Voyage of the Dreadnaught: Four Stella Madison Capers

by Lilly Maytree

  “I have. Got the service printed out in the back of my old seafarer's Bible. Along with funerals and other such things a captain might need to preside over.”

  “Well, then?”

  “ I think it's a fine idea,” said the colonel. “Nothing seals a promise so much as an act that truly proves your commitment. It's the kind of trust between parties that one can't get any other way. More importantly, it's the right thing to do.”

  “I want to do everything right from now on.” Lou Edna picked up a French fry the baby had deliberately thrown onto the floor and put it back on the tray of his high chair. “If doing things right could make you feel this good—how come nobody ever told me?”

  “For one thing, you never let anyone tell you anything,” said Mason. “As I recall.”

  “Neither do you, Pop,” the girl countered. “Or you'd have married Millie a long time, ago.”

  “Lou Edna Wilson!” Millie gasped. “Mase isn't the marrying kind. He's always been up front about that.”

  “Something's either right, or it isn't,” she muttered, bending down for yet another French fry that was gleefully pitched off the tray.

  “Living by our convictions should always supersede trying to convince others to live by them, as well,” the colonel pointed out. “Seems everyone's entitled to their own journey of discovery, no matter where it happens to land them. But as you found out so recently, Lou, some roads are more rocky than others.”

  “Wasn't my choice to be born there.”

  “No one else gets that choice, either. The only choice available is in getting off, or not. But it might help to know all roads lead to the same end. So, the fact that yours looked so much clearer, earlier on, will probably give you an advantage some of the rest of us—who chose later in life—never had.”

  A statement that launched an unguarded expression of satisfaction at Mason when Lou Edna looked back at him. And since everyone had rather naturally taken to considering the colonel the best source of spiritual judgment in their little group (simply because he had been working at it longer), the verdict, though unspoken, was pronounced. Something that caused the colonel to draw in his breath and stick out his lower lip in that expression of perplexity that was becoming so dear to Stella (such a tender-hearted man!). Because the last thing he would ever want to do was offend Mason, who was one of his original heroes.

  So, there were a few awkward moments of silence, when even the colonel was at a loss for words. Until Mason suddenly banged his fist down on the table and pronounced, “Shortcake's right. Better make it a double, Stuart. So I can make an honest woman out of Mildred. Haven't been very happy with my own road, lately... and I could do with some of this peace and contentment I been seeing around here.”

  A sentiment that caused Millie to burst immediately into tears, and the baby right after.

  At the precise moment Gerald pushed through the door from the outside deck with another plate of sizzling burgers and asked, “Anybody for seconds? Oh—I say! Now, what's wrong?”

  And that was the reason—as Stella was to recall later—that nearly everyone's plate was left with something on it, that evening. Especially since they decided to push things aside for later, and fully intended to come back to it all. Except that when Stuart returned from his cabin (presumably to get the old seafarer's Bible, to officiate services), a rather amazing transformation had taken place.

  For the first time in the nearly two months they had been aboard the Dreadnaught, Captain Stuart appeared before them in a rather dashing black coat over a turtleneck sweater, with his gray hair that normally stuck out in all directions, slicked back and curling fashionably onto his collar. And considering Millie had scampered away to don a cheery floral-print dress (instead of jeans), and even Mason quickly shaved off his three-day bristle of whiskers, and put on a clean denim shirt...

  The unexpected occasion turned into a series of memorable tender moments that “the family” would never forget. It was their first day in Alaska, and in so many ways, their first day of a new way of life for all of them. So, the services—instigated by the youngest members (who would have thought?) --took place on the covered deck beneath the wheelhouse, with all the rugged beauty of a mountain wilderness for a backdrop. There were even a few appreciative hugs and comments, afterward, for Lou Edna's determination to “do things right” that had propelled everyone to share in the whole wonderful experience.

  Which could have been a perfect end to a perfect day.

  Except just as they were all dispersing toward the various companionway doors that led out of the galley and toward their respective cabins, Lou Edna said, “Just in time, too. Because I'm going to have another baby.”

  Stella and the colonel stopped in their tracks, and Millie's, “Oh—Lou—Edna!” reverberated back toward them down the entire length of the hallway. That shocking news delivered so casually to those born with different values, altogether, was the very reason the nightly ritual of listening to the weather channel was skipped, entirely. After all, they weren't on any specific schedule (other than their own), and tomorrow was another day.

  There would be plenty enough time to get those necessary details in the morning.

  3

  The following morning, they were socked in by a veritable “pea souper,” as the Captain called it. One couldn't even see the trees on the edge of the nearby shore of the cove they were anchored in. Other than the first twinge of disappointment (they were so close to reaching their goal!), everyone soon settled into their various routines with the sort of resigned contentment that comes from having to wait on things one has no control over. There was always something to do, and the same situation had happened to them on numerous occasions before.

  So, the Captain and Cole took the opportunity to do some necessary maintenance on the engine, and Mason went back to carpenter-work on an overhead lighting project that connected two nightstands together, so Millie could get more reading done at night. She was working her way through Stella's library, even though she had never been much of a reader before.

  Lou Edna, who rarely made an appearance before noon, had not so much as poked her head out of the spacious apartment she had made from the former crew's quarters in the lowest forward area of the ship. She had created a huge, rather ingenious play area for the baby that allowed for climbing over and between the various bunks via a cargo net tacked up and over them to prevent falls. With a collection of toys scattered within, and an occasional snack, he was happy to entertain himself until lunchtime.

  Gerald was busy with his numerous studies of the many potted plants he had brought along. Who could tell which ones would thrive in such a climate? He had heard common vegetables could grow to enormous sizes in a place that had nearly twenty hours of sunlight per day, this time of year. He was meticulously detailed in his charts and scientific journals. Such still being one of his few joys in life, since he had retired from the Academic world, years ago.

  As for Stella and the colonel, this was the best time of their day. The new book was coming along nicely, and it seemed its author had never had such fun until he took up writing stories for boys. And with a wife to edit his rough drafts, who enjoyed bouncing new ideas around almost as much as he did, he was never happier. What's more, he was convinced—after all these years—he had truly discovered what he was not only best at, but made for. If one were to believe in that sort of thing. Which Stella did. Taking on his ambitions and philosophies had been as easy as taking his name. Mrs. Colonel Oliver P. Henry. She had never been happier in her life, either.

  So it was, that the colonel was sitting at the old captain's desk, getting ready to enjoy an extra writing session, since he would not be having to take his stint at the wheel today. “Let's see...” He bent over the handwritten jottings in an open notebook, where he had written his outline. “What are you boys up to next?” He ran a finger down to the appropriate place. “Ah, yes. The cave. You think you might find a good place to stash necessary supplies
, in case the whole world goes berserk. Well...” He opened his laptop and waited for it to take account of itself. “Think, again! Just wait till you see what's waiting for you in there!” Then he laughed with the pure pleasure of it, and began.

  Stella smiled from where she was sitting on the couch with her own laptop, going over his work from the day before. For a moment, she paused to think about several things that might be in such a cave... and then went back to the enjoyable task at hand. She had always loved reading stories for the middle-grades, and—after her years of teaching—knew quite a bit about boys, herself.

  It was hardly an hour after that when they heard the thump of the engine starting up.

  “What's all this?” remarked the colonel, as he threw a look to the bank of French windows behind where Stella was sitting. “It's still socked in out there.”

  At which point there was a tremendous bang from somewhere in the depths of the vessel.

  “Oliver—oh, what on earth?”

  “Probably just Stuart readjusting his engine, again, dearest. But maybe I better go make sure.”

  A few minutes later, it seemed to be humming along just fine, and a few minutes after that, it shut off, again. Stella breathed a sigh of relief that they wouldn't have to be venturing out in that pea souper, after all, before she realized her own nerves were almost as stretched as Millie's. Captain Stuart's propensity to “nose out into the weather to see what it was going to do,” was beginning to grate on her.

  So, she felt even better when her husband reappeared a few minutes later to report, “Just changing out some hard-to-get-at hose, then using some kind of starter fluid that produces a big bang. Sort of a controlled burn, you might say. No need to worry.”

  “Well, thank heaven for that. It would be awful to have something go wrong when we only have a little farther to go.”

  “Indeed, it would.”

  However, the day only proceeded to get stranger from that point on. It was one of those days people find themselves considering whether they shouldn't have gone back to get up on the opposite side of the bed, in order to straighten things out. Because Stuart—always so careful to “do things by the book,”—suddenly decided to strike out across their last stretch of “big water,” late in the afternoon. The Ketchikan Channel (not what it was formally called, but no one could pronounce the real name) being only about five hours away. Piece of cake, after that, because it was such a busy city, one merely had to follow a crowd of other boats back into the harbor. And considering it would still be daylight at nine pm, not much could go wrong.

  The first thing that went wrong was a large rock at the entrance of their cove, which had been clearly visible when they came in, but was now covered over with a high tide. Even though the accidental bumping against it didn't cause any real damage, it served as a wake-up call to remind them of the necessity of having a spotter at the bow when entering, or exiting, such places. Rocks being the prevailing characteristic of the region. Why the depth sounder didn't give an alarm, no one thought to ask, because maneuvering in and out of tight places had always been the Captain's responsibility. In fact, if he hadn't been at the wheel that very moment, the danger might have caused serious damage.

  Things simply went downhill from there. The afternoon wind kicked up stronger than expected, and Stuart's decision to skirt a little farther south of the fishing boats to avoid all those thousands of feet of net strung out across every available space on the U.S. side of Dixon Entrance, drove the Dreadnaught into six to eight foot waves, farther out. Why on earth had they even tried to attempt it at this hour?

  That's what Stella was thinking when the ship's bell summoned “all hands on deck” to hoist sails.

  Heading directly north was no longer an option. Now, they must use the wind to stabilize the ship, so they could plow through the waves, instead of rolling into the steep troughs each time they were hit form the side. They were sailing directly out into rough weather, and another storm at sea. However, the crew was more seasoned, this time, and understood their jobs much better than those early days. Which was the only reason they managed to “beat into it” for nearly three full hours before finally raising a distant shore where they could find another safe cove, or inlet, to slip into. Who cared how far off course they were? Everyone was exhausted.

  Something that only added to the strain on nerves when the place began to disappear, on and off, behind patches of clinging fog the wind was still trying to blow off the rugged land. So, they took a compass bearing on a point that looked promising, and strained all eyes for any sign of unexpected rocks that might be strewn out in front of it. At least the seas began to settle down the closer they got to land. But so did the wind. Down with the sails, again, and the last hour was a nightmare, before Lou Edna (who had the best eyes aboard) called out a possible opening. A tight squeeze, but they would have to take it.

  Because night was already coming on.

  So, they began to snake their way up a long, narrow inlet that seemed to have no sign of widening out, at all. Cole stood at the very tip of the bowsprit, giving hand-signals up to the wheelhouse as they inched their way around the rocky shores at a snail's pace.

  “Over there!” Lou called down from her perch on the mainmast yardarm. “Big enough to turn around in!”

  “Port, or starboard?” insisted Cole.

  “On the right—the right—I mean, starboard!”

  He gave the signal, but there was no response from the wheelhouse. “Get down here and take over, Lou. Colonel and Mase—get ready to let go the anchor. Millie, keep an eye out for rocks off the port side and holler out soon as you see any. Mrs. H... you come with me.”

  Which is how it came to be that Stella was the only witness to exactly what happened, next.

  She followed Cole up the short steep ladder to the topmost deck of the Dreadnaught (lagging considerably behind the quick agility of their dark-haired First Mate), and was shocked to arrive in time to see him thrust the older man aside and take over the wheel so forcibly that their captain fell into a crumpled heap onto the floor. She had read enough sea stories to know such an act was nothing less than mutiny, but didn't know exactly what she should do about it. Other than rushing to the side of Captain Stuart, only to discover that he was completely unconscious.

  At which point there was an ear-splitting scream of “Rocks! Rocks!” from Millie, before Cole immediately spun the wheel hard over and...ran right over them.

  4

  Stella was picking herself up off the floor before she even realized she had toppled over. There was screaming and hollering (Millie, mostly), and a tumult of running feet clamoring over the decks below. Were they sinking? By the time she pulled herself up enough to look over at Cole, the young man was standing with his back to her, his head sagging down to his chest, and still hanging onto the wheel. But only for a few moments before he gave a great sigh, and shut off the engine.

  “Is he alive?” he finally asked without turning to see for himself.

  “I...” She was still on her knees, and only had to lean over to look at Stuart. He seemed to be sleeping. She gave his shoulder a gentle shake, but there was no response. “I think so. Yes... he's breathing, anyway. Cole—what on earth possessed you to push him so—”

  “Something happened. He was froze to the wheel.”

  “Dear Lord...” She patted the Captain's face, trying once more to wake him. “Maybe we better not move him right away. At least not for a while.” She took off her jacket and slipped it under his head, then reached for the army blanket on the nearest chair, to unfold over him.

  “I better go check how much damage there is.”

  He slipped out the door, and was barely gone when Gerald clamored in from the companionway that led from the galley beneath them. He was wearing a bright orange life-jacket, and carrying the Senator over his shoulder, buckled into a miniature of the same. “Millie's gone over the side,” he panted. “Saw the whole thing from the galley port, when we were
getting into our life-jackets. Just—pffft!—popped over like a cork out of a bottle because she was leaning out over the rail too far.”

  “For heaven sake! Is she—”

  “Pfft! Just like that! Had her lifeline on, though, so they hauled her right up. Didn't even get wet, that's how high up we are. What happened to Stuart?”

  “We're not sure. Cole said he was frozen. Just hanging onto the wheel.” She moved over to where she could look down on the forward deck. It was tilted back at a slight angle and looked eerily deserted. Where was everybody? Were they sinking? What if they had to abandon ship out in this—oh, dear God!

  All at once, a single shaft of light broke through the dark clouds as the sun was going down between two magnificent mountain peaks. It gave the illusion of resting right on top of the Dreadnaught. In that light, it looked as if their ship had nosed close up into a narrow meadow, nestled between those two pine-covered mountains. And—what was that? A waterfall tumbling down from somewhere high up, over a wall of rock, not too far away.

  Stella felt a sudden sense of profound peace, along with the fleeting thought they had landed in the prettiest place they had come to, yet. Then it occurred to her how often their situation could change (so instantly!), after she prayed for God to save them out of some circumstance that seemed to be pressing her beyond her own personal limits. Almost before she even knew what to pray for. As if simply calling out to God during those times was enough for Him to intervene.

  Gerald handed her the baby, and then bent down to have a better look at the Captain. “Seems like he's...had some kind of stroke.”

  “Oh, I hope not!” She settled the toddler onto her hip. “It could be hours before we can get any kind of help, way out here.”

  “More than that, I'm afraid. Something busted up forward. Right under the boy's play area. I daresay there was water trickling in when we left.”