Once safely out to sea with regular sea watches set, Captain Hinman turned the deck over to Don Grilley and went below. He went into the Wardroom and sat down.
“Where are the people we picked up?” he asked Thomas T. Thompson, the black Officers’ Cook who held sway over the small galley next to the Wardroom.
“Well, Captain, it’s like this,” Thompson said. “The lady’s clothes are in rags, so bad that she can’t hardly be decent in front of other people. So Johnny Paul, he ain’t too big you know, he’s given her some dungaree pants and a shirt and she’s in the Officers’ shower right now, cleanin’ herself up. They’re dressing her husband in dungarees and a clean shirt and sandals and they’re tryin’ to find some sandals small enough for the lady. Mike DeLucia took the little boy back to his torpedo room to clean him up and Ginty is taking care of the baby girl.”
“Ginty? Ginty? Taking care of a baby girl?”
“Yessir,” Thompson said with a broad grin. “Old Ginch has got that baby girl up there and he’s givin’ her a bath in a bucket!”
“I’ve got to see this!” Hinman said.
“Uh, uh, Captain. I wouldn’t if I were you. Ginty rigged some sheets around the shower in the Forward Room so the lady could have some privacy when she come out of the shower and he closed the water-tight door to the Wardroom so no one could bust in on her. If I were you I’d just sit tight and have some more coffee. When the people get the visitors all cleaned up they’ll bring ‘em here.”
“Sailors!” Hinman said.
An hour later the missionary and his wife, each dressed in clean dungarees and wearing submarine sandals, lightweight shoes with perforated leather tops and a strap to hold them on, pushed their plates back in the Wardroom.
“That all you gonna eat?” Thompson said from his galley.
“My dear man,” the missionary said. “You cooked a superb meal! Just marvelous! Roast beef and Welsh rarebit!”
“I didn’t cook none of it,” Thompson said. “I just sort of supervised. Couldn’t get no haggis for you. Had to make do with the Welsh rarebit. How about more tea?”
When Thompson had cleared the table Captain Hinman turned to the missionary.
“I’d like you to meet my officers now.” He nodded at Thompson and in a few minutes the off-duty officers crowded into the Wardroom.
“Gentlemen,” Captain Hinman said from the head of the table. “Meet the Reverend Lucius Shrewsbury and Mrs. Shrewsbury and their two children, Ronald and Deborah.” He introduced each of his officers.
“Amazing people you have, Captain. It is Captain, is it not?” the Reverend Shrewsbury said. He indicated the Forward Torpedo Room with his hand. “That huge man up there almost scared Mrs. Shrewsbury to death, y’know! Took the baby right out of her arms and told her to get in the shower and get cleaned up!”
“His name is Ginty,” Hinman said. “He’s a very good man.”
“Indeed he is,” Mrs. Shrewsbury said in her soft voice, lisping through the gap where her front lower teeth were missing. “After I had dressed in these nice clothes I went up there by all those shiny brass things and that huge man had Deborah in his arms and she was all washed and clean and he was singing to her! And some nice man has cut Ronald’s hair.”
“The barber would be Mike DeLucia, the man in charge of the After Torpedo Room,” Captain Hinman said.
“And this kind gentleman, here,” the Reverend said, pointing to Lieutenant Cohen, “this gentlemen took charge of us and showed us everything. He made us welcome and oh, that wonderful hot water shower bath! And the clothes! A most Christian thing to do, sir!”
“Lieutenant Cohen is Jewish, Reverend,” Hinman said.
“So was Jesus!” the Reverend said. “A habit of speaking one gets into, you know. No offense intended, none taken, right, sir?” He looked earnestly at Nathan Cohen, who smiled gently.
Mako twisted her way southward through the islands of the Sulu Sea, running at full speed on the surface during the night hours and submerging by day. The children adapted well to the submarine. The boy, Ronald, was everywhere. Deborah, the small girl, was a toddler and couldn’t negotiate the high sills of the water-tight doors, but a sailor always seemed to be loitering nearby to lift her over the sill. In the galley Johnny Johnson and his crew worked overtime trying to concoct meals that would stun the passengers and did amaze the crew.
Four days after the passengers had come aboard Dusty Rhodes went to Joe Sirocco.
“Sir, we’ve got to talk about something,” Rhodes said. Sirocco nodded.
“Some of the crew got together,” Rhodes said, “and they decided that the reputation of the Mako is at stake, sir.”
“In what way?” Sirocco asked.
“They decided that we can’t turn those people we’ve got over at the dock looking like, well, sailors. Someone, I don’t know who, salvaged the lady’s torn dress from the GI can. They took it aft and they broke out the bolt of white linen we use to clean the deck guns and they cut out a new dress. Someone else chipped in with a pair of blue trousers and they made piping for the edges of the dress and the arms, the edges around the sleeves.
“A couple of Chief Barber’s people have got some civilian clothes aboard, I know it’s against regulations but I’m not going to hit them for that. Anyway, they’ve done some eyeball tailoring and they’ve got a pair of trousers, a clean shirt and a tie and a jacket that they think will fit him. Chief Hendershot, he hasn’t got any hips or ass in any case, he found a pair of swimming trunks that are too small for him and DeLucia did a tailoring job on those, cut them down for the boy and he made him a shirt out of an undress white jumper. And a dress for the baby.”
“Is that all?” Sirocco asked.
“No, sir, they used some of the cowhide we carry for chafing gear and they’re making sandals for the two kids.”
“My God!” Sirocco said.
“That’s not all,” Rhodes said patiently. “There’s a little gift package goes to the lady with the dress. Four pair of nylon stockings and a bottle of perfume and some lipstick!”
“Where in the hell did they get nylon stockings and perfume and lipstick?”
“I don’t ask questions like that, sir,” Rhodes grinned.
“I won’t either. When do they want to give these gifts to the passengers?”
“The day before we get in, sir. If the Captain will allow it.”
“You know he will! He’ll want to thank every damned man on the ship for this! I think it’s marvelous!”
“I think Ginty wants to adopt that little girl,” Rhodes said. “He spends most of his time off watch holding her. Yesterday he was giving her a bath and one of the people standing around made some remark about the baby’s private parts and Ginty clouded up and said he was going to break arms and legs if he heard any more talk like that around a lady! I’ve got two boys of my own but I never would have thought that Ginty would have any liking for kids.”
“Nor would I,” Sirocco said. “But you never can tell, can you.”
The message diverting Mako from Brisbane came while the ship was running down the length of Makassar Strait. The message instructed Mako to cross the Java Sea, traverse Lombok Strait between the islands of Lombok and Bali and go to Exmouth Gulf on the northwest coast of Australia. An official welcoming party would be on hand to take the passengers to Perth and the Navy would send a PBY aircraft bearing two torpedoes and food for Mako. A Staff officer of ComSubSouWesPac would be on the PBY to hand deliver new patrol orders to Mako.
“Exmouth Gulf?” Hinman said as he studied the chart. “Why, there’s nothing there! It’s nothing but a fueling station!” He turned to Cohen.