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Show 1 V '- -5. u r i .V : ; -- T v,-- - ' V 1 I V JL I I . ft " . - v fhlii umii ift Pvt. Anatoly Kryuchkovsky ' undoubtedly be one of the most moving documents in seafaring history. It not only recorded the phys- - ical predicament of human beings under the most elemental conditions, but, by reading between' the lines, it told a tale of primitive hope and despair, of human emotions tested to the limit. During the first few days, Zygonschi told us, the 7 diary was basically a military log, impersonal and precise. All four of them believed they soon would be rescued orJmdjthiiLJivayQhoreTheirog told how they drifted out to sea, their efforts to get back; it recorded their communications with a shore radio station (they were in touch by radio until the second or third day), the procedures they were taking to stretch their limited supplies. It reported, buoyantly and certainly that rescue was inevitable, although as the days turned into weeks and the first month ran over into the second, the tone became one of hope rather than certainty . " None . t of the survivors can remember the exact in the diary; they're not even sure of the sequence of events after the first few weeks. They remember generally what was written, and sometimes perhaps, what they think should have been recorded and wasn't. One of Zygonschi's first entries noted that they had enough fuel to last them for several days: We could not live if it were not for the heat of the engine. We take turns lyingn it so that we niight keep warm. We have been in contact with the radio. He inshore operator over our two-wstructs us how to return to land, but it is futile at this time. We cannot steer the boat in these heavy seas. We try, but it is useless. Two or three days later (none of the four is sure another,-mo- re of the timeinterval)rthere-wa- s ominous entry: We can still hear the shore operator, but we can no longer transmit. The wind blows in the opposite direction from which we ay Pvt. Philip Poplavsky should be heading, and our engine is not powerful enough to counter the drift. It is not as cold as the first night,, nor is the storm as fierce, but it shows little sign of letting up. There was hardly time to get over the disappointment of losing contact with shore when reluctantly made another entry on what he believes was the fourth day, Jan. 21: Our engine has stopped. There is no more fuel. It is foolish 4odoubt that weredrif ting far awayfromthe Kurile Islands. We have enough food for about 14 days if we ration ourselves carefully. Surely a Russian ship will pick us up before that. The small landing craft was provisioned with only three cans of meat. (beef and pork), one can " of margarineTa loaf of bread, 10 to12 oundsor potatoes, and enough coffee and tea for two or three days. On the 16th day, as 'closely as Zygonschi can calculate, another significant entry was made - in the diary: Today we finished the beef and pork. Still have potatoes and will make soup. Storm has. let up a little, but from the look of things, it's a temporary lull. When ihe meat supply ran out, they agreed to conserve the few potatoes left by eating only on alternate days. Inevitably, they grew weaker, but they did all they could to keep up their morale. Anatoly Kryuchkovsky often played' an accordion. Later the accordion proved to be even more valuable than it was as a morale-builde- r. Oten they talked. of the things dear to them. Ivan Fedotov, who had been in service for only the shyest of the four.-H- e spoke, eight months,-wa-s of his Siberian village, at first, Bogorodckoe, on the Amur River; how he had met . Irena at a dance, there during the time he was working on a river boat with his father. For a year he had courted her, and in 1959 they were married. When he had been called up for service, she was Zy-gons- chi self-consciou- , sly " s - . Pvt. Ivan Fedotov ' i i- . m tmt iiiin - J1" . 1m. - ' pregnant. He was proud he was going to be a father, but he worried now because Irena's time was due, and he couldn't be with her. They had decided that they surely would have a son and name him Alexander. So Ivan Fedotov, age 21, had much to think about while he lay in his narrow bunk as waves threatened to dash the flimsy craft to pieces. Victor Zygonschi's thoughts, too, were of home,, -- and Shentala, near the Volga River, east of Moscow. He told them how he had been a "trac-toris- t" in a machine-tractstation. His eyes softened when he spoke of his mother and father. With great pride, he recounted how his older brother Michael Worked in a hospital and how his sister Nelly had become a nurse. And there was Valja. She taught school in Shentala. Some, day; if he got out of this, he would ask her his-villa- ge, or 27-year-- old ... was little time for such thoughts. During Therewhole voyage, there were only five days of clear weather, so much of their time had to be spent pumping water out of the well deck. At other times, they had to tear up the floor boards-- no mean task for men in their weakened condition to use as fuel f of the stove. Then, after the floor boards had been burned, they used their cork life preservers. . Sometimes their blankets got wet, as did. the whole inside of the cabin when storms were especially severe. Shivering in soggy, cold blankets was Hardly conducive to nostalgic reminiscences. And then- ,they- - forgot - theirpri--va- te thoughts and doubts jwhile they tried .to :kill sharks, which sometimes followed the boat, or to catch fish with a hook fashioned from a piece of wire and a spinner improvised from a bright piece of metal. i There were many times," too, when they forgot (Continued) for-long-ho- urs,- " 'Family Weekly, May , I960 ' 7 -- . - |