And over at one side of that splendid cabin slept Boo Dog, contentedly alongside the cat. Anyone on the Outer Banks from Chicky village north to Pea Island, south to Hatteras Inlet, can testify that Boo chased cats in and out of wrecks, up and down lighthouse steps, all his life. Now he was two inches from that saffron-eyed, mangy old Siamese, and snoring.
What's more, I soon found out that he was using the cat's sandbox, which I had to empty daily, to the lee of the after cabin. On the Banks, Boo "went" everywhere, even on gravestones and the steps of the Hatteras meeting hall, and now, in less than a half day, she had trained him in nature's calling. I swear that girl was a witch.
As I placed the captain's plate down, he gave me a swift, upbringing look, and said, "Ladies first."
So I went around and put the plate down in front of Tee. She smiled at me and said, "Thank you, waiter; such good food," though she hadn't taken a bite.
As I was heading back to the pantry to get the captain's plate, she called after me, "Waiter, could I please have a pinch of mustard for this mutton."
I nodded, went inside the pantry, and shook.
After my own supper, which I ate alone, perched on a box in that narrow closet of shelves, I helped the Bravaman clean the galley up and finally went back out on deck about eight-thirty. Except the on-duty watch—lookout on the bow, helmsman, and the bosun—all the rest of the crew had bunked down.
There was a white slice of water at the bow, the sails were humming, and looking up through their ghostly sheeting, as the masts waved back and forth across the sky, were millions of stars. Far off to port was a faint, thin cut of light. Looming, crossing, and dying. I guessed it might be Hatteras Light. Time did pass. I'd climbed the lighthouse steps many a day. I let my eyes drift along the horizon, knowing that the Banks were there, hidden except for the light wand. I couldn't help but think of everyone. I even mustered a kind of wry laugh. If they only knew. Not only was Ben O'Neal, son of John and Rachel, abeam, but also the castaway girl and a well-known former duck dog. The directions of life could never be reckoned.
Then, for a while, I watched the captain. I'd heard he took a brisk walk each night, weather permitting. He walked almost the length of the ship, near the rail, feet not far from the waterway. Back and forth, hands behind his back. Somehow, he timed himself so that he was always heading up as the ship rose on a swell. He never seemed to go downhill.
This was more like it, I thought, as the great vessel plowed peacefully along. Salt spray reached up and spattered me.
By nine I was very sleepy and decided to turn in. Avoiding Josiah Reddy, I went down the portside to the afterhouse and was just about to enter the hatch when the bosun moved forward from near the compass glow on the poop deck. He said, "Stand by to pump das organ."
Pump the organ? At this hour? I was dead tired.
He growled, "Get below to pump das organ. Das cap'n recitals til ten ven it is smooth like dis."
Tee's room opened off the after cabin, and soon she came out, as Cap'n Reddy warmed up. He seemed to play very well but I could not see him. Sitting on a stool behind the organ, I pumped the Story & Clark lever until almost ten, thinking what Filene Midgett would have to say about this sorry performance of a ship's master. Filene would not allow a harmonica to be played in his station, much less a church organ.
I recall that Cap'n Reddy taught Tee the words to "Shenandoah" and "Away to Rio." They sang duet for a while. They were getting along famously, and I do think a rich orphan has many advantages.
At one point, she tinkled a laugh. "I could sail forever."
Not with me, I thought.
14
REUBEN HAD ONCE said that no one except the captain got much sleep on a ship. That remark had not been of interest at the time, but now I was beginning to regret ignoring it. The lookout on the twelve-to-four watch, the graveyard watch, took a few minutes from pacing back and forth on the bow to awaken the Bravaman at 3:45 A.M. and then routed me out, after which he awakened the next watch, the four-to-eight. I went stumbling forward along the dark, slick deck half asleep, not even looking at the sea or sails, thinking that this was a hellship, indeed. Unless I was going to a duck blind, six-thirty was a sensible hour to be awakened on the Banks.
Stumbling around, I got kindling wood going in the galley range, then added coal, and finally the Bravaman put the coffeepot on. I felt better after having a cup of it and a couple of biscuits, fare the new watch shared. Nobody said very much.
I asked the Bravaman if this happened every single day in the week and he mumbled that it did, at sea; then went about fixing oatmeal and flying ham, while I cracked eggs, one per man, though the officers could have as many as they wanted. Somehow I made it through to dawn, when the crew turned-to to begin the day's work by first hosing down the deck. Smoke spun out of the donkey boiler stack, and the pump pounded away.
It was a fine, sparkling morning, after all. We were crossing the Gulf Stream in light airs and the sea had turned a deep blue. Gobs of orange-yellow seaweed drifted along. Here and there were pink and blue Portuguese men-of-war—jellyfish with tiny sails. Billowing white clouds were far to east, gray on the bottom. A lovely day.
Going aft with breakfast for officers' country, laden pans of oatmeal, eggs, and ham, I was actually feeling good now, no longer sleepy. The time was about 7 A.M. when I entered the dining saloon.
There sat Tee, looking fresh; red ribbon in her daisy hair. In a dress I hadn't seen. "Good morning, waiter," she said brightly. By my estimate, she'd gone to bed shortly after ten. Likely, she'd aroused no earlier than six-thirty. She'd had a full, comfortable night on a cotton mattress while my bones had rested on the donkey's breakfast, so-called because it is made of lumpy straw.
I said, "Good morning," but not cheerfully.
She said, "Lovely day, isn't it?"
I answered, "Depends how much sleep you got," and went on into the pantry.
When I returned with her plate, she said, "That looks very nice, waiter, but might I please have an extra piece of that ham for my dog."
My dog. That did it. I said forcefully, "Teetoncey, I'm not going to put up with much more of this."
I had no way of knowing that Gebbert had entered the saloon and was standing behind me. "Vat did you call her?" he asked.
I stammered something.
The bosun glared at me. "Vatch your tongue, boy." Then he turned to the girl. "If dis galley-svamper iss insulting you, Fräulein, let me know."
Tee quickly said, "Oh, no, Herr Gebbert, it was all my fault. I'm afraid he doesn't like to be called waiter."
"Veil, dat's vat he is, isn't he?"
I practically ran for the pantry to serve the bosun his food and get him out of there. Then I stood by the door at their every beck and call while they ate and chatted in the bosun's native tongue, which sounded like a lot of gargles to me.
When the bosun left, Tee lectured. "Ben, you must be careful. You'll get us both in trouble."
I nodded numbly, determined to keep my mouth shut.
Soon the captain came in; then the chief mate, whose name was Everett. They all talked about the nice weather; then Tee departed to take her morning promenade, wishing me a cheery, "Good day," as she went up the companionway with Boo.
"Such a sweet and refined little girl, and so intelligent," said the cap'n, and Chief Mate Everett agreed, as most mates do.
I laughed grimly to myself.
The cap'n went on with his loose talk. "Her parents were lost in a shipwreck recently, and she's going down to live with her favorite uncle in Bridgetown."
The mate clucked his tongue and shook his head sympathetically while wolfing his eggs.
Standing silently by the pantry door and listening to all this, I was sorely tempted to walk right up and straighten out some things about the captain's most admired passenger. Josiah Reddy had been hoodwinked.
Soon he departed to inspect the ship with white gloves, and I went about clearing the table, washing the dishes,
and taking the dirty pans back to the galley, talking to myself for the first time in my life.
Midships, Tee smiled sweetly as I passed, murmuring, "Cheerio." I clung to my temper.
Men were aloft, working in the sunlight and fresh air, polishing brass on the yards. A few were painting here and there. One was repairing ratlines and battens. The chanteyman was doing his carpenter work, fixing a hatch coaming that had been damaged in loading cargo. The sailmaker sat in the golden light stitching on an inner jib split. And there was I, toting dirty pans, a lowlife galley-swamper, as Gebbert had said.
As I reached the foredeck, a sailor new to the Conyers, a big man, Perkins by name, complained about having to polish brass at sea with brick dust and oil. It was his ill luck to have Cap'n Reddy overhear. No sooner had Perkins voiced his dislike than the cap'n kicked out a locust-wood belaying pin with his heel, caught it in midair, and chased the big sailor up the mast, shouting for the bosun not to let him down till sunset.
Hellship for sure, I thought.
As I entered the galley, Eddie grinned. "Quetal?" He was usually in a good mood.
"What does that mean?" I asked, ready to chew a marlinspike myself.
"How goes it?"
"Bad," I said. "I can't wait to get off this ship in the Barbadoes."
"There's not much ashore there," he answered.
"Makes no difference to me. I'm prepared to sit in that port for a year and wait for my brother."
The Bravaman was slicing onions for a stew. "Well, you can't do that. We'll only be there two days and then sail for Rio."
"I'm only going as far as the Barbadoes," I informed Eddie. "And the next ship, I'm working with the crew. That's for sure. Not in any pantry." Another month of this and I'd be a tattered sponge. I wouldn't at all mind polishing brass out in the fresh air. My intentions now were to sign on with Reuben as quickly as possible.
The Bravaman rested his cleaver. "You're going to jump ship in Bridgetown? That is trouble."
"No, that's as far as I go."
Eddie shook his head. "Every man on here signed for the full voyage. You, too."
I just stood there, blinking. Now that I remembered, Parley Bakerby had signed me on with all the rest—Barbadoes, Rio de Janeiro, and pay off north of Hatteras. Nothing was going right.
Finishing the pans in a daze, I went aft again to square away the pantry, make the cap'n's bed, and scrub the ring from his bathtub; then scrub the decks in the dining saloon and after cabin with limewater. In the midst of the latter job, it suddenly occurred to me that, by staying on the Conyers, I could shed all responsibility for Tee and the dog. It would be fare thee well in Bridgetown. I could endure the drudgery to Rio and back.
The day brightened considerably.
In fact, when I next saw her, just before noon, I said, smiling widely, "And how are you today, Mistress Appleton?"
She frowned, sensing a change of attitude.
***
It took quite a while to cross the Gulf Stream under thin airs, all that day and into the night. Our course to the Windward Islands was an easy arc eastward and south, passing just west of Bermuda, easting as far as possible before getting down to the region of the northeast trades, so I heard Cap'n Reddy explain to Tee at supper. He would try to keep the wind behind him to take advantage of east winds as the Conyers got farther south. "I don't like to beat up against the winds," he said.
So attentive, she nodded her head as if she understood every bit of it. Even asked questions, such as "What winds prevail north of Bermuda?" as if it made any difference. She even asked, "Is that why they call it a dead nailer?" A southward wind, any fool would know. The cap'n was eating it up, along with his stew.
Another trying meal. Wouldn't you know he'd be carrying on a deep nautical conversation with that skinny, blond doily maker instead of me. Likely, it wouldn't have been so bad were it not that Tee managed to be on hand each time I made a mistake. If I skidded on deck and dumped a platter of pork chops, she was there.
"Could I be of assistance, waiter?"
"No."
If I forgot and spit to windward, she'd be not five feet away when the glob came flying back into my eye.
"Strong wind, isn't it?"
The mockery and japery continued on for four solid days.
15
ON THE FIFTH DAY, dawn came in with heavy black clouds to east; the sea had turned gray. The barometer reading sank, telling us that a gale of wind would soon hit. There was storm chill in the air, and it mounted slowly as the breeze picked up, making a fluttering arrow out of the wind pennant on the foremast.
Cap'n Reddy skipped organ recital that night to stand in rubber coat and sou'wester by the helmsman. Lightning was cracking out of every cloud, and the crew was turned out to furl the royals, the crossjack, and the flying jib. The Conyers was beginning to pitch and roll.
A little later, Cap'n Reddy shouted, "All hands on deck. Stand by the t'gallant halyards." The order was echoed throughout the ship, and there was a thud of feet.
A moment later, the bosun shouted, "Lay aloft an' furl."
As spray drenched the fo'c'sle, I helped Eddie secure everything in the galley and then went aft, skidding back and forth across the deck, to wedge the plates and platters in the pantry, tie down the tins.
Coming back into the saloon a few minutes after nine, I found Tee sitting there, face pinched and white, hands clenched on the dining table. She was disarranged. There wasn't much doubt why. It hadn't been six months since the Malta Empress wrecked. She couldn't help but be remembering how it was in the Empress saloon when that ship rolled and pitched and creaked and screamed, finally to stagger on Heron Head Shoal and come apart.
Uneasy myself, I went up to her and sat down. "Don't be frightened, Tee," I said.
She nodded, but each time the ship rode up and then pounded down drunkenly, she winced. Her lips were pearl-colored, and she kept swallowing.
I said, "This is a bigger and better ship than the Empress ever was."
Then the tears began to leak down, and she suddenly tore away from the table, running into her cabin. I went after her but heard the door lock. I said, "Tee, let me come in and stay with you."
She wouldn't answer.
Finally, I put on my oilskins and boots, then went out to stand in the lee of the afterhouse cabin trunk, the little house over the after companionway, not too far from the helm, which now required two sailors. It kicked every time the Conyers's stern rose out of the water. Cap'n Reddy stood with his back to the taffrail, riding the bucking stern. Only when blue-white streaks lit the ship up could I see his face. Rain was hitting like bullets, but he seemed relaxed, and I felt better.
Now and then there were yells from the rigging, and as the lightning stabbed out, I could see Gebbert and his men up there, hanging on as they furled sail. With each roll of the ship, the masts walked across the boiling sky. It was a night of "one hand for the ship and one hand for yourself."
Though I hate to admit it, watching, I suddenly realized that it was too soon for me to join them up there. A slip of foot and they'd plunge more than a hundred feet to deck or into the sea. Until this very moment, I'd never doubted my ability. I did now. It was a sobering sight. I wouldn't have gone aloft that night for two Wintons, and a Haynes-Apperson thrown in.
I stayed out there a while longer, then went below, being of absolutely no use. Knocking on Tee's door, I asked, "All right in there?"
A weak "Yes" came back, and I asked if I could come on in. She said, "I'd rather not."
So I went to the pantry, undressed, and got into the bunk, listening to the wild night outside, feeling the hull quiver and shudder as it entered the gale; heard the wash and then booms of the sea. Every joint in the Conyers was creaking and grinding.
Hanging on for dear life, I fell asleep about midnight.
Awakened just before four, I went topside in time to see the crew furling the mainsail. Lifelines had been rigged along the deck, as water was washing a
nkle- to knee-deep from stem to stern, the Conyers scooping it up as she dug into waves. She was burying the angel figurehead in froth, harpooning the mountainous seas with her jibboom.
Feeling queasy, I started to fire up the range. The Bravaman, hanging on with one hand, working with the other, said, "Don't bother. We can't cook." He told me to slice up some cold salt pork to serve with bread. I soon nicked my fìnger, and a moment later was hanging on to the fo'c'sle after railing feeding the fish, so to speak. My innards almost came up.
This time, Tee was not in sight.
With dense streaks of foam on the sea, edges of wave crests breaking into spindrift, the gale pounded the Conyers all of that day and night. No hot food was served, only salt pork and salt beef and biscuits. We sailed quite a distance under bare masts; then the storm blew over, leaving an afterswell that rolled us back and forth. Being ill, and joined by many others, I didn't see much of Tee during this time. Only once did we talk. Her face was deathly pale and she broke down, saying she was so sorry for what she'd done—coming on board foolishly. I said to forget it; she hadn't done anything so bad, after all. We had looked our Maker in the eye and everyone was feeling respectful.
I now think that a good storm is good for a person, even for a ship. The dust of the mind is blown away and the air is cleared. The ship is tested, as are the men. The pure and simple rising of the sun is appreciated.
The next morning, the weather turned fair and warm, the sea oily and smooth. The planes of canvas, up again over the Conyers, flapped listlessly. We were becalmed, but it was not unwelcome. The crew tarred the rigging, patched sail, and made minor repairs as the big hot ball quickly dried us off. It was as if the Mother Sea had said of her storm, "I just wanted to remind you..."
At breakfast Tee smiled weakly at me. "Thank you, Ben, for everything."
Into the Wind: The Odyssey of Ben O'Neal Page 7