Word: shoal
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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Between hurricane warnings the morning was glassy calm and only faintly overcast as the submarine U.S.S. Archerfish hove to, 15 miles southwest of Key West, over Vestal Shoal. Flooding her tanks, Archerfish submerged and settled gently on the coral-sand bottom at 322 ft. On the surface, the submarine rescue ship Penguin maneuvered from a special mooring until she was directly over the sub, double-checking her position by UQC (underwater sound communication). Then Penguin lowered a diving bell. Of the four men who rode it down to 300 ft., only one was inside; three were skindivers with backpacks...
Armed with shotguns and carrying provisions, two men stole aboard the 400-ft. hulk of the Liberian tanker African Queen as she lay stranded and shoal-torn ten miles off Ocean City, Md. It was March, and the sea pounded against the rusting hull of the ship, which had run aground three months before. With 200 ft. of her bow ripped away, the 13,800-ton African Queen had been officially abandoned by her owners; now watermen from Ocean City poked about the hulk, prying at loose fittings, taking everything movable that seemed salable. The two newcomers watched patiently until...
Enigma with Cutlass. Just before World War II, the rock island of Manacle Shoal in the Caribbean is being tunneled to serve as an unsinkable ammunition ship. The labor force consists entirely of U.S. Negro enlisted men; directing them are three white officers. No one is under any illusion about the overhanging risk: a wrong move, a detonated shell, a rule-breaking smoke-and the whole lot of them could be blown up. Along with the danger come few compensations. For the Negroes, there is an occasional cockfight and beers on a nearby island; for the commander, who is sure...
...Lost Shoal. Near Brisbane, Australia, Navigation Expert Joshua Peter Bell, author of Moreton Bay and How to Fathom It, ran his yacht aground in Moreton...
...goings of black limousines-the visible external evidence of fateful activities. Shortly after 10:30 one night early last week, an official car, preceded by a noisy motorcycle escort, shot out of the courtyard of the Hotel Matignon, official Parisian residence of France's Premiers. Instantly, the shoal of reporters who were keeping a round-the-clock watch on the final agonies of the Fourth Republic set off in hot pursuit. As they left (in chase after a decoy), a slim, white-haired man whose features were drawn with fatigue slipped quietly out the back door of the Hotel...