This sad incident occured during the early sea career of a young man, who was preparing for the exciting profession of an officer on a merchant ship.

In the autumn of 1929, Estonia's biggest and most beautiful four-master sailing ship, the "Tormilind", was discharging her last cargo for the season in London. Once this was completed, she was to return to an Estonian port and be laid up for the winter. I had successfully completed one year's sea practice under sail, which was a prerequisite for my intended enrolment in a nautical school. I was aware that in winter season there would be little chance of work on another ship in Estonia and, therefore, decided to try my luck by going to Rotterdam with a hope of finding employment on British ships. The idea appealed to me because of the prospect of higher wages and the opportunity of improving my conversational English.

After gaining enough courage, I nervously explained my plan to the master and asked to be paid off in London, instead of at our home port. The master, being an understanding and compassionate man, gave his permission, at the same time warning me that prospects for a seaman in Rotterdam were becoming increasingly bleaker. This did not deter me.

I was young, only 19 years old, optimistic and idealistic, and chose to go to Rotterdam, despite the captain's warning.

The first few weeks of seeking work were not too successful, but I felt that every beginning had its obstacles, and that with perseverance I would find work. Then, my first chance came in the form of a German ship. On her it was only a short voyage, and I was again looking for work. After that I was lucky to pick up a number of short trips on both German and British ships. Although it was work, the long waiting time between voyages made it impossible to save money.

Foreign seamen based in Rotterdam in the nineteen thirties found life becoming more and more difficult, because of the deepening depression that was menacing trade world over. Ships from all maritime nations were permanently laid-up and their crews paid off. As a result, idle ships were increasing in numbers at ports and rivers, and along with them, armies of unemployed seamen in every port.

I had been on shore already for a number of months, and the situation was becoming desperate. Although I had paid for my lodgings in advance, I had little money left over with which to buy food. Together with other unemployed sailors, I took to visiting ships at meal times, in the hope of being given some leftovers. Sometimes I was lucky and was able to have my meals, while at other times I was refused permission even to step on board of a vessel and had to go hungry. It was on one of my visits to a British ship that I came in contact with a fellow from my own country, Estonia. He was employed as a sailor on the ship. From him I heard that one of the sailors on his ship had become ill, and the Chief Officer of the vessel was about to go ashore to find a suitable replacement. We both went straight to the Chief Officer to stake my claim for the vacancy. He learned that I was an Estonian and a member of the British Seamen's Union. Besides, he held my fellow countryman in high esteem because of his diligence, honesty and sobriety. It was on this basis, that I was lucky enough to end up as one of the sailors on board the 3,500 ton British steamer "Bellbro".

We made several voyages between British and continental ports, trading on a time contract basis to a coal exporting firm. Even on that charter we knew that time was running out. As usual, we were on our way from France to the Bristol Channel port of Cardiff in South Wales. At the 4 a.m. reveille, the sailor on watch sang: "Raise up, raise up. Jump from your bed and pack your bag. Mumbles light is right ahead!" With this song we knew we would arrive in Cardiff in the morning. This was to be the last voyage of our time charter, and the crew was to be paid off, since there was no further cargoes for the ship to carry. I was concerned about the situation. I had no desire to return to Rotterdam, where the chances of getting a job had become hopeless; there was no allurement to become again one of the thousands of unemployed seamen.

The predicament was saved by the captain returning from the office, with the good news that the ship had obtained cargoes for a few voyages between British and African ports. I was content, as this meant I still had a job for a while, and would be getting away from the everlasting coal dust that came with shipping coal between the ports of the Bristol Channel and France. Another attraction was the potential fine weather and sunshine anticipated on the forthcoming voyages.

We had made already a few voyages to North African ports. Then, the "Bellbro" sailed from Casablanca fully laden with a cargo of copper ore. The weather between the African and Portuguese coast was warm and sunny. Before we had reached the lighthouse of Finisterre at the entrance to the Bay of Biscay, the barometer began to fall. A strong north-westerly swell started to make the vessel roll, even though the wind was blowing from a southerly direction. The swell increased, as did the range of rolling and tossing of the vessel. Black clouds covered the sky and the weather closed in. It looked as though we were destined to encounter a dangerous storm in the Bay of Biscay. Soon, the wind also changed to northwesterly and increased in intensity. Gigantic breakers formed on the surface of the restless sea. Visibility was made poor by the salty spray flying through the air. The ship was rolling madly, and the waves were beginning to assail over the railings onto the foredeck and over the hatches. Tons of raging green water on the decks moved with such velocity that it swept into the sea everything that happened to be loose. The captain, who was desperately holding himself on to a stanchion in a corner of the bridge, was intently studying the rushing water on deck. By him stood the Chief Officer, with whom he was discussing if it were necessary to secure extra ropes over the Nos. 1 and 2 hatch covers.

For the safety of the vessel it was decided that the contemplated precautions with the forward hatch covers were to be carried out before the darkness. The bow of the vessel was turned directly against the seas, and the speed of the engines reduced to only what was necessary to keep the ship on her heading, facing the gale. The Chief Officer, boatswain, another sailor and myself, went to secure rope lashings on the No. 2 hatch. We had almost finished the job, when an enormous wave suddenly lifted the ship high in the water as if she were handled by a giant crane. As suddenly she was dropped back into the water, with the bows vanishing into the deep green sea. Both hatches and the whole foredeck were covered with white foaming water. Seeing a huge wave — probably the seventh, the most dangerous one — coming toward us. I had no alternative but to throw myself onto the hatch and hang on to heavy rope lashings. When the ship again emerged from the water, and the bulk of it had drained away, I found myself stunned, washed away from the top of the hatch and tossed under the steel stairs in the corner of amidship's bulkhead and Starboard railings. Although my right leg was badly hurt, I realized I had no fractured bones and would be able to support my weight on it. The bosun and the other sailor had been working at the forward end of the hatch and had managed to run for shelter in a small storeroom in the masthouse. When the giant wave swept over the hatch and buried the foredeck under water, the Chief Officer had been standing in the middle of the hatch. From there he was lifted up and swept into the sea.

The captain had seen the enormous mass of water breaking over the hatches and foredeck. When the water had drained off and he could not see anyone, he assumed that all of the men on the foredeck at the time, had been swept away. With the signal — MAN OVERBOARD — all those not on watch, ran to the boatdeck where the lifeboats were secured. One of the firemen ran around on deck asking which direction was east. As soon as he was given the approximate direction of the cardinal point, he ran to the boatdeck and joined the other Arab firemen there. They put their prayer mats on deck, and began to fervently pray and prepare for their last journey. They seemed to be in a trance with their frenzied worship. No human force could have been able to make them to lower the lifeboats, had this been deemed necessary.

I limped to the bridge to face the very shocked captain. He assumed that I, too, had been swept overboard with the Chief Officer. Although two lifebuoys were immediately thrown from the bridge, there was no sign of the Chief Officer himself. We once sighted his cap tossing on the waves, where the cruel sea had claimed another victim. I was saddened by the loss of the Chief Officer. He had been my watch officer for over a year, and we had become close friends. He knew of my ambition to continue studies in navigation and to eventually attend to a nautical college. He had been teaching me techniques in navigation and to recognize and study stars in the early morning sky.

The depression became worse, and had more and more impact on the world's economy. Progressively more ships found their places in the lay-up localities. Many of our company ships had been made idle. Employment situation had become so critical that officers were applying for sailors' jobs. The other Estonian and myself were the only aliens still on board of the "Bellbro". When we arrived in the United Kingdom in late November, 1932, the captain called us both into his cabin and said: "I have been adviced by the company that one of you must give your position to one of the officers, who will be joining us from one of the company's laid-up ships. Because you have both been good workers, decide yourselves which of you is to go." We both said unanimously: "I'll go." So, the two friends left their shipmates on the good ship "Bellbro", and proceeded to their home country. There, I, true to my determination, obtained my first nautical diploma by the next spring.

Stephanie Bergman

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