Looking closer, I saw two of them, pulling the Freetown slowly off the pier and into the river, where they cast off their lines. We were on our own and underway to West Africa. I looked around at the lights of the refineries and the city and the factories along the banks, the lights of the incoming and outgoing ships, and listened to the constant chatter on the radio.
I can still relive those hours as if they happened yesterday, and I believe that they were not much different than what any man new to the sea would experience today. I can’t remember how long I stood there, mesmerized by the scenery and the atmosphere, taking it all in, feeling like being in heaven, when suddenly I was roughly disturbed by the chief officer. I started to dislike the man.
“You there, go on deck and help prepare the pilot ladder, he will be leaving in fifteen minutes.”
“The pilot ladder—where do I go?”
He vaguely waved with his hand, indicating a general position somewhere in front of us.
Looking into the darkness on the deck below, I could distinguish a wide variety of equipment, most likely all part of the cargo. Tractors, trucks, crates, and drums, and somewhere in that confusing array must be the pilot ladder.
Finding my way to the deck below proved to be surprisingly easy, and I collected my thoughts, feeling a little more sure of myself. At school we had learned how to prepare this ladder and hang it overboard, so the pilot could climb down into a small boat to leave the ship. At school, however, we always had done this during daytime, with a lot of other students to assist, and at a leisurely pace. Never on a dark deck, clogged with every imaginable piece of equipment the western world had to offer to the lesser developed countries. Never with the help of only one sailor, who at first, in the dark, I could hardly see.
His name was Moses, and while we struggled to get the ladder in place, he told me he was from Sierra Leone in West Africa. Moses was a good man, and talking to him, I received some badly needed nice words—the first ones during that day. Slowly we lowered the ladder over the side, me holding it, while Moses watched how much further it had to go before it was in position.
“Five more feet.”
I had to shift my grip on the rope to another part, and in the dark, blindly grabbed around me to find it. There it was.
“Hey, what are you doing, hold it!”
To my horror, I heard a rumbling sound, then a splash and saw Moses leaning far overboard, both his hands in the air, watching something disappear in the wake of the ship.
“Man, look what you did, you lost the ladder.”
Perplexed, I looked at the rope I was still holding in my hand. It wasn’t part of the pilot ladder after all; it was one of the safety lines instead. Slowly, as if frozen, I dropped it. In the dark, with my inexperienced eyes, every rope looked the same, and I had thought…. Horror stricken, my thoughts focused on the immediate future of having to face the chief officer. There was only one consolation. Without a ladder, he could hardly send me home. Moses stared at me, his eyes wide with amazement.
“It’s the first time we ever lost a pilot ladder, and we only have one. Man, oh man, you better go up and tell them.”
“You did what!”
Four pairs of eyes looked at me: the captain, the pilot, the chief officer, and the third officer. The latter barely able to conceal his delight, as finally somebody had arrived on board who, instead of him, clearly would catch most of the abuse in the future.
I can’t remember how it all ended. I was not fired on the spot or even keelhauled. The incident, however, followed me for years to come, as I was the one who had lost a pilot ladder—a thing that had never happened before in the hundred year history of the company.
What I do remember is that upon going to bed that evening my confidence about a career at sea had disappeared completely. I seriously doubted the fact that I ever would be a true seaman.
The First Cruise
After years of sailing on rusty old cargo ships to every imaginable destination in the world, I decided that enough was enough. My old company, proud and arrogantly resisting any change and looking down upon all those newer and more aggressive outfits from Liberia and Panama, had ceased to exist. For the last two years I had sailed for a variety of companies, some employing me as short as three weeks. The living conditions on board too were deteriorating by the day, as every company seemed to be struggling to make ends meet. I could not see myself going on like this, and a future at sea for a young guy like me seemed bleak.
During a period ashore, while studying for my master’s license, I met an old friend who worked for a cruise line. Compared to us freighter boys, he seemed to be a man of the world. A true dandy he was, and he talked about his life on cruise ships like it was paradise. One exotic port after another was mentioned, which to us, used to crummy old cargo piers, far away from any civilization, sounded like Utopia. To be honest, what most appealed to me, were his stories about a seemingly unlimited supply of beautiful women, apparently all single and all looking for a dashing man in uniform.
Frequently I found myself dreaming away during our lessons, seeing myself on board a cruise ship, surrounded by admiring girls while sipping some exotic drink.
“Do they need any officers?”
“Oh yea, they are expanding the fleet, and I think you should talk to them.” I made a decision then and there to give this a try. One could always return in case the stories were not true.
Two weeks later, I found myself talking to Mr. Trevor, a man in his early fifties, Director Human Resources for the Continental Cruise Line, a renowned company that, I later learned, was desperately trying to survive the transition to cruising, and one that had not been too successful in its attempts. Mr. Trevor, of course, did not mention this to me; instead he painted a rather rosy picture of the future, as apparently his company had taken over a competitor of many years. Being a gullible job applicant, I, of course did not realize that the takeover was more a bank-forced merger between two nearly bankrupt companies, and I believed Mr. Trevor. He even mentioned economies of scale, a term that nowadays has become very fashionable, and that I must have heard a million times ever since, but which at that time was a novel one, and bound to impress people.
“So you presently work on cargo ships. Which company, if I may ask?”
Mentioning the word cargo ships, I noticed that Mr. Trevor’s left cheek pulled back a little, much in the same way one often sees when somebody looks at tasteless food. I started to feel a little uncomfortable, as the interview seemed to be going the wrong way. Nothing I could do or say would improve the situation. When I mentioned the name of my present employer, Mr. Trevor made a face as if I had said a very dirty word
“Rather unacceptable, I would say.”
I heard him muttering, and while he made a few notes on a piece of paper, his left hand cupped his mouth, displaying utter disgust. He moved his chair a little away from me. My heart sank, realizing that I would not be hired, and that my dreams would remain dreams after all. Well, so what? I did not need this guy and his precious company. Until now, I had been able to make a perfectly good living without them. Before Mr. Trevor could say good-bye to me, already having taken his handkerchief out of his pocket, to wipe his hand after my handshake, the telephone on his desk rang.
“Trevor.”
It took a while before the person on the other side of the line stopped talking. During this conversation, which was totally onesided, Mr. Trevor only nodded every now and then, but each time he did so, his face fell, until finally it looked like an approaching tropical depression. It took a while before he was ready to say something, as apparently he had some trouble collecting his facilities. His Adam’s apple was bopping up and down as if he was trying to swallow a bite too big.
“What?” He’s