passed me. The inertia of the ship was carrying her on.
“The distance between the two ships and myself widened rapidly and I became a spectator of the drama’s final act. I watched salvo after salvo being pumped into the Sinkiang. At each hit, huge pieces of debris were flung some two hundred feet into the air, landing all around me, although by then I was a fair distance away. At last the end came. Her bow reared into the air and she went down almost perpendicular. A thick column of water spouted where she had been.
“The cruiser was under way immediately and soon disappeared from sight. I felt that my last human link had gone and I floated around feeling utterly lonely and convinced that I was the sole survivor. I knew that my kapok vest would keep me afloat for a reasonable time but there was always the possibility that my blood would attract sharks which abounded in those waters. I had no idea of time as I rode on the swell but I know it seemed like an eternity. Then I spotted an object about six hundred yards away and anxiously waited to rise again with the swell. Salvation was in sight! An empty lifeboat was wallowing around and I swam towards it. By that time my legs were feeling stiff, the right one was totally useless and I swam with it trailing. Slowly the distance decreased until at length I was alongside the boat. It was low in the water and by summoning all my diminishing strength, I dragged myself over.
“It was half full of water, I lay on the seat, weak through loss of blood. And lonely, terribly lonely.
“Much later (or so it seemed) I wondered whether my ears were deceiving me or was I hearing the sound of a swimmer approaching. There was a muffled grunt and two hands grasped the gunwale on the other side. Slowly the head appeared and then the body. My companion was Len the gunner, whose torn shorts revealed a nasty big wound in his right thigh. He lay down on the opposite seat, gritted his teeth and cursed our tormentors.
“‘Bastards, bastards, dirty rotten bastards,’ and then looking down into the water-logged boat ‘Have to bale this leaky bastard out.’ He groped around and came up with an empty can; I groped on my side and found the drinking water ladle. We began to bail.
“‘Emptying yet another ladleful of water into the sea, I spotted a destroyer approaching. ‘Better get down’ I said to Len. We were aware of the Japanese reputation for machinegunning survivors so we knelt in the bottom of the boat while peering cautiously over the gunwale. She came on until we could see the leering grins on the faces of her crew as they lined the rail. We crouched further down in the boat, fearful of the consequences should they spot us. After a few tense minutes Len could stand it no longer and stole a quick look. Relief showed in his eyes and voice, ‘She’s away,’ he said. We observed her stern on, heading swiftly for the horizon. Then we went on bailing.
“That was when I looked at my watch and realized it was still going. The hands registered 10:30 a.m. My last message had been sent at 9:05 a.m.
“We were soon joined by more survivors. A few had miraculously escaped injury. Those from below were all suffering from scalds; the first salvo had been a direct hit in the boilers. When the Second Mate joined us he took command. The shrapnel holes in the boat were plugged with kapok from a torn life-jacket and the bailing continued until only a few inches of water remained. By 1 p.m. our numbers had swelled to twenty-one. The Mate had come aboard and he took over the command. The last ones to be picked up were the old man and the Second Engineer. The old man was clinging to a piece of wreckage with one hand and holding up the Second with the other. He’d been doing that for nearly four hours. The Second Engineer was in a pitiful state with his spine showing through the gaping hole in his back. He screamed in agony as he was hoisted over the gunwale.
“The lifeboat was now carrying maximum load and riding dangerously close to the water-line. The old man assumed command, ordered the oars manned, and we headed in the direction of the distant coastline.
“The sun beat down furiously and one of the gunners who’d been scalded over most of his body, began to lose his reason. The sun’s heat aggravated his scald wounds to such an extent that his only wish was to leap into the cool sea and he had to be forcibly restrained. Each roll of the boat brought a hoarse cry of agony from the Second Engineer and he was pleading to be thrown overboard. Huddled in the bow lay the Chief Steward, another victim of the scalding steam. Around three o’clock he uttered a low weak moan and passed away, seemingly of shock. Lying in the bottom of the boat, immediately below me, was a Chinese seaman. The front of his shirt was an awful gory mess. Water washed back and forth over his face and no bubbles rose as it passed his mouth. He too, had died.
“Around four o’clock the breeze increased slightly so the oars were pulled and the sail hoisted. The oarsmen welcomed the rest and crawled around tending to the wounded.
“An almost paralyzing stiffness had set in over my whole body, the swinging lifeboat had injured my back, the wood splinter had punctured an artery, and I had open shrapnel wounds in both legs. To add to my discomfort the sun’s heat created a terrible thirst. The freshwater keg was opened and the drinking ladle passed around. Although the water was brackish and oily it moistened our dry tongues and cracking lips. The cigarettes and matches were saturated; there was nothing to soothe our shattered nerves.
“It was slow progress but at last we entered a wide bay where black smoke was pouring from a grounded blazing Dutch freighter at the north end. In the centre of the bay a few native fishing boats rested on the beach in front of a small settlement of mud huts. There was a heavy surf running, another obstacle to overcome before we could reach the beach. The old man was dubious about attempting a landing but he decided that if we pulled down the sail and our oarsmen rowed with all their strength, it might be done. Native fisherman ran down to the beach to help us. As we came in with the surf, they seized the boat and dragged us to safety. No words were spoken as the natives carried the wounded to the sanctuary of that dry sandy beach.
“I lay on the warm sand and once again blood was spurting from the artery and my head began to swim. The village spokesman who seemed to be the headman went round with a black earthenware pitcher. He came over to me, placed the drinking hole to my lips and when the burning liquid had trickled down my throat, my dizziness was dispersed. The native brew helped boost our flagging spirits.
“One of our surviving Indian stewards acted as interpreter and we learned that we were seven miles from the nearest doctor – with no transport available. It was arranged that one of the local people would act as guide while two of our party would go with him to summon aid. After they’d gone we were moved to the shelter of a hollow in the sand dunes that headed the beach. At sunset we settled ourselves to await the return of our aid seekers.
“As we lay there in the dark a cool breeze sprang up and it soon became apparent that a storm was brewing. Lightning forked down on the sea while the rain increased in intensity until it became a torrential tropical downpour. The village huts were situated back from the beach to afford them shelter from the monsoons that occasionally swept the area. Shortly after the rain commenced the natives invited us to their huts. Two men carried me and my back was filled with excruciating pain. One of the bearers placed his hand in the centre to support me; I yelled for him to remove it but he kept it there – and with his free hand helped himself to my wallet from the pocket of my shorts. This gave me considerable misgivings as to the motives of our apparent saviours but after we arrived in their dwellings and the womenfolk fed us from a communal dish of rice stew, my confidence returned. I had merely been the victim of an opportunist.
“In the early hours of the morning our first sign of aid appeared. The keen-eyed natives spotted a pinpoint of light. Its progress seemed outrageously slow and we waited for its reappearance each time the flashlight carrier had been obscured by vegetation. At last the solitary figure was silhouetted against the light of a hut and soon we were receiving our first medical attention. The Indian doctor did his best with his scant supplies. Counting the men who needed morphine, he found nine. He had only eight shots and Len the gunner
