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was an appalling sight. All the bridge was gone, the whole superstructur e a
twisted heap of blackened, tortured metal, with here and there charred f
ragments of wood still clinging like rags of flesh to a buried carcass. The
timbers of the hatch covers were scorched but not consumed. The cargo booms,
too, though scorched, were still identifiable in the contorted wreckage of the
masts. The only structure to escape the fire was the deck housing on the poop
aft and as I stood there the sound of Eastern music came faint on the still
morning air.
At first I refused to believe it. I was afraid it was in my head, for it was a
singing sound - a siren song in the midst of desolation. The minutes passed a
nd I stood rooted. But still that music floated in the stillness, something li
ve and real and unbelievable. It was pipes and drums and a girl's voice singin
g sweetly, and all so soft, so insubstantial, so impossible in the midst of ch
aos and ruin.
It was the radio, of course. Some poor devil had been listening in as the ligh
tning struck, one of the lascar crew in the quarters aft, and he had run, leav
ing his little portable radio still switched on: I turned, dejected, but still
glad of the sound, and as I turned to find a means of reaching the barge's de
ck, I caught a glimpse of something moving, and then a voice called, giving an
order. He was on the poop, looking over the stern, a man in a rag of a shirt
and clean white trousers neatly creased, all the hair scorched ion
from his head. It was the second officer - Lennie - and before I knew it I w
as standing on the deck of the barge, scrambling to the bows and shouting to
him. 'Lennie! Lennie!'
He turned and I can still see him, standing shocked and unbelieving as thou gh
he thought I were a ghost. And then he called back, dived limping to the deck
house, and a moment later half a dozen lascars like demon beggars dre ssed in
rags and black as sweeps came slowly, wearily along the deck to pul l on the
bow line and bring the barge alongside.
'I didn't know,' Lennie said as they hauled me up at then end of a rope to
what had once been a white scrubbed deck of laid pine and was now black cha
rcoal with the plates all showing, buckled by the heat. 'Nobody knew you we re
there.' And then Reece arrived and Blake, their eyes red-rimmed and sunk deep
in their sockets, all moving and speaking slow with the dazed look of men who
have gazed into the mouth of hell and do not yet believe that they are still
alive.
'What happened?' I asked. 'Why is the ship aground?' But it was no good ask
ing questions of men so tired they could hardly stand.'In any case, they di
dn't know, they barely cared. They'd fought a fire all night and somehow th ey
had won. That was enough - for the moment.
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The crew's galley was still functioning. It produced breakfast and afterwar ds
we cleaned ourselves up, got some sort of an awning rigged and slept, hu ddled
together right at the stern. Three men had died, including the third officer,
Cummins, and there were four seriously injured. Most of the rest w ere
suffering from burns and there were few whose hair hadn't been scorched
, some with no eyebrows, no eyelashes even; all were in a state of shock.
There was no breeze that day and by noon the heat was intense. Sleep was no
longer possible and Reece called a conference. He had had another bit of awn
ing rigged just for'ard of the deck house. From this position we all had a c
lear view of the length of the ship. She was in a desperate state. Above dec
ks there was nothing left, just a contorted heap of blackened steel. Below d
ecks the situation was better. The engine-room had suffered some damage due
to falling debris, but on a cursory inspection Robbins thought it largely su
perficial. 'We're fortunate that this is an old ship. If she'd been a motor
vessel the blazing debris from the deck above might have smashed the fuel li
nes, then the whole ship would have gone up.' He reckoned a day's work might
see the main engines functioning, thought it was impossible to say until th ey
were on test whether there had been any heat distortion. The electrical i
nstallation, however, was all burned out and beyond repair.
There was no question of taking to the boats. The quartermaster had saved o ne
of the ship's lifeboats by having it cut from its davits and moored aste rn
just after the bridge caught fire, but the rest were gone. The two landi ng
craft had been swamped and had snapped their mooring lines and sunk. Onl y the
barge would accommodate all the crew and that had no means of propuls ion. The
question of search and rescue was discussed, but nobody was optimi stic. There
was no arrangement for regular wireless reports to head office and it might be
a week before they tried to contact us. And then there was the question of our
position. Reece admitted that his estimate of it might be anything up to 200
miles out, 'Navigating blind like that - only one man knowing where we were .
. .' His voice was high-pitched, querulous, 'I sho uld never have agreed to
it.'
'Well, you did,' Blake snapped. 'So it's no good bellyaching about it.'
But Reece seemed driven now by a compulsion for self-justification. 'It's Str
ode's fault. All that secrecy - I knew it was a mistake and now we may have t
o pay for it with our lives.'
'It's not only us.' I said. 'There's Strode and the men with him.' My head hur
t and I was in no mood to care about his susceptibility to criticism. 'You mad
e no attempt to get them off . . .'
'There wasn't time, man.' He stared at me, pale and angry. A little frighten
ed, I thought, and his boyish good looks marred now, for his hair was burned
short and his eyebrows gone. 'You don't seem to realise ... we were draggin
g.'
'The wind was from the east,' I said. 'It was blowing off the island.'
'We were dragging, I tell you. Cummins was on anchor watch and when he cal led
me we were being blown downwind fast. The fact that we were under the lee of
the island didn't mean a bloody thing. Small, intense storms like t hat - down
here on the equator - they're circular, you see. Once you're th
rough the eye of it, then the wind comes in from the opposite direction.'
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There was something more to it than resentment of my criticism. He was try ing
to convince himself that what he'd done was right. 'When that happened we'd
piled up on that damned island.'
'I was out in that sea,' I told him. 'You could have sent one of the landing
craft in.' I was thinking of what Peter must be feeling now, the ship gone and
himself and the sixteen men with him marooned there with supplies for le ss
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