Ordeal on the River

YANGTSE INCIDENT (240 pp.)--Lawrence Earl--Knopf ($3).

A stranger on the docks of Hong Kong might have wondered what all the fuss was about. It was only the little British frigate Amethyst, 1,470 tons, and looking a bit shabby at that. But as she hove into view that August day of 1949, the din of sirens, fireworks and lusty British cheers was a considered tribute. In spite of the heavy rain, a squadron of Spitfires repeatedly swooped low in salute. Only as the Amethyst neared her Royal Navy berth did it become plain that she was a shelled cripple. No sooner was she tied up than her whole crew was relieved, to become the week-long guests of the Fleet Club. From England, King George personally ordered an extra round of grog for all hands with the time-honored phrase: "Splice the main brace."

No sailorman's drink was ever more fairly earned. On April 20 the Amethyst had been steaming up the Yangtse River on a routine mission to Nanking. On the left bank lay the retreating Nationalist army; on the right the Communists were poised for an assault crossing. Suddenly, about 125 miles upriver, some 75 miles from Nanking, the Communists opened up with artillery, fired twelve rounds and scored twelve misses. Fifty minutes later, ignoring Union Jacks unfurled over the side, another and more accurate shore battery scored 53 hits on the Amethyst. Dead and wounded lay scattered about her deck. The ship's doctor was killed, the skipper was wounded and soon died, and most of the guns were put out of action. The Communists answered the Amethyst's white flag of truce with machine-gun fire. The smashed frigate ran aground on a mud-bank, remained trapped under Communist guns for 101 days.

The Price of Freedom. Canadian Journalist Lawrence Earl retells H.M.S. Amethyst's story (TIME, May 2, Aug. 8, 1949) with measured understatement. But what he learned from the 36 men & officers he interviewed is stitched into a record of human toughness and devotion that defeats even a dead-pan style. Some 80 officers and men were ordered ashore from the Amethyst, got to the Nationalist side and made it to Shanghai. It was those who remained aboard through the grim summer days who were finally to taste the excitement of the Amethyst's escape.

The Communists promised not to reopen fire so long as the ship stayed where she was anchored. From her new skipper, Lieut. Commander John Simon Kerans, who came down from the embassy at Nanking, they demanded an admission that the Amethyst had provoked the attack. This was to be the price of freedom, set and maintained in eleven frustrating, tea-drinking sessions. Kerans refused to pay. The steel ship became a furnace, as fuel ran low and the ventilators had to be shut off. As the carefully measured food ran out, the crew went on half rations. To Skipper Kerans it seemed plain that the Communists were trying to starve him into an admission of guilt.

For once the British Navy was powerless; three warships that had tried to rescue the Amethyst had been turned back severely damaged.

Then came the Amethyst's break. In answer to Kerans' pleas, the Communists delivered 56 tons of fuel oil to operate the refrigerators and ventilators. The 56 tons, Kerans figured, gave him just enough to reach the open sea. He decided to run for it. Luckily the Yangtse was in high water, but, even so, the tortuous, silted channel was a skipper's nightmare--especially without an experienced Chinese pilot. And even if Kerans had the luck to stick to the channel while ducking Communist artillery, there was still a boom of sunken ships to pass, 40 miles downriver.

"God Save the King." A little after 10 p.m., July 30, Kerans ordered "Slip cable!" Minutes later his ship was on her way. Soon after, the Communists guns opened up and Kerans felt a shell whoosh past his neck, but the Amethyst was untouched. Then she began to flood from a waterline shell hole suffered in the first day's attack. In the engineroom the depleted crew of eleven worked at temperatures up to 170 degrees, drank ten gallons of tea during the frantic run. In the chart-room, two men tried to pick out the channel with an echo sounder. One thing was sure: the Amethyst had to hit the narrow opening in the boom or "she would slice off her bottom." As she approached it, a flare went up, Communist guns opened fire and the river erupted in waterspouts. Kerans saw a single light on the boom and prayerfully made a blind guess: "Steer just to port of the light." And the Amethyst went through without scraping her paint.

Only once did the Amethyst get into dangerously shallow water. Below the boom, she met a patrol boat; Kerans decided to speed by as close as possible, thus give the smaller enemy craft a minimum chance to rake his decks. The Amethyst scraped by with a bare 18 inches to spare. Then a junk without lights loomed up ahead and was sliced in two. Then the biggest guns of all, at Woosung, were safely passed, and the Amethyst was in the clear. In the wide mouth of the Yangtse, she met H.M.S. Concord and the sweaty, half-starved crew of the Amethyst cried openly as the Concord's men lined the rails and cheered.

Kerans radioed a message to his commander in chief: "Have rejoined the fleet. Am south of Woosung. No damage or casualties. God save the King."

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