My Journal

By Harriman Nelson

22.  Bones

As much as I tried, it was hard to ignore the ladies in the Observation Nose as they had a front row view, so to speak, of the Flying Sub and her divers as they blew away the sand and silt in and around the crevasse to reveal more of what was left of the shipwreck.

“But I don’t understand,” I overheard Mrs. Crane saying, over her coffee and doughnut,  “why didn’t it show up on their instruments?”

“Because it was partially entombed,” Edith said. “All the instruments saw were ordinary sea mounds. At least that’s how Harry explained it.”

“How long before you know if it’s your ship, Admiral?” Miss Bates called out to me in the Control Room.

“And the sooner, the better,” Mrs. Crane added.

“Well, ladies,” I said as I put my pencil down from the chart I was working on, and headed their way. “That depends entirely on what the divers find. Even so, the wood may decayed to the point  that there’s no way to tell but….”

“Underwater archeology really isn’t exactly your forte is it,” Mrs. Crane said.

“Apparently not,” I admitted. “As I was saying, if we can get into the hold, we can at least, perhaps, discover what she was carrying.”

“Like chains and manacles,” Edith said. “But even that won’t identify her, will it?”

Before I could answer Lee limped down the spiral ladder. He had stitches on his forehead, and his right arm was in a sling. He was not in uniform, and had opted for his favored jeans, turtleneck, and sneakers.

“How are you feeling, son,” I got up and put my arm around his good shoulder. I couldn’t help noticing Mrs. Crane turn her head away in disgust. I wasn’t sure if she was more repulsed with my calling him ‘son’, or the affectionate embrace.

“Stupid, that’s how I feel,” Lee said as he headed to the viewports to take in the view then turned toward me as I retook my seat. “I must not have  secured the seat belt completely after using the head.”

“I meant your body.”

“I’ll live. But I still don’t agree with Doc beaching me. I can still think, you know.”

“That, Skipper,” Chip said sauntering over with his ever present clipboard in hand, “is a matter of opinion, and a concussion is nothing to fool around with.”

“But.…”

“Your grey matter got bounced around and you know as well as I do that some concussions can actually cause brain swelling, confusion, and even bleeding a while after the fact. Now, would you be inclined to allow me to take the conn if I had a bump on the head?”

“I guess not,” Lee sighed.

“Didn’t think so, but if it will make you happy, you can still initial this.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Even I can do better than that left handed,” Chip replied as he examined the scrawl. I’d better  initial your initials. There. Now, sit down before you fall down. I don’t want to have to write up another accident report.”

“You sure can be bossy when you have the conn.”

“Part of my job descriptions as Acting Captain….any of that coffee left, Edith?” Chip asked as he picked up a doughnut.

“Not anymore,” Edith said pouring out what was left in the carafe into her cup.

“I’ll have the galley send up more,” Chip said, picked up a doughnut and handed it to Lee who glared at him. “Hey, somebody has to make sure you’re fed properly.”

“Not right now, Chip. Stomachache.”

“Does Doc know?”

“He does now,” Will Jamison stood at the base of the ladder, his arms folded across his chest. “Come along, Skipper, I need to check you out again. Nausea could be a symptom of something going on upstairs.”

“I’m fine!”

“Commander Morton?”

“Scram, Skipper,” Chip said, “and as Acting Captain, that’s  an order. ”

Lee turned toward me. I swear he looked just like  a kid pleading to keep a puppy.

“Oh no you don’t,” Chip warned. “Don’t look at the admiral to over-rule me. Besides, he can’t. Now, move it buster.”

“Cheech,” Lee hissed but in the end he did get up and  followed Doc towards the aft hatch. However, he made numerous stops along  the way, speaking with his crewmen, and even checking out various monitors and consoles. I was sure this was as much to aggravate Will as to give the men his usual and welcome appreciation of their work. In any case, I could tell it was driving Will nuts.

“Admiral,” Mrs. Crane interrupted my thoughts “if there aren’t any manacles, or evidence that this boat might be your slaver, what then?”

“The Sea Nymph is not ‘my’ slaver. An abomination, especially to the Nelson name, yes. As you know, I’m trying to right that wrong by finding the remains of her captives and take them home.”

“But surely nothing you can do will absolve Captain Nelson’s actions.”

“I know that. But at least I can show the world that the Nelsons care, that we’re appalled by what he and others like him did. And if this isn’t the Nymph, we’ll take due care to recover whatever remains she has as well. Log and identify what we find for history.”

“But, if it is the Nymph,” Miss Bates said, “you’ll bring Captain Nelson and his crew’s bones aboard as well as the slaves? What will you do with him?”

 “Well, Sheamus certainly doesn’t deserve consecrated ground in the family plot, that’s for sure.  I was thinking more of donating his bones for scientific research. Even with decades of salt water intrusion Doc tells me there could still be viable clues as to diseases of the time. But I have had an offer from the Boston Maritime Museum for Sheamus’s bones.”
“You can’t be serious!” Edith said. “A museum? That would be like glorifying his memory!”

“They propose that his remains be on display in their Civil War exhibit, even if he was lost at sea decades before it. We’ll discuss it later, Edie.”

“Shouldn’t Captain Nelson-Crane have a say in your decision, now that he’s your…son?” Mrs. Crane almost spat.

“You don’t have to choke over the term, Mom,” Lee called out, near the hatch. “Whatever Harry and Edith decide is fine by me.”

“I told you not to ca…”she began but was interrupted by Sparks who waylaid his captain.

“Skipper? We got that info from the New England Genealogical and Historical Society that you wanted. The list of all the ship’s bells ordered from the manufacturers of the time. Sea Nymph’s not listed as a buyer. It’s not that a bell wasn’t ordered, just they don’t have any records of a sale to Captain Nelson. Sorry , sir.”

“Thank you Sparks.”

“What’s this all about, Lee?” I had to ask as I headed toward him.

“I did a little checking. I found out that most ship’s bells had had serial numbers or manufacturer marks engraved or stamped in them. I was hoping if there was one purchased by Sheamus it would positively identify if that wreck is the Nymph or not. ”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” Miss Bates asked herself.

“Flying Sub to Seaview,” Sharkey’s voice came over the PA, “we’ve cleared enough silt  for the divers to go into the hold.…”

“Very well,” Lee responded through Spark’s console,“Chief, make sure they keep in constant contact with you. Remember there could be further seismic activity. Sparks? Make sure you’re recording all visual and audio relayed from the Flying Sub for backup and that you send a live feed to Bermuda. Well, Harry, we’ll know soon and….and….” he stopped suddenly and slid to the deck, flat on his back, his eyes open and fixed into space.

“Skipper?” Doc asked, as he knelt beside him, feeling his pulse and checking his eyes. “Damn! His pupils are badly dilated and uneven. I told him to take it easy after that concussion! He may be hemorrhaging. That or  he may have had a stroke...”

I could hear his mother gasp as she and the ladies neared,  but I couldn’t be bothered by any sudden and unexpected concern she had. My own was overwhelming me.

“Lee? Son?" I cradled him in my arms, as Chip called for a stretcher,  "Oh God, don’t let him do this to me…wake up Lee, snap out of it…damn it, Lee!”

Just then Lee began to come around.

“You lie still,” Doc ordered.

 “Har…” Lee tried to speak, coughed and tried again, “Harry?  Sheamus….he…he went below decks…the Nymph was breaking up. He grabbed a key…headed to the hold…my God, Harry, I think…I think that he was actually going  below to try to free the slaves from drowning. Everyone else was running topside, but he kept going down.…”

 “Perhaps he wasn’t as black hearted as we thought,” Chip said.

 "Come along Skipper,” Will said as the stretcher bearers arrived, “Vision or not, there are signs of some complications. You're going to have another  brain scan…”

“I do feel a bit sick…” Lee admitted. Just then he gasped, his eyes rolled back into his head and blood began to trickle out of his nose. Then he began to convulse.

It barely registered to any of us that the flying sub was paging us, and that the ladies were screaming in concern.

“Flying Sub to Seaview. Flying Sub to Seaview. Respond please. What the hell’s going on? Answer please!”

“This is Morton. Return to Seaview."

"But...the divers report  chains, lots and lots of rusted old chains…and manacles…and…skeletons. Lot's of skeletons. ”

"Never mind that now! I want the Flying Sub here and right now. Chief, the Skipper may have had a stroke. We may need to transport him to the nearest hospital."

"Oh my God..."

I was about  to follow the stretcher out the hatch, when Doc turned toward me, "No, Admiral, I need you to stay out of the way.

I felt as if I'd been slapped.

 "He's right," Chip sighed, as we watched them carry Lee away, and herded us back to the Observation Nose.

 "I'm surprised you're concerned, Mrs. Crane," I almost spat. “Why don’t you just go…go to hell.”

"I just don't want him to have your name, Admiral,” she began to tear up, “It doesn’t mean that I want him to die!" she huffed off.

"I...I'm sorry...I...don't know what came over me..."I managed but she continued up the spiral ladder as if she hadn’t heard me. Or if she had, not giving me the satisfaction of an apology.

“I’ll…I’ll be in my cabin if you need me, Chip.”

"A lot of good that'll do the Skipper," I heard one of the men mutter.  

And I couldn't agree more.