“Well,” the old man said, looking Ash right in the eye, “what do you think?”
“I think you’ve done a fine job,” Ash said. “I think she’s first-rate. I’m going to be proud to command her.”
The old man smiled. “That’s all I wanted to hear,” Anson said. “She’ll give you good service, Mr. Miller. She’ll roll, you know, but she’s eminently seaworthy, so you’ll live through it, and I’m going to leave some empty paint buckets aboard to use as barf buckets. With a new crew, you’ll need ’em ’til your men get their sea legs. Once your stores begin to arrive and you get ’em stowed, I think we can commission her within three weeks, and then you can take her to sea. Sound workable?”
“That sounds fine,” Ash said.
“It’s snowing again,” Anson said, “and it’s well after dark. I’m about to go home. Can I give you a ride up to The Jarvis House?”
“Id be grateful,” Ash said, glancing at the snow swirling against the window. The Jarvis House—a three-storey red brick structure on a leafless tree-lined street leading up from the river—showed itself, by means of its high, oversized arched windows and ornate cornice, to have been something probably dreamed up by a 19th-century architect with a Victorian attitude. Inside, Ash found the ceilings high, the furniture antique, and the atmosphere quiet. Mrs. Jarvis, a woman who Ash imagined to be in her mid-fifties, greeted him cheerfully, helped him register, and then handed him a foot-square sealed box. “This arrived for you not ten minutes ago by special messenger, from the Naval authorities in Portland” she said. “Would you like me to have it taken up to your room, along with your bag? The dining room will close in about 30 minutes, so if you haven’t yet had your evening meal, you might want to step in and order while things are still in motion”
“Thank you,” Ash said, “I think I will”
The dining room, as Ash had expected, seemed bereft of seasonal visitors: no late-fall leaf viewers or early winter sports enthusiasts. Instead, beside a table flanking one of the room’s high, arched windows, he saw what he imagined to be a husband and wife stopping for a night in transit to somewhere. Ten feet away, three men who looked to Ash like day laborers tucked heartily into steaks, while near the rear of the room, Ash spotted what appeared to be a salesman with a sample case on the floor beside him and, at another table, a man who could have been a book keeper or a clerk of some type. With their dinners finished, and their plates taken away, both men seemed to be giving their attention to papers of various sorts. When Ash walked into the room carrying his overcoat and his hat, his sleeves showing his new gold braid, all of the diners looked up briefly, examined him from head to toe, and returned their attention to their plates.
Selecting a table on the opposite side of the room from the married couple, Ash folded his coat over the back of one chair, placed his hat on the seat, and sat down in the other. Seconds later, before Ash could read beyond a menu entry for the evening’s special, Catalonian rabbit stew, the click of a pair of high heels signaled the approach of another diner. This time, when the curious diners looked up, none of them, Ash included, averted their eyes with anything that could be confused with speed. She was stunning. Carrying a book to a table beside a flower arrangement, the girl, with her lovely head of dark auburn hair, was slim, well proportioned, smartly dressed, and very attractive. In that moment, Ash knew that he was in trouble. Returning his attention to the menu as best as he could, he decided on the Catalonian stew, savoring its rich flavors and forgetting momentarily the beautiful woman across the room absorbed in her book. Later, following the completion of his meal, he congratulated himself for having made an excellent choice. Then, he stood up from the table, took up his hat and coat, and left the room, giving the girl one last surreptitious glance on his way out.
Immediately, Ash crossed the lobby, rang the bell at the desk, and asked Mrs. Jarvis if he might have a word.
“Now,” Mrs. Jarvis said, when shed shown Ash to a seat in her office, “what can I do for you Mr. Miller?”
“Mrs. Jarvis,” Ash began with some hesitation, “I'm not quite sure how to approach this subject, but perhaps it would be best for me to say simply that I foresee a possible problem”
Helen Jarvis was not new to the world, so, for a matter of seconds, she studied Ash's face without altering her expression.
“The problem of which I think you speak,” Mrs. Jarvis said carefully, “is twenty-five years old, unattached, and sitting in the dining room from which you have just come. Am I right?”
“Yes,” Ash said. “Understand, please, that I don't ask for myself, Mrs. Jarvis, or at least not directly, but I have 27 sailors arriving here in the next ten days, along with two junior ensigns, and at the moment, I don't know a thing about any of them. I intend to exercise a firm hand, but whether one or another of those men qualifies as a ‘hard lot' is still to be determined. My interest, I assure you, is to curtail trouble before it develops, so if the lady is a permanent resident, I thought it best to consult with you. I wouldn't like her to be … inconvenienced in any way”
Helen Jarvis smiled. “I think you're acting the part of a gentleman, Mr. Miller, and I appreciate it,” she said. “The Miss in question is one of our school teachers here; sixth grade, if I'm not mistaken, and she is indeed a permanent resident, but Harold and I have already taken that into consideration, so we are way ahead of you. While you, your officers, and your crew are billeted with us, we have arranged for the lady in question to reside uptown at The Eiseley Hotel, and with a very patriotic gesture, The Eiseley has agreed to cover the difference between their much higher rate and ours in order to accommodate her and the United States Navy.”
Ash felt a sense of relief. “Mrs. Jarvis, if you don't mind, please convey my respects to the young lady and my regrets for turning her out.”
“Why not say so yourself?” Helen Jarvis offered. “If you would like to meet her, I will be happy to make the introductions.”
Ash raised his hand. “I'd like to, Mrs. Jarvis,” he smiled, “she's a most attractive young lady, but at the moment, that is a door that I don't dare open. The last thing I can afford is a distraction, and the Miss across the way looks like a distraction for the ages.”
Helen Jarvis laughed. “I take your point, Mr. Miller. I do take your point,” she said. “We'll leave it alone, and I will convey your respects.”
Closing Mrs. Jarvis’ door behind him, Ash mounted the stairs, went straight to his room, hung up his overcoat and blouse, and gathered his bearings. The room was clean and modestly furnished with both a desk chair and an easy chair, the easy chair promising a degree of comfort for whatever time he spent in residence—if, that is, he spent any time in the room at all. Settling himself in the chair, Ash unsealed the box which the Portland Naval authorities had forwarded, and from it, he immediately lifted 29 personnel records. What Ash wanted most at that moment, particularly after two days spent on the train, was nothing more than a good night’s sleep. Instead, with a sigh, he picked up the telephone and called the desk.
“Mrs. Jarvis,” he said, speaking into the phone. “Might the kitchen be able to supply me with a full pot of coffee before it closes?”
4
Between 2000 hours and 0100 the following morning, Ash combed through the service records of the men he knew he was about to command, learned what he could about their backgrounds, training, and behavior, made notes, and willed himself to anticipate their arrival. And then, finally, he allowed himself five hours of sleep, rose, took an early, hasty breakfast in the dining room, and headed for Anson’s Boatyard. Outside, though the sky was overcast and the air cold, the snow had ceased to fall, and while he wouldn’t have called the day pleasant, at least it dawned without wind.
Ash found Anson and his people already at work by the time he arrived. Mr. Anson immediately left what he was doing, took Ash inside the carpentry warehouse, unlocked the door into a storeroom, and handed Ash the key.
“Ain’t big,” Anson said, “but we
’ve cleaned it out so you can use it as an office while we finish the work. Stove there heats with wood; plenty of it out back, scraps and such, and a pile of oak firewood that you can git goin’. Them sheets of plywood folded up against the wall can be lowered flat so as to give you a couple of desks. Place is secure. Locked tight as a tick at night, and we got two night watchmen who keep a sharp eye on things inside the yard’s fence. Anything else you need, jus’ let me know”
And with that, the old man was out the door and gone before Ash could thank him properly.
Ash hadn’t been in what he’d begun to think of as the “Ship’s Office, Chaser 3,” for more than 20 minutes and barely had time to fire up the stove, before a fully loaded Navy stake truck careened into the yard at far too dangerous a speed, slid to a stop at the foot of the incline, and disgorged its passengers—a surly looking petty officer with a beer belly and two equally surly-looking seamen. All three of them wore filthy dungarees, their pea coats hanging open, and had cigarettes dangling from their mouths. Through the window from inside the office, he could see the two seamen slouch instantly against the sides of the truck, thrust their hands in their pockets, and begin spitting and snickering, while the petty officer swaggered slowly up the incline toward Mr. Anson and then, after first scratching his ass, shouted at him from a distance, “Hey old man, where’s youse hooligan Navy swabs want this crap delivered?”
That did it for Ash. Even before Mr. Anson could respond, Ash was out the door and striding forward with an angry expression on his face.
“You three,” he barked, “ditch those butts right now, button those pea coats, and get up here fast!”
Ash had struck like a bolt with thunder, and from what he could see on the men’s faces, their attitudes registered an instant shift from shock to fear.
“Line up,” Ash snapped, “arm’s distance between each man. Atten-tion! Hand salute!” When the arms came up, Ash returned the salute and gave a sharp order for “Parade rest!” Then, he showed the petty officer an iron jaw. “Don’t you ever call anyone ‘old man’ again while you are wearing that uniform. The gentleman you have just so insolently insulted is the owner of this boatyard. By the time he was 21, he’d already achieved more than you might be likely to achieve in your lifetime, so you will address him always as Mr. Anson or Sir, and if I hear a word different, I will have you on report. Now, I want to see a movement order for these stores, an inventory, and a bill of lading, and then Mr. Anson will show you where to unload.”
The petty officer didn’t hesitate. He lugged his guts to the truck on the run and returned as fast.
With the appropriate papers in his hands, Ash dismissed the trio and then followed Mr. Anson to yet another storage area adjacent to the boathouse where Chaser 3 was tied up. There, under Ash’s close supervision, he checked off the inventory for each item delivered, while the trio, now working like well-trained boy scouts, unloaded and stacked the consignment with dispatch.
“I apologize for those three,” Ash said to Anson as they watched the truck depart. “They’re the worst I’ve seen since I first joined up.”
Mr. Anson grinned. “You’ll be lucky if you don’t see far worse before this thing is over,” he said. “It takes all kinds, you know, but if these old eyes don’t deceive me, here comes a sailor of a different stripe.”
“Looks like the first of them,” Ash said, “and that one looks like he might be my boatswain’s mate.”
“Agreed,” Anson said. “Straight as a stick and with just the right swagger. I’ll leave you to it, Mr. Miller, and I hope it goes well.”
And it did go well. Spotting Ash from near the boatyard’s gate, the man came forward directly, set his sea bag on the snow beside him, came to attention, and threw Ash a smart salute.
“Samarango, Boatswain’s Mate 1/c, reporting for duty aboard Chaser 3, Sir” he said in a voice that carried a slight New England accent.
After returning the man’s salute, Ash said, “Glad to have you aboard, Samarango. You’re the first man to report. Come inside; we have an office of sorts in here, and before you look at the ship, we need to have a talk.”
By Ash’s estimation, Alvaro Samarango spread about 180 pounds over a 6-foot, well-proportioned frame, his face accented by a full but well-trimmed mustache over a firm jaw.
“According to your service record,” Ash said, “this is your eighth year in the Navy, and you come from Fall River, Massachusetts. I’m told that there’s a large Portuguese colony in Fall River and that they send out a considerable fishing fleet. Ring any bells?”
Samarango smiled. “Yes Sir,” he said, “my father owns a boat. Before I joined up, I fished with him for three years, and then I thought I’d try for something more.”
Ash nodded. “Good experience, your work with the fishing?”
“We went for Atlantic cod, off Greenland,” Samarango said. “My father’s got a good boat and a fair business, but for me, the Navy has been an improvement. I ain’t partial to cod, Sir.”
“Your record also says that you split your first five years riding two destroyers and your last three on a fleet tug, the Aztec. How many officers did she carry?”
“We were supposed to have five, Sir, but we only had four, including the captain.”
“Stand any watches on the bridge?”
“Yes, Sir,” Samarango said, “the captain had me standing JOOD watches in the same section as the exec, and the exec pretty much turned things over to me whenever he was navigating or busy with paperwork.”
“That’s fine,” Ash said. “I’ll soon have two ensigns coming aboard, fresh from Prairie State, the midshipman’s school. They’ll be green when they arrive, so I intend to put you on as JOOD with one of them until I get him trained, and then, if things work out and you come up to the mark, I’ll want to qualify you and give you your own watch, to spread the watch standing into three full sections. With the ensigns, you’re going to have to be a diplomat. These will be intelligent men, but they won’t yet have a lick of experience. Do your job right, and we’ll all thank you. Do it wrong, and our lives will become difficult. Understand?”
“Yes, Sir,” Samarango said. “I’ll travel with care.”
“Good man,” Ash said. “See that you do. Now, for the rest of it, you’ll be the senior rating above deck, so I’m assigning you to the forward berthing compartment where you can keep an eye on the other 17 men who will be berthing up there. The space is going to be cramped, so I’m looking to you to keep the peace. We have a chief machinist mate coming aboard, Chief Stobb. The chief and the snipes will berth aft around the mess deck along with the cook and the mess cook. The chief will run the engine room and act as master at arms, and I’ll expect you to support him in that capacity as assistant MAA. Any questions about my general drift?”
“No, Sir,” Samarango said.
“All right then,” Ash concluded. “Go introduce yourself to Mr. Anson; he’s the man who built Chaser 3, the man who owns the boatyard. You’ll probably have questions that you want to ask him. Then, go take a look at the ship. She’s in the boat house, tied up to the pier. I expect more men to come in shortly, so leave your sea bag here. When you’ve looked things over, come back, and I’ll give you an inventory for what we received from Portland right before you arrived, and you can begin checking stores. After the work day ends, march whoever we’ve collected up to The Jarvis House, see them fed, and get them bedded down. No liberty tonight, not until we have a full crew aboard and I can look them over and lay down some rules.”
By the time Ash had finished with Samarango and dismissed him, he found that he had five more men waiting outside the office door.
“I’ll see Chief Stobb first,” Ash said to them, “and then each of you in turn according to seniority, second class petty officers first, third class petty officers next.”
Chief Stobb looked to Ash like a gnarled version of Barry Fitzgerald, the actor he’d seen in a showing of The Dawn Patrol aboard the Parker before she�
��d been sunk. Lean, slightly stooped, and wearing Navy issue glasses, Stobb looked like a good wind might blow him right off the chaser’s deck the first time they went to sea. But the iron grip with which Stobb shook Ash’s hand belied his appearance, and the two hash marks sewn on his sleeve told Ash that Lieutenant Commander Sims had done more than right by both Ash and Chaser 3. Sims, bless him, seemed to be sending him experienced leaders and men who had already been to sea.
“Had a look at the ship yet?” Ash asked.
“Oh yes,” Chief Stobb said. “I’d say that the Navy has done just right by us, Captain. That’s a good plant they’ve given us. Just like the one on the coastal minesweeper I jus’ came from. My guess is that I’ll be able to give you 17 knots whenever you want it—18 in a pinch. And unless I miss my bet, I think it should be easy enough to train up the boot ratings the Bureau of Naval Personnel is sure to be sending us.”
“That’s good to hear,” Ash said. “By my count, you’ll be getting at least five, one of whom will have had at least six months on a yard tug in Charleston. The others will probably come to us straight from San Diego or Great Lakes.”
“That’s what I imagined,” said the chief. “Fresh chickens, all of them. But don’t worry, Captain; I know what to do with them, and as soon as they’re here, I’ll begin putting that plant in order. Where would you like us to bunk?”
“Aft,” Ash said, “along with the cook and his mess assistant. As senior aboard, you’re the designated chief master at arms, so come straight to me whenever you detect a problem. Samarango, the first class bosun, will act as your assistant; I’ve assigned him to bunk forward so that he can keep an eye on the foc’sle. We’ll leave him to ramrod things above decks, but you’re the chief engineer, so the plant is your sole responsibility. I’ll rely on you to keep us running.”
Splinter on the Tide Page 3