13 - there was poetry at sea

The Sound Is The Sailor’s Laughter

A Novel

For Andrew

e-book: “The Sound Is The Sailor’s Laughter”

The Sound Is The Sailor’s Laughter By Corinne Devin Sullivan

ISBN 979-8-9909558-0-6

© Corinne Devin Sullivan. 2024. All rights reserved.

Publication made by: CORINNE DEVIN SULLIVAN BOOKS

Published in the United States of America, in November of 2024.

Chapter 13: there was poetry at sea

What happens to be kept inside an envelope next to her bed is this…

Here you go, Kid. More of the finished work for the movie. Change it around in its final draft. It’s raw. Love, Meade (Dad)

Stories from my time at sea. Written for wonderful Fiona, my daughter. (header)

The days have become enchanting on this passage, I said to myself.

It was the early morning. Not a sound was heard other than the ship and the water. I was as far from land as I could be. The space of the ocean and the sky beckoned me. On a spiritual plain, there was satisfied existence here at sea.

Whenever we finally would reach Sassy‘s final resting place, she would be driven onto the shore during high tide as a predetermined wreck whose owners had fallen short of saving her from the disembowelment.

Day by day, the travelers moved closer to the ship’s final outcome. It was steady progress across the Pacific Ocean, at a speed of eight to ten knots, and twelve knots at the most.

The engine would not take extra heat. I decided to play things light. Keeping the speed low was one way to do it. Two weeks to Singapore was about to become three or four. Thankfully, we were each starting to enjoy our daily dishes with fresh fish as the centerpiece. Dimitry and Erat were often found in the kitchen. They were bringing ethnic cooking into the bellies of the crew while Aoife helped.

Our waters had been fairly calm. I was thankful for it.

Anything abrupt in temperature could have ended the tin she carried along in. The weather was hot enough when we started the adventure. As the ship moved south, the seasons started to change. By the time we were west and south of Hawaii, the weather became slightly cooler at night. As we moved across July, we still experienced only mild conditions at sea.

Normally, ships that are headed from Seattle to India travel upon the northward route, up and along through the Unimak Pass in Alaska’s territory. That direction can often save time and fuel. It was almost always considered a better route than drawing a line from Seattle to Singapore, which is essentially the route I had the ship going on.

Thing was, it was always rough in Alaska’s waters, no matter what you thought it was going to be. We needed smooth sailing above anything else. There was bad water up north, in general. It grew worse the later the season progressed.

Up north, as well, it was going to be far cooler at night. I had decided to skip that when I heard about a difficulty Sassy‘s kind had experienced up in cold weather before. There was some manufacturing technicality experienced in the hulls under cold weather due to the ship’s metal.

With Aoife on board, and with the condition of the vessel, traveling south and much closer to the Equator might have added up to a week’s time. Technically, the ship’s route wasn’t a decision I had the authority to make. Captain White held all powers of command and, ultimately, oversaw charting our passage across the ocean.

“We ought to go south, around the Equator. It’s getting to be wintertime. I’m not messing around with that,” I shot at him, the day we headed away from Seattle.

Captain White listened, nodded, and didn’t seem to care, at all. The ship was a piece of crap, anyhow. White had run vessels through Alaska for years. He knew it wasn’t a good way for Sassy to go. To solidify the decision, the more we had waited for the Coast Guard’s approval to leave, the later it had gotten in the year. We would have had a hard time, at that point, to travel north.

The First Mate overheard everything. He took it all in. He worked with Peter, the Ukrainian who sat in the control room with him, to plot a slow ride. The First Mate and Peter put together something that would head directly down into warmer waters south of us and then shoot the thing out westward to Singapore. So, I showed him a line I had drawn on a map. It was something I had picked up at some army surplus store in Seattle. I would keep that map next to me in the Engine Room. They made a modification on their plans, and that was the end of that. It had been a nice time each day with both the weather and the water.

One day, we had the best tuna salad I ever ate for lunch. Captain White invited Aoife and I both to dine with him. She had to admit the salad was made by our friends from the Ukraine.

Aoife got to talking about fishing up in Alaska which is White’s strong suit. Somehow, this brought about her detailed questioning concerning the ship’s current passage. White let it slip that he felt pressured by me ever since I called him to take this work at sea. For him, the choice of the route was yet another trial.

Aoife commiserated. She made a big to-do.

She said, “Meade, that’s all the proof I have. You were overbearing for me, for a long time. You treat the men in our family like idiots, too.”

Under the skipper’s hat, Captain White’s eyebrows arched up just like a cartoon. Aoife simply smiled at me, across the table. I was drumming something up. Instead, Aoife beat me to the punch.

She said, “The Captain should have decided the ship’s route, instead of your decision overshadowing the matter. That’s everything that needed to be said. Now, I’ll be quiet.”

Captain White’s shoulders heaved. I thought he might be having heart trouble. He looked up from his chow. He was grinning ear-to-ear.

She said flatly at the meal, “You’re too efficient. Overshadowing is a good word to use. I wish you would be happier with me and the kids, at times. It’s easier for us to take, then.”

Aoife rolled on about how I might have pressured Captain White into a route that was going to take a lot more time but left to his own creations, the passage might have been, “…well, different. And more adjusted for the Captain’s inner self.”

Captain White interrupted that. He assured her it was the best choice, and he was thankful for my input. He tried to stop the smile spread across his face. He didn’t make it quite yet then.

She said “It’s a matter of discipline. Captain White, this is sensible conversation, right? Meade, maybe give the other person a minute or two to make up his own mind?”

Captain White sighed. I was betting he would probably laugh in a few minutes if someone didn’t say something to cut Aoife off.

I said, “Waiting until the second after when we left the harbor was doing all right.”

Aoife said, “I don’t think anyone should be pushed by you, Meade.”

Captain White was still smiling and he said, “Everyone knew it would be a longer ride, right from the beginning. We are all content with it, Meade. You put together everything nicely for us.”

It sounded like White was taking hors d’oeuvres Aoife was serving everyone at some garden party. I felt like a person she had accidentally bumped into, again.

Aoife talked about everything she could think of, just to keep the conversation alive. Listening to her chit-chat about cutting straight across the Pacific and the Unimak Pass was ridiculous. White and I watched her going through this. It felt like grating gears inside my head.

Captain White seemed to have a need to leave, but he stayed there. He commiserated with Aoife until she went silent. I turned my chin to the table, continued to eat.

I said, “That guy from the Ukraine turned out to be the best chef in the world.”

There was no visible evidence of Aoife having heard me. The three of us sat silent. The table was now emotionless.

It was hard to believe I was being looked down upon. I looked at their faces. They were both eating the best tuna the ocean had to offer plus fish cakes Aoife had patted together the night before. Everyone was being paid for the entire ordeal. The water was beautiful every day. Didn’t seem like a bad deal now, for anyone.

I was in a situation where I couldn’t come down too hard on either the captain or Aoife, seeing as how it was indeed a Captain’s role to plan the ship’s course. In a similar way, Aoife has assumed a role of domination towards me. I felt betrayed by her letting me die socially in front of Captain White.

Neither were looking at me, sitting there on the other side of the table across from them. I concentrated on food. Next, Baxter walked in. He stopped at the table and gave Aoife a playful wink, then walked over to grab a coffee.

Since that fiasco with the yacht, it had been a straight week without any guns fired off from the Bridge, and without any other sightings of ships. It had become almost like a pleasant time.

Kingston Riggs and I worked well together. We had become a mighty team. You were a close second to that, Fiona. We were all followed by Baxter. He was just as efficient as Riggs, but he was bringing me down. I had a hard time seeing eye to eye with him anymore. I’m a sensitive guy when it comes to bad luck upon the ocean’s tides.

Baxter said, “Hey, there, Chief. What do you say you and I go down to Hold A and check her out? See if there’s any trouble? No one’s done that yet the entire time. I asked everybody. You and I are the only people and that was on, like, the first day back in Seattle.”

Baxter had food in one hand and, for some reason, he started balancing a pencil on the end of his tongue.

I said to him, “Get Fiona from the Engine Room for that. She’s not very busy down there.”

He slid to a stop next to me. He was trying out a pair of new rubber boots Aoife had generously surprised everyone on board with at dinner the night before.

“They work! Thanks goodness!” He said with a big laugh.

Aoife gave Baxter a friendly pat on his head when he leaned in for a hug. Plus, the hug got given, too.

About fifteen minutes after that, Baxter returned. He was running. Aoife showered him with questions. He was white as a sheet of paper. He complained about her being nosy.

“Get off me, woman. I mean, I’m married. Don’t touch me.” That’s what Baxter said. Then he walked away. Over one shoulder he said, “Tell your damn daughter to calm me down if she wants to know what it feels like.”

I put my arm around Aoife’s waist to stop any movement. I put my face to her ear and spoke. “Babe, you’re my style. Let’s beat it.”

The thing is, Aoife doesn’t take time to see who is short-changing themselves. When everyone is left alone at sea, the ride can be mighty silent. No one needed a mother hen.

Later on, I headed to the Engine Room. Baxter was sitting outside. He was wiping sweat from his forehead.

“Chief…” he began.

I kind of knew what was coming next, but I stood by his side.

Finally, he said, “There’s a ghost in the ship. He’s an old navy man. He wants to know why I didn’t like him. I told him he had the wrong guy. Then he sort of came at me… And Fiona was gone. I thought she was dead. Thought he ate your daughter, Chief. But she’s right inside.”

He pointed ahead to the Engine Room. I took a quick peek. You were there, seated close to Kingston Riggs. Your head was bent over your work.

I said, “Buckle down on your work, son. Better keep that to yourself, too. I don’t have any business with ghosts. Glad you told me, though!”

I let him feel strong about the connection he had with me. But I don’t waste time with ghosts, ever. I walked into the Engine Room.

“You’re over in an hour, Fiona.” I told you

You looked a little ghost-stricken yourself. You were white. You assured me it was nothing so I headed up the stairs.

Hours later, at dinner time, all of our good men from the Ukraine made the ship feel like some sort of Disneyland. They sang. They danced. They were laughing. They picked each of us Americans to stand up and dance with them.

The Ukrainians liked every American song I ever played for them on my machine. They spent a little while figuring each one out. Then, they played the same tune themselves on their own instruments. They were pretty good. I liked the rendition of Bee Gees the best.

In the middle of all that, you meandered in, picked up some chow, and sat by yourself. At times, you closed your eyes and sat still. You almost looked ill. Eventually, you got a distant look in your eyes, and headed out to either your berth or back to the Engine Room where Baxter was holding watch.

I didn’t get a chance to talk to you again that night, however.

I headed into the kitchen to chat with Aoife who was just about to keep cooking dinner for everyone. She had been distracted by the Ukrainians when they wanted to sing something for her a few minutes earlier. Two of them began showing her a special dish.

Aoife called over to me while I was staying out of everyone’s way.

She said, “I have a bad feeling Fiona is drowning. Can you please check on her?”

Right there, I found Fiona through a radio connection. She was totally fine. She complained of a terrible headache and was catching a few hours of sleep until morning.

Later, I caught sight of a strange sight of Baxter hung over Captain White. Looked like they had been drinking together. Baxter told me something and patted the captain’s arm. I never heard a single word. Captain White meant to brush him off. When they shook off the buzz, Baxter stood up and hung his head.

I followed him to the edge of the craft. He mopped his brow. I acted like nothing had happened.

“Kid, aren’t you supposed to be on duty in the Engine Room?”

He couldn’t speak. He mumbled something. I patted his shoulder, like I had tried to do the first time he and I met, back when he was taking Sanitary instead of doing his job.

I said, “Okay. I’ll talk to Fiona, first. Meet you there.”

I walked to the corridor, headed over to Fiona’s room. Baxter appeared behind me just as I was ready to knock.

Baxter said, “You’re kind of a mean man, Chief. Didn’t know your daughter had anything to do with your bad attitude towards me.”

By now, Baxter knew me well enough to say the type of thing that gets to me, every time. I had been pulling his chain when I said I’d bring Fiona into it, and now the kid was trying to pull mine.

I told him, “This is between us. Leave my daughter’s sweet and good reputation out of this.”

He yelled, “Thank you!”

Captain White had been lurking. He walked up to us.

White said, “You know, Chief, you’ve got two competent people in The Engine Room. I sent them there. The place was empty.”

I went down to see. Captain White and Baxter trailed behind. I found Riggs seated squarely in his proper seat. But his back was up against a wall. Turned out, Riggs might have been taking a nap and a long break on his easy chair when Captain White checked in. He couldn’t quite remember.

Riggs said, “Fiona is crapping out on us completely, Chief. She’s gotten into the ghost-chasing thing, behind Baxter’s back, I guess. And he has been up at arms. Wants everyone to stay out of his way. I told them both they had better get this quit fast.”

Baxter went mute. He stared at everyone there.

Captain White said, “There is indeed a ghost! We all chatted for a while, last night, down below, he and Baxter and me.”

“I bet.” I told him. Then I said to both of them, standing in the passageway, “I don’t deal in ghosts. Just say ‘get lost’. Don’t feed them anything.”

Captain Stanley White wasn’t about to respond. As if in a dream, everyone walked away. The next morning, things were serene upon the ocean and in the sky.

Captain White wasn’t completely off about smugglers and pirates because when I headed back down to the Engine Room, I happened to look out at the water. Two bona fide pirates were approaching starboard. They pulled up alongside in a racket of a ship. We might have been closer to the Marshall Islands than I had thought we were.

I flew into the Mess Hall.

The First Mate and two of our men from the Ukraine were talking all together while they drank coffee. As a complete surprise, Aoife ran in. She was real excited. She had seen them, too, from her berth. Aoife told everyone to look out a porthole.

Aoife said, “Look! The pirates!”

It was sort of like a big relief for everybody to finally see some even though the guys in their pathetic ship looked fairly malnourished. There was a line hanging off Sassy. One had his eye on it. He had gotten himself a knife. He was standing up on the bow. I could tell he was ready to cut it. He was figuring out how to reach up and grab hold of it.

Everyone ran outside onto the Main Deck. Captain White joined in the parade, and so did many of the ABs. They were all running to see the real pirates.

Aoife was now the closest to the edge of the ship. She caught the man’s eye while he was studying our ship. Then, both of the pirates’ heads turned. You never seen anything like that.

Aoife had them both absorbed at about a hundred yards. Man, it’s crazy how the woman can do her thing.

Aoife waved. She smiled.

The Ukrainians looked closely at what she was doing. I got a creepy feeling, but then the Ukrainians all followed her example. Everybody smiled and waved at the men in their craft next to ours. Next, the pirates were getting out of there as fast as they could.

Everyone had witnessed it: Aoife had saved the ship. And, it was pure Aoife—her genuine and friendly countenance—and no guns were needed.

My sailor’s sense told me this interplay was the reason she was on this passage.

I watched her laughing to Captain White’s comments. He was proud. He didn’t mind getting her recognized by a little applause from him. I didn’t take it very well, not here at sea, where it was just the three of us.

Perhaps, now everyone there understood the depths I have been dealing with in my life whenever it comes to Aoife. She is pure devil and the queen mixed all together, just like a hungry father might foretell.

There are a lot milder pirate actions that happen around the globe. It’s not often like the movies where’s he got a saber in his teeth and a plan. They take a line and throw it over the side, like the people in the speedboat had been trying to do. Lines are worth a lot of money, and it’s two minutes of work.

Pirates are often some young kid who has gotten to become something like a rat. You corner him, and he’s going to do what he’s got to do. It’s more poverty than bad intentions all around the world. These guys are all treated like garbage. Do you think they’re going to treat you like a king? They don’t even know where their next meal is coming from. The trick is not to get into that situation in the first place.

White spoke first.

He said, “Going away from the regular route isn’t a wise move. Better to stay where Americans are traveling, who see you, and notice if you have disappeared.”

Everyone listened.

He continued, “I don’t want to have any more trouble with those folk.”

I was thinking all of these things, already. Now, Aoife was by my side, and she took my hand. I pulled it back because it felt that she was trying to help the captain, again. She had to be reading my thoughts on my face, or maybe inside my eyes.

Aoife sees things I’m thinking, sometimes. She’s always piecing things together. She has strong perceptions about my mannerisms, but doesn’t always say what her perceptions mean to her.

I shrugged these things away. I headed back down to the Engine Room.

All day long, the men from the Ukraine were laughing about Aoife and how she saved Sassy from harm’s way. They mimicked expressions on both pirates’ faces. It was like a little show, and they did this about five million times for the rest of the time we were all together on-board Sassy.

If Aoife was serving chow, they would line up and wave and smile alongside her. They loved doing that. They had a lot of ambitions, and they made a big deal about how Aoife’s beautiful smile was going to end the next war. The whole adventure was an ongoing work of art, so far as the crew’s Ukrainians were concerned.

I had to laugh without stopping myself from doing it. They were happy people, even though I myself was not happy with Aoife being on-board. It was starting to feel promiscuous with all the men laughing with her this way. I shook my head.

Then the next day, I came downstairs to relieve Riggs. I saw you staring intensely at your work.

I said, “Fiona, lighten up. You look like you need a break.”

Your eyes were as big as plates during your watch. You hung your head. You wiped a spot on your face where tears might be. You gave me a hug.

You were crying when you said, “Dad, I wish I had saved the ship. Mom always ends up doing the important things. If she wasn’t here with us, it could have been me. People also like me a lot too! I’m going to be thirty in a few years. Whenever mom is around me, no one realizes I exist. I’d like to grow up now, in your eyes. Even you see me just as Aoife’s daughter. It’s terrible.”

I had to treat you just like I would any sailor lest I risk both our lives.

I said, “Stupid viewpoint. You can get us all killed thinking that way. Safety is the only priority. Remember that, kid.”

I gave you a hug. I wished you luck. Then you headed out to get some sleep.

The next evening, at dinner, you grabbed the spotlight from “Team Ukraine,” which was the name you had gifted their nightly entertainment with.

You walked up on the little stage they had put together, and I want to thank you for doing it. That was the night I felt okay about Aoife’s friendship again, because you are like her, and when a lot of light is playing on your face you look like her a lot.

Life is really magic! Plus, children are amazing.

I watched you walk on the stage, and I thought about your pretty mother, seated a few seats away. Then, I realized that she was deliberately seated much closer to the Captain’s seat than she was to me. She should have walked over on her own and taken a seat next to me. Still, she looked sweet when she was kind enough to smile my way.

You said, “You think our showboat only gives Ukrainian productions… so, I am here to present a new spectacle you haven’t seen in years!”

It was too much showmanship, but it was the right thing for most of the people there that night.

We were chugging along, getting closer and closer to Singapore every day. There had been rain in the sky all afternoon. We were approaching land in the coming few days. The little ship was still all alone at sea. At times, I was just a breath away from my eternity.

The ocean outside was calm. A thick mantle of clouds was overhead, though it never seemed to rain. We traveled through skyless waters that evening.

From the stage, Fiona announced to one and all, “In my family, we break through awful social graces. In our place, anyone can fall, or die, but only so long as it is carefully and prettily done! We come alive! We die! We break away from every convention landlubbers adore. We do this by our use of… long, awful poetry!”

Everyone groaned.

“I thought you was going to sing us something pretty, Fiona!” shouted Peter.

You went on with, “My great-great-great-great grandpa started the tradition, in the south of Ireland, and it passed through the entire island. As a young, wee girl, I was told with complete sincerity from very trusted people how we saved the entire country of Ireland using… long, awful poetry!”

Aoife stood up and said to everyone in the room, “This is not my thing. I’m going up to my cabin.” Aoife walked out of the room like it didn’t matter. I didn’t throw in that Aoife has seen this show a few times play out in her own home.

Your eyes looked down for a minute. Right away, I understood what you meant earlier that day, when you were crying in the Engine Room. You like to take your time studying things. Then you lifted your face. Your eyes were bright. A smile stretched across your face. You went straight ahead with your performance style.

At that moment, Fiona, you flirted with every man in the room. I’m only saying this to improve matters for you, in the long run. It had to do with the way you struck your next pose. Don’t feel down. In all, the show went marvelous, honey, so it’s nothing to get worried over. It’s a matter of grace. That’s what your mother didn’t take to, I think. It’s probably why she said she had to go.

You continued. Everyone’s attention was held in the palm of your hand. You went on about this and that, and next you said to us all, “My family’s beautiful craft was been passed to my grand-father, and to his son, and to my dear, old dad, the ship’s delightful chief engineer, Declan Aidan Meade. He is sitting there!”

The man holding the spotlight shone it in my eyes. I held a hand up to block the glare.

You continued on with, “Yes, this fine example of humanity has taught my brothers and myself the craft! Also, we learned the plights and sorrows of the stage’s insightful ruse! And, we use it long! And we use it tall! Or fat and short, we stand here… to spew out long, terrible poetry! And… we get all our drinks for free!”

Everybody laughed.

“Where’s the booze!” Cried Kingston Riggs, and the Captain looked perplexed.

“Drum roll, please.”

Nine sets of hands were little drummers on the Mess Hall’s tables, just for your enjoyment.

You said, “I present to you: ‘The Cremation of Sam McGee’ By Robert W. Service.”

You knew it was always one of my favorite pieces by Service. My own dad used to tell Service’s poems to me, frontways and back, when I was young.

Daughter, that night I was impressed. You gave your heart to it, and it looked just as dynamic as how I taught you and my boys to do it. You were animated with bits of flair appearing here and there, just like your good, old dad’s showmanship.

You took a place that seemed like it was the only one that mattered upon the make-shift stage inside the weathered vessel’s Mess Hall. During your show, your stage was the only place that mattered.

You recited the entire thing without a mistake. You flourished your hands. You mimicked the old-fashioned speech with care all along your tiny show:

There are strange things done in the midnight sun

      By the men who moil for gold;

The Arctic trails have their secret tales

      That would make your blood run cold;

The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,

      But the queerest they ever did see

Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge

      I cremated Sam McGee.

Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee,

where the cotton blooms and blows.

Why he left his home in the South

to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows.

He was always cold, but the land of gold

seemed to hold him like a spell;

Though he'd often say in his homely way

that "he'd sooner live in hell."

On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way

over the Dawson trail.

Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold

it stabbed like a driven nail.

If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze

till sometimes we couldn't see;

It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper

was Sam McGee.

And that very night, as we lay packed tight

in our robes beneath the snow,

And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead

were dancing heel and toe,

He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll cash

in this trip, I guess;

And if I do, I'm asking that you

won't refuse my last request."

Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no;

then he says with a sort of moan:

"It's the cursèd cold, and it's got right hold

till I'm chilled clean through to the bone.

Yet 'tain't being dead—it's my awful dread

of the icy grave that pains;

So I want you to swear that, foul or fair,

you'll cremate my last remains."

A pal's last need is a thing to heed,

so I swore I would not fail;

And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God!

he looked ghastly pale.

He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day

of his home in Tennessee;

And before nightfall a corpse

was all that was left of Sam McGee.

There wasn't a breath in that land of death,

and I hurried, horror-driven,

With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid,

because of a promise given;

It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say:

"You may tax your brawn and brains,

But you promised true, and it's up to you

to cremate those last remains."

Now a promise made is a debt unpaid,

and the trail has its own stern code.

In the days to come, though my lips were dumb,

in my heart how I cursed that load.

In the long, long night, by the lone firelight,

while the huskies, round in a ring,

Howled out their woes to the homeless snows—

O God! how I loathed the thing.

And every day that quiet clay

seemed to heavy and heavier grow;

And on I went, though the dogs were spent

and the grub was getting low;

The trail was bad, and I felt half mad,

but I swore I would not give in;

And I'd often sing to the hateful thing,

and it hearkened with a grin.

Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge,

and a derelict there lay;

It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice

it was called the "Alice May."

And I looked at it, and I thought a bit,

and I looked at my frozen chum;

Then "Here," said I, with a sudden cry,

"is my cre-ma-tor-eum."

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor,

and I lit the boiler fire;

Some coal I found that was lying around,

and I heaped the fuel higher;

The flames just soared, and the furnace roared—

such a blaze you seldom see;

And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal,

and I stuffed in Sam McGee.

Then I made a hike, for I didn't like

to hear him sizzle so;

And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled,

and the wind began to blow.

It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled

down my cheeks, and I don't know why;

And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak

went streaking down the sky.

I do not know how long in the snow

I wrestled with grisly fear;

But the stars came out and they danced about

ere again I ventured near;

I was sick with dread, but I bravely said:

"I'll just take a peep inside.

I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked";

... then the door I opened wide.

And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm,

in the heart of the furnace roar;

And he wore a smile you could see a mile,

and he said: "Please close that door.

It's fine in here, but I greatly fear

you'll let in the cold and storm—

Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee,

it's the first time I've been warm."

There are strange things done in the midnight sun

      By the men who moil for gold;

The Arctic trails have their secret tales

      That would make your blood run cold;

The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,

      But the queerest they ever did see

Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge

      I cremated Sam McGee.

The room was silent. I could have dropped a pin. It would have been heard above the ship’s driving engines. Next, the place got crazy with cheering you all over again. They clapped and laughed while you sat back down in your chair You seemed to have something going on with Erat, when you sat and he put his arm around you. That’s not my business.

All in all, things were going along.

Aoife turned out to be not only a good chef, but a great sea-cook. Only thing was, she kept taking my portable CD player into the Mess Hall, and she never got the idea that a meal had to be there at 11:15am, and 11:15pm, so that the next guy up can relieve his watch by 11:30. She just never would get the watch thing in her head, throughout the entire trip, and I mean it. That’s how it was, the whole way there. In Aoife’s mind, everyone could wait.

But I didn’t give a damn. It was true that the woman has got a beautiful smile.

When we were living on the blueberry farm together, at times we both forgot about the financial problems, and then our farm was beautiful. There were these acres of rolling pasture. Had about two acres of blueberry bushes. We had bonfires every year where we could invite the town, and the people all showed up.

The farm never ran out of water but, sometimes, the water pipes sucked cold air. Water flowed again, in the kitchen and in the bathroom, only by someone pouring buckets of water down a well shaft. It was located far from the house, inside of a pumphouse that was located at on top of a little hill. The long suction pipe ran all the way down the hill to the river that ran across our property. The procedure I followed is called, “priming a pump.”

I’d be getting out of bed and going outside in the frost, or with the dew, at about five in the morning. Aoife would keep sleeping. I remember that scene in my mind like it happened the day before yesterday.

I’d walk up the hill the little pump house sat upon. I’d carry a bucket of water all the way up to it. It was beautiful, just beautiful, up there. Quiet everywhere. The sun would suddenly appear. I’d see the mist.

Plus, there was a single-lane street running in the front of the house. A water pipe ran under the road. After I went up the hill, I’d walk across the road, down to the river, to get the other pump running, too. Just to feel good about it.

It was nice going back to bed with Aoife after I did all of that.

One year, I got all the pipes tied together so we had water running out to every different irrigation tank.

Another year, I built a bridge across the river, and I was so damned proud.

I said, “The cables I laid myself and they aren’t going anywhere,”

I told that to a man named William. He was a metal sculptor who lived on the other side of the river. His family owned a hundred acres or more. They’d lived on that side of the river for generations.

William wanted to know if the wooden planks would hold in a flood.

I told him, “The river might take those cables away. But there will be a tree on each end when it gets to wherever it’s going.”

The flooded river was a monsoon in January. It was almost twenty feet up the banks. Still, it didn’t take away those cables. They held, like I had told William they would hold. Sadly, everything else—all the wood and the stairs I had cut and laid to lead up to the bridge—all were washed away down the river.

I could have hung another bridge on those lines. I looked at them every time I came home. I never could work up the energy for that, though.

Strange memories like this rolled back to me on-board Sassy. The more Aoife and I talked, the more I realized we had never spent this much time together since we first got together in the Seventies. We were more thoughtful as a couple than I had ever realized.

It turned out that a sinking ship in the first decade of the 21st century was the only place our conversations could be had.

WRITTEN AND PUBLISHED BY CORINNE DEVIN SULLIVAN

ISBN 979-8-9909558-0-6 e-book: “The Sound Is The Sailor’s Laughter”

© Corinne Devin Sullivan. 2024. All rights reserved.

Publication made by: CORINNE DEVIN SULLIVAN BOOKS “The Sound Is The Sailor’s Laughter” Published in the United States of America 2024. First Final EBook. Design by C.D.S. Website: www.corinnedevinsullivan.com