Seagulls whipped
around the air like kites zigzagging on taut string. The breeze buffeting them rippled through the
marsh grass above the wavelets breaking over their anchor of plough mud. My hair rose and fell in the chilling air
cavorting about my head. I clutched my
wool herringbone coat tight against my throat.
My cheeks were ruby red in the cold of early winter. I struggled to keep my balance on the
weathered boards that made up the ramp leading to the dock out over the white
caps of the Cooper River.
I caught my
feet several times in the cracks and crevices of the old creosoted two by fours.
“Watch out,
Rickey. Give me your hand. This wind is stronger than your daddy
thought.” My mother grabbed my mittened
hand. She smiled down at me.
“You sure
you want to do this?”
“Oh, yes ma’am!” I yelled over the seagulls and wind.
My dad had
only recently begun work on the Tugboats of White Stack of Charleston. It was the first job he had been able to get
since bringing us to America keeping his promise to my mother. He told her often while looking for work that
his accent was not helping his efforts.
“A touch of
prejudice, I think.”
“Got nothing
for a Limey,” he’d heard until he had approached the right person on the
Charleston docks. His work as a stoker
in the Royal navy throughout the war had been his ace in the hole for this one. He was hired on for twenty-five cents an
hour. Big money in 1950.
“So, you
want to see where daddy works, eh?” My
answer had been yes to seeing boats on the water. Our trip from England had been by ship across
the Atlantic. The smell of the ocean and
rolling decks had become wondrous memories and here was a chance to go back
onto the water.
“YES!” I yelled jumping up. He caught me in his arms and slipped me to
his left hip in the crook of his arm. It
was like sitting in a cradle of steel.
He smiled at me and said, “I think it will be alright. The skipper said I could bring you both on a
run one day.”
That had
been a few weeks prior to his being able to make the date. Mom and I were walking out along the pier to
where the tug was tied up. It was a
blustery day with grey clouds flying along overhead, the sun playing hide and seek
behind them. It might rain dad had told
us.
Dad was at
the gangplank waiting. He stood next to
the anchoring post that stood stoutly beside him. Two posts over a couple of seagulls sat
waiting to follow the tug’s wake.
“Come on,”
he said waving us on impatiently. “We
need to get aboard. The skipper is
behind schedule.”
He took my
mother’s hand guiding her along the gangplank over the gunnel and onto the deck
with a slight jump. I held her hand
tightly as I ran quickly behind her. Dad jumped onto the deck and picked me
up. His mates stowed the plank and
lifted the ropes from the posts and the engine began to throb sending
vibrations up my legs when he placed me on the deck. The air was still active with an accompanying
mist of salt water from the Cooper River.
I started to
run to the port side when dad called out, “Don’t run, son, and stay near your
mother. Both of you might like to go below to say hello to everyone and see if
there is anything to eat. I have my
doubts that you’ve had your tea yet.”
Reluctantly,
I took my mother’s hand and we descended below deck. His mates were sitting at a table eating when
we set foot on the lower deck.
“Welcome
aboard!” they shouted almost in unison. “So
you are Alf’s son? And you Mrs. Alf?”
the nearest one said.
“Yes sir,” I
answered eyeing the deviled eggs sitting in a dish. “What’s that?”
“That my boy
is what is known as a deviled egg,” said the same man.
“Why do they
call them deviled eggs?”
“I don’t
have a clue, little ‘un. Would you care
to try one?” he asked holding the plate in front of me.
“Nuh uh,” I
said shaking my head. My mother gave me
a triangular sandwich half which I bit into immediately still eyeing the eggs.
“Your
husband is a hell of a deck hand, Mrs.,” said the same man. He was more open to us than the others. Something to do with a woman on board I guess.
“Thank you,”
said my mother. She sat at the table and
they began to talk. I finished my
sandwich and slid my hand into the pile of egg halves snagging one. I climbed up the ladder with egg in
hand. On deck the wind was blowing
stiffly from the direction of the bow.
The sun had decided to hide behind the curtain of grey which sent down a
light drizzle combining with the spray of the river. It was exhilarating. I bit into the egg. I immediately knew this was to be one of my
favorite foods. I gobbled it down and
returned to the lower deck step by step latching my eyes on the eggs at the
table’s edge. The grownups were caught
up in chatter as I grabbed eggs, one in each fist. My right hand pushed the entire thing into my
mouth and automatically grabbed another.
Munching away I took one step at a time balancing over the rolling tug. Slowly I made it to the deck once again.
I walked to
port and as I came from behind the cabin the wind hit me with its salt
spray. I stuffed my right hand egg into my mouth and inched along the deck as it
rolled to port. My legs scampered
beneath me and I grabbed the rail as I bumped into it. I looked down to see water within reach
sliding rapidly past. The wake was
rolling along grey with white foam jumping into the wind steadily blowing
against my face open to that spray and the needle drizzle from above.
I could feel
the engine’s steady throb through my shoes, its power pouring into the screw
pushing us forward. The pistons’ thrum was
energizing and I began to walk forward while cramming my last egg into my mouth. As I chewed my new favorite food I bent into
the wind keeping my eyes on the deck sliding my feet inch by inch toward the bow
while clinging to the railing.
Almost in
front of the cabin I looked up to see my dad.
Behind him was a wall of grey steel.
I followed that wall up, up, up…
I nearly lost my balance looking straight up. The sky was totally block astarboard. It was the tallest thing ever to meet my
eyes. True I had been aboard such a ship
coming to America but to see it from this angle was awe inspiring. The tug was a puny vessel compared to the
ship we were alongside near enough to touch.
My mouth was locked wide open, startled by the size of the ship beside
us.
My dad happened
to see me. He was about to yell when I
was picked up by my mother. Even in her
arms I could not take my eyes off the height of this vessel we chugged along
side.
“What are
you doing out here?” asked my mother. “You
were supposed to stay with me.”
“I just
wanted to see the water.” My trance was
broken. I looked at her face full of fear and concern. “It’s alright, mommy, I’m alright. I got good sea legs and I was holding on
tight.”
She looked
to dad who was frowning at her. A shrug
of the shoulders and a whispered I’m sorry crossed the short distance. He turned back to his work and my mother
turned back aft stumbling as the roll of the tug caught her off guard.
Back below I
settled on one of the benches by the table and grabbed another egg shoveling it
into my mouth. I quickly repeated this
move twice more. Just one more I thought
and began to reach. Before I could
gather up one more egg the tug took a mighty roll and my stomach went along
with it. Its contents continued up and
over onto the deck as I heaved a second time.
The deviled eggs refused to stay comfortably in my stomach. The deck, the seat and my coat along with my
shoes were covered in the previously eaten egg halves.
I was told I
turned green. I sat with my head on the
table, the uncovered side, as everyone moved to clean up the mess I had made.
“How many
did he eat?” I heard one person say.
“Looks to be
all of them,” said another.
“Here let
me,” said my mother.
“No ma’am. We clean up all the time like this. You sit back down.”
The ship was
led into the port and our tug turned back toward the wharf we had left. The rest of that trip I remained below deck
at the table with my head resting on my arm.
Dad came in one time to say something to mom about allowing me to come
on deck alone but didn’t say anything when he saw the mess being cleaned
up. He came over and put his hand on my
forehead.
“No fever,”
he said. “Touch of seasickness, perhaps. He will be fine when we get back to land.” He returned to his station as the tug
throbbed on.
The lines
were tossed to the hands who tied them back to the anchoring points. As the gangplank was put in place, dad lifted
me up. He placed his hand into my mother’s and led her up onto the dock. The steadiness
of land settled into me. I lay my head
on his shoulder and closing my eyes said, “Thank you daddy. It was so tall. That ship was so tall. How can anything be so big?”
“Some things
just are, son. Some things just are.” I drifted to sleep as he walked toward the
car.
