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Authors: Elisa Carbone
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key post box, in the patrol clock to show that he'd walked the beat.
Mr. Bowser and I walked north along the shore toward Oregon Inlet. The moon caught the white foam of the breakers and made them shine.
“There's not likely to be any trouble tonight,” said Mr. Bowser. “Calm seas, calm wind.”
I trotted along beside him to keep up with his long strides.
“I've walked this patrol in wind so strong I could barely keep on my feet,” said Mr. Bowser. “In fact, one night a gust swept my legs clear out from under me, and I landed on my back.”
I nodded. I was still afraid to say anything much, still waiting for a whipping or at least a good talking-to.
“All right, boy,” he said after we'd walked a while. “Directions for Restoring the Apparently Drowned. Let me hear it.”
My eyes widened. How could he know I'd memorized it? I took a deep breath and started in, “Rule One. Arouse the patient. Unless in danger of freezing, do not move the patient, but instantly expose the face to a current of fresh air, wipe dry the mouth and nostrils, rip the clothing so as to expose the chest and waist, and give two or three quick, smarting slaps on the stomach and chest with the open hand….”
“Good,” he said when I'd finished. “What about fractures? Say a sailor gets brought in and his leg is broken. What are you going to do?”
“Is the bone sticking out or not?” I asked.
Mr. Bowser raised his eyebrows like he was impressed. “Not,” he said.
“All right. Then cold compresses to keep the swelling down, and splint it with something like shingles or a board, or to the other leg if we can't find anything for a splint.”
Mr. Bowser nodded. “Very good,” he said.
He asked me more questions about hypothermia, heat exhaustion,head injuries from being hit with floating debris, how much whiskey you give a child and how much you give an adult. Apparently, I got most of the answers right.
“Now,” Mr. Bowser said sharply, “tell me where you kept those books—in the bottom of your privy? Didn't anyone ever teach you how to take care of a book?”
My face flushed hot with shame. Of course someone had taught me. Mamma had loved books. “Mr. Bowser, I am sorely sorry about what I did,” I said in a strong voice, just like I'd practiced it in my mind a hundred times. “I—” but before I could say more, Mr. Bowser interrupted me.
“Here's what I want in payment,” he said. “When some of these wrecks come in, it's all we can do to keep up with the rescue, let alone treat all the men who are wounded and freezing and the like. You've got a good strong stomach for blood and gore, and you studied well. If I need you, I want you to help, you understand?”
“Help with … wounded sailors?” I asked, amazed.
“That's right,” he said. “
If
I need you. Otherwise, you stay out of the way. Understood?”
I squared my shoulders. “Understood,” I said. It was the proudest I'd ever felt.
Mr. Bowser lifted the spyglass to his eye and searched the horizon. So far we had sighted a schooner and two steamers. “All calm,” he said.
As we walked, Mr. Bowser told me about what it was liketo walk this patrol during the worst storms and coldest weather. “Sometimes the north wind blows so hard the sand looks like thick fog along the ground. It stings your face and eyes so bad you have to walk sideways and backward part of the time just to make it,” he said. “But the most unsettling thing isn't the bad weather. It's the time, say on the midnight-to-three-A.M. patrol, when you come upon a dead body all torn up and bloated from floating in the sea for days. It may only happen to you once, but let me tell you, you don't
ever
forget it.”
That made my stomach do a flip-flop. And I watched where I put my feet after that.
At the north end of the patrol, he motioned me to sit with him next to a pile of old salvage wood. “This is where we meet the man on patrol from Oregon Inlet,” he said. “Used to
Mr. Bowser and I walked north along the shore toward Oregon Inlet. The moon caught the white foam of the breakers and made them shine.
“There's not likely to be any trouble tonight,” said Mr. Bowser. “Calm seas, calm wind.”
I trotted along beside him to keep up with his long strides.
“I've walked this patrol in wind so strong I could barely keep on my feet,” said Mr. Bowser. “In fact, one night a gust swept my legs clear out from under me, and I landed on my back.”
I nodded. I was still afraid to say anything much, still waiting for a whipping or at least a good talking-to.
“All right, boy,” he said after we'd walked a while. “Directions for Restoring the Apparently Drowned. Let me hear it.”
My eyes widened. How could he know I'd memorized it? I took a deep breath and started in, “Rule One. Arouse the patient. Unless in danger of freezing, do not move the patient, but instantly expose the face to a current of fresh air, wipe dry the mouth and nostrils, rip the clothing so as to expose the chest and waist, and give two or three quick, smarting slaps on the stomach and chest with the open hand….”
“Good,” he said when I'd finished. “What about fractures? Say a sailor gets brought in and his leg is broken. What are you going to do?”
“Is the bone sticking out or not?” I asked.
Mr. Bowser raised his eyebrows like he was impressed. “Not,” he said.
“All right. Then cold compresses to keep the swelling down, and splint it with something like shingles or a board, or to the other leg if we can't find anything for a splint.”
Mr. Bowser nodded. “Very good,” he said.
He asked me more questions about hypothermia, heat exhaustion,head injuries from being hit with floating debris, how much whiskey you give a child and how much you give an adult. Apparently, I got most of the answers right.
“Now,” Mr. Bowser said sharply, “tell me where you kept those books—in the bottom of your privy? Didn't anyone ever teach you how to take care of a book?”
My face flushed hot with shame. Of course someone had taught me. Mamma had loved books. “Mr. Bowser, I am sorely sorry about what I did,” I said in a strong voice, just like I'd practiced it in my mind a hundred times. “I—” but before I could say more, Mr. Bowser interrupted me.
“Here's what I want in payment,” he said. “When some of these wrecks come in, it's all we can do to keep up with the rescue, let alone treat all the men who are wounded and freezing and the like. You've got a good strong stomach for blood and gore, and you studied well. If I need you, I want you to help, you understand?”
“Help with … wounded sailors?” I asked, amazed.
“That's right,” he said. “
If
I need you. Otherwise, you stay out of the way. Understood?”
I squared my shoulders. “Understood,” I said. It was the proudest I'd ever felt.
Mr. Bowser lifted the spyglass to his eye and searched the horizon. So far we had sighted a schooner and two steamers. “All calm,” he said.
As we walked, Mr. Bowser told me about what it was liketo walk this patrol during the worst storms and coldest weather. “Sometimes the north wind blows so hard the sand looks like thick fog along the ground. It stings your face and eyes so bad you have to walk sideways and backward part of the time just to make it,” he said. “But the most unsettling thing isn't the bad weather. It's the time, say on the midnight-to-three-A.M. patrol, when you come upon a dead body all torn up and bloated from floating in the sea for days. It may only happen to you once, but let me tell you, you don't
ever
forget it.”
That made my stomach do a flip-flop. And I watched where I put my feet after that.
At the north end of the patrol, he motioned me to sit with him next to a pile of old salvage wood. “This is where we meet the man on patrol from Oregon Inlet,” he said. “Used to
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