The Grey Seas Under

I have just finished reading The Grey Seas Under by Canadian author Farley Mowat. It was only a good book until it surprised me by becoming the only book I've ever read that has made me cry.

The book is the true story of a North Atlantic salvage tug, the Foundation Franklin. It is a story of real-life heroes. These are the ships and men that go out to sea into the worst conditions, like hurricanes with snow, in order to rescue other ships from the grip of the murderous ocean.

The stories are told simply, so that the facts may stir your heart more than the wordy embellishments of the author. For a little while I thought the book to be a little tedious and dull since each story is essentially very similar to the last. They go out to do the impossible and through skill & bravery, they come back successful. I enjoyed reading about their bravery and determination to find solutions to the worst of problems. I never knew that men were capable of these tasks. It grew especially intense during World War II when the accidents were exceptionally more frequent and also more dangerous and impossible with the elimination of shore-lights and radio communications which could aid U-Boats.

There were a few times when particularly well-phrased passages made me want to quote and keep them. And then I came upon Chapter 22, "A Naval Engagement." I wish I could quote and keep the entire chapter. That particular story is perhaps the most wonderful triumph I have ever come across.

The book is full of triumphs, and each time the triumph is over even more insurmountable odds. But in chapter 27, as the voyage becomes tedious and you are waiting for the triumph, a message is sent to the tug from the ship being towed:

OUR CAPTAIN HAS JUST DIED HE HAD NOT SLEPT FOR THIRTEEN DAYS.

Mowat concludes the chapter:

Brushett [the tug's captain] was still standing with the message flimsy in his hand when he became aware of something which, after the long days of roaring sound, was almost silence. He raised his head, stepped to the wheelhouse door and opened it.

The wind was gone.

There was nothing except the muted fury of the water, and a faint echo of the gale in the soft rustle of a dying wind playing through the rigging of the tug.

The sky was clear. Stars clustered coldly in the night, and as Brushett looked ahead he saw a far, faint loom, and knew it for the searching beam of Sambro Light.

That moment almost made me cry. But it didn't. It was the the last few pages of the final chapter of the book that made me cry. And I won't tell you why. You will have to read the book yourself to understand. One spends time with that ship in the book and she becomes a hero in and of herself. One comes to respect her, and love her.

It was a good cry. Not a cry of despair, but the kind of cry that visits only when something really really matters. It's good that things can mean so much to someone. God bless you all salvage men & ships and all those that tell or hear their stories.