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Jeannie Gilmore and her mother Neva can't stop coughing. Thick clouds of smoke seem to be following them no matter where they go on the ship's deck.
It's 4:00 AM on October 4th, 1980. Three hours since Jeannie and Neva were awakened by an announcement that there was a fire in the engine room of the cruise ship Prinsendam, and all passengers needed to gather outside on the deck. At first, Jeannie believed the crew's assurances that the fire was under control, but now it's clear to her that it's not.
Smoke is creeping up from the hull of the ship, curling onto the deck where Jeannie and Neva huddle in the cold. It's catching in their throats, making them choke and cough. Jeannie sees an empty bench and leads her mother to it. Neva sits down with a sigh. She's still very pale, but Jeannie is glad to see that her elderly mother seems to be more alert than she was a few hours ago.
She reaches for Genie's hand. "I'm sorry about this, Genie. The trip was my idea. If it wasn't for me, we'd be home." Genie shakes her head. "Mom, don't be silly. I'm just glad I'm here with you. Besides, you can't beat that view." She motions toward the night sky. Blazing above the dark waters of the Gulf of Alaska are the Northern Lights. Genie and Neva gaze up at the dancing waves of green and purple.
But just then, a passenger strides past, a look of alarm on his face. "The dining room is on fire!" Genie wonders if she heard right. The dining room is just one deck below them. Could the fire really be that close? She feels Neva tighten her grip on her hand and squeezes back. "It's going to be okay, Mom. I promise."
Jeannie hears something in the distance. She stands and rushes to the deck railing, scanning the night sky for the source. She calls back to Neva. Mom, it's a helicopter! She feels Neva arrive at her side and puts her arm around her mother's shoulders. I told you, Mom, we're gonna be okay. Look, help is here. Suddenly, the deck is illuminated by a powerful spotlight from above.
The helicopter hovers for a moment, then begins slowly circling the ship. It can't be more than a few hundred feet above them. Jeannie tightens her grip on Neva's arm as they feel the wind from the rotors. Around them, some passengers start applauding. Others wave their arms furiously. She sees one woman wiping tears from her eyes. As the helicopter circles, the shadows cast by its powerful floodlight move with it.
But then, in an instant, the darkness returns. The helicopter has switched off its light. Jeannie can still hear the rotors, but they're fading. "Oh my god, is it leaving?" She hears her mother gasp. "No, it just got here. It can't be leaving already." She waits for the rotors to grow louder again, but in seconds, the sound of them is gone.
All that's left in their wake is what was there before, the cold damp wind, the splash of the waves, and the nervous murmurs of the passengers. And Jeannie realizes she can hear something else now, very faint but getting louder, the crackle of flames as the fire rages below them.
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When the Holland America cruise ship Prinsendam caught fire in the early morning hours of October 4th, 1980, its SOS message triggered a massive rescue effort. Civilian and military vessels and aircraft raced to the scene. But with the ship stranded in the middle of the Gulf of Alaska, it would take help hours to arrive.
As the 500 passengers and crew waited for rescue, the fire leapt from the engine room to the dining room and threatened to spread across the entire ship. Prince and Dam's captain would soon have to make a crucial decision. To issue the order to abandon ship, everyone would have to evacuate into lifeboats and plunge into rough seas as a typhoon approached. This is Episode 3, Adrift. Adrift.
Coast Guard Commander Richard Scholl dashes across the room to answer the phone. He's inside a Coast Guard command center in Juneau, Alaska. On the other end of the phone, he hears the voice of one of his pilots straining over the noise of his helicopter rotors. The pilot made a 90-minute flight from Sitka, Alaska, and is the first rescuer to make visual contact with Prince and Dame. We
"We circled for a few minutes, sir, but there wasn't much we could do beyond gathering visuals. We can see there's smoke billowing up from the ship's middle decks." Shoal listens with concern. The pilot tells him that he was able to establish radio contact with Prince Endam's captain, who requested firefighting gear and explained that the ship's water hoses were inoperable. The captain had ordered lifeboat commanders to the bridge to receive their passenger lists.
The only good news, no injuries aboard, yet. The pilot is now en route to pick up some firefighting supplies from an oil tanker that's headed toward Prinsendam. Williamsburg, an 1,100-foot tanker, is just 97 nautical miles due west. When her crew received the SOS message, they notified Prinsendam immediately that they were on their way.
Shoal looks over at a map on the wall. A pin at the center of the map represents Prinsendam, almost 200 miles from the nearest shore. For a moment, Shoal marvels at the effect an SOS can have. Every ship, civilian or military, within a 300-mile radius is either heading towards Prinsendam or standing by waiting for orders. It's a maritime reflex, as old as sailing, when a vessel's in peril.
Other ships must help. Now Shoal turns to a communications officer who is hanging up another phone. "Any updates?" "Yes, sir. Williamsburg is making good time. ETA at Prince and Dam is 8:35 AM." Shoal looks at his watch.
Still more than four hours out. Another tanker has altered course for Prince and Dam and is about an hour behind Williamsburg. But these tankers are not rescue vessels. They're not equipped to pluck elderly passengers from frigid waters, much less treat them for burns, smoke inhalation, or hypothermia. The Coast Guard cutter Boutwell can, but it just set out from Juneau. Its ETA isn't for eight more hours, at least.
Scholl turns again toward the officer. What's the latest on the weather? Typhoon Vernon is still packing a punch, sir. Low pressure system approaching Princeton Dam. We expect heavy winds and rain by dawn, plus swells of maybe more than 20 feet. Scholl curses silently. To carry out an operation of this size, rescuing over 500 passengers and crew, they're going to need time.
But with a typhoon approaching, time is not on their side. Richard Steele embraces his wife Louise as they try to keep warm on the deck of Prince and Dam. He looks around at the anxious faces of the other passengers. When everyone first gathered on the deck three hours ago, the mood was almost giddy. The ship's hostess, noticing passengers wrapped in curtains and tablecloths to keep warm, organized a silly costume contest.
The ship's entertainers had broken into impromptu sing-alongs. But now, all is quiet, except for occasional coughing as the smoke blankets the deck in a haze. Louise looks up at him. "So, how worried do you think we should be?" Richard smiles, trying to reassure her. "Well, we just saw that helicopter, right? That means help's on the way."
We just need to be patient. Still, I'm glad we attended that lifeboat drill the other morning." A few minutes ago, the crew started lowering lifeboats to their embarkation points. They told the passengers it was just a precaution. That's when everyone suddenly got very quiet.
Richard looks out into the darkness. The skies are clouding over. The once visible stars and waning moon have vanished, and the waves breaking against the ship's hull seem louder. For some reason, Richard keeps imagining the activity back at his newspaper in Worcester, Massachusetts, where he's the publisher. He pictures the headline, "Cruise Ship Ablaze in the Gulf of Alaska."
and maybe a subhead. Publisher and wife aboard. He's used to covering the news. It feels strange knowing he'll probably be in the news. Do you think it's going to turn out all right? He turns to see an elderly woman standing near him. She's by herself and clutches a tablecloth that's wrapped around her shoulders. I'm sure it will.
The woman asks if she can repeat a childhood prayer her mother taught her. He nods and she takes his hand while Louise looks on. May the spirit of the Lord go with you and protect you. The Lord is our shepherd. Richard grips her hand a little tighter and gives her a smile. Thank you. It just always makes me feel a bit better. I hope it does the same for you too.
He lets go of the woman's hand and watches as she continues on to the next group of passengers, asking each of them to pray with her. He's not an especially religious man, but he finds himself wondering, "Have I done enough in this life?" John Graham keeps an eye on his 13-year-old daughter, Mallory, as she walks toward the ship's railing in search of fresh air.
He's trying to rein in his growing sense of alarm. He's been in life-threatening situations before. Worse than this, he saw combat in Vietnam. But this is different. His child is at risk. He's supposed to protect her, but instead, he's never felt so powerless. Just then, he senses someone next to him. An officer in a white uniform.
"Excuse me, I was wondering if you could help us move these passengers away from the stern of the ship, so a helicopter can lower some firefighting supplies." He explains to Graham that the helicopter they saw a while ago left to pick up firefighting gear from an oil tanker that's headed in their direction. The helicopter is on its way back, but needs a clear area to drop the supplies. Graham nods and hurries to Mallory, who's leaning over the stern railing. "Hey, Mal, good news! Help us on the way!"
Technically, it's true. Help is on the way, but with the fire now raging out of control, will it get here in time? Muriel Marvini and her friend Agnes Lillard jockey for space on the smoky deck. It's 5.30 in the morning, and all of the passengers are being herded along the side decks and away from the stern.
Muriel heard someone say that it's to make room for a helicopter that will arrive soon to drop supplies. But the dark pre-dawn skies are quiet. If there's a helicopter en route, it's nowhere within earshot. Agnes crosses her arms and stamps her feet, trying to keep warm. "I'm freezing, Muriel. I'm not sure how much more of this I can take."
Suddenly, an explosion pierces the stillness. Muriel cringes at the sound, then peers over the shoulders of the person in front of her, trying to see what's going on. She sees the flicker of flames and realizes what's happened. The fire has blown out a window in the lounge. The lounge where not long ago they had gathered to get warm.
Now, it's on fire too. She hears the sound of pounding feet. Through the scrum of passengers, she glimpses crew members racing down from the bridge. Some spread their arms, walking passengers away from the fire. Others pass out life vests. "Oh god, Agnes. This is it." Before Agnes can reply, Muriel hears the public address system crackle to life.
For a second, she panics, trying to recall which side of the ship their assigned lifeboat is on. Is it port or starboard? Then she feels Agnes grab her arm, guiding her. She knows the way to the correct boat, and Muriel follows along. She's never been more grateful to have Agnes as a friend. Excuse me.
John Graham pushes his way through the crowd of passengers, guiding his daughter Mallory toward their assigned lifeboat, number two, up along the port bow. He reaches behind him for Mallory's hand and keeps moving, politely but firmly nudging people out of their way.
As they draw closer to the white wooden vessel, he can see that it's been lowered to the promenade deck, hanging just on the other side of the railing. A canvas tarp covers the boat. Both of them have put on life vests. Graham has checked Mallory's at least three times to make sure it's secure. Near the boat, dozens of passengers crowd against the railing. Still, he's amazed how quiet it is. No one is shrieking. No one is wailing.
Everyone stands patiently, but he can see the fear in their eyes. He's seen this look before, he realizes, before battle in Vietnam. It's the realization that their destiny is out of their hands, that they are at the mercy of forces greater than they can fathom.
Another explosion jolts them, and this time, Graham hears screams. Someone starts to pray. He looks back down the deck. Flames are dancing up the side of the ship and high into the night sky. He turns to Mallory. Mallory, listen to me. We need to get on this lifeboat. I don't think everyone can fit. Mallory nods. I counted that. There are 92 people here.
Graham has to smile. "That's my girl," he thinks. He remembers that crew members said the capacity of the lifeboat is 60. There are passengers here who should be on other boats. Maybe they've forgotten their assignment. Or maybe they're just opting for the closest boat.
From the deck, crew members are reaching over the railing to unfasten the tar that covers the lifeboat. Graham and Mallory inch closer to the railing and the gate that will lead them onto the boat. At the sound of yet another explosion, he turns to Mallory. He can see the flames reflected in her dark eyes. Remember, Mal, when the going gets tough, for a second, Mallory stares past him, unblinking.
Then she manages a weak smile. "I know, Dad. The tough get going." "Passenger, I regret to inform you that the fire has ended the ship. Follow the instructions of the crew." He looks over at Mallory. He's never seen her look so pale. Over the noise of the passengers and the roar of the fire, he hears the sound of rotors. The helicopter has arrived, but it's too late.
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He looks down to the deck below and sees that there are clearly too many people at some of the lifeboat stations. Passengers are pushing against one another. At other stations, there are clearly too few passengers. He raises the bullhorn to his mouth. "Please, everyone, do not panic. There are plenty of lifeboats for every passenger. No one will be left behind." He shakes his head.
It's been just four days since they left Vancouver, with nothing but a routine cruise ahead of them. He even brought his wife along, but now she's somewhere down on the promenade deck, handing out blankets and life jackets to passengers. It's a little after 6am, and the skies are still an inky black. Dawn is more than an hour away, and the chill in the air is seeping into his bones. An officer approaches him, breathless.
Sir, we can't lower the starboard tender any further. The pulley system is malfunctioning. A tender is a motorized boat, smaller than the lifeboats. There are two of them on board, one on the port side, one on the starboard. Normally, they're used to ferry passengers to shore, but they also serve a vital role in emergencies. The tenders can be tied to the lifeboats to tow them away from danger.
Wabika leans over the railing and looks up to where the officer is pointing. The starboard tender is halfway down from its hoist and dangling above them. Useless. And you're sure there's no freeing her? That she's really stuck? Well, I'm afraid not, sir. We've tried everything.
Wabika runs a hand across his brow, then turns back to the officer. Alright, well, at least we still have one working tender. Let's be sure to lower her extra carefully, okay? We'll need her line to tether all of the lifeboats together. The officer nods and heads back.
But then another person approaches. It's Susan Stevens, the ship's hostess, and an older male passenger wearing a blazer over pajamas. Susan's expression is strained. Excuse me, sir. This man wants to go back to his room to get some medicine for his wife. I explained that it's impossible, but he insisted on asking you directly. The man looks at Wabika. My wife needs her insulin, sir. If she doesn't have it, she could fall into a coma.
Wabika raises his hand. "You can get the medicine on one condition. Miss Stevens must accompany you. Please report back to me when you've got it, alright?" The passenger flashes a grateful smile. "Thank you, sir." After Stevens and the passenger leave, Wabika turns back to the scene of organized chaos below. Passengers are packed against the railings around the lifeboats, clutching blankets and curtains around their bulky life jackets.
He watches as one crew member gently lifts a man from his wheelchair, while another hurls the chair into the sea. It looks cruel, but Rubika knows why they're doing it. There won't be any room for wheelchairs on the crowded lifeboats. Taking it all in, he can't help but second-guess himself. Has he made the right decision to abandon ship? He knows his crew will get the passengers safely into the lifeboats, but what happens after that?
There's a typhoon coming. Even though the seas are relatively calm now, the thought of what could happen in the next few hours makes him tremble. Stevens, the hostess, returns with the older male passenger. He's now carrying a black suitcase. Thank you, sir. It was right where I left it. Wabika glances at the case and then back into the eyes of the passenger. Open it.
The passenger hesitates. Sir, I just took the opportunity to grab a few more things. Open it. Now, please. Reluctantly, the man unclasps the case. Wabika takes it from him and looks inside. It's not insulin. It's money. Rows and rows of it in neat stacks. Wabika is flooded with rage. You endangered yourself and my crew member for this?!
The passenger stammers. No, but no, I... Before the man can say anything else, Rubika snaps the briefcase shut and flings it over the railing into the sea. Muriel Marvini tries to stand her ground and not get jostled around by other passengers pressed up against her. They're crowding around lifeboat number four, which hangs suspended on the other side of the deck railing. Muriel wonders how all these people are supposed to fit on this one lifeboat.
Her friend, Agnes, is squeezed up against her. Muriel is grateful that at least for a few moments in this crush of humanity, they're no longer cold. She watches two crew members jump over the railing and into lifeboat number four. She assumes they're going to assist the older passengers onto the lifeboat, but instead they take a seat at the far end of the boat, huddling under blankets. So much for women and children first, Muriel thinks.
She feels Agnes nudge her. "Can you believe that?" Muriel shrugs. "I guess they're scared too." An officer opens a gate in the railing and begins ushering passengers onto the boat. Each time a passenger boards, Muriel hears a creaking sound. She wonders if it's the sound of the 30-foot wooden boat straining under the growing weight, or the ropes that are holding the boat suspended above the water.
She closes her eyes and reminds herself that these boats have been tested and retested for just such an emergency. Agnes is next aboard. Muriel watches as her friend finds a space wedged between two other passengers. She looks miserable, but at least she has a seat. Then it's Muriel's turn. She steps aboard and glances over the edge at the dark water below.
It must be a 60-foot drop. She tries not to think about the height and focuses instead on looking for somewhere to sit. Suddenly, the lifeboat tilts sideways with a jerk. Muriel gasps and reaches out an arm to steady herself against the seated passenger. One side of the boat continues to dip precariously. Muriel can see the water below. A crew member cries out, "The boat is off balance. Please move to the high side."
A few passengers scramble toward the high side of the boat and it slowly levels off.
Muriel can't stop shaking. Still, more passengers are trying to climb aboard. The crew member shouts again, "There are too many people on this boat! Twenty need to leave! Please! There are other boats available!" She glances at Agnes, who meets her gaze. "Muriel, stay! We'll find you a seat!" Eventually, a handful of passengers step out of the boat and back onto the deck.
Muriel squeezes herself onto the bench next to Agnes and waits nervously as crew members use a pulley system to slowly lower the lifeboat. Suddenly, the boat is in freefall, plunging toward the water below. The brake controlling their descent must have slipped. Muriel feels her heart in her throat, a wave of panic coursing through her as she grabs Agnes' arm.
The boat hits the water with a loud smack. Miraculously, it does not overturn on impact, and no one falls overboard. "Oh dear Jesus, is everyone okay? I can't believe it." Muriel squeezes her eyes shut and tries to imagine something peaceful and safe. Her home back in New Jersey. Her family. Anything but this.
Out of nowhere, she's jarred violently against Agnes. She opens her eyes. The waves are slamming the side of the lifeboat against the hull of the cruise ship. Over and over, the wooden boat crashes into Prince and Dam's hull. The other passengers start to panic. Muriel turns to Agnes. No, the boat will break apart.
The boat has oars, but there are so many people aboard, there's no room to deploy them. But finally, the lifeboat starts to drift away from Prince and Dam on its own. Muriel looks up at the cruise ship looming above them. Dark, except for the flames spitting out of windows and portholes. She's glad to be off the ship, but then she looks around her.
There's nothing but darkness and the endless sea stretching in every direction. She closes her eyes. She can't shake the feeling that she's traded one peril for an even bigger one.
John Graham and his daughter Mallory huddle together on a bench in lifeboat number two. It's been 30 minutes since they boarded the lifeboat. The sky is starting to brighten in the east, but Graham can see that heavy clouds have moved in and the wind is picking up.
Their 30-foot lifeboat, crammed with close to 100 passengers and crew, bobs up and down on the waves. Frigid water splashes into the boat and sloshes at their feet. He turns around to get his bearings. He can see Prinsendam still, but their lifeboat is drifting. They must be a half mile away.
He hears a passenger in a camel hair blazer talking loudly enough for the whole boat to hear. This is an outrage. Holland America is going to be hearing from my lawyers. Graham wishes he would just shut up. He's not helping. He pulls Mallory closer to him. Hey Mal, how you doing? I'm okay. I'm just so cold. He gives her shoulder a brisk rub.
Then he feels raindrops, cold and sharp, stinging his skin. He turns to glance back at Prince and Dan. He can see other lifeboats, but theirs appears to be drifting the furthest from the ship. The lifeboats were supposed to be tethered together and attached to a motorized tender, but when the crew tried to put the towline on the first boat, it snapped. He doesn't want to voice what he's thinking. Their lifeboat has no oars.
With every passing hour, they'll continue to drift at the mercy of the waves. They're cold. They're hungry. Many of these passengers are elderly. A few look so pale, they could already be suffering from hypothermia. He turns to see a crew member stand up in the middle of the boat, his eyes wide with panic and fear. Oh my god, we're all going to die. An older female passenger stands up,
a woman Graham danced with on the first night of their cruise. She looks the crew member straight in the eye and then slaps him across the face. You fool, sit down. We are not going to die. Graham marvels at her courage. He knows everyone is probably thinking the same thing. The crew member could be right. They might die. But right now, what they need most is hope.
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A storm has rolled in, and everyone on the lifeboat is cold, wet, and miserable. A wave slams into the boat, and Jeannie grabs a set of metal bars in front of her to keep from falling over. There are other sets of bars scattered around the lifeboat, and she's been wondering what they're for.
Are they just for the passengers to hold onto? But then why do some seats have them and others not? Maybe they're meant to support some kind of covering, a tarp that could keep them dry. Not that there's any tarp aboard. If she weren't so frustrated, she'd laugh. During the lifeboat drills the other morning, the crew had explained the evacuation procedures, but they didn't say a word about what passengers were supposed to do once they were actually in the lifeboats.
There are several crew members aboard this boat, and one of them is supposed to be in charge. But he's just sitting there, shivering and miserable, along with the rest of them. She feels a tug on her sleeve. It's her mother. Look how far away the ship is. Jeannie takes in the sight of Prince and Dam in the distance, and realizes her mother is right. With every minute, they're drifting farther from the ship.
But if Prince and Dem vanishes over the horizon, how will rescuers find them? Feeling frustrated, she slams her hands against the metal bar. It moves. Curious, she grabs the metal bar again and gives it a push. It moves again, this time even farther. That gives her an idea. She turns to a young man sitting nearby, who also has a set of metal bars in front of him.
Excuse me, hi. I'm Jeannie and this is my mother Neva. The young man manages a weak smile. Hey, I'm Paul. Hey Paul, can you grab that bar in front of you? Let's try and push it together at the same time. I think these bars might actually row the boat. Ready?
One, two, three. The two of them push, then pull back, then push again. The boat starts to move. Genie calls out, "Everyone, if there's a metal bar in front of you, try pushing on it. If we all work together, I think we can stay close to the Princeton Dam and not drift away."
Passengers in other rows catch on and soon they've figured out how to move. A crew member in the back uses the boat's rudder to steer them. In the bench ahead of Jeannie, two women in their 60s introduce themselves as Agnes and Muriel, then start pushing and pulling on the bar together. As more people join in, the lifeboat slowly starts moving back toward Prince and Dem.
But it's slow going. The waves are growing bigger. Jeannie guesses they must be 10 or 15 feet high now. They have to push and pull the bars as hard as they can to carry the boat's momentum over the largest swells. To keep their spirits up, Jeannie starts to sing. Pull your boat gently down.
She sees one elderly passenger get up and half crawl to the edge of the boat, stick his head over the side, and vomit. Jeannie's mother looks like she might throw up at any moment too. If the ocean gets much rougher than this, Jeannie wonders how much longer some of these people can hang on before they're rescued. Hostess Susan Stevens sits on her hands to warm them up.
She's aboard lifeboat number one, the only one equipped with a motor. But she can't stop staring over her shoulder at Prince and them. In the morning light, the ship looks so much less grand than the one she boarded a few days ago. Now she's smoldering and charred along the center of her hull. Stephen spots occasional flames spurting from the ship's sides. "Hey, look! Another ship!"
She jumps at the sound of a passenger who's on his feet, pointing frantically over her shoulder. She turns around and can't believe it. It's not just any ship. It's a tanker. Even from a distance, it's massive. She stares, transfixed. It seems to be closing on them fast. She stands to join the other occupants of the boat, who are waving frantically.
The tanker starts to turn, and its full size becomes even more evident. It looms out of the water like an aircraft carrier. Stevens wonders how they'll ever be able to climb aboard its deck, which must be at least 20 feet above the water, or 30, depending on what the waves are doing. In such rough seas, Stevens worries that their little lifeboat could get slammed into the tanker's hull and crushed.
Just then, another crew member speaks up. "Wow. He's creating a lee for us. He's turning the ship to use it as a wind barrier." Sure enough, it seems to work. While the waves don't disappear, they subside. The lifeboat pilot steers them closer to the tanker. Stevens can see men aboard waving back at them. They've dropped a rope ladder from the side.
The pilot eases the tiny lifeboat up against the massive tanker and gestures to the ladder. "Susan, you go first." Stevens looks at the lifeboat pilot. Incredulous, the flimsy rope ladder is flapping in the wind. There's a gap of several feet between the tanker and the lifeboat. "Uh, how am I supposed to do this?" "Get ready. When the next wave lifts our boat, you grab a hold of a rung." Stevens looks down at the water.
What if she falls in? Does she get sucked in under the tanker? She realizes she's shaking, as much from fear as from the cold. But she knows she has to do this.
She stands at the edge of the boat, waiting for a wave to lift them. Sure enough, she feels the boat rising and grabs for a rung above her head with both hands. For a terrifying moment, her feet are dangling free, but then she finds a foothold on a lower rung. She pauses to catch her breath, then slowly she starts to climb.
It's exhausting. The wind is swirling, and she's never felt so weak. She tries not to look down, and instead focuses on taking the next step. She can hear helicopters high above them, their rotors rumbling in the stormy air. Finally, she feels a hand grasp her forearm, then more hands, pulling her up. Welcome aboard Williamsburg, ma'am. She can't believe it. She's made it!
But the climb exhausted her. How in the world will all of the elderly passengers be able to navigate that rope ladder? She turns to the rescuer, but what about everyone else? The rescuer throws a blanket over her shoulders. "No, unfortunately we can't rescue everyone this way. It'll take too long. You're in better shape than most of the passengers, and it took you almost ten minutes."
He points up at the helicopters circling overhead. "See? We're going to start airlifting them directly from the lifeboats." Stevens turns to look out over the scene. One lifeboat is so far away, it's almost on the horizon line. A few more are below her, looking like miniature toys in the shadow of Williamsburg. She wraps the blanket tightly around her shoulders and wonders whether it's really going to be possible for them to save everyone.
Muriel Marveni grips the bench of her lifeboat as it crests a 25-foot wave. She feels her fingernails digging into the wood. For a second, the boat pauses at the top of the wave. It's almost peaceful, but she knows what's next. Her stomach leaps into her throat as the boat hurtles down, sending her, Agnes, and the other passengers lurching forward.
There's barely a second for her to catch her breath before the raging sea starts to lift the boat again. She hears a nearby passenger vomit. She doesn't even bother to look around to see who it is. Just about everyone in the lifeboat has gotten sick at least once.
The seas were calmer when they abandoned ship a couple hours ago, but now a storm has rolled in, pelting the lifeboat's 100 occupants with cold stinging rain and turning the sea beneath them into a churning cauldron. As another wave lifts the boat, she scans the horizon. They've drifted so far from Prince and Dan, they can't even see her anymore. She feels Agnes' hands on her arm. Oh, you're real.
We'll never make it. She reaches over and grasps her friend's hand. She doesn't say anything. She realizes Agnes is probably right. She fills her eyes well up as she thinks about how she'll never get to see her children or her baby grandson again. And yet, at that moment, a sense of peace washes over her.
It's the same feeling she had years earlier in the hospital room where her husband Louis lay dying. It was a feeling that transcended grief or fear. She realized then what it was, the presence of God. And now she feels it again in the middle of this raging sea. A few rows behind her, someone starts to pray.
Muriel bows her head and joins in. All around her, she hears others murmuring along as well. A few hours ago, they were all strangers, but now their destinies are intertwined. She lifts her head, looks out over the storm-tossed ocean, and thinks of her brother, a soldier who disappeared in the North Sea during World War II.
she realizes that soon she may share his fate. This is episode three of our four-part series, Fire at Sea, Cruise Ship Rescue. A quick note about our scenes. In most cases, we can't exactly know what was said, but everything is based on historical research. If you'd like to learn more about this event, we highly recommend the book, None Were Lost by Stephen J. Corcoran.
I'm your host, Mike Corey. Steve Fennessy wrote this episode. Our editor is Alyssa Adams. Our consultant is Stephen J. Corcoran. Sound design is by Rob Shieliga. Our audio engineer is Sergio Enriquez. Our production coordinator is Desi Blaylock, produced by Matt Almos, Emily Frost, and Alida Rozanski. Our senior producer is Andy Herman. Our managing producer is Matt Gantt.
Our senior managing producer is Tonja Thigpen. Our executive producers are Jenny Lauer Beckman, Stephanie Jens, and Marshall Louis for Wondery. Hey, it's Guy Raz here, host of How I Built This, a podcast that gives you a front row seat to how some of the best known companies in the world were built.
In a new weekly series we've launched called Advice Line, I'm joined by some legendary founders and together we talk to entrepreneurs in every industry to help tackle their roadblocks in real time. Everybody buys on feeling, Guy, like everybody. So if you don't give them the feeling that they're looking for, they're not going to buy. A lot of times founders will go outside of themselves to build a story and you can't replicate heart.
You know, I think we all have a little bit of imposter syndrome, which isn't the worst thing in the world because it doesn't allow you to get overconfident and think that you're invincible. Check out the advice line by following How I Built This on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to How I Built This early and ad-free right now on Wondery+.