"Well, then, Ding-Dong Belle Dubois," the Captain replied, "In answer to your question, a boat is just a little thing. You can play with a boat in your bathtub. The Seward is a SHIP, and don't you forget it!"

---

 

20. Our Boat Turns Out To Be A Ship
 

Ms. Popken gave Wiggy and me a look. "Now, girls, please don't take this question in the wrong way, though I'm sure you will." Turning to Riley, she asked, "If there aren't any men, is there at least any alcohol on board?"

A slow smile spread over Riley's face. "You know, it's funny that you ask. Usually we'd stock up before a trip, but this time, since nearly all the passengers are underage, we only have a few bottles of wine... enough for a glass or two a day for each adult, and no more. The Captain's set a strict limit."

"How is that funny?" Poppy asked, a little annoyed.

"It's funny because until yesterday we had cases and cases of Scotch."

"Whisky?"

Riley nodded. "Whisky and haggis."

"Haggis?" Poppy asked. "What sort of drink is that? Is it a liqueur?"

Riley began laughing.

"No, it's a kind of exotic Scottish sausage. See, we had this group who wanted to have a Burns Night later in the month, and they had Scotch and haggis sent on ahead. But then there were some... problems —" she broke off, laughing again.

"What happened?" Wiggy asked.

"Oh, I can't tell you," she said. "Can't tell other clients' business. Well, okay... since you've twisted my arm, I'll tell you. They argued with the Captain... about the price — after the deal was closed — and about sword dancing."

"Sword dancing?" I asked.

Grinning, Riley waved her arms as if she had a sword in each hand, and cocking her legs, danced a little jig. "They wanted to have a girl who danced with a pair of swords, but the Captain wouldn't have it. It's traditional — but, as the Captain said, it's not traditional on a sailing ship.

"Anyway, I suspect there was more to it than all that, but in the end we had to send back all the whisky. They told us we could keep the haggis. We couldn't ship it to the United States anyway. It's illegal."

Miss Popken looked profoundly disappointed, disinterested, and maybe even disgusted.

"Why is it illegal?" Wiggy asked.

Riley shrugged. "Fear of the unknown, I suppose."

"Can we try it?" I asked.

"You can all try it," Riley promised. "Some of the crew like it, but it's a bit too, uh, flavorful for me."
 

When we were done talking about haggis, Wiggy began to pepper Riley with questions about the longboat.

"I saw you have a motor on the longboat," she asked. "Do you ever row it?"

"No," Riley said. "We don't bother. Some passengers have tried, but it takes too many people... and they have to know how to row together. Usually they start smacking each other's oars, and quit. Although we did have one group that was able to make it go for a bit."

"Is it a lot of work?" I asked.

"No, it's just that have to know how to work together."

"So if one or two people need to run ashore, they couldn't just row..." she seemed disappointed.

"If somebody really wanted to row," Riley interrupted, "They could take the dory."

"You have a dory?" Wiggy squeaked in excitement.

"What's a dory?" I asked.

"It's a little rowboat," Wiggy replied. "I have a dory back home! One of my father's friends made it for me!"

"What kind?" Riley asked.

"Swampscott," Wiggy replied.

Poppy and I looked at each other and shrugged. I guess there were two of us who didn't know boats — thank goodness!

"Do you think I could try the dory a bit?" Wiggy asked. "I've won some rowing contests."

"Have you really?" Riley said. "When we get to the island you can do a bit of rowing, but the Captain wants to get underway as soon as possible." Wiggy nodded, and Riley continued, "So where did you do your rowing?"

"Every summer we go to Port Hatchapee, down the shore*," Wiggy replied.

They talked distances and rowing speeds for a bit, and when the sea talk went beyond incomprehensible and verged on boring, Poppy and I tuned it out.

We walked to the end of the dock together and jumped down to the beach. At the same moment, we both knelt and took a handful the supernaturally fine sand.

"I've never felt sand this soft," Poppy said in a subdued voice.

"And it's so incredibly white," I added.

All around us fell the hushed rumble and hiss of the surf.

We looked up at the sky and at the sea. Mom was right: the sea was blue here. And the sky was not the same sky I saw at home, not even in California. It was a different blue.

"It's a tropical blue," Poppy said, reminding me of the color Mom and Maisie had chosen for my bedroom walls.

"Yes, it is," I agreed. Now, my bedroom would always remind me of this place. Echoing what Wiggy said earlier, I said, "So far in my life, the most beautiful place I've been is Bora Bora Airport!"

The wind gave us a soft lick, and Poppy said, "Yes, Marcie, it is beautiful, isn't it? I still can't believe I'm really here!"

"I'm so glad to be warm after all that snow," I commented, and she sighed happily in agreement.

Just then the longboat pulled into view.

Wiggy and Riley tied it to the dock, and the five of us formed a line to pass the luggage up to Flannery, who arranged them in the boat.

By the time we got underway, we were all very red and very hot.

"Hope you girls brought your sunblock and your hats," Flannery commented. She yanked the ripcord and brought the motor to life. The boat slid away from the dock. The land fell away behind us.

Now we were starting our adventure at sea. Wiggy squeezed my arm in silent excitement.
 

The moment we emerged from the airport's cove, the ship came into view.

"Whoa!" I exclaimed in amazement. "It's like a pirate ship!"

"Somebody always says that," Flannery commented. "What was that girl's name? Ding-Dong? She said it on the first trip out."

I blushed at the comparison, and Riley laughed.

"Don't let Flannery bother you," Riley told me. "You're right: it does look like a pirate ship. That sort of ship is called a brigantine, because it's got two masts and it's square rigged."

"Square rigged?" I repeated.

"It means the sails are square," Riley replied.

"That's not what it means," Flannery contradicted.

Riley shrugged. "It's close enough."

Flannery spat into the water, which shocked me. I'd never seen a woman spit before. I wasn't sure what to make of Flannery. She seemed friendly enough, but maybe she was touchy about nautical terms? I guessed I might have a better idea in a few days.

As we got closer, we came around the tail-end of the ship and saw its name written in large script across the stern: Seward's Folly. Wiggy read it aloud and began to laugh.

"Why is that funny?" Flannery asked. "Every so often somebody laughs, but I never get the joke."

"It's what people used to call Alaska," Wiggy told her. "A man named Seward bought Alaska from Russia. At the time, people thought it was worthless, so they called it Seward's Folly."

"And this Seward fellow had the money to do that?" Flannery asked.

"No," replied Wiggy, "He was Secretary of State."

"Hmmph," Flannery grunted.

"I guess your Mr. Seward figured it would be a funny name," I put in.

"I guess," Flannery agreed. "Looky here: what we're going to do is get you passengers aboard and then Riley and me'll work the luggage up."

And that's what we did. We had to climb a ladder fixed to the side of the boat. Riley helped from below, and two sailors (both women, of course) helped from above. They didn't really need to. It wasn't hard. Even Poppy made it up without a problem.

"Good," one of the sailors commented when the three of us were aboard. "The Captain's been itching to give her welcome-aboard speech. Mind you don't laugh unless you're good and sure that she's joking."

We sat on the deck next to Graffy and Grooty, and the instant our butts touched down, Captain Blackett launched into her speech, and this is what she said:

"In the first place, I've heard some of you talking, and you've been calling this old tub a boat.

"When I heard that, I shut my eyes so I wouldn't see the culprit, because nothing makes my blood boil like hearing this lovely lady called a boat." She pronounced the word boat as if it were something dirty.

"If it's not a boat, what is it?" Ding-Dong asked in a puzzled tone.

The Captain stared at Ding-Dong as if she was amazed. Captain Blackett was a good-looking woman with sunbleached red hair, and freckled pale skin. In spite of her lack of tan, you could see she was always in the sun. She was an outdoorsy type of woman, with a loose red shirt, large plaid shorts, and sandals on her feet. Her eyebrows and the hair on her arms were bleached blonde by the sun. She wore a very faded sky-blue baseball cap on her head.

And she obviously wasn't used to being interrupted. "What's your name, girl?" she asked.

"Ding-Dong Dubois," came the perky reply.

"Ding-Dong Dubois!" the captain repeated in an incredulous tone. "Did your parents give you that name?"

"No," Ding-Dong laughed. "My real name is Belle."

"Well, then, Ding-Dong Belle Dubois," the captain replied, "In answer to your question, a boat is just a little thing. You can play with a boat in your bathtub. The Seward is a SHIP, and don't you forget it!

"If I hear ANYONE call this ship a boat, I'll throw that person to the sharks. I'll tie you to a rope and drag you in our wake for a day, just to teach you!"

At that, Cakey couldn't help it: I don't know what she was thinking, but she cracked a little smile. The Captain saw it.

"You, girl, what's your name?"

"Cakey Keese."

"Cakey Keese," the captain repeated cautiously. "And your real name?"

"Katrien."

"Katrien Cakey Keese," the captain said, as if she was memorizing it. "I can see you're a mischief-maker, aren't you, Katrien Cakey Keese?"

Cakey's eyebrows went up, but she didn't reply.

"Don't joke with me, girls," the captain told us all. "This isn't the place for practical jokes. Rule number one: don't pretend to be in danger if you're not. And for God's sake, don't shout 'Man overboard' unless somebody's actually fallen overboard. Life on board is a good life, but there are times — and I hope to God we won't have any of those times — but there are times when the only difference between living and dying will be doing what I say.

"Which brings me to rule number two: if I give you an order, girls, I want you to hop to it and not ask me why. If a member of the crew asks you something, as they tell you it's Captain's Orders, I want you to do it. If you don't like it, if you wonder why, you can ask questions later, but when you hear an order, you do what you're asked, then and there.

"Can you promise me, girls? Will you do that for me?"

We sat in silence, glancing at each other, so the Captain bellowed, "WILL YOU DO THAT FOR ME, GIRLS?"

"Yes!" we responded as one.

"That's great," she said in an unconvinced tone. "Just because of that, and to show you that we're all friends, I'm going to let you all call me by my first name." She smiled to herself, and looked down at Ding-Dong. "Can you guess what my first name is, Ding-Dong Belle Dubois?"

"Captain?" Ding-Dong offered meekly.

"That's right!" the Captain roared. "It's Captain! When you speak to me, no matter who you are, no matter what's afoot, you'll address me as Captain, or you won't speak to me at all. It's my name, it's my title, it's my function, all rolled up into one.

"So, welcome aboard, girls! Now, I'm going back to the business of running this ship. We've got to get underway, so I'm turning you over to Shaylen, my first officer. She's going to run through some safety instructions, and if you don't listen up and pay close attention, you'll be hearing from me.

"Before I go, are there any questions?"

Ding-Dong was the only one to raise her hand. The captain waited, but no one else put their hand up, so she nodded to the girl.

"Will we be sailing around Cape Horn?" Ding-Dong asked.

"Good lord!" exclaimed the Captain. "We'd better not! Anything else?"

There were no more questions, so the Captain strode off, and Shaylen came forward. She was a dark young woman, with a dark tan, and dark brown hair tied in a pony tail. She was likeable and friendly, and seemed to know our names already. Shaylen ran through the safety protocols, pointed out the emergency equipment, and told us what to do if anyone was hurt or fell overboard...

She quizzed us a bit, and when she was satisfied, she nodded to another sailor, saying, "Tell the Captain we're ready to get underway."

The other girl turned her head and bellowed, "Ready to get underway!" Someone further along repeated the cry, and so did a third.

"Now," Shaylen told us, "your bags are over there. However, I strongly suggest that first you go below and choose your rooms, and then come back for your luggage. There's not a lot of room to maneuver down there, so the picking will go a lot easier if you're not holding your bags.

"After that, you're free to wander about, and if we're still hauling up the sails, you could give us a hand. When all that's done, we'll meet me back here, and I'll show you where lunch can be found. All right? All right!" We stood looking at her a moment, so she said, "Go now, shoo! Pick your rooms, stow your bags!"

We made our way downstairs — I mean, below. The room choice wasn't hard. Everyone except me had already studied the ship's layout, and knew where they were headed. The eight Amazons took the two four-bed cabins, which were in the middle of the ship. The two teachers each took a room in the back, or aft, and Wiggy and I took the foremost cabin. It wasn't very big, so we stored a lot of our belongings in the room across the hall. The outer wall curved out so that the ceiling was slightly bigger than the floor.

The beds were bunks, one above the other, and because of the curve of the wall, the higher bed was set further back than the lower. That meant that Wiggy, who took the upper bunk, could look down at me just by turning her head.

"It's not bad, is it?" Wiggy asked, a bit anxiously. I think she was still afraid I'd want my own room.

"It's fine," I said, and to reassure her I added, "I think we'll be quite comfy here."

At that, she gave a relieved smile.

"Once I get used to this rocking," I added.

Wiggy laughed. "Oh, yeah. Soon you'll hardly notice. But I'll tell you one thing, it makes it a lot easier to sleep!"

"Oh, good," I replied, as the left side of the room rose and fell in a steady rhythm.

"Let's go up on deck and help them haul out the sheets!" Wiggy enthused.

"And change the beds?" I asked, tongue in cheek.

Wiggy paused, unsure whether I was serious.

"I'm joking!" I laughed. "Let's get this old tub sailing!"

---

* Down the shore: A New-Jersey-ism. The southeast coast of New Jersey is all beach, and since north is up and south is down, when you go to the beach, you go "down the shore."

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

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