The Miracle of Dunkirk

by Walter Lord

LIEUTENANT IAN COX, FIRST Lieutenant of the destroyer Malcolm, could hardly believe his eyes. There, coming over the horizon toward him, was a mass of dots that filled the sea. The Malcolm was bringing her third load of troops back to Dover. The dots were all heading the other way—toward Dunkirk. It was Thursday evening, the 30th of May. As he watched, the dots materialized into vessels. Here and there were respectable steamers, like the Portsmouth-Isle of Wight car ferry, but mostly they were little ships of every conceivable type—fishing smacks … drifters … excursion boats … glittering white yachts … mud-spattered hoppers … open motor launches … tugs towing ship’s lifeboats … Thames sailing barges with their distinctive brown sails … cabin cruisers, their bright work gleaming … dredges, trawlers, and rust-streaked scows … the Admiral Superintendent’s barge from Portsmouth with its fancy tassels and rope-work. Cox felt a sudden surge of pride. Being here was no longer just a duty; it was an honor and a privilege. Turning to a somewhat startled chief boatswain’s mate standing beside him, he burst into the Saint Crispin’s Day passage from Shakespeare’s Henry V: And Gentlemen in England, now abed Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here. The efforts of the Small Vessels Pool and the Ministry of Shipping were at last paying off. The trickle of little ships that began in Tough’s boatyard was turning into a deluge. There was still no public announcement of the evacuat...