Catastrophe

West of the U.S. naval base at St. John's, Newfoundland, a long spit of land juts southwest toward the islands of St. Pierre and Miquelon. Lieut. Commander Ralph Hickox, skipper of the elderly flush-deck destroyer Truxtun, knew he was somewhere near the end of the spit, but he could not see. The wind was blowing more than 60 miles an hour and low-flying scud dropped the visibility toward zero. The Truxtun ran aground. So did the naval supply ship Pollux. The waves, pounding in like sledgehammers to the base of a 200-ft. cliff, began to break the two ships up.

The rugged fishermen of nearby St. Lawrence Harbor ran to the cliff top, lowered a boat on ropes. It capsized. The waves threw men from the two wrecks against the cliff base, some alive, many dead. Rigging a breeches-buoy to the ledge where half-frozen survivors perched, the fishermen brought up, one by one, those who were not washed away before their turn came. The dead numbered nearly 200, and Commander Hickox was among them.

In Washington his wife put a birthday cake with eight candles on the table for Dorcas Ann Hickox, tried bravely to keep the news from her. But Dorcas Ann heard it on the radio while the candles burned.

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