in a few minutes, I'd stake my life on it. And I left it at that, I wouldn't budge.
There is something strange about me in this respect. I can never really believe in danger, that something can be final, fatal.
So there we were; at 2:30 p.m. the upper deck did give way, and we began burning in earnest. Imagine our little ship, if you will, as it kept burning and still pushing ahead in the pitch-black night. And the engine still working, doggedly, faithfully, like the heart of a dying man, holding out to the bitter end. Ah, what a splendid little engine it was, what a fine boat.... I thought I should cry or try saving it with my bare hand, or plunge into the flames and howl and rave until it's over.
"Now he can tap away," I heard the first officer say to someone, after I finally relented and relayed a series of distress signals, and gave orders to sound the alarm.
He wasn't a disrespectful chap, my officer, but he was tired— the poor man staggered about like a drunkard. I myself was hardly conscious of fatigue, though God knows, I must have been tired, too—as tired as if I had caroused for three days nonstop. But as I say, I didn't feel it, only my eyes burned and my throat filled up with bitter smoke. I drank glass after glass of lemon squash in my cabin where I escaped, to do some desperate figuring. According to my calculations, if we held out for four more hours, or even three, I could sail into a harbor safely, as I had into Trieste years ago, aboard the Guidetta.
We are sixty miles off the Alexandria coast, I kept fretting, there have to be boats around. But no, there was nothing. Just before it got dark, we did spot a Czech steamer heading in the same direction we were, but then we lost her.. . . There we were, close to the desolate coast, with no island, no rescue station, nothing to pin our hopes on.
At that moment I swore on the Virgin Mary that I would never again take charge of a fancy ship like this (provided we come out of it alive). It just wasn't for me. I'll go back to my old ships, my old routes—to hell with what my wife will say.
Oh, how I hated her then . . .
At 3:00 a.m. a morbid-looking Spanish passenger, a certain Don Pepe, shot himself in his cabin. Luckily, no one besides me found out. His younger brother, Don Julio, a freeloader, if there ever was one, came over and asked me to support his claim that as next of kin he was entitled to all his brother's worldly possessions. Sure, I said; why not?
And that's when treacherous gusts began to rock the boat. I was desperate again. Should I stop the engines? I knew full well that only speed could save us. I walked into the lounge and told the passengers to start boarding the lifeboats. I didn't get very far. They were ready to tear me to pieces.
"What kind of ship is this? What kind of captain?" I heard from all sides. "Why didn't you radio for help earlier?" a hulking, wild-eyed young man demanded. Clutching a pale-faced wisp of a girl under his arm like a pitiful bundle, he came menacingly close. "We can all croak for all you care," he barked, his lips quivering with rage.
I had no choice; I took out my pistol.
And immediately had second thoughts. They quieted down all right, but remained hostile, ready to pounce. I took advantage of the tension, and for once seized the right psychological moment. I threw away the pistol and addressed the crowd:
"Listen, everyone: A trap door just cut my arm, I am covered with blood. My jacket burned through and with it pieces of my flesh. So you can see, I am doing my best. But you must help, too. If you go haywire, you put me in a foul mood, and that won't do you any good, believe me. Without me you don't have a ghost of a chance. But if you stick by me, I will save you even if it kills me.. . . Look at me, people: Do I look like the kind of man who doesn't keep his word?" And more of the same. I am too embarrassed to repeat all of it, it was such rubbish. But the effect was stunning. The mood changed;
There is something strange about me in this respect. I can never really believe in danger, that something can be final, fatal.
So there we were; at 2:30 p.m. the upper deck did give way, and we began burning in earnest. Imagine our little ship, if you will, as it kept burning and still pushing ahead in the pitch-black night. And the engine still working, doggedly, faithfully, like the heart of a dying man, holding out to the bitter end. Ah, what a splendid little engine it was, what a fine boat.... I thought I should cry or try saving it with my bare hand, or plunge into the flames and howl and rave until it's over.
"Now he can tap away," I heard the first officer say to someone, after I finally relented and relayed a series of distress signals, and gave orders to sound the alarm.
He wasn't a disrespectful chap, my officer, but he was tired— the poor man staggered about like a drunkard. I myself was hardly conscious of fatigue, though God knows, I must have been tired, too—as tired as if I had caroused for three days nonstop. But as I say, I didn't feel it, only my eyes burned and my throat filled up with bitter smoke. I drank glass after glass of lemon squash in my cabin where I escaped, to do some desperate figuring. According to my calculations, if we held out for four more hours, or even three, I could sail into a harbor safely, as I had into Trieste years ago, aboard the Guidetta.
We are sixty miles off the Alexandria coast, I kept fretting, there have to be boats around. But no, there was nothing. Just before it got dark, we did spot a Czech steamer heading in the same direction we were, but then we lost her.. . . There we were, close to the desolate coast, with no island, no rescue station, nothing to pin our hopes on.
At that moment I swore on the Virgin Mary that I would never again take charge of a fancy ship like this (provided we come out of it alive). It just wasn't for me. I'll go back to my old ships, my old routes—to hell with what my wife will say.
Oh, how I hated her then . . .
At 3:00 a.m. a morbid-looking Spanish passenger, a certain Don Pepe, shot himself in his cabin. Luckily, no one besides me found out. His younger brother, Don Julio, a freeloader, if there ever was one, came over and asked me to support his claim that as next of kin he was entitled to all his brother's worldly possessions. Sure, I said; why not?
And that's when treacherous gusts began to rock the boat. I was desperate again. Should I stop the engines? I knew full well that only speed could save us. I walked into the lounge and told the passengers to start boarding the lifeboats. I didn't get very far. They were ready to tear me to pieces.
"What kind of ship is this? What kind of captain?" I heard from all sides. "Why didn't you radio for help earlier?" a hulking, wild-eyed young man demanded. Clutching a pale-faced wisp of a girl under his arm like a pitiful bundle, he came menacingly close. "We can all croak for all you care," he barked, his lips quivering with rage.
I had no choice; I took out my pistol.
And immediately had second thoughts. They quieted down all right, but remained hostile, ready to pounce. I took advantage of the tension, and for once seized the right psychological moment. I threw away the pistol and addressed the crowd:
"Listen, everyone: A trap door just cut my arm, I am covered with blood. My jacket burned through and with it pieces of my flesh. So you can see, I am doing my best. But you must help, too. If you go haywire, you put me in a foul mood, and that won't do you any good, believe me. Without me you don't have a ghost of a chance. But if you stick by me, I will save you even if it kills me.. . . Look at me, people: Do I look like the kind of man who doesn't keep his word?" And more of the same. I am too embarrassed to repeat all of it, it was such rubbish. But the effect was stunning. The mood changed;
Similar Books
