The Lady of Tarpon Springs

by Judith Miller

  Throughout the remainder of the morning, Zanna attempted to concentrate on setting up the necessary accounting schedules for the business, but the effort proved fruitless. She remained in her office until eleven and then walked down to the docks. She didn’t expect to see the boats return until midafternoon, yet she couldn’t stop herself from checking.

  An old man with a fishing pole resting on his shoulder and a string of catfish in his hand walked toward her. He held up the fish, his weathered face creasing into a thousand wrinkles when he smiled. “Good day for fishin’.”

  Zanna smiled in return. “Have you seen any boats coming or going?”

  “Naw, jest the three that left around dawn. Not many boats in and out on auction days. And me? I try to get off the docks afore noon when they begin all that hollerin’ and scare off the fish.”

  She’d forgotten the sponge auction would begin at noon. She wanted to attend and learn how things worked—and meet Mr. Pappas if he happened to be in town.

  She nodded to the old man. “Enjoy your fish dinner.”

  He tipped his hat. “I surely will, miss. I surely will.”

  Zanna half walked, half ran the distance home and was gasping for air by the time she entered the house. “Is Papa here?”

  Her mother looked up from the stove. “Not yet. He should be coming in for lunch in a few minutes. Why have you been running? Your face is red, and your hair is wet with perspiration. Is something wrong?”

  “No, I forgot about the sponge auction at noon and I wanted to come home and eat beforehand.” She glanced around the kitchen. “Am I too early?”

  Her mother pointed to a pita. “You can fill it with the minced lamb. There is some feta and spinach you can add if you like.”

  Zanna picked up the crusty pita and spooned the lamb mixture inside. “Are Atticus and Homer working with Papa today?”

  “What kind of silly question is that? Don’t they work with your papa every day?”

  She crumbled the feta on top of the meat, then added spinach and leeks. “Most every day. Sometimes they do other things.”

  “Like what?”

  Zanna hiked a shoulder. “I don’t know. Go to town and purchase canvas from Mr. Fernaldo, or maybe go to the drug store for Yayá’s medicine.”

  Her mother stacked several pitas on a plate and placed it in the middle of the table. “Your papa didn’t need any canvas today, and Yayá has a good supply of medicine, so it only makes sense your brothers are working with your papa.”

  When the back door opened, Zanna looked up. Her father was followed by Homer, who closed the door after he stepped inside. She shifted in her chair. “Where’s Atticus?”

  Her father picked up a glass of water and drained its contents. “Out on one of Nico’s boats.”

  She inhaled a deep breath. “They aren’t Nico’s boats. They belong to Dr. Penrose.”

  Her father sighed and dropped into his chair. “Excuse me. He’s out on one of Dr. Penrose’s boats. Is that better?” One of his eyebrows shot high on his forehead.

  “You gave him permission to go?”

  Her father nodded. “Things are slow in the shop right now, so I told him he could go. The boats are different from what we build. It will be good for him to see how they handle in the water.”

  “And Nico agreed?”

  “He did. We talked when he was here for supper last night. Nico said if Atticus was at the docks when they sailed at dawn, then he could go.” Her father frowned. “This is a problem?”

  “No, Papa. It’s not a problem as long as everything goes well while they’re out in the Gulf.” She hesitated a moment. “I didn’t know they were going this morning until Lucy told me they had sailed.”

  Her father’s eyes widened. “Ah, I see. You were left out and now you have the hurt feelings.”

  “This isn’t about hurt feelings, Papa. I oversee the business. I should know when the boats are going out, and if Nico is taking anyone other than a crew member, he should get my permission.”

  “You should go easy for now. He is not used to asking permission, especially from a woman. If you want to make this business work, it will take cooperation.” He patted her cheek. “You know I am right, do you not?”

  She forced a smile. “I need to get down to the docks. I want to be there for the sponge auction.”

  Her father slapped his palm to his forehead. “Oi! My daughter at the sponge auction. You may find out women are not allowed.”

  “We’ll see. When our crews start bringing in better sponges than anything that’s ever been offered at the exchange, they’ll let me in.”

  “Remember that a little honey will get you further than too much spice.”

  “Yes, Papa, I’ll remember.”

  She hurried out the door before her father could offer any more advice.

  CHAPTER

  9

  Once the three boats were well on their way down the Anclote River, Nico gestured to Atticus to move to his side. He’d told the young man he could come along on this first voyage if he didn’t get in the way. So far, Atticus had been good to his word. He’d barely moved a muscle since they’d set sail.

  Careful to step over the equipment, Atticus moved to Nico’s side. “I wish I could spend more time out here on the river. It’s so peaceful.”

  “These men would tell you that being on the water means hard work and danger. It’s only peaceful when you go sailing for pleasure. And we don’t ever have time for that.” He pointed toward the horizon. “I have to admit there is time to admire that beautiful sunrise.” He inhaled a deep breath, the scent of damp moss, fish, and river filling his nostrils. “I’m surprised your sister gave you permission to come along. I thought for sure she would object.” When he turned to glance at Atticus, the young man looked away. Nico reached out and grasped Atticus by the arm. “You did ask her, didn’t you?”

  “No.”

  Nico cupped his ear and leaned closer. “Tell me I didn’t hear you say no.”

  Atticus’s jaw tensed. “I knew she wouldn’t approve, but you don’t have to worry. My father knows I’m with you, and he gave me permission to come along.”

  “Your father’s approval isn’t the same. I think you know that. Your sister will be ready to send me back to Greece if she finds out you’re on this boat.”

  “I don’t think she’ll know. She never checks on my whereabouts, so I think we’re safe.” He remained by Nico’s side. “Do all the diving crews sail with boats of different sizes?”

  Nico shook his head. “No. The Crete and Anastasi are known as second class and manned by fourteen to sixteen men, but the St. Nicolas is a little larger and manned by a crew of twenty to twenty-two men. There are usually ten divers on first-class boats and five on second-class vessels. Divers on the first-class boats work from twenty-three to thirty fathoms, while the divers on the second-class boats dive from fifteen to twenty fathoms. I don’t have as many trained divers with me. For now, we must make do with what we have.”

  Atticus let out a low whistle. “Thirty fathoms? That would be about one hundred eighty feet, wouldn’t it?”

  “Right.” A gust of wind rippled the lateen sails, and the boat picked up speed.

  “That’s way deeper than I thought anyone could dive.” Atticus shifted his attention to the air hoses and signal lines. “I guess all the equipment makes it easy.”

  A few of the men laughed at the comment. One of them pointed to the diving dress that looked like a canvas union suit. “Just wait until you see us get into our gear and what we must do to stay alive once we are underwater. You won’t think it’s so easy then.”

  They’d been sailing for over two hours before the mouth of the Anclote River opened into the Gulf. Nico stepped to the bow and scanned the open waters. Before setting sail, he and the boat captains had charted their course. Once they entered the Gulf, they would remain in sight of each other, but separate as far as possible so the divers could search a broader area on this first v
oyage. Nico removed the kerchief from around his neck and waved it overhead. Soon the Crete and Anastasi changed directions and began sailing to the north.

  The St. Nicolas sailed in a westerly direction, until Nico gestured to lower the sails and called to Dyson, one of the crewmen, to help him get suited.

  Atticus gasped. “You’re going to dive? Why?”

  “Because I would never ask my men to dive in a new location unless I, too, am willing to go down.”

  Nico moved to a different seat near the center of the boat and waited while Dyson set a heavy metal collar around his neck and shoulders. He then removed his shoes and shoved his feet into the wide-neck opening of the diving suit and tugged on the rubberized canvas until his feet were pushed into place. After wriggling his arms into the neck opening, he pushed until his hands emerged from the vulcanized rubber cuffs. He pointed to two cast-iron shoes. “Bring me those diving shoes, Atticus.”

  Atticus bent forward and grasped the top of the boots, but he grunted and dropped both shoes before they were more than two inches off the deck. He swiped at a hank of hair that fell across his forehead and chuckled. “I didn’t think they’d be so heavy.”

  “They’re made of iron. Each one weighs about twelve pounds. Look inside.” Nico turned back the leather top of one of the shoes. “There’s a cypress wood insert. The top is attached to the insert.” Once Nico’s foot was inside the iron boot, he tied heavy cord around the leather top to hold it firmly in place.

  Atticus watched as another diver rigged the breastplate with a single line around the neck ring and secured it in front. “What’s the line for?”

  “One end is fastened to the cinch line to prevent the helmet from rising when Nico inflates the dress with air. The shorter end of the line is used to hold the signal line in front of the diver.”

  “You put air inside the dress?”

  Nico chuckled. “The amount of air inflated or deflated into the diving suit will control my buoyancy. Too much air and the dress will blow up like a balloon and shoot me to the surface with no control. Too little air causes the dress to collapse, and the suit becomes very heavy. It’s exhausting to move because you lose buoyancy. It takes much practice to control the air valve with accuracy. Once I have the helmet on, I won’t be able to talk to you. Dyson will have to tell you what we are doing.”

  Next, Dyson lined up the holes on the rubber suit with those on the collar. He set a breastplate on top of the first collar before lowering the brass helmet in place. The helmet, fitted with four ports, now sealed Nico inside. Using a wood block, Dyson tightened each of the twelve brass nuts, securing the helmet to the collar. Nico’s shoulders sagged under the weight.

  Atticus pointed to the helmet. “How much does that thing weigh?”

  Dyson cocked an eyebrow. “The breastplate and helmet together weigh thirty-four pounds. Once in the water, he has plenty of weight to take him down. He’ll take a hook and net with him, and we will hope that he will fill the net with lots of large wool sponges. The signal line is used when he needs something. If he tugs with two quick pulls, that means he needs more air. Three pulls means his net is full and it is time to come to the surface. There is a signal for whatever he needs. Before he comes up, we will have another diver suited to go down.”

  Over the next half hour, Nico worked underwater, his excitement mounting as he explored these new waters. The sponge beds were full of the large wool sponges—the type buyers fought to purchase. He filled his bag and tugged on the line six times before making his ascent. To stay below any longer would be dangerous, and he knew his limits. He didn’t want to take the risk of remaining under too long and becoming disoriented or unconscious due to poor air circulation in the helmet.

  He pulled on the line to signal he was coming up. Soon he was reaching for the hinged ladder that had been lowered so he could climb back into the boat. A wave of thankfulness washed over him as the men greeted him with their cheers. This first dive was enough to assure him that his crews could earn enough money to live a better life in this new country and eventually have their wives and families join them. Since the day they’d boarded the ship in Greece, the responsibility for these men had rested on Nico’s shoulders much like the heavy weight of his diving gear. As Dyson removed the helmet and lifted the breastplate, Nico released a shout of glee that echoed across the water.

  He tugged to remove the diving dress, eager to tell the crew more of what he’d discovered. “The size and quality of the sponges are beyond what we could have imagined.” He pointed to one of the net bags the men had already emptied. “Are they not the best we could have hoped for?”

  The crewmen nodded their agreement. “As good as what we harvested from the Aegean,” one of them said. “Perhaps better.”

  Nico’s enthusiasm quickly spread among the crew. “There is more sponge here than I ever dreamed of. We could harvest for years and still there would be more sponge left over.” He gestured to the diver who was preparing to descend. “Were you watching my air bubbles to see where I harvested?” When the man nodded, Nico pointed toward the water. “Continue moving in the same direction. I hit some unexpected drop-offs, so make sure you have plenty of line each time you move forward.”

  The diver signaled that he understood Nico’s instructions before he straddled the bow and jumped into the water. Atticus stepped close to Nico’s side and leaned forward to watch the diver’s descent. “I’ve never seen anything as exciting as this. Each man knows exactly what he has to do while the diver is underwater.”

  Nico nodded. “They had better. Otherwise the diver could die. The divers must trust that the men in the boat will stay alert, especially the hose tenders who operate the air pump. The constant turning causes exhaustion to the arms of the hose tenders. Sometimes they may not realize they have slowed the rate of air flow until the diver tugs on the line to signal for more air. There have been divers who have died because they become unconscious before they can signal the hose tenders. That’s why I want the hose tenders to trade out every half hour.”

  “I wouldn’t want that responsibility.” Atticus shifted to watch the men on either side of the pump. Each man rotated a wheel attached to the two sides of the pump while also keeping a close watch on the gauges located in the center of the pump.

  Nico patted his shoulder. “All the positions on diving boats require attentiveness. A mistake from any one of the men could mean disaster for all of us.” He pointed at the oarsmen. “Even though we have three hundred feet of line, those oarsmen must keep the boat moving with the diver and be certain the diver’s air bubbles are close to the starboard side when the diver breaks the surface. That way, his lines don’t get tangled as he climbs aboard using the ladder.” He gestured to the net bag of sponges the line tender and deckhand were pulling onto the boat. “Did you help bring in the bags?”

  Atticus shook his head. “I think they wanted me to stay out of their way, but from the way they worked at it, I figure those bags must be heavy.”

  “Right. The sponges hold a lot of water, and lifting them onto the boat takes a great deal of strength. They should have used your muscles to help them.” He stood. “I need to go help the next diver into his gear. We want to get as much diving done as we can before our return to land.”

  The three captains had agreed to remain in the Gulf until late afternoon before making their return to Tarpon Springs, where they would assess their catch. Nico was curious to learn whether the sponges gathered by the smaller boats would be of the same quality as those harvested by Nico’s crew in the larger boat.

  As the hours passed, the divers descended, each man filling several bags of sponges. Nico was assisting another diver into his diving dress when one of the men called out, “Nico! Look to the west!”

  The urgency of the command caused Nico’s stomach to tighten. He jerked around and stared at the dark flat base forming along a line of developing gray-and-white puffy clouds. “The wind has picked up.” No sooner had he spoken
the words than two huge waterspouts formed and steadily rose from the surface of the Gulf like giant, swirling sea creatures eager to capture their prey. “They’re moving in our direction.” He turned toward the line tender. “Signal Markos! He needs to surface!”

  The line tender’s mouth gaped when Nico shouted the order, yet he remained as still as a statue.

  “Now!” Nico waved his arm in a wild gesture until the realization of danger sent the line tender into action. “We need to get Markos on board so we can turn the boat and get ourselves out of danger.”

  Atticus pulled his hat down on his head. “Anything I can do to help?”

  “See if you can get the attention of the other boats. They’re turned in an opposite direction and it doesn’t look like they’re aware of the danger heading our way.”

  One of the crewmen thrust two blue-and-white flags attached to wooden handles into Atticus’s hand. “Wave these at them until they signal they see you. It won’t take long for them to spot the danger once they look in this direction.”

  The line tender tugged on Markos’s signal line and waited while Nico watched over the side of the boat for any sign of the diver’s bubbles. “No sign of him. Signal again.”

  The line tender nodded and tugged five times in rapid succession, the signal for an on-board emergency. Nico stared at the churning water for what seemed an eternity.

  “Markos signaled he’s staying below.” The line tender held the signal line in his hand and waited for Nico’s direction.

  A tight knot formed in Nico’s stomach. Markos was putting all of them in danger. He understood the excitement of seeing the vast beds of sponge, but his men knew they were expected to follow orders, especially in an emergency. His anger mounted. He’d never had one of his men defy an emergency signal. “Signal him two times in quick succession.”

  The force of the wind picked up with each passing minute. “Nico!” the engineer barked. “We need to turn the boat. The waterspouts are coming directly at us.”