Into the Wind: The Odyssey of Ben O'Neal

  Sitting there in the parlor, the one person I wished was around, for many reasons, was Rachel O'Neal. Mama would never have stood for this type of official foolishness. She would have packed her kit in two minutes and come to Norfolk to face down not only Calderham but the U.S. marshal as well.

  I said to Mrs. Crowe, "I have never made a telephone call in my life, but I would like to do so now. I'll pay for it." I still had nine dollars and some change of my original fund, plus two dollars and thirty cents wages from Cap'n Reddy. I could well afford a phone call.

  "Who do you want to call?" Mrs. Crowe asked.

  "A man named Filene Midgett at Heron Head Lifesaving Station, on the Banks."

  "How can he help?" she asked.

  "I'm not sure. But he doesn't think much of the British consul, and when he knows the truth about this, he may have some good advice." I further said that we Bankers were not very smart but we could use our heads together when that time came.

  Mrs. Crowe thought a moment and then said, "All right, Ben, we'll call. It's long distance and you'll need to tell me how many rings so I can tell the operator here."

  This was all new to me, but I did know that the station phone for Heron Head was five rings. I'd heard it enough times. So she cranked her phone around to get the operator and things began. Tee hadn't said much through all this. She seemed to be letting me take over, which I appreciated.

  It took about twenty minutes, and I was praying that Filene wasn't out somewhere on his sand pony; maybe visiting Cap'n Etheridge, up to Pea Island station, or up to Chicky station to talk to the boys. Or even fishing. After all, it was April and the channel bass were running at Oregon Inlet.

  Finally Mrs. Crowe said, "All right, Ben, he's coming on the telephone," and I was just as jumpy as the day I walked aboard the Christine Conyers. I took that hearing piece and put it up against my ear and then put my lips against the little black cone on the oak box.

  I said loudly, "Cap'n Filene, this is Ben."

  Immediately, my eardrum was almost broken. Then I remembered that Filene had never learned how to use a telephone properly. He shouted into it as if he were yelling for oar strokes in a wild surf. I held it away from my head.

  "Ben," he thundered. "Where are you?"

  "I'm in Norfolk."

  "Whatta you doin there?"

  "I just got off a schooner today. I'm here with Teetoncey and Boo Dog."

  It was a good thing that Filene was yelling so loud, because Mrs. Crowe and Tee could hear every word.

  "Ben, the paper yestiddy sez you're in trouble. What'd you do, boy?"

  Then I told him the plain, unvarnished truth. Every word of it, particularly stressing about Calderham's taking advantage of Tee once again. I even said that the consul wanted to have Boo shot. I wound up by asking, "What should I do, Cousin?"

  That phone line over miles of swamp and sand fell dead for a minute, while Filene thought. Then he came back on. "First," he shouted, "you tell that Norfawk newspaper to watch its tongue. We're good people down here and don't want no gossip spread. Second, you tell that consul, a man I don't like very much at best, to behave himself or I'll be in his office by nightfall to morry. Third, Ben, you an' Teetoncey an' that dog turn yourselves in. Plead innocent to all charges. You got that?" Filene was always one to come through.

  "Yessir," I said. "But Tee is guilty of one charge, at least. She took that thirty-one dollars. Of that fund, she still has fifteen. So she owes the British Government sixteen dollars."

  Filene roared. "Don't matter that. You tell that foul Calderham we'll give him his stingy sixteen dollars for the Queen. We'll take up a collection down here an' have the Manteo bank send a draft."

  I was feeling better by the moment.

  "Then you come on back here where you belong an' wait for Reuben," Filene yelled.

  "I can't, Keeper," I said. "I've got to get this girl safe to London. Mama would want that."

  The phone line fell dead again, and I waited. "All right," he said. "Do your duty, Ben."

  I thanked him for all his good advice and hung up, my palm sweaty from holding that earpiece. I blew a breath of relief on hanging it up in the cradle arm, and then turned back to Mrs. Crowe and Tee.

  Right away, I could see they were encouraged, too. Filene's fighting spirit had spread all over that parlor. I said, "Tee, you heard him. That's what I think we should do. Give ourselves up."

  Immediately, Mrs. Crowe was her old self again. She said, "You know, Ben, I have an idea. I am very good friends with the city editor of that newspaper. I think we should go down and surrender to him, tell him our side of the story. There is one thing about Bill Courtney you should know: He loves animals. He saw a man beating a pet bear at a livery stable over behind city hall and wrote an article about it. Next day, that big man came charging into the newspaper office and asked who had written that story about the bear. Bill Courtney took off his eyeshade, got up from behind his desk, and said he had done it, then promptly knocked the man down."

  So that's what we did that late afternoon. We went down to the office of the Norfolk Virginian-Pilot and surrendered to Bill Courtney. It was a stroke of genius, because the story he wrote the next day made Calderham appear to be one of the most unfeeling officials around. Courtney was a fine writer, and even though I was involved, it almost brought tears to my eyes to read about the "outrageous" attempt to separate a "tragic orphan" from her dog, and the courageous actions by a boy and girl to prevent same. A picture of all three of us ran with the story, which ran for almost a full page, and no one could have read it dry-eyed.

  Mrs. Crowe's phone rang most of the next day, and she seemed to be proud to be a part of it, as did the railroaders. One phone call in the afternoon brought an offer from the Johnston Blue Cross Lines to transport us to London, which was immediately accepted. In no time at all, we were in their commodious offices in the Century Building on Granby Street to complete arrangements. Tee and Boo would go as passengers, as usual, and I would join the crew as deck boy. Sailing in ten days, more or less. Mrs. Crowe graciously offered to guest us during that period.

  Courtney's story had said that I felt duty-bound to escort the British castaway girl to her doorstep, and the Blue Cross line had noted that. And, of course, I was now experienced from two previous voyages.

  24

  I HAD SWORN I would never sail on a smoke-belching, steam-spouting coal burner, but there I was on the afterdeck of the SS Plummer as we singled up the lines on Monday, May 1, 1899, to commence the voyage to London, England. Tee was up on the boat deck with Boo, and down on the dock were about thirty people, well-wishers. Mrs. Crowe was down there with some of the railroaders and a few women from the railway auxiliary. Mr. Courtney was there, as was Mr. Jordan. Then, there were plain people who had heard about us or seen us on the streets. Notably missing was Consul Henry Calderham, who did not show his face around town very much these fine spring afternoons.

  With a Joseph Clark tug lashed alongside to carry us out into the stream, we pulled the last lines aboard, and the Mummer retreated from the dock. Tee and I waved to all the helpful people who had come down to see us off. Then the ship began to quiver as the steam engine turned revolutions for the propeller. We let the tug go, and headed out to sea, passing several schooners and barks in Hampton Roads making sail for their voyages. I would not look at them, feeling somehow traitorous.

  The Plummer, under command of Cap'n Stanislaus Johnson, whom I never formally met, was the largest ship I'd ever been on, at 412 feet; she carried a little over 5,000 tons of cargo. Down in her holds were 14,000 bushels of corn, 6,000-odd sacks of cottonseed meal, 4,000-odd sacks of oil cake, 140 cases of finished wagon spokes, several thousand loose oars, in addition to 16,000 sacks of flour and assorted carloads of hard- and softwoods.

  Stem to stern, the Plummer had a stubby bow, then a well deck for No. 1 and No. 2 hatches, the bridge and officers' quarters (I never went inside them), smokestack next, under which were the boiler roo
m and the engine room, then the crew's quarters, where I lived, and the galley. Two more cargo hatches were aft, then the stern works. Her engine was the up-and-down steam-cylinder type and pounded worse than the waves on Chicky beach.

  In passing, I will say I met some new, modern types on the Plummer. They had "coal passers," who brought the coal to the front of the boiler fires for "stokers." These men filled their shovels from the coal passers' pile and threw the lumps evenly over the bed of fire, three fires in each boiler. It was hot and dirty down there, and, aside from looking once, I stayed away.

  Having full intentions of returning to the joy of sail at the completion of this voyage back to America, I would not let myself be impressed with the Plummer. Yet I did enjoy the fact that she could make freshwater and we'd cross to London in nine or ten days.

  Except for having to chip rust much of the time and paint the rest, my chores were not too different from those on the Harriet B. Ritter. They were anything the bosun made up his mind to do on any day: mop, scrub, holystone, etc.

  There was one large difference in this vessel, and his name was James P. McGoffin, aged fifteen. He was another deck boy, out of Quincy, Massachusetts. Though he was not foreign, he certainly talked differently from anyone I'd ever heard. New England talk, I now know, and just as queer as the way some Bankers spoke, or more so. When Tee and I came aboard, he smiled with a row of Massachusetts teeth and said, "Howja do, call me Jimmy or Mac." To me, he was McGoffin, then and now. He had the midnight-to-four bridge-wing lookout watch, and I had the eight-to-twelve.

  For some reason I've never been able to understand, Tee and the dog were true celebrities on that ship, while I was considered just another deck boy. Everyone had read the story in the Pilot and I was certainly well mentioned, but they seemed only to talk to Tee about it.

  Throughout that first day, I saw the pretty blond up on the bridge talking to the captain, who otherwise seemed to spend all his time throwing a leather ball with the third mate over No. 2 Hatch. I saw the castaway on the boat deck talking to various officers. After we got squared away for sea and dropped the pilot, I chipped rust on the well-deck ladders aft but had a good view of the midships house. Several times, she also talked to McGoffin.

  In late afternoon, she came back and we chattered for a little while, talking pleasantly about all the excitement in Norfolk. She asked me how I liked "Mac" and I said I could take him or leave him alone. She said she thought he was very nice and so good-looking. I didn't know him well enough to agree on the former and my eyes disagreed on the latter: He had a weak chin.

  After supper on any ship is a time of relaxation to digest the meal and look at the sea and sunset, to think how nice it is to be out on the ocean rather than stuck on land, to thank the Lord for the fair weather. I had planned to spend some time with Tee that evening, but McGoffin got up from his plate first, scoured it off, and left the messroom. I had no idea what was on his mind.

  By the time I got out to sit on the small hatch aft of the bridge, he had Tee by the rail, talking his head off, raking his fingers up and down Boos back. Any dog will enjoy that. I walked on forward and sat down on the bitts at the bow, and watched the sun sink. It was a nice spring night. I stayed there until it was time for me to go up on the bridge wing and relieve the lookout. I paced the wing, thinking mostly about McGoffin, talking very little to the third mate, because he didn't have much to say to me.

  Tee came up about nine-thirty (she seemed to have the run of the ship, including the officers' quarters), to say good night. Before saying that, she asked, "Ben, are you avoiding us?"

  I said, "Nope, been busy today." Then I turned back to my job. I didn't want the Plummer running down some trawler.

  Tee asked, "Are you angry because I've been talking to Mac?"

  I laughed into the wind. "McGoffin? Why should I be?"

  "He's been telling me so many things about Massachusetts."

  "There's not much to tell about that state," I said.

  Tee was silent a minute, then said, "I think you're jealous, Ben."

  I laughed again. "How could I be jealous? There's nothing between you and me from all I could see and hear around this ship today. You talk to McGoffin as much as you want."

  Tee answered, "All right, I will. He asked me if I'd be free when we got to London."

  "You'll be all the way free," I said.

  "Yes, and remember that," Tee answered, then trailed down the ladder with that dog, not even saying good night.

  I yelled after her, "I'll make sure you're safe until midnight." A minute past then, there would be no guarantee: McGoffin had the lookout until 4 A.M.

  She went on down to the main deck.

  When McGoffin came up on the bridge, about ten to twelve, I noticed he was sleepy and blinking. It is usual practice for the twelve-to-four watch to catch a few hours' nap before coming up on the bridge. I said to him curdy, "A lot of traffic out here tonight," and went on to bed.

  The second day was no better. I still had much rust to chip aft, and McGoffin had somehow got himself assigned to work midships. Almost every time I looked up, he was somewhere near her. Once, I saw him rubbing the back of her wrist. I had no idea what his intentions were but having brought her through storm and crisis for six months I was not about to let a fast talker from Quincy put her into jeopardy now.

  Filene had once told me that you size any situation up but never let it go too long. You stay on top the wave and don't let it get on top you; you keep your bow into the waves and don't get sideways and broach. If you can't make up your mind and fiddle-faddle around, you sink.

  That midnight, when McGoffin came up to relieve me, he was sleepy and blinking, having just come out of the lights in the crew's messroom. My eyes were lynx-sharp. I stayed away over near the outboard railing on the wing as he came that way. I waited until he was about two feet off, then kicked his feet out from under him and bent him over the rail so he was looking straight down to where boiling white sea was washing the Plummer's iron plates.

  I whispered into his ear, "I have nursed that girl along for six months from the brink of death, and you don't mess with her anymore. I aim to deliver her in London intact. Understand." That's all I said.

  Just as I was letting him recover from his doubled-up position, weak chin pointed to at least eight hundred fathoms, the second mate walked out and asked, "What's going on here?"

  Glancing at McGoffin, I could see his face was pale and drawn. I said, "Sir, Mac just lost his hat overboard and we were looking down for it."

  The second shrugged. "I never saw Mac wear a hat." Then he walked on back into the bridge house.

  I said, "Good night, McGoffin," and went below.

  Next morning, I got to Tee as soon as I could and told her what I'd done and further told her to stop messing around with McGoffin.

  Strange enough, she clapped her hands and said, "How lovely!"

  Lovely was not involved.

  Things got better after that, and aside from that deck boy from Quincy, it was a fine voyage.

  So, in six more days, the Plummer, thudding steadily from her steam engine, belching steady smoke that spoiled the horizon astern for miles, pushing a white raft of water with her stubby bow, came abeam of the Stilly Islands and then Land's End, and proceeded on into the English Channel. France lay ahead of us, but I wouldn't even think of that country. It wasn't visible, anyway, the weather being on the murky side.

  We chugged on past such places as Portland Bill, St. Alban's Head, Brighton, and Folkestone, Tee calling them off though we could barely see the shore. I went about my work as she excitedly reported our progress. I had made progress myself and was now chipping rust on the forward well deck.

  Finally, we rounded North Foreland and places called Ramsgate and Margate, picking up a sea pilot from a cutter, and then entered the mouth of the Thames River. That did give me a thrill. I had heard and read about that river for years, and now we were on it. There was as much traffic on that rive
r, of a different kind, as there was on East Main Street in Norfolk. Ships and boats and barges of all types going in and out, both steam and sail.

  I must confess, I wasn't doing much work. For every blow of that chipping hammer, I took five or ten looks. After we went through the waters of the Sea Reach, already beginning to approach the port of London on a flood tide, Tee said, "Over there are the low marshes of the Kentish coast, where Dickens's convict met Pip in Great Expectations." I had read that story. And there they were. Lordy.

  Soon the banks of the Thames were filled with factories, and behind them I could see high church steeples. The size of this smoky city was beyond belief, because we hadn't even gotten close as yet.

  A while later, the Plummer blew one long blast on her whistle and then four short ones. Tee said, "We're at Gravesend Reach, and we'll exchange the sea pilot for a river pilot." Sure enough, in a few minutes, a launch came alongside and the river pilot boarded. He was an old man but made the ladder ably.

  "He's from the Trinity House Ruler of Pilots, oldest in the world. Founded by Henry VII in 1514," Tee said. That girl had a warehouse of information, and called it off as we churned steadily up the Thames, bending around at Northfleet Reach and Gallions Reach. "We're eleven miles below London Bridge," she said. For a boy from the Outer Banks, it was almost too much.

  I can't remember everything she said, but over there was Royal Albert Dock and King George V Dock and more railroad tracks than Mr. Riddle-berger could have dreamt of. Threading through traffic of ships from every port in the world, we twisted and turned up the Thames, looping around at Bugsbys Reach into Blackwall and then into Greenwich Reach and Limehouse, all stretches of the great river.

  Tee kept up her chatter, and it was of intense interest to learn that London had had many problems with thieves at one time. Organized river pirates that cut vessels loose from their moorings and ran them aground; night plunderers who went aboard ships during darkness with special overalls to fill their pockets; mud larks who stood in the mud at low tide while henchmen aboard threw goods over the side.