Nautical Terms and Chief Officer
The Four Dutchmen
The Van Dorth Hotel at Singapore was far from grand. The bedrooms were unclean and unorganized. But it had character. The Van Dorth Hotel should have been a depressing place, but somehow it wasn't; its quaintness saved it. It was the third time I had stayed at the Van Dorth. I had been told about it first by the skipper of a Dutch tramp, the S.S. Utrecht, on which I had travelled from Merauke in New Guinea to Macassar. The captain, chief officer, engineer, the supercargo, and I piled into the launch and went ashore. There was no unique characteristics about them. They were the four fattest men I ever saw. They were huge, and I had great difficulty in telling them apart. It was a treat to see them at tiffin. Their appetites were enormous and loved their food hot and strong. They were the greatest friends, all four of them. They would have fun and share their laughter together. They had been on this run together for five years. I was a stranger and a foreigner. They liked their bit of fun and did not want anyone to intefere with it. I could never remember their difficult Dutch names. The chief engineer, due to retire soon, was meditating marriage with a widow whom he had met when last he was home spending the rest of his life in a little town with old red-brick houses on the shores of the Zuyder Zee. At Macassar then I desembarked, and bade farewell to my four fat friends. Months had passed since I was onboard. I had travelled widely in this region, feeling as though I were home again, I sat in the garden of the Van Dorth Hotel. I was looking at the Straits Times to find out what had been happening in the world since last I had been within reach of papers. Suddenly my eyes caught a headline: The Utrecht Tragedy. Supercargo and Chief Engineer. Not Guilty. I read the paragraph carelessly and sat up. The Utrecht was the ship of my four fat Dutchmen and apparently the supercargo and the chief engineer had been on trial for murder. The trial had been
The Van Dorth Hotel at Singapore was far from grand. The bedrooms were unclean and unorganized. But it had character. The Van Dorth Hotel should have been a depressing place, but somehow it wasn't; its quaintness saved it. It was the third time I had stayed at the Van Dorth. I had been told about it first by the skipper of a Dutch tramp, the S.S. Utrecht, on which I had travelled from Merauke in New Guinea to Macassar. The captain, chief officer, engineer, the supercargo, and I piled into the launch and went ashore. There was no unique characteristics about them. They were the four fattest men I ever saw. They were huge, and I had great difficulty in telling them apart. It was a treat to see them at tiffin. Their appetites were enormous and loved their food hot and strong. They were the greatest friends, all four of them. They would have fun and share their laughter together. They had been on this run together for five years. I was a stranger and a foreigner. They liked their bit of fun and did not want anyone to intefere with it. I could never remember their difficult Dutch names. The chief engineer, due to retire soon, was meditating marriage with a widow whom he had met when last he was home spending the rest of his life in a little town with old red-brick houses on the shores of the Zuyder Zee. At Macassar then I desembarked, and bade farewell to my four fat friends. Months had passed since I was onboard. I had travelled widely in this region, feeling as though I were home again, I sat in the garden of the Van Dorth Hotel. I was looking at the Straits Times to find out what had been happening in the world since last I had been within reach of papers. Suddenly my eyes caught a headline: The Utrecht Tragedy. Supercargo and Chief Engineer. Not Guilty. I read the paragraph carelessly and sat up. The Utrecht was the ship of my four fat Dutchmen and apparently the supercargo and the chief engineer had been on trial for murder. The trial had been