Gallico - The Poseidon adventure Paul Gallico

"A TRIUMPH FOR GALLICO THE
STORYTELLER... THE ACTION
IS SUPERB!" -- St. Louis Post Dispatch
"Heroism, depravity, tragedy, breakdown
emerge as the facades are stripped away
... keeps the reader breathless!"
-- Publishers' Weekly
"Love and hate and desperation...
tense and dramatic... All the humanity
and understanding that have made Paul
Gallico's novels beloved have been
poured into this one!"-- Southwest Times-Record
"The almost unbearable suspense to
which the story builds ranks in intensity
with a moon landing. Galileo is a mas
ter. He has written an extraordinary
novel!" -- Chattanooga Times

Copyright 1969 by Paul Gallico and Mathemata Anstalt
All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof
may not be reproduced in any form without permission
in writing from Coward-McCann, Inc.
Dell TM 681510, Dell Publishing Co., Inc.
Reprinted by arrangement with
Coward-McCann, Inc.
New York, New York 10016
Printed in the United States of America
Previous Dell Edition #7006
New Dell Edition
First priting -- December 1972
Second printing -- December 1972
Third printing -- January 1973
Fourth printing -- March 1973
Fifth printing -- April 1973
Sixth printing -- May 1973
Seventh printing -- July 1973 FOR JOHN TUCKER HAYWARD
YANKEE BAT-BOY;
ADMIRAL U.S.N.;
FRIEND
Contents
I Rehearsal for Disaster 1
II Disaster 18
III Reprieve 28
IV The Adventurers 37
V The Christmas Tree 51
VI Nonnie Joins Up 70
VII The Adventure of the First Staircase 80
VIII Madam Must Have Her Postiche 90
IX The Adventure of the Second Staircase 101
X Broadway 115
XI What about the Reverend Dr Scott? 128
XII Broadway after Dark 139
XIII Susan 148
XIV A Rattling of Bones 162
XV Belle Zimmerman of the W.S.A. 174
XVI Welcome to Hell 189
XVII Mount Poseidon 204
XVIII And Then There Were Twelve 217
XIX 'You Can't Win 'Em All' 225
XX The Top Sarge Takes Over 237
XXI Under the Skin 254
XXII 'We Were Intimate' 267
XXIII Everything Goes in Threes 279
XXIV 'Say Goodbye' 290
XXV L'Envoi 302
CHAPTER I
Rehearsal for Disaster
At seven o'clock, the morning of the 26th day of December, the S.S. Poseidon,81,000 tons, homeward bound for Lisbon after a month-long Christmas cruiseto African and South American ports, suddenly found herself in the midstof an unaccountable swell, 400 miles south-west of the Azores, and beganto roll like a pig.
The Poseidon, formerly the R.M.S. Atlantis, the first of the gianttransatlantic liners to become outmoded, sold and converted to acombination of cargo and cruise trade, entered the area with her fueltanks two-thirds empty and no water ballast replacement. The curiouslylong, low waves she was encountering came at intervals just too farapart to be caught by the lagging synchronization of her out-of-dateand partially damaged stabilizers. Thus, she reeled drunkenly from sideto side with the result that the motion combined with the hangover fromthe practically all-night, gala Christmas party and dance made the bulkof her five hundred odd, one-class Travel Consortium Limited passengersmiserably and uncompromisingly ill.
The big switchboard serving the cabin telephones began to light uplike the Christmas tree decorating the grand dining-saloon. Callsfor help swamped the office of the ship's medico, Dr Caravello,a seventy-five-year-old Italian dragged from retirement by theInternational Syndicate operating the trip, and his assistant Marco,an intern just out of medical school. There were also a head nurse andtwo sisters. The telephone in the surgery never stopped ringing. Unableto cope personally, the Doctor simply sent around pills and instructionsto remain in bed. All this took place in bright tropical sunlight on asea which, except for the interminable swells, was barely ruffled.
To add to the unhappiness of the retching passengers, things in the cabinscame alive. Everything unattached -- trunks, hand luggage, bottles --slid from side to side; clothing hung upon pegs took on animation, swayingoutwards and back again. Nerves were further jangled by the protestingcreaks and groans of the old ship's joints and the distant crashes ofbreaking crockery. Seasick remedies eventually lost both their potencyand psychological magic. By mid-morning as far as the travellers wereconcerned, their happy home throughout an otherwise gay and uneventfulvoyage had become a hell.
As always, however, there were a few hardy exceptions, that small percentageof good sailors to be found on every liner which says, 'I never get sick'and don't.
Thus, shortly before noon Mr James Martin, proprietor of a men'shaberdashery shop in Evanston, Illinois, travelling alone and unaffectedby the movement, telephoned to Mrs Wilma Lewis, a widow from Chicago.Mrs Lewis was not amongst the fortunate and said, 'For God's sake don'tbother me! Just let me die quietly.' And when he asked, 'Mayn't I comeand see you?' groaned, 'No!' and hung up.
In another cabin Mrs Linda Rogo was abusing her husband, between bouts ofbeing sick, with every obscenity of an experienced vocabulary. Mrs Rogowas an ex-Hollywood starlet and briefly a Broadway actress, convinced thatshe had lowered herself and sacrificed her career when she married MikeRogo, plain-clothes detective of the Broadway Strong Arm squad. Betweencalling him every gutter name she could muster, she developed the themethat he had made her come upon this voyage of which she had hated everyminute, and now had not even the grace to be ill. Mike Rogo, unable toplacate his wife, eventually fled the cabin followed by her curses.
Dr Frank Scott -- the Doctor was not an M.D. but a Doctor of Divinity --telephoned Mr Richard Shelby of Detroit and said, 'Hi, Dick!' and gotback, 'Hi, Frank!'
'How's the family standing up?'
'Okay, up to now.'
Scott said, 'There goes our squash game.'
'I'll say!'
'If this stops, we might have a try this afternoon.'
'Right!'
'See you at lunch.'
'Okay, Buzz.'
The two men had been drawn together during the cruise by common interestin football and athletics. The Reverend Doctor Scott no more than fiveyears ago had been Frank 'Buzz' Scott, Princeton's All-America fullback,all-around athlete, two-time Olympic decathlon champion and mountainclimber.
Richard. Shelby, Scott's senior by some twenty years, travelling withhis family, Vice-President of Cranborne Motors of Detroit, in charge ofcommercial vehicle de- sign, had been a useful end at Michigan in his day.
Mrs Timker, director of the Gresham Girls, the dancing troupe connectedwith the floating cabaret which had been entertaining thrice weeklythroughout the voyage, though considering herself in the last throes,still had the strength to send around a message to the members of hercompany, 'No show tonight.' One of the dancers, a thin girl from Bristol,Nona Parry, with red hair and a pale, somewhat too-small face who shouldhave been sick but was not, said, 'Oh goody! I can wash my hair.'