Samuel Florman - The Aftermath

As the new day dawned, cooking fires started to glow and tureens of soup were set upon them to warm. Passengers gathered around to watch, and several spontaneously started to applaud captain and crew for their successful salvage operation. Suddenly it seemed the entire company was swept up in a mood of high-spirited defiance. Nordstrom felt, momentarily, like Robinson Crusoe, to whom shipwreck was a challenge through which he could demonstrate his resourcefulness, indeed, his humanity.

Once the kitchen operation was established, the captain asked the military engineers in the passenger group, led by General Allen White, director of civil works of the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, to establish sanitary facilities. Soon work was underway on the construction of rudimentary outhouses. One of the engineers suggested designing a gravity sewer system leading to an anaerobic digester which could produce methane gas for lighting, cooking, and an eventual source of power. The idea was commended, but put in the category of “future possibilities.”

The medical staff set aside a small area designated as a clinic. But there were hardly any patients. The twenty-five hundred people who had just undergone a considerable ordeal appeared to be amazingly healthy.

Food, water, and sanitation. The immediate needs of the survivors were attended to on the first day. There was no shelter, but the weather was wonderfully mild.

“Just like the Caribbean,” Wilson Hardy said to Nordstrom as the two men stood together at noon, surveying the swarm of activity along the beach. “My late wife and I went several times over the years: Jamaica, the Virgin Islands, Nevis. She wouldn’t have liked these clouds. But they’re good fortune for us, given the ozone problem.”

“It happens to be the traditional rainy season,” the captain said. He was impressed with Wilson Hardy, the organizer of the AAES cruise, a natural leader among the passengers. “We cannot rely on traditional weather patterns, however,” he went on. “We can only hope they prevail. But, of course, since we’re a long way from establishing a farming operation, favorable weather does not solve our major problem, which is food. Even if meals are restricted to minimal levels, our supplies are adequate only for about a month.”

“Is this what you want to talk to us about this evening?”

Nordstrom had called together a committee for a meeting before nightfall. Although he might have asserted his prerogative of absolute command, he felt that the existing circumstances called for a different approach. He had asked Hardy to join him as co-chairman of a leadership assembly. He invited a few of his senior officers to join and asked Hardy to call upon leaders from several of the constituent engineering societies. General White of the Army Corps of Engineers was enlisted, as was Harold Carson, director of the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA), who was also part of the traveling seminar.

Carson, especially, had been distressed not to be in Washington when the comet struck. He had told Hardy that he was responsible for a staff of nearly three thousand in ten regional offices and had oversight of emergency response activities of twenty-eight federal agencies and departments, plus the Red Cross and other volunteer organizations. He and some of his key aides, who had accompanied him on the trip, had presented a session early in the voyage devoted to the mitigation of such disasters as earthquakes, floods, fires, and a variety of storms. He very much regretted not being at his post when the ultimate disaster struck. But, as it turned out, no amount of preparedness and resourcefulness would have helped.

The captain of the Queen of Africa said to Wilson Hardy, “We are lucky to have you and your fellow engineers in our company; but this good fortune brings with it potential problems. Engineers are not renowned for their mastery of politics. How are we going to take a collection of intelligent, strong-willed individuals and forge them into a community that works in relative harmony? I’ve given this some thought,” he continued, “and I believe we should work toward a consensus model—not a military organization, not a true democracy. We need to remove politics and egos from the picture, as much as possible.”

Hardy considered this proposal and deemed it essentially sound. He was skeptical—thinking of some of his more opinionated colleagues—but agreed to support Nordstrom’s strategy.

“As long as we can channel their special talents, get them to buy into the plan…”

“Well, we’ll know soon enough,” Nordstrom said. “We can’t afford a minute’s delay. Let’s get our people together—we might call them the Governing Council—and meet this evening.”

At 1900 hours (the old “time zone” designation was being retained), the Governing Council convened for its first session. The fifteen members sat on makeshift chairs or on the sand, facing a sawhorse table that resembled something from a western movie set. For overhead protection, pieces of canvas had been spread on a framework improvised from scrap lumber and pieces of bamboo. Hardy’s son, Wilson Junior, sat at one end of the table, serving as recording secretary. There was much to be done, and little time was wasted on idle conversation.

With Nordstrom the consensus chairman and Hardy his elected co-chair, the Council quickly decided to move ahead on three fronts: First, continue to improve the camp on the beach, most immediately by providing shelter from sun and rain. To help achieve this, several military engineers would be asked to design simple lean-to structures, using wooden debris scavenged from the area, along with such canvas, tablecloths, blankets, or other fabrics as could be found among the supplies. The sand dunes, some of which were tall and steep, served well as a wall against which to rest the sundry structural supports. As for assembling the rudimentary shelters, General White’s officers and Harold Carson’s FEMA people would direct the effort, with passengers and crew expected to pitch in as best they could. At the same time, a cadre of civil engineers was assigned the task of designing a “next-generation” structure, employing thatch or other natural materials that might make for more comfortable and durable shelters.

Second, it was vital that a survey team seek out potential sites for a more permanent settlement away from the ocean’s edge. The responsibility for this work was also assigned to General White and his team.

Third, and most important for long-term survival, a scouting party would be sent inland to see who and what might have survived the holocaust, and what the prospects were for finding sources of food. The logical objective for this expeditionary force was the city of Ulundi, fifty miles distant—seventy-five by winding road—perched in the promisingly green hills at an altitude of about two thousand feet. The Ulundi decision was unanimous, although more than a few of the members of the governing group admitted that they had never heard of the place and had only the vaguest idea of its location.

“Just where the hell are we?” The question was raised by Donald Ruffin, president of the Institute of Electrical and Electronics Engineers, an acknowledged whiz-bang with fiber optics, but rather inscrutable when it came to non-technical subjects. Lumpy and bespectacled, he sometimes chose to act the country bumpkin, implying not that he was dim-witted, but rather that the world about him was run by dimwits. In the current situation, however, he was genuinely perplexed. There had been a few shipboard lectures about African geography, history, and culture, but Ruffin—along with many other engineer passengers—had chosen not to attend.

“We’re in Africa, Donald,” Wilson Hardy responded drily.