“My watch stopped!” Bubba exclaimed as he shook it and raised it to his ear. “Yeah, it’s dead, and I have no idea when it stopped. It could have just stopped, or it may have been minutes ago or hours ago.” 

He looked at the Reader and asked, “Have you ever wondered if time could truly stop? No, I don’t mean your watch or the clock on your phone. I mean the time in the place you are in. Here’s the story of time stopping for several people.”

November 1918

“Abandon Ship! Abandon Ship!” screamed the captain over the intercom. Captain Horace Paddington held on to the railing in the wheelhouse of the freighter Toppesdon with his left hand as he wiped blood from his face with his right. He discovered it was not his blood but belonged to First Mate Milton Polander. Polander was skewered into the pilot wheel by the force of the explosion.

A ferry could take passengers the 122km distance from Newhaven, East Sussex, England to the French port of Dieppe, Seine-Maritime in little time, but this was war, and the weather was foul. The fog was thick, the sky black, and the waters angry. None of the lookouts saw anything including the two torpedoes as they struck amidships. The engine room exploded and ignited the coal room into a blazing inferno.

Seven freighter steamers were sunk by German U-boats in November alone. Twenty men of the crew of thirty-eight from the Toppesdon scrambled into two lifeboats as the ship rolled to port, exploded again, split into three parts, and quickly sank. Many of the survivors were burned by flames from the ignited oil. Second Mate Swinson and others had swallowed seawater, oil, or both and lay sick. Captain Paddington put Swinson in charge of one boat with the captain in charge of the other. Paddington ordered the two lifeboats to be lashed together, but the high seas eventually tore them apart. When streaks of sunlight stabbed at the dark, thick fog, the boats drifted apart. Second Mate Swinson’s boat with ten crewmen was never seen again. 

Paddington’s boat drifted deeper into the fog. Seaman Broyles turned his good ear to the mild breeze and then said, “I hear something! I think it is Swinson’s boat!” Paddington ordered everyone to be quiet to determine where the sound came from. “Captain, I think I hear voices,” Broyles whispered as he pointed to starboard. “Blimey, I think it is Spanish I hear!”

A small boat drifted toward them. “That don’t look like any lifeboat I’ve ever seen,” Broyles said. As it bumped into Paddington’s lifeboat, they realized it was a hollowed-out tree trunk with three strangely dressed sailors. Their hair was long and matted as were their beards. Their pale white skin was stretched over their bones so tightly, their ribs could be counted. Their gray cotton shirts and shorts were tattered and frayed. Two were barely alive, and the third was dead – dismembered in the bottom of the dugout.

“I am Captain Horace Paddington, late of the ship Toppesdon on our way to France to deliver materiel to British troops fighting the Germans. We were sunk yesterday or the day before by a German U-boat. Who are you?” Paddington asked.

The two sailors exchanged astonished glances before one spoke up. “I am Capitán Carlos Jiménez of His Majesty’s San Miguel. This is my First Mate Raúl Cardona. He cannot speak – his tongue was cut out by the English pigs when our 74-gun ship was captured during the Siege of Gibraltar.”

Paddington was astounded, so he carefully asked, “And when did that happen, Captain Jimenez?”

“We have lost track of time, but it was in the Year of Our Lord 1782. Why do you ask? What year is this?”

“Something is happening here that I do not understand. I do not speak Spanish, but I understand every word you say,” Paddington said.

Jiménez had a quizzical look on his face as he stated, “And I do not speak English. How is this so? And what is a U-boat?”

“I can’t explain it but somehow, we understand each other. A U-boat is a submarine.”

“A what?”

“A boat that travels under the water and can destroy ships.”

“Santa María! Such a thing is possible?”

“Captain Jimenez, the year now is 1918 – that is 136 years after you lost your ship?” Captain Paddington said in amazement.

“Santa Madre de Dios!” Jiménez uttered in disbelief.

“What happened to you?” Paddington pushed for more information.

“We were captured, and my crew tortured because they thought our ship was laden with gold destined for the Court of Charles III. There was no gold – the San Miguel was a fighting ship. Half my crew was forced overboard into a small, overloaded skiff, and the English crew laughed as it sank thirty meters from the ship. Then, the English gave us a choice, either become part of their crew as they returned the ship to English ports or be hung. My First Mate Raúl Cardona, Seaman Suárez, and I jumped ship when they stopped for fresh water. Only the two of us survived.”

“What happened to Suárez?”

Cardona became agitated and fell to his knees, clasping his hands. Captain Jimenez bit his parched lips hard enough to draw blood. “I – I – I cannot speak of it. It was an abomination in the sight of Jesús!”

“Why is the body of Suarez in pieces?” Paddington demanded but was afraid of the answer.

Jiménez began to cry in anguish, “We had to survive! After he died, we ate his flesh.”

 “They are cannibals!” Seaman Broyles screamed through gritted his teeth. “Cast them adrift and let them fend for themselves!”

Paddington spun around and yelled, “What would you have done, Broyles?” His question was met with silence. He turned back and said, “Captain Jimenez, we have room for Cardona and you in our lifeboat – it can hold fourteen, but there are only six of us still alive. We returned two to the protection of God and the sea earlier. We will do the same for the remains of Suarez. We do not have the needed provisions for everyone, but we are willing to share.”

Broyles continued to protest. “You can’t bring them aboard, Captain! They are like an albatross!”

“I think they are more like Lazarus,” Paddington replied.

After a brief burial at sea for Suarez, the dugout was cut loose and drifted back into the fog. The quiet lifeboat with Toppesdon written on its side floated in the opposite direction and also disappeared. 

***

December 1943

The sloop named Adonis of the Italian Regia Marina was originally built as a dispatch vessel 115 meters long, with a beam of 12 meters, and a draught of only 3 meters. She was built with enough power to achieve 32 knots, yet able to hide in coves only ten feet deep. The Nazi command believed this made the ship perfect for supplying German U-boats in the Mediterranean and off Gibraltar. Armed with a modified Cannon 102/35 Model 1914 and 6 20mm Breda antiaircraft guns, the Adonis had speed and firepower.

Kapitän Schoor barked, “Langsam auf 1/3 Geschwindigkeit!”

Tenente Umberto Nasato hated his job as translator and lackey for Schoor, the German commander. Nasato’s Italian navy, Regia Marina, got no respect from their Nazi allies especially after taking over the Italian navy and becoming their ‘superiors’. He sighed and ordered in Italian for the Adonis to slow to 1/3 speed, “Avanti a 1/3 della velocità.” Schoor refused to speak Italian – he felt it was beneath him.

Both Schoor and Nasato used binoculars to scan for any signs of the U-boat they were to supply with food, medical supplies, and ammunition for extended patrols. The full moon made it easier to spot the sub, but it also made the Adonis easier to be spotted by British ships and airplanes. Their rendezvous point was just north of Santa Cruz de Graciosa in the Azores and west of Gibraltar. They needed to complete this mission and get to a safe cove in the Canary Islands before they were found.

The crew of the Adonis was already removing hatch covers over the cargo holds as ordered by Schoor to speed up the process. The U-boat was late. A dark speck in the quiet sky grew larger; the speck became a Supermarine Spitfire.

“This is not possible!” Schoor yelled. “We are almost 1800 km from Gibraltar and the Spitfire only has a range of 770 km! Where did it come from?”

“I’d ask him, but I’m busy at the moment,” Nasato said as he ordered, “Avanti tutta!” (Full speed ahead!) and “Inizia un percorso a zig-zag!” (Initiate a zig-zag course!). He didn’t bother to consult with Herr Schoor.  

The Spitfire dove in a controlled sweep of the Adonis with guns blazing. Its Browning machine guns ripped through the sailors on the deck who tried to run to the antiaircraft guns. They never made it. The Spitfire circled back and opened up on the contents of the open cargo holds. Exploding ammunition set off a chain reaction as the middle of the Adonis rose several feet from the ocean. When it settled back on the surface, it began to sink immediately. For good measure, the Spitfire sprayed death through the clear view screen on the bridge. The pilot thought the ship could not send out a radio message if no one was alive.

The Italian supply ship did not meet the Nazi U-boat. It was sunk off Gibraltar by a British Spitfire fighter with a lucky shot that detonated five torpedoes the Adonis planned to transfer to the U-boat. Only seven of the crew escaped in a lifeboat.

The lifeboat from the Adonis had floated in the blazing sun for three days. Schoor and Nasato were fished from the sea late on the first day. Schoor was blinded by flaming oil when he jumped from the Adonis as it went under. Nasato was unconscious for two days before he awoke. Four more survivors died of injuries, starvation, dehydration, loss of hope, or a combination of everything. Nasato took command, but there was nothing to do but wait, float, bail seawater with a tin cup, and prepare to die. Before they rolled Schoor’s body into the sea, they stripped his tunic to stuff into cracks in the lifeboat. The fourth day was different; the sun struggled to shine through an unusual fog that did not move.

Carmen tried to cry out from his parched throat but could not. He hit the side of the boat with the cup they used to bail water and got Nasato’s attention. Carmen pointed at something dark emerging from the fog. At first, it appeared low in the water as it took shape. It was a lifeboat! Then the shape of men appeared from the fog. Carmen saw where the faded word Toppesdon had been painted over in red with Lazarus. Nasato’s voice was barely above a whisper when he said, “Who are you? Where did you come from?”

A man’s voice rang out, “I am Captain Horace Paddington of the freighter Toppesdon. We were sunk by a German U-boat some time ago but have remained alive. There are eight of us. Who are you?”

“I am Tenente Umberto Nasato … oh you say … Lieutenant … we are from the Adonis of the Italian navy. We too sank, but just a few days ago after an attack by a British Spitfire.”

“A what?”

“A British fighter plane,” Nasato repeated. “Are you not familiar with them? We were headed to the Azores but never made it.”

“We sank in the English Channel, and I have no idea how we got here.”

Nasato scratched his head as he said, “Mio Dio! Questo è impossibile! When did that happen?”

“November 30, 1918. Let your mind absorb that,” Paddington said.

“Our ship went down on December 22, 1943. I can’t believe this!”

Paddington said, “There is more. May I introduce Capitán Carlos Jiménez of His Majesty’s San Miguel?”

Another voice said, “Si. We abandoned our ship after the English commandeered it in 1782.”

Nasato’s jaw went slack for several moments until he muttered, “Non posso crederci!”

“You may not believe it, but it is true,” Paddington replied. “I see your boat has several cracks that are leaking. There is room in our boat for the two of you. Join us, if you will.”

Carmen pointed at the name on the boat. “Why did you paint Lazarus over the real name Toppesdon. Are you cursed?”

“Perhaps,” Paddington said. “But we rose from a watery grave similar to Lazarus rising from the dead. Come.”

***

August 2023

Two men and a woman fought to stay afloat as they watched the Egyptian ship with the French name Lever du Soleil sink beneath the waves off Morocco. The ferry was the victim of the season’s first hurricane, Katra, along with 384 passengers who drowned. University students on holiday, tourists, mothers with babies, old couples, newlyweds, and others screamed and flayed in the waters until all fell silent.

Abdellah and Hafid worked together to keep a terrified Sameera from drowning and as calm as possible. “Any idea what happened?” Hafid asked.

“No,” Abdellah responded. “The ship’s name Lever du Soleil should be changed to Dernier Lever de Soleil — the Last Sunrise,” he added trying to raise the spirits of the terrified Sameera. No one laughed.

“Are there sharks in these waters?” Sameera gasped as she spit out ocean water.

“I have no idea, and I wish you had not brought that possibility up!” Hafid yelled as he treaded water more slowly. “We will be dead before the sharks arrive, so it won’t matter.”

“Hey, is that the bow of the ferry I see?” Abdellah blurted.

“Can’t be. The ferry went down over there,” Hafid replied. “And how has a fog materialized during a hurricane?”

“I see a boat!” Sameera yelled. “We are here! Help us!”

The long lifeboat eased from the foggy gloom. Its sides were gray and cracked, but Lazarus was still readable despite its chipped red paint.

“Ahoy!” came the sound of a man from the boat.

Sameera yelled again, “We are here! Help us!”

As the lifeboat slowed between the three survivors, Hafid asked, “Where did you come from, and how did you find us? Are there more rescue ships searching for us?” The thick fog began to close around them, choking the air.

“This may be difficult for you to understand. I am Captain Horace Paddington of the British freighter Toppesdon. This is Capitán Carlos Jiménez and his First Mate Raúl Cardona of His Majesty’s San Miguel. That was Charles III of Spain in 1782.”

Hafid stopped coughing up seawater and started laughing. “Did you say 1782? That’s a bad joke to pull on three wet survivors from a ship that sank!”

“Let me finish the introductions. This is Kapitän Schoor and Tenente Umberto Nasato of the Italian Regia Marina sloop Adonis.”

“Schoor is a Nazi. I’m Italian,” Nasato interjected. “Allow me to make that distinction.”

“I thought all the Nazis died in World War II. That was almost 80 years ago!” Abdellah sputtered.

“This is just a lifeboat,” Sameera said. “Where is your ship?”

“You’re looking at it,” Paddington said as he sighed. “I lost my ship in 1918, Jiménez lost his in 1782, and Nasato lost his in 1943.”

“It’s hard to believe, and harder still to understand,” Nasato added as he shook his head. “But you are alive.”

The fog bank got thicker and darker as Jiménez softly said, “Welcome aboard.”

The Lazarus lifeboat disappeared in the silence of the fog bank.