Chapter 3
Bad Place to Hide
On a cold January morning when the SS Freedom sailed out of Boston Harbor, there was a twelve-year-old boy hiding in the first mate’s sea chest. I reckon there’s all kinds of reasons why young Peter didn’t think about how he’d get out of the chest once the lid was closed and latched. I suppose he was just too darn excited. He was watching his Uncle Nick pack his gear and listening to him tell of his upcoming expedition. Peter felt his world coming apart. His uncle was the first real friend he’d ever had. Now he was leaving and taking with him Peter’s dreams of the open seas and a life of endless adventure. All he had to look forward to now were his weekly piano lessons, long evenings spent alone in his room, and the solemn atmosphere of the Monroe household.
As Peter stood there feeling sorry for himself, Nickel went downstairs to say his goodbyes to his ‘sister dear’. Suddenly, something came over Peter, and he climbed into Nickel’s chest, snuggled in on top of his mostly clean clothes and closed the lid. I guess if I was a young boy like Peter, I might have done the same thing. He had barely closed the lid when two of the servants entered the room, secured the latch on the chest, and carried it down the stairs to the waiting carriage.
Before anyone even realized Peter was missing, Nickel’s ship was well on its way out of Boston Harbor and heading straight into a storm. The ship was strong and she had an able-bodied crew that kept her upright for hours until they finally sailed through the storm and into calmer seas. Then and only then did Nickel return to his cabin for a much needed rest. He didn’t even bother to change into dry clothes. He just climbed into his bunk, covered himself with his thick wool blanket, and began to drift off to sleep.
I imagine it takes a man awhile to react to any noises when he’s nearly delirious with exhaustion. Nickel knew his ship like a good lover, and the sound he heard wasn’t a normal sound coming from his ship. It sounded like a moan and it seemed to be coming from his chest. Actually, it was more like a whimper. Nickel thought maybe one of the Monroe cats had sneaked in with his clothes while he was packing and was curled up in there as proud as you please. That’s what was in his mind when he jumped off his bed, stomped over to his sea chest, unlatched it and opened the lid. Now, I reckon it would be putting it mildly to say that he was a little shocked at what he found. Nickel once told me he almost fell over; thought he was seeing a ghost! It was the smell that hit him first. And then he laid eyes on a very pale and a very sick little boy. He was glassy-eyed, shivering uncontrollably, and covered in his own mess. I’m sure Peter had never heard of seasickness before, but he was learning about it now, first hand. You can pretty well imagine the jolt that hit Nickel when he opened that chest.
And that, my friends, is how Paniolo Pete began his days at sea, as a stowaway on the merchant ship SS Freedom. It took more than a week before Peter was strong enough to venture out of his uncle’s cabin and breathe in the fresh ocean air. One whiff of the sea breeze and he was hooked. It was an experience that Paniolo Pete would never forget.
Many years later, Pete and I were trapped in a snow storm high up on Mauna Kea and needed to find shelter. I found a lava tube that was big enough for us both to ride out the storm, but Paniolo Pete would have no part of it. “Bill,” he told me, “you climb on in there and build us a fire. I’ll stay out here with the horses and keep them company. It doesn’t seem fair we should be all snug and warm in there and leave them out here in the storm. You make us some coffee and we’ll be fine.”
That’s the night he told me about his first adventure at sea and why he would never be trapped in a small space again. I reckon I can’t blame him but it was mighty cold on those slopes that night. Good thing ol’ Pete had coffee with him. I made up a fire in that lava tube and brewed up a strong pot. We talked most of the night. Of course, our horses didn’t much care if we kept them company or not. We never did find the yearlings we were looking for when the storm hit. But as sometimes happens with cattle, our range count was back to normal when we rode into camp the next day. The cows had more sense than we did. When they sense a storm coming, they just head for home.