Monday, September 23, 1940, 5:30 AM
A faint roll of thunder sounded in the distance. Ken slowly opened his eyes. It was grey and the rain fell lightly, but it was morning, and the storm had passed. He watched Auntie Mary uncurl herself from around the Fleming handles. He watched her gently shake Paul, and then smile in his face. He watched Ramjam walk among the lascars, shaking them, speaking to them quietly. They seemed a solid mass in the bottom of the boat. A mass of brown men in ragged clothing with no muscle or movement. He watched Officer Cooper at the far end of the boat, steering quietly.
Auntie Mary crawled over the lascars to the bow. “You all right, Ken?” she whispered. He nodded slowly. She moved along to Billy. “Billy?” Ken watched him nod. He watched Auntie Mary make her way to each of the boys. Everyone answered her in a quiet voice. Ken saw her look back at Officer Cooper and give him a small wave.
She was checking to make sure we’re all still alive, he thought with a shock.
Mr. Nagorski dipped his handkerchief in the sea and washed his face. He dipped it again, and wiped off his shoes. Then he made his way to the bow and together he and Auntie Mary started the new morning ritual—massaging feet. Ken liked it when Mr. Nagorski massaged him. His hands were soft, but sure. Ken felt a calmness pass into his body.
When the morning meal came around, no one felt like eating. No one even wanted the tinned milk. I’d trade all of the food on this boat for another dipper of water, Ken thought. He watched the lascars’ round eyes follow the dipper as it went around the boat. They’re thinking the same thing as I am. They want more. They want my water.
The day was long, quiet, and still. No one seemed to have the energy to talk. The routines continued. In Auntie Mary’s Bulldog story, Drummond walked in lush gardens in Devon, where there were flowers that Ken had never heard of and couldn’t picture.
As dusk fell, someone said, “Land,” but no one really believed it.
“Really, I think it is,” said Mr. Nagorski. “There. That big lump.” Ken sat up and strained his eyes in the direction he was pointing. It certainly looked like a crest of land off in the distance—a smudge on the horizon. But they had seen so many odd things. Billy was always seeing ships in the clouds on the horizon.
As darkness fell, Signal Mayhew thought he saw lights.
“It looks like anti-aircraft fire,” he offered.
“It could be,” said Officer Cooper, but he sounded doubtful. “We’ll try to hold our course and see if we can see it any better in the daylight.” All they could do was wait out the night huddled under the two sodden blankets.
All they could do was wait.
Tuesday, September 24, 1940, 5:30 AM
There was no island, no land, no faint smudge on the horizon. Nothing but bright sun and sparkling water as far as the eye could see.
Ken’s tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth. He wasn’t sure that even if he had some water he’d be able to swallow it. His eyes burned. It hurt less if he kept them closed. His lips were split and caked with salt.
It was very still in the boat. Ken could hear Cooper and Critchley synchronizing watches, but no one else was moving. The boat was just drifting. No one put the sail up. No one was bothering with the Fleming gears. As the sun rose, it began to burn Ken’s skin.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. One of the lascars began to peel himself away from the group, disturbing everyone as he started to get up. He seemed very awake all of the sudden.
Suddenly, he was screaming. Ken couldn’t understand any of the words, couldn’t make sense of the sounds. The man stood up and pulled off his long cotton shirt. He kept screaming as he stood on the gunwales of the boat and threw himself into the water.
Everyone sat stunned. Was he pretending to be Harry the Gunner? Was he making some kind of joke? Ken stared as the waves pushed the man up and down in the water, his arms flailing as he yelled incoherently.
And then he was gone.
It felt as though everyone in the boat was holding their breath as they waited for him to reappear.
But he didn’t. He was gone. As though he had never been there.
Suddenly, the other lascars all started screaming at once. They yelled in a mix of sounds, pointing at the ocean. Ramjam stood among them, speaking calmly, trying to sooth them. Their voices rose to a fevered pitch that sent currents of fear through Ken.
Officer Cooper stood up in the stern of the boat and all eyes turned to him. He spoke to everyone in a loud clear voice.
“The lascar lost his mind. Probably from drinking saltwater. There is nothing any of us could have done.”
Nothing they could have done. The man was alive, he lost his mind, now he was dead and gone. Vanished. As though he had never been there.
Would the salty ice that he’d sucked on the other day make him lose his mind too, Ken wondered? Would he jump into the water and disappear like the lascar?
The lascars chattered, clearly disturbed, as Ramjam translated Officer Cooper’s message. Ken realized that he hadn’t really thought much about the lascars in the last few days. He’d been more worried about himself. Now he looked at them and saw how thin they were. Their cotton uniforms were no protection again the cold. They must have been freezing during the hailstorm. Their bare feet were swollen and covered in sores.
Mr. Nagorski worked his way to the stern to talk with Purvis and Ramjam. Then the three of them negotiated their way to the bow, to the supply cupboard in the hold. Purvis pulled out a first-aid kit and a bottle of dark brown liquid. “Iodine,” said Purvis, handing the bottle to Mr. Nagorski.
“Tell them I am going to paint their feet,” Ken heard Mr. Nagorski say to Ramjam. “Tell them that this bottle of medicine will make them better. It will sting a little bit, but it will make them better. Tell them it will make them all better.”
Ramjam spoke calmly to the lascars. Their eyes were encrusted with salt, the same as Ken’s. Maybe worse. He saw them give small nods to Mr. Nagorski.
Mr. Nagorski sat down in the middle of the boat among the lascars. He uncorked the bottle and pulled out a wire handle with a bit of cotton at the end. He began to carefully paint one of the lascars’ feet with the brown liquid. The lascar winced, but held his foot steady. Everyone in the boat watched.
Slowly, a feeling of calm came over the boat as Mr. Nagorski painted thirty-three pairs of swollen and peeling feet. Ken knew how much he liked Mr. Nagorski massaging his feet. He hoped that the lascars felt the same way about getting their feet painted with medicine.
After the noon dipper of water, Billy leaned over to Auntie Mary. She was lying on the bottom of the boat.
“Auntie Mary. It’s time for another Bulldog Drummond story.”
“I’m not sure I can,” she said quietly.
“Please, Auntie Mary. We have to know where Bulldog is. We have to know what he is doing,” Billy pleaded.
Her voice was barely above a whisper, so all of the boys lay down close beside her. There were Nazi soldiers and spies. Bulldog Drummond faced certain death in a foreign prison. But sometimes Auntie Mary said things that didn’t make sense. There were whales and little girls who played the piano. One minute Bulldog Drummond was fighting a duel with an evil duke. The next he was conducting a symphony in Vienna. Ken just listened and followed along as best he could.
When she finished Billy asked quietly, “Auntie Mary, when is that other ship coming back to get us?”
The day was still. There was a soft breeze, but nothing to fill out the sail. The sound of water lapped gently again the boat. There was deep silence at the evening meal that night.
“Tomorrow,” began Steward Purvis. He cleared his throat. “Tomorrow I am going to have to halve your water ration. We want to make sure that we have enough to get to Ireland. So you’ll only have water with the evening meal tomorrow.”
Ken heard the words, but only barely understood them. There was no point in getting upset. There was nothing to be done.
The dark came on. A clear night, filled with stars. Just as he was drifting off to sleep, Ken heard a funny sound beside him. It started as a low rumbling, muttering sort of sound. He realized that it was Paul talking to himself. But suddenly Paul started screaming with a force that seemed beyond anything Ken could imagine.
“I’m dying! Get me out! Stop! Stop! NO, I CAN'T! PLEASE!
Father O’Sullivan crawled over Ken to get to Paul. He squeezed between them and tried to lie next to him on the floor of the boat.
“HELP! STOP! DON'T MAKE ME! I DON'T WANT TO DIE!”
The priest put his arms around Paul, trying to hold him, to speak gently in his ear. But Paul was thrashing, trying to get his pyjamas off. Auntie Mary lay down on the other side of Paul and together they tried to hold Paul down.
“Our Father, who art in Heaven,” the priest began.
“Lullabye, and goodnight,” Auntie Mary began to sing in a strained and wild voice.
“I DON'T WANT TO DIE!” Ken watched in horror as Paul lay screaming, kicking, and smashing at the priest and Auntie Mary. Had Paul lost his mind, like the lascar? Was he going to jump overboard, too?
Everyone in the boat was wide awake now. Mr. Nagorski made his way over, grabbed the blanket off Ken, and pushed it down over Paul, practically sitting on him. Auntie Mary began to massage his legs. “Soft and warm is your bed, Close your eyes and rest your head,” she sang. Paul screamed louder.
“I AM DYING! I NEED WATER!” Paul yelled. Ken felt a wave of fear and anger roll into the boat. He felt like he could taste it. His heart started to pound.
The lascars started talking. There was anger in their voices. “You must quiet the boy,” said Officer Cooper from the stern. “You must make him stop.”
“I DON'T WANT TO DIE!” screamed Paul.
“What’s this? What’s this?” Harry the Gunner stepped over the lascars and made his way from the stern to the bow. He stood over Paul. “What’s all this noise?”
“WATER! I NEED WATER! I'M THIRSTY!” screamed Paul.
“We’re all thirsty,” said Gunner Peard steadily. “We all want water. You’ll get your share tomorrow, same as everyone else,” he said loudly.
“MY FEET ARE COLD!!” screamed Paul.
Peard looked at Paul’s bare feet. “Nice way to treat a kid,” he said to Auntie Mary. “Give me your jacket,” he said to her.
Auntie Mary slowly took off her jacket and handed it to Peard. She sat there shivering in a thin, torn camisole. Peard wrapped her jacket around Paul’s feet. He took a piece of rope out of his pocket and looped it around Paul’s ankles, holding the jacket in place. “There,” he said, “you warm now?”
“MY FEET ARE COLD!!” Paul screamed.
“Critchley, toss me your coat,” Gunner Peard called back to the cadet in the stern.
“MY FEET ARE COLD!!” Paul screamed again.
Everyone watched as Cadet Critchley took off his coat and passed it up through the boat to Gunner Peard, who wrapped the coat around Paul’s feet and tied it on over Auntie Mary’s jacket.
“There. Any better?”
“MY FEET ARE COLD!!” said Paul.
“NO, THEY'RE NOT!” Peard sounded so angry that Ken thought he might hit Paul. Ken was terrified that Peard might suddenly start hitting all of them. He lay stiff as a board beside Paul, not daring to move a muscle.
“Your feet’re wrapped up properly now and they’re warm as toast.” Peard glared down into Paul’s face. “Now—are your feet warm?”
“MY FEET—!”
“BE QUIET!” Peard’s voice boomed out over the empty ocean. “Don’t let me hear another sound out of you till morning. No more of this yelling out.” Peard barked at Paul. “Now—are your feet warm?”
“… Yes …” said Paul.
“Then you’ll be all right till the morning.”
Peard grumbled as he made his way back to his spot in the stern. Ken felt Paul’s body begin to relax beside him. He felt his own breath rise and fall. He listened to the sound of the water smacking the side of the boat.
Wednesday, September 25, 1940
He was finding it difficult to tell the difference between being awake and being asleep. He knew if there were stars blinking, it must be night. And if the sun was blazing overhead, it must be day.
So it must be day. Morning, he judged. The boat rocked a bit and he heard a splash. Harry the Gunner, doing his regular morning swim around the boat. He heard him go around the boat twice. He felt him haul himself back into the boat. A mist of water sprayed him as the gunner shook the water off of himself, as he did every morning.
The boat bobbed along in the water, carried slowly by whatever current caught it. No one had worked the Fleming gears in two days. There was no wind for the sail.
“I’ve got a special treat for you today.” Ken was lying in the bottom of the boat. He heard Purvis speaking hoarsely from the stern. “A slice of canned pear.”
Ken sat up. Pieces of pear were handed around. Ken took his and put it in his mouth. He tried to chew. He watched Paul lying beside him spit his out. He made himself swallow.
The boat was very still. Ken was afraid that if he lay down again he might not get back up. He looked at Paul, his feet still wrapped from the night before. He’d heard Auntie Mary say he had trench foot. Ken didn’t know exactly what that was, but he gathered it was serious. His own feet were a soft, swollen, peeling mass. He wasn’t sure he could walk on them. Not that he had anywhere to walk.
He gazed dully out over the empty ocean. He looked up into the clear sky. He saw …
“A plane,” he croaked.
His breath came in short gasps. He tried to make himself heard.
“Plane.”
No one moved. Ken gathered every ounce of energy he had in his body. He stood up. The boat rocked gently. He felt as though everything was happening in slow motion. He spoke, in a loud, clear voice.
“Look. There. Is. A. Plane. LOOK!”
He pointed. Mr. Nagorski was beside him.
Ken’s breathing quickened. Time sped up, but still everyone moved in slow motion. He ripped off his shirt and started to wave it madly.
“It’s a Sunderland! A Sunderland Flying Ship! OVER HERE! OVER HERE!” Ken screamed.
He felt movement in the boat. The lascars turned their heads. They looked up. Officer Cooper stood up in the stern. Cadet Critchley and Signalman Mayhew stood up beside him. Everyone raised their heads. The boat seemed to hold its breath.
Suddenly, Ken could hear the buzz he’d been waiting for, the drone of an engine. Now all eyes were fixed on the sky. And the boat exploded in the noise as everyone started waving and screaming.
“STOP!” shouted Officer Cooper. “It might be a German plane. Everyone lie down! Lie low!”
It was a direct order from their captain. No one obeyed him. “Over here! Over here!” they shouted.
Ken waved his shirt and yelled, “It’s not German! It’s a Sunderland!” Ken knew that plane as well as he knew his own house.
The lascars ripped off their turbans and waved them in the air. The plane was definitely coming toward them. It had seen them.
Suddenly Signalman Mayhew yelled, “They signalled! They just signalled with their Aldis lamp. They are on our side!”
Mayhew grabbed two brightly coloured turbans from the lascars and began to respond to the plane with semaphore signals.
“C-I-T-Y-O-F-B-E-N-A-R-E-S,” said Mayhew as he signalled.
The plane was close enough that they could see the pilot in his helmet.
Billy and Derek began flashing a signal using the sun’s reflection off their empty milk tins. Three short, three long, three short. The only code they knew: S.O.S
“We’re gonna to fly home!” laughed Howard.
Another series of flashes from the Aldis lamp. Suddenly the plane was turning.
“NO!” Everyone in the boat screamed.
“SILENCE!” shouted Officer Cooper. He turned to Mayhew. “What did they say?”
“They can’t land, sir. The waves are too rough. But they’ve signalled ahead.” Mayhew’s voice shook as he turned to speak to everyone in the boat. “They’re sending another plane. It will be here soon.”
The silence was deep and tense.
I don’t think I can stand it if the other plane doesn’t come, thought Ken. I think I will have to jump into the sea, just like that lascar.
They waited.
And waited.
Barely breathing. Watching the sky with anticipation.
“There! There it is!” Ken shouted. Far in the distance he could see a spot getting larger, coming straight at them.
The plane circled around them. Ken waved to the co-pilot, who was leaning out of the window taking a photograph. Flashes of light sent messages. Mayhew translated.
“They’re saying that there are too many of us to take in the plane,” said Mayhew. “They’re sending a ship. A destroyer. It is two hours away. They’ll guide it to us.”
Suddenly, a huge parcel dropped from the plane. It was attached to a life jacket and it dropped right beside the lifeboat. Harry the Gunner dove into the water to bring it over to the side, as the plane flew off.
Purvis and Mayhew lifted the package into the boat and opened it. Canned peaches and pears, soups, fish, beans in tomato sauce—hot in a thermos!
“It’s a feast!” cried Fred. Billy, Derek, and Howard were laughing hysterically. The boat felt electrified.
“But there’s no extra water. So you will only get the usual dipperful,” said Purvis. “There will be lots of water once we are rescued. But we have no guarantee of how long that will be.”
Ken didn’t care. He greedily drank all of the juice from a can of pears. As far as he was concerned someone else could have the pears. All he wanted was the juice.
Mayhew pulled out a mouth organ and started to play “Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag.” Everyone, even the lascars, joined in on “Smile, smile, smile.” Ken felt giddy. A small part of him wondered if this was real. But he smiled and sang and pushed away his fear.
What’s the use of worrying?
It never was worthwhile.
So, pack up your troubles in your old kit bag,
And smile, smile, smile.
When they finally saw the ship in the distance, Purvis gave everyone a last dipper of water. Before they knew it, the ship was upon them. It was barrelling toward them and waves began to rock the lifeboat wildly from side to side.
Mayhew quickly signalled. “I am asking them to slow down and make the water quiet. To let us come to them, rather than them trying to come to us,” he said to Officer Cooper. “We don’t want to get swamped and drown now!” he said.
Ken watched the destroyer slow and move in a circular path, well away from the lifeboat. Cadet Critchley, Harry the Gunner, Mr. Nagorski, and Ramjam worked the Fleming gears while Officer Cooper steered the lifeboat to the side of the ship. Ken looked up at the deck of the destroyer. It was filled with crewmen all waving and laughing and cheering.
Ken felt a moment of panic. The ship was enormous. After being alone on the ocean for so long, his perspective had changed entirely. It was as though a whole city had suddenly materialized out of thin air. The Benares was this big, he thought. On the side of the ship was painted the name HMS Anthony.
“Say a prayer of thanks to St. Anthony,” said Father O’Sullivan, “The patron saint of lost things.”
The crew of the Anthony dropped rope ladders over the side, down to the lifeboat. Ken was completely overwhelmed. All of this sound, all of this activity. He had no idea what he was supposed to do. He sat inert, watching four sailors climb from the deck down the ladders to the lifeboat. They, too, seemed suddenly unsure. They couldn’t fit in the lifeboat. There was no place for them to stand, other than on the gunwales. “You’ve been in this boat for eight days?” They stared.
“Seven days, nineteen hours.” said Officer Cooper. “Thank you for rescuing us.”
Wednesday, September 25, 1940, 4:30 PM
Strong arms lifted Ken into a large, heavy net. The net was hoisted up and onto the deck of the ship. I’m just like a large fish, thought Ken. Behind him he could hear Paul screaming, “Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me out here!”
When Ken arrived on deck, he tried to walk, but he felt searing pain shoot through his body and he screamed as he collapsed. A sailor lifted him over his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Harry the Gunner climb up the rope ladder and leap onto the deck.
Ken was taken into a cabin. The sailor gently took off his salt-encrusted clothes, and put him into a clean sailor’s uniform. It was miles too big, but it felt wonderful. Then he was carried into the officer’s mess and given a steaming mug of tea, warm milk, and thin porridge. All of the boys were there, except Paul. He’d been taken straight to the infirmary.
A group of sailors sat around the boys, smiling from ear to ear.
“Sir,” Ken said to the closest, as he sipped his delicious sweet tea. “Sir, are you taking us to Canada now?”
“No, son,” said the sailor, looking at Ken very seriously, “we are taking you home. You are going home.”