another jeep,’ Popeye said. ‘Our boys will need it.’
‘What’s likely to happen if we try to retrieve it?’ the master asked.
‘We could damage the ship,’ the engineer said. ‘Dragging it up the side of the ship over the rail could tear up the railing and part of the hull. It’s
not worth it.’
‘Can’t we use a winch?’
‘Not at sea. Not safely, anyway. Without the ship secured in a dock, the winch might not hold,’ he said.
‘All right,’ the master said. ‘Cut the ambulance loose, damn it.’
‘Master, sir,’ Tom said, appearing by the master’s side.
‘Yes?’
‘The commodore destroyer is signaling us. Permission to answer, sir.’
‘Granted,’ the master said. ‘How many signalmen do you have?’
‘Two, sir.’
‘Set them both up. One to communicate with the Evans, one to communicate with the convoy.’
‘Yes, sir.’
If there was still a convoy. Fortunately, we were still near the Evans, but I saw few of our companion ships nearby. They were bound to have been scattered by the storm. And I knew that radio contact would continue to be minimal. It made sense that German submarines, knowing that the convoy was disorganized, might be nearby, waiting for an opportunity to sink as many of our cargo ships as they could.
‘Master,’ a seaman said, approaching while the master watched a couple of seamen with blowtorches cut through the cable which dangled the ambulance over the edge of the ship.
‘Yes.’
‘The chief engineer needs you to see something.’
‘OK,’ the master said, turning to follow him. No one was paying a whit of attention to Olive or me, so we trailed behind him, curious. We came upon a group examining a rent in the deck aft, several feet long, big enough for us to gasp.
‘Goddamn welds!’ the master cursed, ignoring the rule against swearing in front of women. ‘Goddammit! How bad is it?’
‘We can repair it,’ the engineer said. ‘But if it keeps tearing …’ He shook his head.
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