down-and fast . The crews scrambled to their lifeboats as the seas rose to float them. Within two minutes Boats 2 ,3 and 4 were gone, but there were still 14 men , myself among them , milling abo ut the boat deck. First Engineer Mill er, seeing that I was shoeless in stocking feet and wearing only a khak i shirt and tro users und er my lifejacket , took the time to return to his nearby cabin and brought me his trench coat-a very compass ionate act which I have never fo rgotten , even though I later lost the coat. Then , one man rose to the occas ion: USN Seaman First Class Walter Smith craw led up the now steep-s lanted portside deck and tripped a large liferaft mounted in a chute. The 14 men jumped over the side to the raft. Then, just as the ship was go ing down in a series of violent underwater erupti ons, Seaman Smith used his hunting knife, the only one on board, to cut the painter and prevent the raft from being pulled under w ith the ship. The first few minutes on the liferaft were like the climax of a nightmare . The mountainous swells were being reinforced by the noisy eruptions of air escaping from the sinking ship. Debris from the deck was fl oating everyw here, including several liferings with attached emergency lamps which turned on automaticall y and glowed red in the dark. For the men on the raft the re was an initial feeling of exhi laration at being still on the surface afte r the ship was go ne. We had won the first round . Within another minute or two, due to the toss ing seas and the phys ical and emoti onal reaction to our ex perience, the 14 men became seas ick almost simultaneo usly and vomited all over themselves and each other. For the next several hours we huddled on the raft, clinging to the deck boards to keep from being swept overboard. The deck of the raft was about the size of 9-by-12 rug , wholly inadeq uate for 14 men. The top, bottom and sides were wooden lattice work , holding a number of steel drums which provided buoya ncy. Being aboard was like riding a combination rollercoaster-flume ride, rising repeated ly to the crest of a wave and then sliding down into a deep trough, with seas breaking over us from all sides. We had the fee ling of being suspended in space , with no sense of direction , fl oating somewhere between the dark sky and dark sea . The surface of the ocean was dotted with plankton, whose luminescence added a weird dimension to the unreality. The night seemed endless, both because of our predicament and because of the long darkness of midwinter in the southern hemisphere. The air and water were cold enough to be chilling, but were not freezing . During the night we began talking a little,
between interval s when a man wou ld be washed over the side and had to be helped aboard aga in. Radio Operator Lester Godow n told us that he had sent a number of SSS messages (meaning "Attacked by Submarine"), but had received no response. Ch ief Mate Ernest Chalk , of Bermuda , a retired British merchant master, observed that , due to our change to an easterly course, we were now nearly 200 miles out in the South Atlan ti c, fa r outside coastal shipping lanes . Daybreak , when it came, showed us nothing except the vast rolling seas. There were no lifeboats in sight and we on the raft had no idea of whether any of our other shipmates had surv ived . Early in the morn ing we decided to take stock of our situation. The interior compartment of the raft , in addition to the flotation drums, was supposed to conta in our survival rations. But the wooden keg designed to hold fresh water had coll apsed due to neglected maintenance and was full of sea water. A metal cylinder for food rations contained onl y bulk chocolate which was fou nd to be full of white worms. The balance of the morning was spent in group si lence and private despa ir. Then , at about 1 PM someone on the raft shouted " Look, look, an airplane!" We all looked, and , sure enough, there was an aircraft in the distance. There was an immediate fear that the plane wou ld not see us and simply fl y away. Several men stood up on the crowded raft , wav ing the ir arms and shouting futi lely. But the aircraft did see us¡ and began to fly a w ide circle, gradually dropping to a lower altitude. After a few minutes the plane passed directly over the raft. We cou ld see from its markings that it was a US Navy seaplane of the Mariner class. As it passed over, the co-pilot on the right hand side of the cockpit flashed the " V for Victory " sign in Morse Code w ith a hand-held blinker light . Naturally, a tremendous feel ing of excitement and exhili ration swept through the raft's crew. We didn't know how or when o r even if we wou ld be rescued, but we were greatly reass ured by the knowledge th at Naval au thorities somewhere wo uld soon learn of our plight. During the ens ui ng afternoon and eveni ng, the raft was kept under surveill ance almost continuous ly by Mariners on a seri es of patrols. T he weather had abated somewhat , but the seas were sti ll far too ro ugh for seaplane landings. We aga in became somewhat depressed with the onset of anothe r night , hav ing then go ne more than 24 hours without sleep, food or water. During the night , th e Mariners tried to maintain contact by continuing the patro ls. It was an eerie sensation to hang onto the raft in the darkness and see huge fl ying boats skimming low over the sea with their landing lights turned on, trying to find the raft in the da rkness. Finally, at about 3 AM , we were startled to see a huge searchlight at some distance on the surface, scanning the sea in obvious
Bane of U-boats, th e big Mariner seaplane looked like an angel of rescue to the Gaston's men adrift in th e South Atlantic. Photo, US Na vy.
US Na vy Seaplan e Tender, USS Matagorda, picked up the survivors ofthe William Gaston about 30 hours after the ship we/1/ down.
We had the feeling of being suspended in space... floating somewhere between the dark sky and dark sea.
SEA HISTORY, SPRING 1985
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