time-honored remedies of the seafarer—rum and brandy.
The surf between the foundering ship and the beach remained reasonably calm, and there were ample facilities for safe evacuation—twenty lifeboats plus fifty-six life rafts. Nevertheless, there was a good deal of confusion and unavoidable jostling as the passengers donned life jackets, gathered together as many personal belongings as could be managed, and hastened to previously assigned emergency stations. The relative composure that had prevailed on board for ten days gave way, for awhile, to barely controlled frenzy. Transfer into the lifeboats was something of a scramble, and it was particularly difficult for some of the older passengers. In the end, there were a few bumps and bruises, but no incapacitating injuries. The crew, displaying the results of effective training, moved expeditiously.
“Sir, the first lifeboats have been launched.” The bosun’s mate spoke matter-of-factly to Captain Nordstrom.
“Thank you, Frederick. Keep me informed by the minute, if you please. We are gaining water all too rapidly.”
“Sir,” the younger man acknowledged, and with a crisp salute turned on his heels to return to his station.
Throughout the afternoon and into evening, boat after boat came and went from ship to shore and back again. First the people, then medical supplies. Next foodstuffs, some of which crew mem bers distributed to the passengers along with water rations that were stored in the lifeboats. Then came bedding, a welcome sight to those who were thinking ahead to the coming nights. As blankets were distributed, fatigue overcame anxiety, and the beach was soon covered with huddled forms, many of them turning restlessly in the fading light. The weather remained dry and mild, for which Nordstrom was grateful.
The captain considered trying to salvage some of the heavy motors and other mechanical apparatus, along with a supply of fuel oil, but decided against it on the grounds that the fuel would so quickly be exhausted that no good would be served. Tools and utensils, however, were carefully assembled under the vigilant direction of one of the engineering officers. The purser made sure to gather together vital company records, and more usefully, paper, writing utensils, and miscellaneous office supplies.
Having noticed that, where the shore party was being established, there was a river running into the sea, the captain decided against spending valuable time and energy transporting fresh water. He did, however, order the crew to gather together basic pots and pans and kitchen utensils, along with containers of dishes, glasses, and tableware.
Finally, with little time remaining, the small flotilla salvaged personal belongings that the passengers had been unable to take with them in the first crossing—clothing mostly, along with gadgets such as tape recorders, CD players, VCRs, and laptop computers—presently useless, yet icons of the life they were leaving behind and mirages of a life that they hoped might be restored.
Wilson Hardy and several of his colleagues saw to it that hundreds of technical books were saved. All the engineers had come laden with texts in their particular fields, along with journals and notebooks filled with information on current developments. Anyone who, in the midst of this chaos, could give thought to the eventual revival of civilization had to recognize that this literature was a vital supplement to the human talents among them. The written material was also a critical resource for teaching the young people how to carry on an engineering culture of high quality into future generations.
Along with the piles of engineering books, the boatmen transported several hundred volumes of all kinds from the ship’s library: Shakespeare and the Bible, classics, history, biography, encyclopedias, and popular fiction, too. The survivors would not want for spiritual nourishment and intellectual challenge to go along with the handbooks, manuals, and texts. A hundred-plus collection of children’s books was salvaged from the day care center. The kids on board were not to be forgotten.
Then, with an almost festive flourish, cases of wine were brought to shore. And in the very last boats to pull clear, the band’s musical instruments stood out in jaunty silhouette.
Shortly after the salvage operation was halted, the ship’s top decks disappeared under the water. The event was shockingly abrupt. One moment the ship’s superstructure was there, then suddenly it was gone. There was no dramatic plunge into the depths as in a movie rendition of the
Nordstrom personally took three round trips to and from the ship during the course of the day, finally coming to shore for good with the very last load of salvaged material. That first night he supervised the crew, who worked tirelessly.
By morning, a commissary had been established. Leaders of the kitchen staff began to organize food distribution. Provisions destined to spoil without refrigeration were prepared for early consumption. Nordstrom ordered a bucket brigade to be created, and they set to work bringing water from the nearby river. A team of environmental engineers performed some elementary tests to assure the water’s potability. A group of engine-room workers was delegated to gather firewood, of which fortunately there was plenty. All of it was wet and scattered, testimony to the forceful waves that had washed over the beach just a few days before, but once lit, it burned well enough.
How does one light a fire? Johan Nordstrom considered. This is often one of the key predicaments in classic stories of castaways. He remembered Jules Verne’s novel,
As the new day dawned, cooking fires started to glow and tureens of soup were set upon them to warm. Passengers gathered around to watch, and several spontaneously started to applaud captain and crew for their successful salvage operation. Suddenly it seemed the entire company was swept up in a mood of high-spirited defiance. Nordstrom felt, momentarily, like Robinson Crusoe, to whom shipwreck was a challenge through which he could demonstrate his resourcefulness, indeed, his humanity.
Once the kitchen operation was established, the captain asked the military engineers in the passenger group, led by General Allen White, director of civil works of the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, to establish sanitary facilities. Soon work was underway on the construction of rudimentary outhouses. One of the engineers suggested designing a gravity sewer system leading to an anaerobic digester which could produce methane gas for lighting, cooking, and an eventual source of power. The idea was commended, but put in the category of “future possibilities.”
The medical staff set aside a small area designated as a clinic. But there were hardly any patients. The twenty-five hundred people who had just undergone a considerable ordeal appeared to be amazingly healthy.
Food, water, and sanitation. The immediate needs of the survivors were attended to on the first day. There was no shelter, but the weather was wonderfully mild.
“Just like the Caribbean,” Wilson Hardy said to Nordstrom as the two men stood together at noon, surveying the swarm of activity along the beach. “My late wife and I went several times over the years: Jamaica, the Virgin Islands, Nevis. She wouldn’t have liked these clouds. But they’re good fortune for us, given the ozone problem.”
“It happens to be the traditional rainy season,” the captain said. He was impressed with Wilson Hardy, the organizer of the AAES cruise, a natural leader among the passengers. “We cannot rely on traditional weather patterns, however,” he went on. “We can only hope they prevail. But, of course, since we’re a long way from establishing a farming operation, favorable weather does not solve our major problem, which is food. Even if meals are restricted to minimal levels, our supplies are adequate only for about a month.”
“Is this what you want to talk to us about this evening?”
Nordstrom had called together a committee for a meeting before nightfall. Although he might have asserted
