Teetoncey and Ben O'Neal (11 page)

Staying well clear of the work, especially clear of Filene, I got close enough to Luther Gaskins to yell, "What's wrong with that man on the schooner?"

Busy readying lines and a big block, like a giant wooden pulley, Luther shouted back, "Two o' 'em out there. One's busted inside an' we don't want to try him in the boat. Chest is crushed. You can't see him from here. He's down on the deck."

In a few minutes, the Lyle gun boomed out, sending the ball shot over the bow of the ship. The strong, light No. 9 line was attached to it. Sometimes it took ten or twenty shots but Jabez was neat with this first one. The shot line was laying over the bow after riding down a mast stay and we saw the man fight his way forward up the slippery, slanting deck to grab it. Then he inched back with it and tied it off near the foremast.

I said, "Watch now." Next to surfboating, it was probably the best show on the Banks: Jabez and Lem O'Neal attached the heavy block to the light line. Through the block was reeved a
whip line,
a still heavier line to support the breeches buoy, the funny-looking canvas pants. Mark Jennette and Malachi Gray each got an end of the whipline as the man on board began to heave in.

Rain had stopped by now, and the wind had shifted around to west, helping to flatten the wavetops and push out the ebbing tide. Conditions couldn't have been better to watch a buoy rescue.

With Jennette and Malachi paying out slack, the sailor on the
Solari
dragged the heavy pulley and whip line out through the breakers. He finally pulled it over the side and then carried it back to the foremast, falling once on the sloping deck, skidding on his shoulders to the rail.

After tying it off tightly on the foremast, high up as he could reach, he waved. There was now a limp rope oval between ship and shore, running through the heavy block on the foremast. In a moment, the breeches buoy was dancing and flapping on its way toward the ship on the lower whip line.

We watched as the empty buoy wobbled in across the deck and then the sailor lifted the unconscious body and managed to slip the legs down through the holes.

Filene shouted, "Bring him home, boys," and four surfmen manned the whip line to return the buoy to shore with its injured cargo.

In another two minutes, he was gently lifted from the buoy while Tee turned her back, not wanting to see a man with a crushed chest.

The buoy was quickly returned to the wreck and the last survivor of the
Geraldine Solan
was soon safe onshore. In fact, all of them were on their way to Heron Head Station within a very short time. They'd have hot soup in their bellies and a drying out; then swap stories, as usual.

I was very glad that Teetoncey could see a Hatteras Banks rescue when it all went so smoothly and not a soul was lost.

We stayed on at the wreck for another three hours, helping the surfmen pull all manner of things from the water as the Brooklyn vessel broke up, mizzenmast shearing first.

Finally heading home about four o'clock, we saw someone approaching about a half mile from us on the seaward trail. Boo Dog began barking.

Soon, Mis' Mehaly Blodgett met us aboard her tackie and inquired as to where the keeper might be. I shushed Boo Dog down (he always barked at Mis' Mehaly for reasons unknown), and pointed off toward what was left of the schooner. Most of Filene's crew was still there. "He's two miles off, Mis' Mehaly," I said.

The old woman, half deaf, almost toothless, yelled, "Ship's aground on Heron Head." Her one good eye was gleaming like a hazel jewel beneath her sou'wester brim.

Another wreck!
It was hard to believe.

"You sure, Mis' Mehaly?" I asked.

"I'm sartain," she replied.

I still had my doubts. She couldn't see too well with that one eye, the other having been a victim to a fishhook when she was a child.

Kilbie said, "C'mon, let's go," and we charged off for Heron Head Shoal; Mis' Mehaly continuing on north to inform Filene.

As we bounced along, Tee asked, "Who was that?"

"Old woman from Buxton Woods, Mis' Mehaly Blodgett."

"She looks like a witch," said Tee.

She wasn't. Mama swore by her. She made the best penetrates on the islands, adding sweet spirit of basil, orange peel, and lavender for tang. Her liver-sweeper was unique. Neither was there a better midwife than Mis' Mehaly. But it was very odd that she was this far north, out in the dregs of gale on mucky sand. Later, we asked her several times, but could never get a straight story and for a while Tee remained convinced she was a witch.

Reaching the beach at Heron about four-thirty, when a dozen rays of sun punched through cloud holes to west, I had the chill of my life. Tee gasped and Kilbie said, "Oh, Ben!"

Across the wintry sea, sitting in coffee-colored water at this period of low tide,
there was a ship.
But it was not a new wreck. Nothing from this storm.

We saw this: a skeleton of vessel, with some ribbing poking up, a donkey steam boiler with a short rusted stack; two splintered stubs of masts rising up about three feet. I could hardly breathe. Without doubt, it was the
Malta Empress.
Back from a voyage through sand.

The gale winds and rushing tide had shallowed out that bar, probably raised the hulk on high water; then let it lower to drop a skin of sand back over it, but not cover it completely. The bones of the
Empress
sat there, grim and gaunt, a dark, returned ship of the Hatteras ghost fleet.

A single sunbeam caught it, laying yellow on it against gray ocean, and we couldn't speak for a minute. It had to be the devil's work, but I was also certain the Lord had done this to me personally for failing to tell Mama about the bullion.

I thought Teetoncey was going to faint.

N
EWS WENT
the length of the Banks in no time at all. There was chittering and chattering and mule mounting. The wrecker blood was so thick in the Midgetts, the Farrows, the Gaskinses, the Gaskills, the Gillikins, and I suppose one O'Neal, at least, that people could smell a resurfaced hulk over and above the fish frying at suppertime. They started to come before the first star was out.

Frank Scarborough joined us just after dark, whispering, "Anybody know 'bout the bullion?"

I shook my head hard enough to warn him to shut up. Then we younguns gathered driftwood to get a bonfire going. Jabez spilled some coal oil from a lantern to help the wet wood ignite. The whole Heron Head crew was there, but none of them had seen what was on the bar. Night had fallen before they could arrive after working the
Solari
wreck.

Although die tide was coming in strongly again, Filene wanted to launch; go out and take a look around. Low water would be about six in the morning and they could get a better look then, but Filene wouldn't put it off. The keeper didn't quite believe Mis' Mehaly, nor Kilbie and myself. He wouldn't even believe Tee. Yet he couldn't contain his curiosity.

For one, I was happy that he was about to row out; not delay. From the looks of it, the
Empress
had raised herself about six feet but that wouldn't be enough to expose the chests. Her keel was still covered with sand. If the chests had bobbed up, we'd just all act surprised.

Teetoncey's mood had changed. Her eyes were distant, and she hardly said a word; wouldn't even look out toward the shoal. She just stood around, her thoughts somewhere else, and no one paid much attention to her, including me.

Warming his meaty hands, the keeper was near the bonfire, burning blue red because of the salt in the wood. I did hear him say to Luther Gaskins, "If it is the
Empress,
somehow I wish she'd never surfaced. That ship is beginnin' to hant me." Few things ever haunted Filene, but if he'd seen her at yellow sunset it might have happened. He would have run for his Bible.

However, some people on the Banks did believe that a ship come back from a voyage in the sand was bad luck for us all. I did not agree. What could have been luckier than to have this particular barkentine pop up?

A few minutes later, the surf crew launched and we all moved closer to the waterline to watch them pull out. Only Tee stayed by the fire, staring into it; a small figure dwarfed by my old rubber coat. I yelled for her to come on but she shook her head. Surely, the sight of the ghost hulk had unnerved her. I hoped her nerves weren't shot to the point of confession.

There really wasn't much to see at that. The night was black as deck tar and the boat disappeared into it. We followed the lantern that Filene was holding as it bobbed over the choppy sea.

Frank got me to one side worriedly. "Maybe they'll find the chests?"

That was silly. Filene couldn't have seen his own boots out there unless he held the lantern over them. The tide was already lapping across the shoal. The only thing they could do was to make certain it was the
Empress
hulk. In the morning would be the anxious time. They might spot something then.

Soon, we saw the lantern turn parallel to the beach, so we knew they were going along the sandbar, Filene trying to get a good look. Then the boat stopped a moment, and Kilbie said quietly, "That's bad."

We could see the keeper waving the lantern back and forth, likely scanning what was visible of the boiler stack and mast stubs. Finally, his shout fought its way back through the westerly breeze. "It's her!"

That was certainly no surprise to Kilbie and myself. Absolutely it was the British bark. But everyone else whooped it up. There were about fifty people, mostly from Chicky but some from Clarks. They all yelled or said something excitable. It wasn't often that a wreck surfaced. But they only knew the half.

I went back to the fire and said to Teetoncey, "Filene knows we weren't jesting."

She passed over that to ask, "Can we go home, Ben?"

"What's wrong?"

"I'm not feeling very well." Her wan look verified that statement.

"Just as soon as Filene gets back," I promised. Right then, I wouldn't have left the beach for a round-trip ticket to New York City via railroad sleeping car.

The boat returned to shore about seven o'clock and the crew piled out, not saying much. Wrecks, even old ones, did that to them occasionally. Filene moved forward and then stepped out on the beach. I tightened up, wondering if he'd mention the chests. All he said was, "It's been a long day. Why don't you folks go home an' git some supper."

Frank Scarborough's papa asked, "What'd you see, Filene?"

The lantern glow plainly showed that the keeper wasn't up to a lot of talk. He muttered, "We seen a hulk that killed thirteen people."

I heard Tee make a small noise.

Then Filene looked back out at the bar, shaking his head.

Jabez broke the silence. "Boys, let's secure the boat till mornin." They pulled it high on the beach.

Everyone went to their houses, including Tee and myself. The Hatteras cat had her tongue all the way home though I tried to make her talk; telling her how we could get that silver in a snap.

Naturally, Mama wasn't at all pleased with the discovery that Mis' Mehaly had made. She said, "Remains o' humans an' ships should be left in peace."

I said, "The wind and sea did it. Mis' Mehaly didn't."

Mama answered gloomily, "It bodes no good, Ben," and went about serving supper, thinking her mystical thoughts about the sea.

I woke up before dawn but later than I'd planned, dressed hurriedly, and then went in to shake Tee. Her eyes were closed but I don't think she'd been asleep. I doubt she'd slept at all during the night. I whispered, "Get dressed and let's go"

She whispered back, "I don't want to, Ben. I'm not going out there again."

Now we had two females in the house who were skitterish of that ocean. I said, "C'mon, Tee. Filene'll launch soon. He may see something this morning."

"I'm not going," she whispered fiercely.

Puzzled, I shrugged and went on out. Mama would be delighted that she stayed home, but how she could sprawl there knowing that the surfmen might spot those chests was beyond me. Even if that ship hadn't had a red cent aboard I would have gone.

Filene was already at sea when I arrived at Heron Shoal about seven o'clock. The sun wasn't up but there was plenty of gray light. A half dozen people had beat me to the scene. I said "Hello" to Mr. Burrus.

"That gives me the willies," he said, nodding toward the bar.

Much more of the
Empress
could be seen this morning, though her keel was still well down in sand. Short pieces of ribbing cupped up like brown bent fingers. The sea must have sliced her about six or eight feet above the keel, swept everything off her except the stubs of curved ribs; the donkey boiler and nubs of busted masts.

"Looks like a giant fish cleaved above the backbone, don't it?" said Mr. Burrus.

She did, a little. Like a fish skeleton that had parked on the beach for years, parted with its meat, head, and tail; showing only its bones. But these were dirty brown instead of sun parched.

Filene had anchored to the shoal and all the crew were leaning over the side to study the hulk. Then, suddenly, there seemed to be excitement in the boat. They'd spotted something. My heart sank to my toenails.

I couldn't recognize who it was, but one of the surfmen took an oar and began pushing the blade into the sand; then it looked like Malachi Gray getting out on the bar. Then Filene and Jabez climbed out. All three knelt down and seemed to be scraping sand.

I was beside myself.

Hardie Miller shouted out, "What do you see, Filene?"

The keeper paid us no mind although I don't think he could hear Hardie across eight hundred yards and over surf noise.

Feeling low, not even believing myself, I said to Mr. Burrus, "I bet they don't find anything."

Just then Kilbie came up on foot and I ran over to him. "Damnation," I said. "I think they found diem."

Kilbie squinted toward the bar. "They're not in the right position, Ben."

"You hope," I whispered.

"They ought to be by that mainmast stub," said Kilbie.

"Well, don't suggest it."