Water Lessons

by Chadwick Wall

  The old man pointed at Jim. "Get some good sleep, my boys. Rest your bones well. I'm waking you guys first."

  They tiptoed down the hall. Bill and Chief entered their cabin. Near the end of the corridor, Walter pointed at the guest cabin. Jim entered and heard Walter shutting the captain's cabin door. Jim shut his own door, and removed his clothes and shoes. He tore back the blanket and shot under the covers.

  Yet sleep did not come for nearly two hours. In the haunted corridors and chambers of his mind lurked the familiar demons and wraiths. A cascade of thoughts crashed against each other—thoughts of Maureen, his friends in Boston, his parents and brother, Liam and Father Ben and the townspeople he remembered in Exeter. Eventually, Jim drifted off to sleep.

  Jim found himself lying on the hot roof, eating from a bag of sliced bread. He pulled slice after slice from the bag, feasting away while he watched the clouds above creep by. Jim suddenly realized a flood had risen around the house. Freddy lay feet away near the edge of the roof, pleading for help, but before Jim could reach him, the waters engulfed him.

  Somehow Jim stood in St. Louis Cemetery Number One at twilight. He ran through the labyrinthine lanes and alleys, weaving between the temple-like burial crypts, many of them cracked and crumbling, in search of his friend's grave.

  A familiar voice arose nearby, old and deep and gravelly. "Lookin' fa me, podnuh?"

  His old friend stood about one hundred feet down the lane. With one arm, he held his guitar pointed to the ground, a look of grief on his face.

  "Freddy? Freddy!" Jim screamed. "Where did you go?"

  "I wanted to live, Jimmy. I didn't want to leave just yet. Almost none of us did. I wanted to live! You know I wanted to live…"

  Jim's mouth opened. The tone of Freddy's response was among the saddest he had ever heard.

  He sprinted toward the ghost. He was halfway there when it vanished. Jim wept feverishly as he continued toward the end of the lane. The twilight gave way, second by second, to pitch black.

  Jim jolted awake. He lay in bed, wet with sweat, despite the cool air of the cabin. He must have been weeping aloud. Jim wiped his eyes and peered at the crack under the cabin door. The corridor light was on, and he recognized the outline of two feet. Seconds later, the feet were gone, the steps fading down the corridor.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Morning commenced with a rap on the cabin door. Jim rubbed his eyes, slid out of bed, and turned the knob. Walter and Chief looked caffeinated and well rested.

  "Rise 'n' shine, Jimmy!" Bill said.

  "That's right!" Jim said. "We've gotta be up before the others. I'll meet y'all in the galley in five."

  Jim dressed and walked to the galley. Walter was waiting.

  "Hey, Jimmy, let's wake everyone. Have them all meet us here in ten minutes. You and I can grab some grub here later. You take cabin rooms one, two, and three. I'll wake up the rest."

  Jim rapped on the three doors. Tim opened one. Reverend Ward and Jack opened the others.

  "Mornin', gents," Jim said. "Walter and I will have a li'l breakfast prepared in the mess room. Let's all meet up there in ten."

  Back in the mess room, Walter, Bill, Chief and Jim pulled out the table, set it, and arranged the chairs. Walter pointed Jim toward the galley counter, where cereal had been poured into bowls. The men grabbed some bananas and ate standing. Walter then greeted the remainder of the crew as they filed in.

  "Hey there, sleepyheads! How's everyone feeling?" Walter said. "Take your seats. There's cereal and fruit and drinks for everybody. Dig in. Don't save a spot for us. We've eaten and we're going on deck. But we'll be back shortly."

  Everyone complied, chattering and joking. Some boys recounted pranks from the night before. Some teased each other. But when the old man returned, the mess room fell absolutely silent.

  "Good to see everyone in such high spirits," Walter said. "Hope you men enjoyed your first night on a ninety-four year old Herreshoff schooner!""

  "It was awwwwesommme!" Dwayne said.

  The adults chuckled.

  "That's good, Dwayne!" Jim said. "Air was a little cooler than in our neck of the woods."

  "Oh, yeah," Dwayne said.

  "Shameful Seamus wouldn't stop with his singing," Lance said. "I almost wanted to get my eardrums removed."

  "Now, lieutenants, please ensure you and the boys grabbed enough grub. Then throw away the plates and bowls and meet Jimmy and me here on the rear deck. We set sail in about thirty, forty-five minutes to points east."

  Jim, Chief, and Bill followed the old man out of the room, into the galley, through the corridor, then up the stairwell. Scant rainclouds loomed in the morning sky, and generous sunshine and a strong westerly breeze greeted them.

  Jim joined the other three men where they stood just before the bowsprit, and marveled at the scene before him. Chatham Harbor boasted a broad variety of seacraft, from power yachts to sailing yachts, from daysailers to yawls to schooners, from dinghies to ketches to sloops. Hinckley yachts that had probably drained their owners of millions of dollars, in both purchase and upkeep, rested at anchor and at their moorings. There were a few wooden sailing yachts, probably from the early and mid-twentieth century, but none came close to outshining the John Paul Jones.

  People on the docks, about to board their own vessels, paused at length to gawk at the treasure in their midst, the wooden tern schooner's great beauty and rarity, her three majestic masts, her lengthy bowsprit, her figurehead depicting the great colonial hero, her wood-and-glass boxed cockpit, her vast network of rigging, the white painted hull with her name displayed in gilded gothic characters near the bow. A few of the more knowledgeable onlookers probably guessed the yacht to be a Herreshoff.

  "Jim, do me a huge favor," the old man said. "Get Jack and you two go grab me a copy of The Globe in that chandler's shop over there. And some half-and-half for the coffee. Kathleen and I forgot to pack it. And a third thing—one bag of ice. Meanwhile, Bill and Chief and I'll get the crew in gear."

  Walter pushed a twenty-dollar bill at him, but Jim waved it away. "My treat. Be right back."

  He jogged toward the stairwell and shot down the steps. The sleepy-eyed Jack was emerging from the mess room. Back on deck, Jim and Jack lowered the dinghy, small motor included, into the water.

  "After you, podnuh," Jim said.

  Jack descended the small stern ladder and sat in the dinghy. Jim tossed down the cords to Jack, who held the ladder with one hand as he gathered the four cords into the boat. Down the ladder, Jim stepped into the boat and sat at the stern, one hand gripping the gunwale and the other grabbing the motor's pull cord. He yanked twice and the motor started.

  Jack pushed off hard from the ladder and plopped onto the bench near the bow. The dinghy rotated until it faced away from the yacht. Jim turned the handle. The motor geared up, sending them slowly across the harbor toward the docks.

  "Over there!" Jack yelled over the whirr of the small Evinrude. He pointed toward the small building with the dark green asphalt roof and sided with wooden shingles. "That's the shop!"

  They gained bit by bit, and then slowed. Jim weaved in and out of the anchored boats like a serpent. Soon they reached the docks. A few spectators, among them a couple with their two teenage sons, stood just feet away. Jack knotted the dinghy onto a cleat, stepped onto the dock, and nodded at them.

  "That's a real sight out there," the father said. He was a tall, thin man with longish snow-white hair. Like the others, he was dressed in boating gear.

  "Thanks," Jack said. "It is something else. My friend's boat."

  "Your friend here?" the man said, pointing with interest at Jim.

  Jim smiled and shook his head. "The owner's out there."

  "That's a Herreshoff, isn't it?" the woman said, a hand held over her eyes to shield her vision from the growing sunlight. She was a petite blonde, somewhat sun-weathered, with an intelligent expression.

  "You guessed right," Jim said. "One of the last tern sch
ooners the brothers built. Launched in 1912."

  "He get that baby around here?" the man said.

  "It was purchased in Casco Bay. We just overhauled her in Osterville. Actually it's a he. The John Paul Jones!"

  "Wow," one of the teens said.

  "Y'all take care," Jim said, waving. "Gotta grab us some provisions for the road." He turned to Jack. "Or for the sea-road, as the great poet in Beowulf calls the ocean."

  "Now I seem to recall that term," Jack said. "Mrs. Hartley's English class at Groton."

  "Funny how the nautical history aficionados come out of the woodwork when that boat's in the water," Jim said as they walked down the dock.

  "I could probably handle one more encounter," Jack said. "And no more."

  Inside the shop, an old man sat behind the counter on a worn brown leather chair. He had a ruddy face cross-hatched with wrinkles and eyes so very squinty Jim could not even discern the color of their corneas. A small pair of spectacles rested at the tip of his red nose. His grey beard hung at least five inches long. A yachting cap crowned his head. Jim guessed it had once been black before sunlight or washing faded it to a dull gray. The old man shot them a flinty glance over his newspaper, but uttered no greeting.

  "Mornin', sir," Jim said.

  The old man nodded and returned to his paper.

  Jim turned right toward the refrigerated goods. On his way back to the counter with a pint of Borden's half-and-half, he grabbed a Boston Globe.

  Jack stood next to the counter beside the magazine rack. "I thought we were going to have a nice rain-free weekend," Jack said, "but alas, we got rained out a bit here in the harbor last night."

  "Ah hah," the old man said. After a brief pause, he put down his paper and looked hard at Jack. "You men going out on the water this morning?"

  "In a few minutes, yes," Jack said.

  "It's unseasonably hot and humid out. Weather seems like it's actin' up a bunch. Cool, then warm, then temperate, then hot and rainy for some of the Figawi. Then warm and a bit rainy yesterday and last night. Strange weather, I tell ya."

  Jim immediately turned from Jack to the old man. Then he was comforted to catch a glimmer of humor in the old man's eyes.

  "I agree," Jack said. He seemed amused the man had opened up. "It is uncommon for this time of year, isn't it?"

  "But it should be warm for you today."

  Jim placed the newspaper and the cream on the counter. "Any way we can get a large bag of ice, too?"

  "Ice box is unlocked just outside the door."

  The old man took Jim's cash and banged a few keys on the register. He fished out some change and handed it to Jim. He then bagged the cream and paper and handed it to Jim with the faintest grin.

  "You have a good day, sir," Jim said as he and Jack departed.

  The door swung shut. Jim handed the paper bag to Jack and then pulled a bag of ice from the box outside. They headed back to the dock.

  "NECN's forecast says no chance of rain today or tomorrow, you know," Jim said.

  "That crusty old codger just probably wants to put in his two cents," Jack said.

  A few people lingered on another wing of the dock, staring at the schooner.

  "No rest for the John Paul Jones," Jim said. He stepped into the dinghy, sat on the rear bench and gunned up the Evinrude. Jack sat down on the front bench, and unknotted the rope from the cleat. They slowly spun around, and then were off toward the schooner.

  For a moment, Jim studied his friend's face, angled sideways at some unknown object. At parties, Jack seemed lighthearted, even carefree. Yet outside of such occasions, he seemed troubled, weighed down by unknown worries and forces. Even now as he sat in the dinghy, Jack seemed incapable of looking at something without soon allowing his gaze to drift pensively, worriedly downward, with knitted brows. Now Jack stared hard at the water flitting past the bow.

  Here was a man with all the moxie and endurance required to found and lead a successful software company. But it was indisputable. His relationship with Natasha weakened him.

  Jim killed the motor. The dinghy coasted the few yards toward the stern of the schooner. Jack crouched, his arm outstretched, ready to grab the ladder. He deftly scampered up the ladder, even with one of his hands gripping the plastic bag of ice. Jim followed just a moment behind, one hand clutching the cords and paper bag.

  After they raised the dinghy, they saw that the boys and lieutenants had assembled on the foredeck, dressed in their life vests. All the boys sat on the deck. Walter stood before them, holding one hand aloft, illustrating a point. Jim and Jack strolled toward them in silence.

  "Jim and Jack," Walter said. "Glad to see you. All is well?"

  Jim gave two thumbs up.

  "You guys join me by the cockpit in a minute. But first, I need some young backs and strong arms! Lieutenant McGreevey, anchors aweigh!"

  This time, Jim could not feel the vessel drift. "No wind?" he called.

  "Affirmative," Walter said. "Big Chief is down in the engine room and is gonna gun us outta here. We still will raise sails, however. Bill, go down and tell him."

  Bill went for the hatch.

  "Now, at my command, if you four could raise the foremast sail. Lieutenants Ward, Murphy! Scoresby and Spaulding! Resume your mast positions. At my command, raise sails… go!"

  A flurry of halyard-pulling erupted on deck. Each man and boy pulled hand-over-hand as the sails wound their way up the three towering wooden masts.

  "Now, tie down!" Walter bellowed. "Tie down and knot 'em, lieutenants!"

  Reverend Ward tied down and knotted the shroud of the mainmast. Tim Murphy did the same on the mizzenmast. Jim and Jack bowlined the shroud onto the foremast's large cleat.

  All of the men and boys looked up at the sails. They were in place, just without a trace of wind. How fickle was Mother Nature, Jim thought. And how mysterious and cruel.

  He glanced at the Commodore. The old man stared directly at him, his arms at his sides. He smiled a proud, worldly-wise smile, a narrowing and twinkling of eyes and a faint grin without the showing of teeth. He placed the pipe in his mouth. A dark grey plume rose right over his right ear and past the bill of his dark blue baseball cap that read "NAVY."

  The twin diesel motors surely were at work. The ship drifted forward, turning and pulling away. A great cheer shot from the nearest dock, where spectators still remained, many of them waving. Minutes later, the John Paul Jones encountered decent winds. They snagged the sails which slowly, steadily billowed open and wide. A collective sigh rose from the crew. The John Paul Jones was once again making good time.

  Minutes later, they moved south at a speed of about fifteen knots. As if bidding their farewell, a flock of seagulls dived, turned, climbed, and circled the schooner as it progressed farther from shore.

  Inside the cockpit, the Commodore puffed away at his pipe. Jim stood beside him, steering. Jack rested a few feet away on the teak bench, lost in thought. At least he looked in better spirits.

  On the foredeck, the Reverend and Tim and their charge of six boys leaned against the bow's rail, studying the few boats on the horizon. After twenty minutes passed, Walter ordered Jim to turn the wheel, to steer directly eastward, parallel to the dune-and-grass coast of the Cape Cod National Seashore Ponds Preserve.

  "This," Walter said, "aims us directly out into the Atlantic."

  Jim drew in a deep breath and held it, imagining the schooner capsizing in a great storm, hundreds of miles from land.

  Following thirty minutes on this course, the old man gave the order to tack directly northward along the Preserve's coast toward the Cape's tip at Provincetown. The ship listed slightly to port as it righted its course.

  A great cheer burst from several of the boys at the bow. Jim heard and felt the mighty push of the wind, which further filled the sails.

  Smiling at the vessel's progress, Jim turned to Walter. "I know the plan's to anchor outside Truro, but at this rate, hell, we may even be west of Provincetown by tw
ilight!"

  "Ah, you may very well be right, sir," the old man said, his eyes twinkling with delight. "We are making way, for sure." Walter was clearly elated at their good fortune. Their only mishap had been last night's rain.

  Jack excused himself, strolled toward the bow, his hands buried in the pockets of his linen pants.

  "I wonder," Jim said, "if our friend's feigning a look of happy-go-lucky comfort there."

  "We both know what's weighin' down the guy, don't we?" the old man said, and turned a pair of gloomy eyes toward Jim.

  "I'd say we do," Jim said. "Maybe this trip will do him some good."

  "Spaulding's son has been mopin' around all hangdog like that many a time in the last few months," Walter said, shaking his head and closing his eyes. He made a hissing sound. "The man needs to free himself of that virago."

  Jim let slip a laugh, just for a second, and stifled it by contorting his mouth.

  "Ah, look at this day, son. Look at this day, will ya?" Walter said, pulling the zip locked bag of tobacco from his coat pocket.

  "It's some beautiful out there. We've been blessed today. Just a few clouds, much sunshine, decent wind."

  Walter proceeded to pack the bowl. With one strike of a match, and his other hand shielding the bowl, he lit the pipe. "We have, son. We have," the old man said.

  They stared through the square front window of the cockpit. Nearly everything beyond was some marvelous shade of blue, the frolicking waves of dark blue and the sky of royal blue, interrupted only by the scarcest number of grayish-white clouds in the distance.

  "We've both been blessed in another way," Walter said, looking over at him. "We're both blessed to be here, to be breathing. I know you were having a nightmare last night in your cabin. I could hear it. And I know why. I lived it, Jimmy, for decades. Still am. We carry guilt—we survived while someone we cared about passed on right in front of us, in a catastrophe. And war is always a catastrophe.

  "I know you had Freddy. Many of my men died under my watch. I'll tell you about one. Chester Wilkins, from Gloucester. Twenty years young, and his forebears had been sailors for centuries. He served alongside Carrington's brother as a gunner. Used to have panic attacks sometimes when we were close to enemy boats and sometimes planes.