CATASTROPHE: Wind, Water & Woe

If a Southern Pacific train from the West had not been six hours late rolling into New Orleans late last fortnight, 356 men, women & children aboard a coastwise steamer would not have spent 48 hours face to face with Death in one of the most furious hurricanes that ever struck the Florida Keys. And if a Florida East Coast train had been dispatched an hour earlier, 410 other men, women & children might still be alive.

On French Reef. Scheduled to sail from New Orleans to New York at 11 a.m., the 8,000-ton Southern Pacific-Morgan Liner Dixie waited until 6 p. m. for 25 vacationists whose train had been held up by a Texas washout. More than a quarter of a day behind schedule, the Dixie dropped down through the Mississippi Delta, swung out into the Gulf of Mexico. Aboard her was a crew of 123 and 233 passengers, including three popularity contest winners from Pennsylvania, a prominent Manhattan psychiatrist, some honeymooners and an assortment of trippers and travelers taking advantage of the cheap rail-water route from the West Coast to New York. It occurred to few that they had chosen one of the most hazardous months of the year to cross one of the world's most treacherous patches of sea. The Caribbean hurricane season was on, and Gulf fishermen had ominously reported that tarpon had been migrating to shore waters "in droves and herds, flocks and schools, by thousands —like they always do in a heavy hurricane season."

Two mornings later the Dixie's company watched a low bank of black clouds creep over the southeastern horizon. By noon a stiff blow was on. By 4 o'clock the Dixie was pitching, rolling and trembling from stem to stern in the grip of a full-sized tempest which had caught her in the perilous Florida Straits. Night came down and the storm increased, sending waves clean over her bridge, blinding her officers with solid sheets of rain. At 8:12 p. m. the Dixie's bottom grated over something that felt like a giant washboard, stuck fast on a hidden reef.

The Dixie, as coastal steamers go, is a first class ship. She is only eight years old, the flagship of her line, equipped with all modern navigation gadgets. Her commander, towheaded Captain Einar William Sundstrom, had a fine reputation for seamanship. Of his 50 years, 34 had been spent at sea. No stranger to marine disaster, he had been rammed off Galveston Bay, brought a vessel safely through a 120-m.p.h. hurricane. Of a philosophical turn of mind, Captain Sundstrom had observed upon taking command of the Dixie last year: "You've always got to be on guard against the oceans. They may look peaceful and act peaceful for a long time. That's your good luck. But you know the time is coming when the sea is going to rise and hand you all it's got in the way of trouble—and that's plenty." Aground in a tropical hurricane at night last week, Captain Sundstrom was handed a maximum of trouble by the sea.