Ship Without a Country

In the middle of the Atlantic when war broke out was the pride of the Polish merchant fleet, the 16,000-ton Batory, Captain Eustazy Borkowski. Captain Borkowski doused his lights, watched for submarines, brought his liner safely into New York harbor with 352 U. S. citizens aboard.

While Poland was being erased from Europe's map, the Batory floated at anchor in the Hudson River off Yonkers. It was a restless berth for towering Captain Borkowski, frequently decorated hero of the last war, for 38 years a seaman.

What he was to do with the Batory, one of the few tenable Polish territories left in the world, was a question which his fleeing Government had no time to answer. Borkowski waited--until finally orders came from the New York Consulate. He was to relinquish his command to Chief Officer Franciszek Szudzinski and go by train to Halifax. The liner was to sail immediately for the same city under her new captain.

At that the crew rebelled. They wanted Captain Borkowski or nobody. They did not want to go to Canada and carry munitions to Britain. Moreover, there was some back pay due them. They would not sail. Police were summoned.

The Batory's new Captain Szudzinski discharged the lot of them, then called for volunteers to take the ship to Canada. Enough responded, but 200 went ashore, most of them traipsing off to the Polish Community Center in Yonkers.

Captain Borkowski, who had wept with his officers as they embraced him and said goodby, collected his 25 pieces of luggage, including a mattress and a mariner's clock, hung his marine glasses over one shoulder, hitched a leather brief case up under an arm, and with a raincoat rustling around his sea legs, entrained for Halifax.

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