I do my best to protect Evelien from the insistent splashing that causes us to shiver. Seawater swishing in the boat seeps into my shoes, curling my toes, numbing them. Occasional peeps from Evelien denote when chilled drops have snuck past her blanket. I attempt to soothe her by quietly humming tunes, nearly matching the rhythm of water being scooped out in unison by an adult with a bucket and a teenager with a mug.

One of the passengers volunteers to climb forward to cover the bow with a tarpaulin to reduce the boat’s intake of water. The motor is slowed to assist him. He’s just finished attaching the oiled cloth and is crawling back when the dip of a wave causes him to slip. I gasp, thinking we’ve lost him. But another man catches his forearm, and the volunteer hangs off the side. A second helper yanks him back in, and after the shock of the ordeal, all three of them share a light chuckle.

Gradually the wind dies down, and with it the waves. I nod off in spurts, alternately lulled and jostled by the motion of the boat. Evelien quite nearly sleeps straight through.

With the eventual arrival of dawn, a transition I typically relish, also comes the shedding of night that cloaks us from the enemy. My one consolation is that the longer we travel, the greater our distance from occupied territory.

Once Evelien wakens, we share food from a wrapped bundle in my pocket: some cubes of cheese and baked pieces of potato, courtesy of the clerk. The midmorning sun warms our blanket. No land to be seen in any direction. All the passengers are alert. We’re keeping lookout for distant specks in the sky and water, seeking friendly crafts of course, when a tiny cluster appears on the horizon. I blink hard to clear my vision, but the dots remain. A trail of them. Like ants marching toward their nest.

“There.” I gesture. “Are those ships?”

All eyes home in on what resembles a convoy. Traveling north in this area, it would have to be the Allies. Several whoops and hoots break out on the boat, a presumption of the best. Our captain zips us straight toward the ships. My prayers that we’re right are soon answered.

British sailors flock to railings, making it evident we too have been spotted. Toward the rear of the convoy, a destroyer slows and angles toward us. Relief flows through me, if not the sheer joy expressed by every man in our boat, unabashedly celebrating with hugs and tears.