I Survived the Hindenburg Disaster, 1937 Page 2
Hugo grabbed hold of Gertie, bracing for a sharp jolt as the zeppelin took flight.
But he didn’t feel a thing. Like a feather lifted by the breeze, the great airship rose silently off the earth.
Hugo almost forgot to breathe as the world outside got smaller and smaller. The people on the ground shrank into dots.
“It’s magical, isn’t it, Hugo?” Marty said.
And it was. The airfield’s lights twinkled like stars. Up, up, up they rose. And then, vroom, the four engines rumbled to life, and they began to streak forward through the sky. Hugo felt like a fairy-tale giant. He flew over his kingdom of doll-size houses and churches and matchstick forests.
Gertie turned to Hugo, her face glowing with wonder. And for the first time in months she laughed. The singsong giggle rushed into Hugo’s heart and swept away his worries and fears. And for that moment, at least, Hugo let himself believe he really was the luckiest kid on the planet.
Hugo helped himself to another warm roll, which was as fluffy as the clouds out the window. He’d already eaten four, but nobody seemed to mind. That morning he’d stuffed himself at breakfast — creamy eggs and sizzling sausages. This lunch was even more delicious. The tender steak practically melted on his tongue. The asparagus was covered with so much melted cheese it actually tasted good.
The family was sharing a big table with Marty and her dad, Mr. Singer, and a few other passengers. Hugo sat next to Marty. Had they met only yesterday? He felt like they’d been friends for years.
Last night they’d stayed up past midnight, looking out the windows. The zeppelin’s powerful searchlight beamed down. It lit up sleeping villages and turned the Rhine River into a glittering silver ribbon.
Marty told Hugo about her life with her father.
“My mother died four years ago,” she said. “So Father and I are a team.”
Hugo had been wondering why she and her dad were traveling alone, and now he had his sad answer.
She asked him a hundred questions about Kenya, and as he answered he could almost see Marty traveling there in her mind. He described their little house with the grass roof, and explained that Mom and Dad took turns giving him his school lessons.
“Are giraffes really the most beautiful animals?” Marty asked.
“Yes, and their eyes are huge, and almost like human eyes,” Hugo told her.
There was only one ugly part of a giraffe.
“Their tongues are pitch black, and about a foot and a half long,” he added.
“Yuck!” Marty said as they both burst out laughing.
Hugo told Marty about the cobras and the hippos and the one-eared baboon. And then, just before they said good night, he told her the story of Gertie’s illness. Marty listened with tears in her eyes.
But today, here in the bright dining room of the Hindenburg, those sad stories seemed miles away.
Gertie had woken up without a fever this morning and was gobbling up her food. Mom and Dad looked almost carefree as they chatted with their new friends.
“From now on, I will only travel on zeppelins,” announced Miss Crowther. She was an older American woman with a big voice and even bigger diamond earrings.
Gertie looked up at Hugo, her face shiny with butter from the noodles.
“Oogo,” she whispered. “That lady looks like an ostrich.”
“You’re right, Gertie,” he whispered back, studying Miss Crowther’s unusually long neck and thin, beaklike nose. “But keep your voice down.” He was pretty sure the elegant Miss Crowther wouldn’t like being compared to an enormous screeching bird.
“I’m usually sick as a dog on a ship,” boomed Mr. Merrick, a British man with red hair and a pointy chin. “But I haven’t been the least bit queasy.”
Same with Hugo. On the ship to Africa last year, Hugo had been so slammed by seasickness he’d puked his guts out. But the Hindenburg’s ride was so smooth. It was impossible to imagine that they were really zooming through the sky at almost eighty-five miles per hour. Hugo’s stomach felt perfect.
Gertie studied Mr. Merrick.
“He looks like a fox,” she whispered.
Marty grinned — she wanted in on the game.
They all now turned their attention to Mr. Lenz. He was a cheerful German man with a thick, curving mustache and big, pillowy belly.
“I once flew on an airplane,” he said. “But never again. The noise was terrible. We had to land every two hours to get more fuel. And it took us twenty-two hours to fly from New York to Florida!”
Hugo had always wanted to fly on an airplane, but he’d heard they were dangerous. Dad said it would be years before an airplane could fly passengers across the oceans. For now, only the Graf Zeppelin and the Hindenburg could do that.
“Mr. Lenz looks like a nice walrus,” Marty whispered.
Gertie giggled, and Hugo and Marty hid their laughing faces behind their fancy linen napkins.
But their game was cut short when suddenly Mr. Lenz’s knife clattered noisily onto his plate. Hugo looked up and then followed Mr. Lenz’s alarmed gaze to the front of the dining room. Three Nazi officers were standing there, like the men Hugo had seen at the airport. They were all wearing bloodred swastika armbands and had big Luger pistols hanging from their belts.
Mr. Lenz leaned forward. “I recognize that tall man in front,” he whispered. “That’s Colonel Joseph Kohl. He’s known to be a vicious Nazi. Very close to Hitler.”
“He’s coming over!” Miss Crowther said, her eyes bugging out.
Mr. Singer stood up.
“Colonel Kohl,” Mr. Singer said, shaking the Nazi’s hand. “I had no idea you were on board.”
“We are staying in the officers’ quarters in front,” the Nazi replied with a sharp German accent. “I was called to New York City for a meeting. What better way to travel than on our glorious zeppelin?”
Hugo tried not to stare at the man, but he couldn’t stop himself.
Kohl’s white-blond hair was slicked back. He had icy blue eyes and a small, flat nose that sat above thin lips. As he spoke, his small teeth glistened.
Gertie turned to Hugo and pointed at Kohl with an excited grin.
“Oogo,” she gasped, forgetting to whisper. “That man looks like a big cobra!”
Nobody at the table seemed to breathe.
Had his little sister really called a Nazi colonel a deadly snake?
Hugo edged closer to Gertie, ready to grab her for a quick escape.
But to Hugo’s shock, Kohl smiled.
“Well, thank you, Liebchen,” he said, reaching out to touch Gertie’s cheek with his black-gloved hand. “I am most fascinated by snakes.”
Mom stood up and whisked Gertie out of her seat.
“Poor baby is exhausted,” she said with a nervous smile. In a flash, they disappeared from the dining room.
Kohl stood there a moment, not seeming to mind the nervous silence.
“I look forward to seeing you all again,” he said finally. And with a bow he turned and walked back to where his men were waiting.
Everyone at the table seemed to exhale with relief as the Nazis left the dining room.
“Such an odd man!” Miss Crowther said, reaching for a drink of water.
“What on earth is he doing on the Hindenburg?” demanded Mr. Lenz.
Mr. Merrick looked around, alert for eavesdroppers. “I believe Kohl is searching for a spy.”
Marty and Hugo looked at each other with wide eyes.
A spy!
“Someone stole a top secret document from the Nazis,” Mr. Merrick continued. “It contains a list of Nazis living secretly in America hatching dangerous plots against the United States. The spy has smuggled this paper onto the Hindenburg so he can take it to the American government.”
“And how do you know this?” Mr. Lenz said.
“I have some important friends,” Mr. Merrick said. “That is all I can say.”
“That spy must be a courageous man,” Dad said.
“Actually, the Nazis do believe this spy is a man,” Mr. Merrick said.
Dad turned to Mr. Singer.
“What do you think?”
Mr. Singer looked thoughtful for a moment.
“I think the Hindenburg would be a dangerous place for a spy,” he said. “A large ocean liner would be far better. A person can blend in with thousands of passengers and could easily remain hidden.”
Hugo had to agree. The ship to Africa had been huge and crowded. Just getting from the dining room to their cabin took fifteen minutes. Hugo once got so lost he was sure he’d never find his family again.
“And how would a spy get secret papers past the guards at the airport?” Mr. Singer asked.
Another good point, Hugo thought. Who could forget that long line at the Frankfurt airport?
Miss Crowther’s pointy eyebrows rose up even higher.
“Perhaps there’s a ghost on the Hindenburg, too,” she said wryly.
“Or a vampire,” chuckled Mr. Lenz.
Mr. Merrick frowned.
“I don’t think this is funny,” he said. “If there is a spy on this airship, I fear for his life. Kohl will surely catch him before we get to America. He’ll lock him up somewhere on this zeppelin and bring him back to Germany.”
He looked around.
“Or he’ll shoot him on the spot!”
“Mr. Merrick, please!” Miss Crowther scolded. “You’re going to give us nightmares.”
Miss Crowther was right.
That night, Hugo had a dream that he found a cobra in his bed, a cobra with pale blue eyes and bloodred stripes. But this time Panya wasn’t there to chase it away, and the cobra grew and grew, its angry hood flaring into a pair of enormous, slithery wings. The hideous snake smiled at Hugo with yellow fangs dripping with venom.
Hugo woke up in a sweat, gripping his throat.
And it was a long time before he fell asleep again.
All morning, Hugo and Marty kept their ears pricked up for whispers about the spy. They watched for Colonel Kohl. But the hours passed calmly with no sign of the Nazi.
After lunch, Mom took Gertie back to the cabin for a nap, and Mr. Singer announced that he had a surprise for Hugo and Dad — a tour of the zeppelin.
Of course, Marty came along. They started in the front of the zeppelin, in the Hindenburg’s control car.
The airship’s command center was just a quick walk from the passenger area, through a short tunnel and then up a few stairs. When Hugo walked in, he had no idea where to look first — at the five men in crisp blue uniforms, at the rows of spinning dials and gauges and levers and buttons, or at the dazzling view of the ocean stretched out as far as he could see.
They shook hands with the Hindenburg’s commander, Captain Pruss, a short man who looked more like a kindly science teacher than a famous zeppelin captain. The captain showed them a large map hanging on the wall. He traced the Hindenburg’s route across the North Atlantic with his finger, and showed them exactly where they were now.
They were close to land, Hugo could see.
In just a few hours, they’d reach Canada’s coast. From there they’d turn south and fly along the beaches of New England, over New York City, and finally to the Hindenburg’s American airfield, in Lakehurst, New Jersey.
Hugo realized that the voyage was nearly over. Tomorrow morning they’d be landing. He should have felt happy that they were almost back in New York. But part of him didn’t want this journey to end. Maybe Marty was right, and there was something magical about the Hindenburg. It was almost as though the zeppelin had transported them to another universe, one where Gertie was well and Mom and Dad were happy. And what about Marty? Would he ever see her again?
They said good-bye to Captain Pruss and the others and headed back into the passenger area. But the tour wasn’t over. Now Mr. Singer led them down a hallway to a door that was guarded by a young member of the Hindenburg’s crew.
The man greeted Mr. Singer with a smile and stepped aside to let them through.
“Passengers aren’t allowed into this part of the airship on their own,” Mr. Singer said.
As they climbed up into the zeppelin’s enormous main body, Hugo had the feeling he’d been swallowed up by a giant animal, with bones and guts made out of bright metal. Thousands of metal beams and girders and wires jutted in every direction. And all around them were huge tan bags — the gas cells filled with hydrogen. They billowed softly, as if they were breathing. If the metal beams were the Hindenburg’s bones, these bags of gas were its lungs.
Mr. Singer led them along a narrow walkway that ran straight through the entire body of the airship. He pointed out a row of large tanks. They were filled with water, Mr. Singer explained. The water was used as ballast, extra weight to keep the ship on the ground. When the ship took off, thousands of gallons of water would splash out through the bottom. This made the ship lighter, so it would rise up.
“Remind me not to stand under a zeppelin without an umbrella,” Dad laughed.
As they walked farther back, the roar of the engines got louder and louder. Up front in the passenger area, they could barely hear the engines. But back here, the clattering roar hammered against Hugo’s eardrums.
And then there was a new sound, a strange growling noise that rose up above the engines.
“What on earth is that?” Mr. Singer said, looking around with worried eyes. “Could that be one of the engines?”
Hugo felt a stab of fear.
“Father, is something wrong?” Marty asked worriedly.
Mr. Singer stood very still. “I’ve never heard anything like this on a zeppelin. And it doesn’t sound right at all.”
Mr. Singer turned and hurried over to a big wooden telephone that was mounted to the wall.
He picked up the handle and pushed a button.
“I must notify Captain Pruss immediately!”
The sound got louder.
“Garooooo! Garooooo! Garooooo!”
Wait! Hugo had heard that sound before.
It was Panya!
“That’s our dog!” Hugo exclaimed.
His howling barks were echoing from farther back in the ship.
Mr. Singer cocked his head and listened.
“Heavens, that dog has a loud bark,” Mr. Singer said. “It’s louder than the Hindenburg’s engines!”
“Can we go see the dog, Father?” Marty asked. “He sounds so lonely!”
Mr. Singer shook his head.
“I wish we could,” Mr. Singer said. “But he’s in the very back of the zeppelin, and only crew members are permitted back there. Even I’m not allowed in the cargo area.”
“Panya’s a tough little guy,” Dad said, putting his arm around Hugo. “And we’ll get to see him tomorrow.”
They made their way to the front of the zeppelin. As they walked, Dad eyed the gas cells that wavered all around them.
“How much hydrogen is on this zeppelin?” Dad asked.
“There are sixteen gas cells. Altogether there are seven million cubic feet of gas.”
Hugo wasn’t an expert, but that seemed like a huge amount.
“I have to ask,” Dad said. “Isn’t it terribly dangerous to be flying with all of this flammable hydrogen?”
“The gas cells are constantly monitored,” Mr. Singer said. “There are ladders and walkways that allow the crew to inspect the cells from every side. The captain has instruments in the cockpit that immediately detect if there is a leak. We’ve been flying with hydrogen for fourteen years without an accident.”
“But still, wouldn’t it be wiser to use a safer gas like helium?”
“Of course,” Mr. Singer said. “You could throw a torch into a bag of helium and it wouldn’t burn. But all of the world’s helium comes from the United States. And with Hitler in power, the U.S. government won’t sell helium to German companies.”
“Not even to make the Hi
ndenburg safer?” Dad asked.
Mr. Singer shook his head.
“But I don’t understand,” Marty said. “Americans love the Hindenburg.”
Hugo didn’t get it, either. Why would the American government worry about zeppelins?
As usual, Dad had an explanation.
“The first German zeppelins were used as weapons,” Dad said. “They used them during the Great War.”
Hugo’s grandfather had fought in that terrible, bloody first world war, which is why Hugo knew all about it. Germany started the war in 1914. Soon the Germans were battling against a team of countries known as the Allies: Great Britain, France, Russia, Italy, and Japan. The United States entered the war in 1917 and helped the Allies defeat Germany.
Never in history had there been such brutal killing in a war. For the first time, soldiers had modern weapons like machine guns and tanks and powerful bombs. There were tremendous battles that killed tens of thousands of men in a single day. The Germans even invented a new kind of weapon, a poison called mustard gas. It killed soldiers by burning their lungs when they breathed, or made them blind.
But Hugo never knew the Germans had used zeppelins, too.
“They used them to drop bombs on England and France,” Dad said.
“And you think Hitler would turn the Hindenburg into a weapon?” Hugo asked.
Hugo looked around trying to imagine how many bombs the Germans would fit in this enormous space.
Dad and Mr. Singer shared a dark look.
“Hitler is a madman,” Mr. Singer said. His voice was very soft, but his friendly eyes now blazed with anger. “Anything is possible.”
Just then they heard footsteps rushing toward them, and a man calling out for Mr. Singer.
“Herr Singer! Herr Singer!”
One of the Hindenburg’s stewards appeared, red-faced and out of breath.
He glanced at Dad and spoke to Mr. Singer in German.
Hugo could see from Mr. Singer’s face that this time something really was wrong — very wrong.
Terrifying thoughts flooded Hugo’s mind.