Steilberger, Hans

English

Digital Commons @ Butler University

M.ANU:-;CRIl'T"; 13to seek the solace of what yesterday was but a pagan barrier to Ot11-progress. \Ve go forth with traps and gUllS, with rods and creels,even with baskets and shovels, as though we were trying to bottle upthis thing called nature and take it home with us. 'vVe tread its en-chanted paths, demanding our share of such a heritage.Why is it that we react in such a way? It is because in nature wefind a beauty unsurpassed, the living vision of a beauty vanquishedfrom the steel and concrete; a beauty, elusive as the wind among thebranches, whose taunting whisper comes from the prehistoric layersof our minds. ;\ winding path we follow . . . obscure amidst theshadows, and we are back where the cool breath 0 [ the forest soothesour restless blood, where yawning woodland pools reflect the physi-cal conformations of tranquility, mocking our discontent, healing ourtribulations, calling us friend. How can we help but love such beauty,when we know that it is God? What truer token could man ask tonourish his faith?Waiting for the "Princess"Hans S+eilbergerTI.I Ebright, warm sun which beamed benignly frorn an absolutelyblue October sky seemed to presage a perfect holiday for us aswe alighted from the still throbbing Army truck which had justrumbled to a halt over a pair of railroad tracks protruding from theaging pavement. \Ve had ani vee! at the Port of N aples. Joking,laughing, shouting we sauntered to Pier D where we were to boardthe "Princess't-e-more precisely, La Principessti-s-tsv: compact, dirty-white excursion steamer which had been chartered by Army SpecialServices to take us, the semi-weekly quota of 30 enlisted men. to theIsle of Capri for a luxurious week's rest and relaxation. We hadbeen designated the recipients of this privilege by 01.11- various organi-zations and had traveled to Naples on the "Eighty-eight," the Army-operated express train which connected Naples and Trieste for theconvenience of Army personnel and civilian VIP's only. The truckfrom which we hac! just disentangled ourselves had been awaitingour arrival at Garibaldi Station to whisk us over narrow, cobbledstreets to the port, where we were now milling about in excitedanticipation.With a feeling somewhat akin to panic we suddenly discoveredthat Pier D, a narrow, concrete wharf which jutted about 70 feet intothe slightly rippling, scummy gray water, was completely devoid ofanything even slightly resembling a sea-going vessel. /\11 three berthswere empty. However, our first excited speculations were soon in-14 MANUSCRIPTSterruptcd by a wizened, toothless dockhand who came shuffling outof a nearby wooden shack. Dressed in nondescript, baggy trousersand a black wool sweater which reeked of weeks of hard labor, andwearing the ever present dark stocking cap, he observed our groupFor a moment while we stared hack. Finally singling' me out-pos-sil.ly IJCCctllseof the three stripes J was wearing-he began emittinga series 0 f garl ic-Iaclen sounds. With 111y knowledge of "kitchen-Italiuu' taxed to its limits, I managed to gather that La Principessawas on her way horn Torre Annunz iata, a Naples I\ay hamlet aboutIS kilometers distant, and was not due to arrive before "Due emcz z' "-hal f past two. Having' maneu vcred upwind to escape someof the carbidi« Iumes he was pouring forth, I thanked him for thein Formation and pressed a cigarette into his outstretched. grimy, linedpalm. \Jl1tterillg a few words of thanks, he stuck the Camel behindhis car and clragged himself back to his shack.It was one o'clock at the time, and we realized that we had once1110re fallen prey to the "hurry-up-and-wait" phase of the old Armygame. \Vith so 11l11chtime to kill" we decided to disperse, look aroundand stroll about until the boat was due. Accordingly, we soon scat-tercel ill all directions.This was Iny first chance to take a good look at the port. Howdi fferent it seemed from that rainy April clay some 18 months before,when I was one ()r 4,000 troops marching off the Chnmpouillon' sg'ang plank after a short but choppy crossing from Oran. There waslittle sight-seeing then as we double-timed through the deluge ontowaiting trucks which slithered shakily through the mud and towards:1 replacement depot.I\ut there was no cloud today. and while the air was fillecl with thewhines 0 f motors and cranes and diesel locomoti ves, the crashing and])urnping of switching' railroad cars, and the laughter and cursing ofsweating stevedores, an aura of tranquility appeared to hang over theport. Across the water and clearly discernible rose l\H. Vesuvius, theIla1TOW pathway leading to its gaping crater standing out darkly:tgainst the gTeenish reflecting- slopes. [~ven the thin, gray haze whichusually surrounds its apex was missing today. lt was difficult toimagine how so peaceful a mountain could ever have deluged an entirecity with death and destruction.Farther out: at the southernmost tip of the bay, the high shoresuddenly dipped sharply into the water. There lay, [ knew, Sorrento,and I made up my minrl to visit this celebrated resort some day beforeI: left the country. I realized my wish the following year, discoveringeven more scenic beauty than I" had ever thought possible.Somehow, it was harcl to believe that bitter battles had been wagedhere in \iaples f\ay during the war, but the tops of smoke stacks andmasts of still submerged ships which lined the harbor floor, plainlyvisible frorn where 'I stood on the pier, 1110rethan gave evidence of/MANUSCRll'TS 15the struggle which had taken place here. Additions to this evidencewere all around me. To my left, on nearby Pier F, the rusty hull 0 fan erstwhile Italian luxury liner lay finnly chained to the quay, agaping crack outlining the place where a bomb blast had ripped it intwo. And to my right lay the gleaming American cruiser U. S. S.Prouidcncc, anchored at I'ier C. However, it was not the same PierC which had been there before the war. That had been bombed outcompletely. Unfortunately, an Italian cruiser had been berthed therewhile the bombardment was in progress and, during the course of thebattle, it had been hit. As it went down, it settled on its side andembedded itself firmly in the harbor mud. VVhen the Allies had wonthe battle, they laid a board walk across the cruiser's side, and now thisformer pride of the Italian navy was designated Pier C and berth() f its American adversary.I turned to walk back towards the main gate, through which ourtruck had entered the port. Only then did I become aware of themany activities whose sounds were permeating the air. Trucks,loaded and empty, weaving in countless directions made me marvelat the small number of accidents and the avoidance of seemingly in-avoidable head-on collisions. ;\Iany of these vehicles were mannedby German prisoners of war, and they were generally employed toshuttle inbound or outbound cargo Irom ships to storage depots inthe vicinity of Naples. or from depots to ships. I stopped to talk toa few of them who were standing near their vehicles while the truckswere being loaded. These prisoners were amiable and talkative, notthe silent stoics of the ;\ Erika Korps and the SS troops whom I had tointerrogate. usually with great difficulty, during the war. They likedtheir treatment at the hands of the Americans and. despite their C011]-parative freedom, had not the least thought of escaping. ;\ numberof them were still driving their clumsy, battered, diesel-poweredtrucks which were covered with drably colored camouflage rnarkings.These trucks were taken from the Cerman arm)'. along with prisoners,and were now being put to good use, helping to overcorne a shortageof vehicles. These dri vers were ach ing for the chance to dr ive anAmerican six-by-six, and those lucky ones who were assigncd to aG1VICtruck held their heads extra high and were the envy of theircompatriots.l strolled on, deftly dodging the jeeps which were whizzing pastme as if each chauffeur were on a mission of life or death. 1 pausedbriefly to look more closely at the Prouidcncc , because I had neverseen a cruiser so close at hand. The decks were immaculately scrub-bed, and the bristling guns were covered with spotless gray canvas.I wanted to walk up the pier to get a closer look at the ship's catapultsea planes. both of which were apparently hanging from giant hooksnear the ship's stern. but a Navy sentry began eyeing me with suspi-cion, ::;0 I backed off and resumed my stroll.The main gate, ma1lned by three big but good natured NIP's,opened 0111:<) the appropriately named Via Del Porto-Port Street.I stood there for a moment, watching as trucks left and enteredthrough it. The NIP's would check each load and trip ticket brieflyanel send the driver on his way. This did not amuse me very long,and I turned towards Pier A, which extends into the water just behindthe main gate. This pier was apparently the largest in the port. Atone time it had provided the berths for the big passenger ships andhoused the administration building. However, a few direct hits hadreduced the once impressive concrete structure to a rubble heap, anc!as I passed, six liberty ships lay at anchor in their berths. Four ofthem were being unloaded by slowly moving, noisy longshoremenwho paused frequently in their tasks to carryon loud, voci f erousarguments. flailing their ar111Sin wild gesticulations to emphasizetheir points. Upon a few admonitions by their American overseers.they would resume their tasks. stacking their cargoes in various pilesaccording to materials and destinations.J watched this work for more than an hour, receiving repeatedwarnings to get out of the way or else. At last I decided I had betterplay it safe and not wait for the alternative to occur, so T began toremove myself slowly from this beehive of exertion. OccasionallyJ cast a glance back, as I was returning to the Principcssa's berth, towatch the fascinating spectacle of a cargo net being lowered over theside. very gently until it was approximately a yard above the ground,whereupon the winch operator, as if on signal, would release thecable suddenly and bring the net to the ground with a crash, strewingboxes allover the area. It may have been a game, but I have oftenwondered in what condition the recipients used to find their goods.\Vinding my way slowly between uncoupled gondola and flat cars.deftly sidestepping those in fernal jeeps which were still speeding allover creation, I made my way back to the pier where the Princess hadjust arrived. 1\ Special Services officer checked off my name as Tstepped on board. and I made my way to the bow, where plenty ofscats were still available. Straight ahead, the Isle of Capri appeareddeceptively close in its goat-shaped outline, belying the necessity of atwo-hour boat ride. Nevertheless, it took that long', but the wonder-ful vacation was well worth the time it took to travel. Not onlv that.lJ11tit also made thc wait for the Priucess an insignificantl/ short111 omen t.

Waiting for the  Princess

https://digitalcommons.butler.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=2152&amp;context=manuscripts

Waiting for the Princess

Abstract

Similar works

Full text

Available Versions

Digital Commons @ Butler University