There was a gold star beside the name of James Birtcher on Mooseheart's honor roll of former student wards with the colors until yesterday.
As Birtcher, seaman first class stood before the illuminated panel with Supt. W.J. Leinweber of the Moose City of Childhood, he said simply: "I'd like to have that star when you take it off," and pinched himself as he grinned, all six feet two inches of him. And well he might.
For Birtcher has come back from Davy Jones locker, a nautical way of saying he had been snatched from the dead, after a living hell of 42 days and nights with 26 shipmates aboard a lifeboat which sailed more than 2,600 miles across the vast expanse of the South Atlantic.
NEVER LOST HOPE
It was an epochal voyage in which gnawing hunger and parching thirst faded into a numbing ache. But before the endleses panorama of sea and sky and eternity of battling storm tossed waves, and broiling in tropical calm the men never quite lost hope.
When it seemed at last that their prayers would never be answered, the morning of the forty-second day Birtcher sighted land on the distant horizon. It appeared as a mirage of clowd lying low on the wide stretches of ocean.
The 26 men huddled into the cockle shell of the boat and cheered lustily, a few malted milk tablets conserved against a greater need were broken and oars were dipped for the pull to the haven of port, which meant first full bellies, and second clean sheets and soft beds.
PICKED UP BY A STEAMER
A Braziliam steamer not long after picked up the starved crewmen and their boat and put them into refuge of a South American port. Some went berserk when it was all over and babbled in delirium or wanted to fight or cry in anguish lest it be but another dream turned nightmare.
As seman Birtcher told his story quietly in the office of Supt. Leinweber, it seemed as far away as the Robinsoe Crueoe story of childhood. But Birtcher won't forget it until his dying day. The deep pain of remembering was reflected in his eyes as he narrated how his Liberty ship had been torpedoed and sunk on its way home with an empty bottom from delivering vital war supplies to the near east which helped the Allies drive the Nazis and their Italian satellites from North Africa in the first great victory of the war.
NATIVE OF OHIO
Birtcher, a native of Doanville, Ohio, had enlisted in the navy as soon as he was 21 years old. He was assigned to the armed guard to protect merchantmen carrying materials of war. He was a member of a 16-man gun crew. It was about 9:30 at night. The ship was blacked out as it plowed through the South Atlantic, after rounding the tip of Africa. Suddenly a general alarm shattered the quiet and sailors roused from their hammocks sprang to their stations. A tin fish had churned the water across the course, missing the bow by only five feet. Life boats were swung out from their davits and the crew clambered into them while the navy manned the guns.
But a half hour passed without further incident and the boats were emptied while the men went back to their beds. The gun crew lay down beside the turrets of their weapons. The watch kept an eagle eye for the Nazi undersea marauder.
Then at 10:19 there was a shattering roar. A torpedo had struck starboard and amidships. The force, Birtcher said, lifted him off the deck some two and a half feet. On duty at his gun, he and other fired several rounds but there was no answering flash at which to aim. A minute or so later another torpedo struck, this time on the port side.
ABANDON SHIP
One torpedo had smashed two of the life boats. The ship was sinking fast and its skipper, Captain Tucker, issued the call to abandon ship. Seaman Birtcher went off the stern 30 feet into the sea, covered by an 8 inch oil slick.
When he came up he gulped a quantity of oil and it sickened him. A shipmate dragged him aboard a 6 by 8 raft which they shared until dawn. They sighted a lifeboat about a mile away and signaled with the yellow flag on the raft. The two were pulled aboard the lifeboat on which the skipper and 23 other merchant and navy men clustered together in what was to be their home for the next 42 days. Many were as ill as Birtcher.
ENTIRE CREW TAKEN OFF
The entire crew had gotted off onto the two good lifeboats without the loss of a man. Emergency rations had been stowed before the ship was abandoned. There was enough food and water for three weeks, if carefully rationed. There was pemicaan, a dehydrated mixture of various foods essential to life, malted milk tablets, semi-sweet chocolate, and crackers with 80 gallons of water. At first each man got half a can of pemican a day but as the days dragged by rations were cut and finally gave out altogether. Barnacles were scraped off the bottom of the boat and eaten. One day a dophin was speared and men leaped upon it like hunger crazed wolves upon sheep. It was cleaned, cooked on an improvised stove and devoured - flesh, heart, liver and all the bones hung up on the mast within an hour. Later they ate the bones.
LOSES 45 POUNDS
"Funny thing, but I didn't get so hungry," Birtcher said, "I lost 45 pounds. We drank fish oil we had for fuel and it seemed to keep our stomachs from aching. We drank salt water, too, as a physic, and then cleaned our mouths and got rid of the thirst with sips of fresh water. We used the canvas boat cover to catch rain water but we never got enough.
"The men argued about everything. We got on each others nevers, but all was forgotten when we were rescued.
SING AND PRAY
"Some prayed, other sand. The merchant crew swore they were through with the sea for good but not the navy boys. They were going to stick."
The days were sweltering hot under the tropical sun but the nights were cool. The boat was dashed by severe storms which hurled it atop waves 40 feet high and then flung it down to their depths. For three days and nights they were so soaked that they never dried off.
When legs began to swell with a malady from which men adrift at sea suffer, there would be daily swims to loosen up their muscles. They chewed on cartridges to toughen up their bite and give their gums some exercise.
One of the men fashioned a deck of playing cards from empty boxes. Hours were whiled away with card games. There was not a Bible aboard nor a bood or any other reading material.
In the hospital at a South American port, the rescued crewmen found their nerves went to pieces by the ordeal of a month and a half of privation at sea. Some went out of their heads. Even Birtcher, whose nerves seemds as strong as steel, and once were, can't stand sudden noises without feeling a knot in his stomach.
WANTS HIS GOLD STAR
Back to visit Mooseheart with his sister, Doris, Seaman Birtcher was reliving the happy days of his student years at the Moose City of Childhood. Two brothers are in the service, Sergt. Robert at Westover Field, Mass., and Tech. Sergt. Walter at Chanute Field at Rantoul.
Officially reported missing in action, a gold star was placed beside Birtcher's name in the Mooseheart roll of honor, one of six affixed there. "I guess I'd like to have that," Birtcher said, "as a sort of memento to show my grandchildren, if I ever have any."