Fear of what I might find mounted with every step I took down the gangway. When I landed on the steel-plated deck, my field of vision was filled from frame to frame with backs and elbows. Archie and Tim were leaning over and on the engine, their combined mass dwarfing what I would otherwise describe as a hulking machine. I walked around the men’s backsides to the opposite side of the engine room, where I could now see the top of the Cummins diesel as well as the men’s faces. Arch pulled a long dipstick from its skinny tube, flipped his reading glasses from forehead to bridge of nose, and checked the oil level. He wiped the stick on his shirt, pushed it back into the engine, and withdrew it again to inspect. He gave a satisfied look and returned the dipstick to the tube. Arch squinted over his glasses and focused above my shoulder at the box with the Murphy switch that indicated the coolant level. I looked, too, and seeing nothing out of the ordinary, turned my attention back to the top of the engine.
