STORM AT SEA

Evening Post, Volume CXXIII, Issue 2, 4 January 1937, Page 8

STORM AT SEA

ON THE BRIDGE

TRIALS OF A CAPTAIN

"How're things looking up there?" "Freshening, sir; nasty look in the sky." "Right; I'll come up." The passenger below complains at his discomforts in the Atlantic gale. In the worst storms even the biggest ships have sometimes a tale of injury and severe distress which thoso on board have unavoidably to suffer, writes Captain Frank H. Shaw in an English paper. Furniture may be flung about, passengers may fall on the lurching companion ways On squally days in these wintry months there are bruises, plates oi soup spilled in laps, crashes of smashing crockery, slamming doors. The slick service may be braked a little; the finals of the deck-games perhaps cannot be played off; but how little does the passenger see or know of what the gale means to the mammoth liner's captain? CONSTANT WATCH. This is how a gale appears to him. First: It means personal exertion and unbroken watchfulness, together with cold, wet discomfort. Next: Apprehension, especially in the case of a new ship fpcing her first great storm; for the fine weather of summer has not tried out the bustling, pulsing fabric in any real degree—she has not, as Kipling would say, found herself. Third: It necessitates the application of such skill as can hardly be appreciated by lay minds. And this may go on for as long at three days; three bellowing, torturing days; while the ship is actually fighting against disaster—possibly complete defeat. Or even for five days—or six; and during that time if the captain closes an eye he does it standing on his feet. The sheer physical 1 fatigue of a great storm is incredible; the unbroken drive of wind, raging at hurricane force, coupled with,the slash of highflung spindrift and the uneasy movements of the toiling fabric, numb a responsible man to the marrow; tire his brain, render him limp in muscle and thought. The great ship has to be taken safely through whatever comes; and in addition she must contrive to adhere to schedule, if that be humanly possible; since every few extra hours on voyage piles up the working costs to a colossal sum. THE SCHEDULE. Therefore, in such gales as are now raging, the brain of the captain must be exceedingly alert. He has to know —or to estimate —what exactly hii ship can stand in the way of punishment; so that he can take advantage of every lull to drive the great craft ahead at a speed that allows of safety. That means that, to all intents and purposes, he stands by with hands on the telegraph handles during the continuance of the gale. There is the question of the quick delivery of mails to be considered; and when it is remembered that the scheduled time for the ship's stay in port is measured by hours alone, it will be realised how the captaia has constantly to bear in mind a nice estimate of the force of wind and sea militating against his ship's progress. Moreover, a big, comparatively new liner is something of an unknown quantity in a heavy gale. She shows a great deal of freeboard, on which the wind exerts vast pressure; and if these visible wind surfaces are unevenly placed, she might carry so much lee or weather-helm that her behaviour under such conditions would be problematical. She might heel dangerously when on her course, or roll to such an extent that it would be impossible for even the hardiest seaman to move with safety about her decks; then it is up to the captain to alter course in such a manner that she will cross the huge waves rather than keep them on her flank. WATER BY THE TON. But to keep plunging into a high head sea is to smother the ship; to bring water aboard by hundreds of tons at a time; to wash her down so comprehensively that ventilators are flattened to the deck, with the risk of injuring precious cargo below; safetyrails are torn ?way; and even lifeboats —on which the thousands aboard must depend for final safety—smashed to matchwood in their davits. Tha grime of salt and soot is everywhere; meals are served sketchily on the high bridge, eaten hurriedly. Oilskinned to the eyes, the liner captain feels the dreary, interminable hours , 3rag by—time never passes so slowly as in a gale. The higher the storm, the

greater the strain. Naturally the laws of storms are at the captain's finger-tips; he knows exactly what course to pursue: whether to run away from the advancing menace or to bore clean through it and risk the inferno of the storm's centre, where the wind dies but the sea rises to pyramids of fabulous height. In waves like these even the mightiest ship is tossed like a cork. There may cornea time when, wind and sea increasing to the maximum, it becomes necessary to heave the ship to. Heaving-to a liner like the Queen Mary is not the easiest thing in the world; the best that can be done is to turn her bow to the upleaping combers and give her enough steam to keep steer-age-way without bringing aboard water heavy enough to damage fittings. To heave-to means to lose still mora time; and may also mean added discomfort to the ship. Emergencies arise with every minute that comes. There is'one which must always be contemplated: the receipt of an SOS from some ship in worse case than the liner" herself: a piteous entreaty for help. The captain alone can deal with such a call; he must decide whether he dare risk a ship worth almost uncounted millions, a complement of two or three thousand souls, a valuable freight, in hastening to the rescue of such as are imperilled. If he fails to answer the call, his conscience must always trouble him; if he answers it, he may waste time because of some other vessel reaching the spot before him. And if he gains the sinking ship ill time, it is his seamanship that organises the rescue work; his brain that controls the lives of the shipwrecked and their intending rescuers.