her face.
Within a few days, Mr. Etheridge got the telegraph message he feared he would. The storm had caused a wreck—the
Alianza
—near Newburyport, Massachusetts. She was an old ship, and in the wild storm she broke to pieces in no time and her crew was thrown into the sea. Four of them swam to shore. The three that washed up dead looked like they'd been bashed and killed by the floating wreckage before they'd even had a chance to drown. They found the captain's body with the back of his skull caved in.
I was glad we hadn't had anybody die in a wreck on Pea Island. That would be like fighting a battle against the sea and losing. And I had my own small battle to fight now. It was me against the piles of sand that had built up under the station and buried the two doctoring books so deep I didn't think I'd ever find them.
EIGHT
Digging sand under a building on your hands and knees is nasty work. I got sand in my hair, down my shirt, and in the cuffs of my breeches. I got sweaty and sand stuck to my skin. And still, after two days of digging, I hadn't yet found the doctoring books. All I kept finding was planks of charred wood.
At first I thought a piece of old half-burnt firewood had blown under the station during the storm. Then I found another piece, and then a charred board that looked like it had been part of the wall of a house. It was much too big for firewood. And there was too much of it to have all blown under there. But what was it? How did it get there? Nobody in their right mind would build a fire under the station.
The more wood I found, the more curious I became, until I nearly forgot about the books and started digging for more charred wood instead.
So, it was almost by accident that my fingers finally touched the rags I'd wrapped the books in. The rags were soggy, and those books were a sight—all warped from the damp sand. I tried to wipe them dry with my shirt, but it was hopeless. I groaned out loud. When the surfmen found out, they'd probably ban me from the station.
I walked into the empty station house. Sunlight streamed through the salt-spray-covered windows. Quietly, I slid the books back onto the shelf. All I could do was wait to see what my punishment would be.
The next day, Daddy sent me to the station to borrow some saltwater soap because we'd run out and we were fixing to take our dirty clothes over sound side to wash them. Mr. Bowser fetched me the soap, and when he handed it to me, he said, “I see you're finally done with the books you borrowed. Did you learn something?”
My answer got stuck in my throat. I stood there with my mouth gaping open.
Mr. Bowser looked down at me, calm as anything, and said, “You tell your daddy I want you to walk the nine-to-midnight patrol with me tonight.”
Somehow I closed my sagging mouth. “Yes, sir,” I whispered, and took off out of there like I was being chased.
I told Daddy about walking the patrol, which he said would be fine, but I didn't tell him about the books or about the factthat Mr. Bowser was going to whip me good before we did any patrolling.
That night after supper and after I helped Grandpa wash the dishes and pans, I walked slowly to the station. I wasn't sure what I was going to say to Mr. Bowser, except to apologize for what I had done.
At the station, the men were still cleaning up after supper, each man washing his own dish in the cookhouse sink. Mr. Bowser said we'd start the patrol shortly and for me to wait in the station. He didn't seem awfully angry, and I counted that in my favor.
Just before nine o'clock, Mr. Bowser checked what he needed for the patrol: a lantern, Coston flares, his badge to exchange with the surfman from Oregon Inlet when they met, and a spyglass.
Dorman Pugh was getting ready to walk the south patrol. He packed the same items as Mr. Bowser did, except he brought the patrol clock for the key post box at New Inlet because no surfman would meet him there. He would turn the key, kept in the
Within a few days, Mr. Etheridge got the telegraph message he feared he would. The storm had caused a wreck—the
Alianza
—near Newburyport, Massachusetts. She was an old ship, and in the wild storm she broke to pieces in no time and her crew was thrown into the sea. Four of them swam to shore. The three that washed up dead looked like they'd been bashed and killed by the floating wreckage before they'd even had a chance to drown. They found the captain's body with the back of his skull caved in.
I was glad we hadn't had anybody die in a wreck on Pea Island. That would be like fighting a battle against the sea and losing. And I had my own small battle to fight now. It was me against the piles of sand that had built up under the station and buried the two doctoring books so deep I didn't think I'd ever find them.
EIGHT
Digging sand under a building on your hands and knees is nasty work. I got sand in my hair, down my shirt, and in the cuffs of my breeches. I got sweaty and sand stuck to my skin. And still, after two days of digging, I hadn't yet found the doctoring books. All I kept finding was planks of charred wood.
At first I thought a piece of old half-burnt firewood had blown under the station during the storm. Then I found another piece, and then a charred board that looked like it had been part of the wall of a house. It was much too big for firewood. And there was too much of it to have all blown under there. But what was it? How did it get there? Nobody in their right mind would build a fire under the station.
The more wood I found, the more curious I became, until I nearly forgot about the books and started digging for more charred wood instead.
So, it was almost by accident that my fingers finally touched the rags I'd wrapped the books in. The rags were soggy, and those books were a sight—all warped from the damp sand. I tried to wipe them dry with my shirt, but it was hopeless. I groaned out loud. When the surfmen found out, they'd probably ban me from the station.
I walked into the empty station house. Sunlight streamed through the salt-spray-covered windows. Quietly, I slid the books back onto the shelf. All I could do was wait to see what my punishment would be.
The next day, Daddy sent me to the station to borrow some saltwater soap because we'd run out and we were fixing to take our dirty clothes over sound side to wash them. Mr. Bowser fetched me the soap, and when he handed it to me, he said, “I see you're finally done with the books you borrowed. Did you learn something?”
My answer got stuck in my throat. I stood there with my mouth gaping open.
Mr. Bowser looked down at me, calm as anything, and said, “You tell your daddy I want you to walk the nine-to-midnight patrol with me tonight.”
Somehow I closed my sagging mouth. “Yes, sir,” I whispered, and took off out of there like I was being chased.
I told Daddy about walking the patrol, which he said would be fine, but I didn't tell him about the books or about the factthat Mr. Bowser was going to whip me good before we did any patrolling.
That night after supper and after I helped Grandpa wash the dishes and pans, I walked slowly to the station. I wasn't sure what I was going to say to Mr. Bowser, except to apologize for what I had done.
At the station, the men were still cleaning up after supper, each man washing his own dish in the cookhouse sink. Mr. Bowser said we'd start the patrol shortly and for me to wait in the station. He didn't seem awfully angry, and I counted that in my favor.
Just before nine o'clock, Mr. Bowser checked what he needed for the patrol: a lantern, Coston flares, his badge to exchange with the surfman from Oregon Inlet when they met, and a spyglass.
Dorman Pugh was getting ready to walk the south patrol. He packed the same items as Mr. Bowser did, except he brought the patrol clock for the key post box at New Inlet because no surfman would meet him there. He would turn the key, kept in the
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