Page 208 - Michael Frost-Voyages to Maturity-23531.indd

absolute end while inflicting as many casualties as possible); I still believe the
logic to be unassailable. I frankly found it irrational when, years later, I discovered
while at university that some still ‘debate’ the use of the weapon, a debate that was
by no means an intellectual excursion.

Japan was soon left astern as we headed south to Australia. But this was
not destined to be a peaceful cruise through the tropics. The typhoon may have
evaporated, but there were sequelae; the weather system responsible for our
night in Tokyo was still around and made for some fierce winds, not helped,
one supposes, by the geostrophic force having, at least in theory, to reverse its
clockwise propensities. (It might be a good idea for some hardy soul to accurately
watch the bath water drain out of her bath while crossing the equator… though,
on second thoughts, there is probably somewhere out there an unread thesis on
the subject; there seems to be at least one on virtually every conceivable matter.)

Passenger ship schedules are strict, necessarily even more so than freighters’.
Our need was to arrive on time in Sydney, and our transit across the Equator,
at twenty-seven knots into a rough head-sea, was quite uncomfortable. Two
days before arrival, I entered the chartroom just after mid-day to find a serious
discussion going on between Riddelsdell and Rushan about our schedule and
whether the severe pounding that the ship was taking (virtually no passengers
went to lunch) was warranted; deliberately defying the set schedule was not
something to be lightly contemplated.

I was at that moment standing close to the front window on the bridge,
however, when the matter was decided for us. I saw approaching us at high
speed an enormous wall of water, the biggest wave that I had ever seen. As it
came, up rose the bow to something that felt like 45 degrees. Then there was
the trough, and down the bow crashed; I honestly thought that I was going to
see the ocean floor, so steep was the descent. Few were able to keep to their
feet, but then came the other side of the trough, a veritable wall of green water
that crashed against the windows (which were 102 feet above the waterline)
and seemed to want to force the ship further down. The bow staggered up, and
we were back to mere rough weather, though ‘mere’ is the wrong word. It was
evident that some damage had occurred to us, but that we were fortunate to
have been heading right into the sea.
Immediately speed was reduced to less than twenty knots, and all slowly returned
to rough-weather normality. The lookouts reported that there were some shattered
portholes, that deck equipment was damaged, and that the public rooms (not that
many of the ‘public’ were up and about) were chaotic, chairs, furniture, and glasses
being scattered hither and thither. There were some passengers who were injured
(some foolhardy individuals always appear at moments of crisis while the rational
seek security) but they were few; some even thought it a bit of an adventure.

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