the sea was calm in the harbor and rough outside. They would know the
weather soon enough.
Martin and Bervick walked in together.
“Did you get home all right?” Martin asked.
“It looks like it, doesn’t it?” Evans spoke sharply. He did not like
to be thought a heavy drinker. He noticed Martin was scowling. Evans,
deciding that he had spoken too roughly, added, “Yes, the Captain took
the Chief and me home. It was some fracas.”
Duval laughed loudly. “It sure was! We almost ended up in the ditch a
couple times.”
“The perils of drink,” murmured Martin, his mouth full.
“Not much else to do in these islands,” said Evans. He did not really
hate the islands, though. They had been home to him before the war
when he had fished in these waters. He could not admit to the others,
however, that he liked the Aleutians.
“I’ve got a bad egg,” said Bervick. “I guess this was a pre-war egg.”
He pushed the plate away from him. “I think I’ll go get the eight
o’clock watch up.” He left.
“It takes one to know one,” said the Chief, referring back to the eggs.
They ate in silence. The two men on watch entered yawning. They sat
down at the other table and started their breakfast. Evans finished his
own quickly.
A few minutes before eight, a jeep drove down the dock and stopped at
the ship. The three passengers and the Captain climbed out and unloaded
their baggage on the dock.
Evans went out on deck. “Good morning,” he said.
“It’s a hell of a morning,” said the Captain. The passengers stood
about sheep-like, waiting for guidance. Evans shouted to one of the
deckhands inside. Together they got the baggage aboard. Then the
passengers and the Captain climbed onto the deck.
The Chaplain hoped that he would not be sick. They all said they
hoped they would not be sick. The Major remarked that he had never
been seasick in his life; he added, however, that there was a first
time for everything. Evans guided them to the dining salon and Martin
volunteered to show them to their staterooms. Evans and the Captain
went back on deck.
“What’s the new report on the outside?” Evans asked.
“According to the man over at Weather and the Navy people, you’ll have
a ten-foot sea and a thirty-mile wind in gusts from the southwest.
That’s as far as the Big Harbor. From there you’ll have to get another
forecast.”
“Pretty good news. No planes flying yet?”
“No, no planes. Bad weather beyond the Big Harbor, too.” The Captain
reached in the coat of his parka and brought out a brown envelope.
“Here’s your clearance. You can take her away now. Don’t spend too much
time at Arunga. I don’t go for none of that, you know.”
Evans smiled, “I know,” he said. “We’ll be back in a week.”
“Fine. Give my love to the Big Harbor girls.”
“I sure will.”
“Good sailing then.” The Captain climbed back on the dock. He stood
beside his jeep and waited for them to cast off. Several longshoremen
stood by their lines on the dock. The Major and the Chaplain came out
to watch and Evans went to the wheelhouse. Martin and Bervick were
waiting for him there.
“Cast the bow and spring lines off first. We’ll drift out, then let
go the stern.” He rang the telegraph to the engine room, setting the
markers at Stand By. A minute later the engine room rang back. Rather
quick for the Chief, he thought. Martin and Bervick went below. Evans
could see them, with two deckhands, moving about on deck.
He opened one of the wheelhouse windows. “Let her go,” he shouted.
Quickly they began to pull in the lines. The bow swung out from the
dock.
“Let the stern go, Bervick,” he shouted again from the window. A second
later they were free of the dock. Evans rang both engines Slow Ahead.
Cautiously he maneuvered the ship away from the dock. Then he rang Full
Ahead. He could feel the engines vibrate as the ship shot ahead. She
would do twelve knots easily.
Martin came up to the wheelhouse. His face was flushed from the wind
and cold and his nose was running. He sniffed as he spoke.
“All squared away. Anything you want done?”
“Nothing I can think of.” Evans kept his eyes fixed on the nets that
guarded the narrow neck of the harbor a mile away. He steered with the
small electrical steering gear. He preferred it to the larger wooden
wheel which he insisted that his crew use: it was more seaman-like.
“Guess I’ll go to bed then,” said Martin, and he went into his cabin.
His watch did not begin until noon.
The door opened again and one of the men on Evans’ watch entered. He
took the wheel and Evans gave him the course from memory. He knew the
courses to the Big Harbor by heart.
Ahead he could see the entrance to the nets. He rang Slow Speed as they
went through them. The Navy detachment on the near-by point always
watched the boats as they passed through, making sure that they were at
least at half speed.
Five minutes later they were abeam Andrefski point. The sky was still
gray and he could feel the swell of the waves increase beneath them. In
a few minutes he would be able to tell how rough the trip would be. He
rang Full Speed again.
Bervick came into the wheelhouse. “How’s it look to you?” he asked.
“Fair so far,” answered Evans. They both looked through the windows
at the waves crashing whitely on the black rocks of the point. A haze
hung in the air and the wind was not strong or direct. Then they swung
around the point and into the open sea. The ship rocked back and forth
as she dipped between the swells.
“Just about a ten-foot sea,” remarked Bervick.
Evans nodded. “Looks like the forecast is going to be right. Sea
striking on the port bow but it doesn’t seem so bad. In fact it’s
pretty good.”
“It’ll be a good trip.” Bervick went into his cabin. Evans stood by the
window and watched the bare sharp mountains of the island move slowly
by.
“Rather rough, isn’t it?”
Evans looked around and saw the Major standing beside him. The Major
was holding onto the wooden railing beneath the window.
“A little bit. We’ll make good time, though.”
“That’s important.” The Major looked old this morning, Evans thought.
His sallow face showed the signs of heavy drinking. He would probably
be sick and say that he had indigestion.
The Major squinted at the mountains. “How far off shore are we?” he
asked.
“About two miles. That’s our usual running distance.”
“It looks closer than that.” He contemplated the shifting water and the
stone hills and the steel color of the birdless sky. “It looks very
close.”
“It does,” said Evans. The ship was dipping now from sea-valley to
sea-mountain with monotonous regularity. Evans was exhilarated by the
ship’s motion. He felt at home now. This was where he belonged. He
began to whistle.
The Major laughed. “I thought that was bad luck--for old mariners to
whistle in the wheelhouse.”
Evans smiled. “I’m not superstitious.”
“Just an old custom, I suppose. Let’s hope there’s nothing to it.”
“There isn’t.”
They were approaching another cape and Evans gave the man at the wheel
a new course.
“Have you been in this business long, Mr Evans?”
“Been at sea long? Well, most of my life, since I was sixteen.”
“Really? It must be fascinating.” The Major spoke without conviction.
“Yes, it’s been a pretty good deal. Sometimes, though, I wish I’d gone
to West Point.” On an impulse he added this, knowing that it would
interest the older man. It did.
“Did you have the opportunity?” he asked.
“In a way. You see the Congressman from our district was a good friend
of my uncle who was married to my mother’s sister, and I think he could
have swung it. I know I used to think about it, but I went to sea
instead.”
“You made a great mistake,” said the Major sadly, “a very great
mistake.” He looked out the window as if to behold the proof of the
mistake in the rolling sea. Mechanically he made his profile appear
hawk-like and military ... like Wellington. Evans smiled to himself. He
had seen a little of the regular army people and he thought them all
alike. To parade around in uniform and live on an uncomfortable army
post, to play poker and gossip; that was all of the world to them, he
thought. The life wasn’t bad, of course, but one was not one’s own boss
and there was not, naturally, the sea. The life seemed dull to him.
“I suppose it was a mistake,” said Evans, knowing it was not.
The Major sighed, “I can’t say that I care very much for the water.”
His face was drawn and tired and there were grayish pouches under his
eyes.
“It’s something you have to have in you, I guess. With me it was being
a sailor or a farmer. Farming was hard work and so I got to be a
sailor.”
“Sometimes one shouldn’t run away from the hard things,” said Major
Barkison tightly. “The easy way is not always the best way,” he added
with infinite wisdom.
“I guess you’re right at that.”
“Well, I think I shall go downstairs now.” The Major walked unsteadily
across the rocking wheelhouse deck. He opened the door and went below.
“Quite a guy, the Major,” the man at the wheel remarked.
“Yes, he seems to be O.K. At least he’s not chicken like some of the
ones we’ve carried.”
“No, he seems to be a good guy.”
Evans looked out the window. The weather was consistent. The wind was
blowing around twenty miles an hour. There was a thick snow flurry a
few miles ahead. He would go by the clock through the snow.
The wheelhouse was quiet. From other parts of the ship he could hear
voices, and from the galley came the occasional sounds of breaking
china.
The clock struck three bells. Snow began to splatter on the window
glass and whiten the decks. He could see only a few yards ahead. The
sea had gotten no rougher, though, and the wind was dying down. He
looked out into the whiteness and thought of nothing.
Martin came out of his cabin. “How’s it going?” he asked.
“Pretty good. Some snow just came up. We’ll be off Point Kada in five
minutes.”
“That’s good time. Want me to take over for a while?”
Evans was surprised. Martin usually slept until his watch began at
noon. It was unusual for him to be helpful. “Sure. Fine. Thanks,” he
said, and he went below.
The cook was swearing at the stove. The pots slid dangerously back and
forth over the stove. Evans passed quickly through the galley.
In the salon the Chaplain and the young Lieutenant sat. There was an
open book on the Chaplain’s lap, but he did not seem to have been
reading. He appeared ill. Lieutenant Hodges on the other hand was
enjoying himself. He was watching the waves hit against the stern.
The salon was lighted by one electric bulb. Everything looked shapeless
in the sickly light: the rack where the tattered library of the ship
was kept, the wooden chairs piled on the two tables, the two men
sitting in one corner, all this looked gloomy and strange to him. He
flipped on another light and the place became cheerful.
“Quite unpleasant, isn’t this?” Chaplain O’Mahoney remarked. He closed
the book on his lap.
“Beginning to feel it?”
“Oh my no, certainly not. I’ve been sitting here reading. I feel very
well.”
“Where’s the Major?”
Lieutenant Hodges answered, “He’s asleep in his stateroom. I think he’s
pretty tired after last night.”
“So I gather. You went home early, didn’t you, Chaplain?”
“Yes, yes, I had to get my eight hours, you know,” he said lightly. “I
had so many things to do before our departure.”
Evans turned toward the galley. “Hey, Smitty!” he shouted. “When you
going to have chow?”
“In about a hour.”
“See you then.” Evans nodded to the two men and went back to the
wheelhouse. Martin was looking out the window and singing softly to
himself. Evans stood beside him. They watched the snow swirling over
the water; they watched for signs of change. That’s all this business
was, thought Evans. Watching the sea and guessing what it might do
next. The mist was thinning, he noticed. He could make out a familiar
cape ahead of them. They were on course.
“How’s your buddy, the Major?” asked Martin.
“He’s in his sack.”
“I thought he was up here for a while.”
“He was.”
“I guess you’ll make Chief Warrant now.”
Evans flushed, “That’s your department, polishing the brass.”
“You do it so much better.” Martin chuckled. Evans bit his lip. He knew
that Martin often tried to irritate him and he did not like it when
he succeeded. He turned away from him. The man at the wheel had been
listening and was grinning.
Evans looked at the compass without seeing the numbers. “Keep to your
course.”
“But I am on course,” the man said righteously.
Evans grunted. Martin walked away from the window and back into his
cabin. Evans cursed slightly. Then, relieved, he stood, looking out the
port window, his arms and legs braced as the ship plunged from wave to
wave, slanting the wheelhouse deck.
At five bells Smitty shouted that chow was ready.
Evans went into the mates’ cabin. Both were asleep. He shook Bervick,
who was in the top bunk.
“Lunch. You’d better get up.” Bervick groaned and Martin rolled out of
the lower bunk.
“You take over,” Evans said, speaking to Martin. “You can eat when I
get back. I’ll take part of your watch for you.” He went below.
The crew was using the galley table. The officers and passengers used
one of the salon tables. The three passengers were walking about
aimlessly.
“All ready for some of our wonderful hash?” Evans spoke the words
gaily, but even to his own ears they sounded flat. He did not have
Martin’s light touch with words.
“I feel quite hungry,” said the Major, rubbing his hands together
briskly.
“I seem to have no appetite,” said the Chaplain sadly. They sat down at
the table. The Major on Evans’ right, the Chaplain on his left. Hodges
sat next to Duval, who had come up from the engine room.
“Engines running smoothly, Chief?” Evans asked.
Duval beamed, “They’ve never been better. Were making good time.”
“Good.” Evans helped himself to the hash. It looked pale and
unnourishing. The Major frowned.
“This is that new canned ration, isn’t it?”
“Yes. We have this when were traveling. It’s usually too rough to have
anything else fixed.”
“I see.” The Major took some. The Chaplain decided that he was not
hungry at all.
“You had better have some crackers,” Evans remarked. The Chaplain
refused with a weary smile.
There was little conversation. Bervick and the Chief disagreed on the
expected time of arrival. For a moment Evans was afraid they would
begin an involved argument. Luckily they had enough sense not to. Evans
wondered why people could never get along with each other. Of course
living in too close quarters for a long time had a lot to do with it.
On these boats people saw too much of one another.
After lunch Evans went back to the wheelhouse. Silently he relieved
Martin who went below. There was another snow flurry ahead. It looked
as if the rest of the trip would be by the clock. Evans watched the
water and waited for the snow to come.
At noon Martin returned.
“Where are we?” he asked.
Evans studied the pale snow-blurred coast. “Almost abeam Crown rock.
We’ll be in the Big Harbor in about two hours. Don’t get any closer to
shore than we are and wake me up when you think you’re near the nets.”
“O.K.” Martin checked the compass and the logbook and then he stood by
the window and looked out. Evans went into his cabin and stretched out
on his bunk. The rocking of the boat he found soothing. He slept.
* * * * *
“We’re about two miles from the nets,” said Martin, when Evans came
back into the wheelhouse. Outside the snow was thick and they could see
nothing but a blinding whiteness. The outline of the shore was gone.
Evans checked the time and the chart. He figured that they were less
than two miles from the entrance buoy. In another ten minutes they
should be able to see the nets. He rang Stand By. Martin went below
and Evans waited for a thinning of the snow.
At last it came. Dimly he could see the great black mass of mountain
that marked the entrance to the Big Harbor. He felt much better seeing
this. He had never lost a ship in the fog or snow, but he knew that far
better sailors than he had gone on the rocks in similar weather.
He directed the man at the wheel to pull in closer to shore. Just ahead
of him, only somewhat hazed by the thinning snow, he could make out a
red buoy off his starboard bow. Beyond this buoy were the nets. He rang
for Half Speed. On the deck below he could see the Major standing in
the wind. The Major thought Evans looked quite nautical, as he gazed
sternly into the snow. Spray splashing over the bow sent him quickly to
cover.
At Slow Speed, Evans glided the ship between the nets. For five minutes
they vibrated slowly ahead. Then, in the near distance, he suddenly saw
the spires of the old Russian church, rising above the native village.
To the right of the village were the docks. Evans took the wheel
himself and the ship moved slowly around the harbor’s only reef. With
a quick spin of the wheel Evans took the ship in closer to shore. The
water was deep up to within a few feet of the black abbreviated beach.
A hundred yards ahead of them were the docks.
Two deckhands stood on the bow and attached heaving lines to the bow
and spring lines. Martin stood by the anchor winch, his eyes on the
dock where they would tie up. No other ships were on the face of this
dock. They would have it to themselves.
Evans stopped both engines. They drifted ahead. The wind was off their
port bow, which was good. He pointed the bow toward the center of the
dock and then he waited.
Ten feet from the dock he began to swing the bow away from shore. He
swore loudly as the ship turned too slowly. He had mistimed the speed.
Quickly he gave the off shore engine Slow Astern. The bow pulled out
more quickly, while the stern swung in. They hit lightly against the
pilings. A man on shore had already taken their spring line. Evans
stopped the off shore engine and waited to see if the lines were under
control. They were and he rang off the engine room. The landing had
been good. His heart was fluttering, he noticed, and the sweat trickled
down his left side. These landings were a strain.
ii
Martin was in his bunk; handling the lines had tired him. His eyes were
shut but he was not asleep. He listened to Bervick moving about the
cabin. “Going up town?” he asked.
“That’s right.” Bervick adjusted his cap.
“You going to see Olga?”
“I might. Haven’t had much to do with her lately.”
“That’s right, you haven’t.”
Bervick pulled on his parka. Thinking of Olga excited him. He still
liked her, and the thought of the Chief with her, bothered him. The
Chief would not be with her tonight; for some reason he was sure of
that. Tonight was his night.
“I’ll be seeing you,” he said to Martin, and he went out onto the
forward deck.
The tide was going out and the wheelhouse was now level with the dock.
With an effort he pulled himself up to the dock. To his left was the
native village and to his right were more docks and warehouses. Men
from the various boats walked about on shore, dim figures in the
twilight. Pale blue smoke circled up from the galley smokestacks. There
was a smell of cooking, of supper, in the cool air. Bervick turned and
walked into the village.
The main street of the settlement curved parallel with the beach
for half a mile. Most of the houses were on this street. Bars and
restaurants and one theater, all wooden, also lined the street. The
buildings had been painted white originally; they were many weathered
shades of gray, now. On a small hill, behind two bars and a former
brothel, the old Russian Orthodox church rose straightly against the
evening. Its two onion-shaped cupolas were painted green; the rest of
the church was an almost new white.
On several lanes, running inland from the main street, were the homes
of the two hundred odd pre-war residents. Most of the houses had been
vacated at the beginning of the war. The windows were boarded up and
the privies leaned crazily in the back yards. Seven trees, which
had been imported, were withered now, and their limbs had been made
grotesque by the constant wind.
A mile inland from the shore and the village was the army camp. It
had been erected early in the war and its many barracks and offices
duplicated the military life of the distant United States.
Soldiers from the post and sailors from the Navy ships in the harbor
wandered about the crooked lanes and along the main street. They were
looking for liquor and women. There was much of one and little of the
other in the Big Harbor. Prices were high for both.
Bervick walked very slowly down the main street, proving to himself
that he was in no hurry to see Olga. He would see her later in the
evening.
He stopped at a building somewhat larger than the rest. It was the
Arctic Commercial Store, the main store in the village. Almost anything
could be bought here. It was said that the store had made over a
million dollars since the war.
Bervick went inside. It was warm and crowded and cheerful. Sailors with
beards in various stages of development walked about. Some wore gold
earrings in their ears. Bervick grimaced. Earrings were an old sea
custom recently revived. He did not like them.
The shelves of the store were stocked with canned goods and souvenirs;
upstairs was a clothing store. Bervick looked around at the counters.
In the corner where souvenirs were sold, he saw several bright pink and
blue silk pillow covers. On them were printed, in gay colors, maps of
Alaska and various endearments.
“How much is that one there?” Bervick asked the bearded man behind the
counter.
“What one?”
“That one over there.” Bervick flushed and pointed to a pink one,
inscribed _To My Sweetheart_.
“You mean the Sweetheart one?” Bervick wondered if the man were deaf.
For some reason he felt a little foolish. He nodded and said, “Yes,
that’s the one.”
The bearded man chuckled and handed it to him. Bervick paid him. The
price was too high but that was not unusual here.
He stuffed the fake silk cover in his pocket. When he saw Olga he
would give it to her casually. The Chief had more money, but sometimes
sentiment was much more important. His breath came shorter when he
thought of Olga. He controlled himself. He would not go to her yet.
She had probably already heard that his ship was in. He would make her
wait for him. Bervick hoped the Chief would not try to see her tonight.
The Chief had said that he planned to work on the engines. Bervick
hoped that he would. The Chief wasn’t really much competition, though,
thought Bervick.
He walked down the street. Drunken sailors in groups went grimly from
bar to bar. The Shore Patrol men stood warily on the wooden sidewalk,
waiting for trouble. Fights would begin later in the evening.
The Anchorage Inn was a popular bar. It rambled for a hundred feet or
less on the main street, a few buildings from the Arctic Commercial
Store. Bervick decided to have a drink.
A blast of heat and light engulfed him as he entered. The smell of
liquor, food, and too many people was strong in the room. It took him
several minutes to get used to the light and heat.
A long counter extended across one end of the building. Through the
open kitchen door, behind the counter, he could see a fat woman cooking
at a greasy stove; clouds of smoke and steam sizzled up from the stove.
Two women and one man were serving at the counter and tables. Soldiers
and sailors crowded the place. A half-dozen women were unevenly
distributed. They worked in the shops and restaurants and bars. They
made a lot of money.
Sitting at a table with two sailors was a large woman who immediately
recognized Bervick. “Hey, Joe,” she yelled. “You come over here.”
“Hello, Angela. How’re you doing?” Bervick sat down at the table. The
two sailors were young and seemed frightened by Angela. They looked
relieved to see him.
Angela was a huge and heavy breasted woman. She wore a green dress of
thick cloth. Her eyes were narrow puffy slits and her face was painted
carelessly. There was no reason for her to take pains up here, thought
Bervick. Any woman was a beauty to men who had been without women for
many months and occasionally years. Her hair was a bright brass red,
dark at the roots. Angela was several years older than the forty she
claimed to be.
“What’s new, Joe?” she asked when he had made himself comfortable.
“Not a thing. We just got in a little while ago.”
“Yeah. I heard.”
“News travels fast, I guess.”
“It sure does.”
The two young sailors mumbled something and moved away. Angela winked,
“There they go ... my admirers.”
“I guess you still got a lot of them.”
“Oh, I don’t do so bad. When you going to visit me? I live over the
store now, you know.”
“So I heard.”
“News travels fast.” They laughed.
“How’s little Olga?” Angela asked.