My Journal
By Harriman Nelson
88
It was a longer drive
to Doolin than what the police from Ennis were used to, but either they
understood the need to avoid the press or they were driving me there for Lee’s
sake. I couldn’t help feeling it was for the latter.
For Lee, the Bone Buster,
the finder of Ireland’s national treasure.
In any case, it was
Lee the press were really after for statements, not me. One or two newscast trucks
followed me but suddenly turned around. I didn’t have to wonder what the more
newsworthy story was, which was confirmed by the police radio. Lee had agreed
to a press conference but would be speaking from the police station where he
'had to fill out a little more paperwork'.
That was news to me.
What was he up to?
While I boarded the
waiting flying sub, the cops shook their heads as all aircraft had been
grounded due to the fog. I assured them that our fog cutter could handle it,
though I was sure they didn’t believe it.
In minutes we were
aloft, our fog cutter in full mode though Ski and Riley were on ‘instrument’
status as a safety precaution.
Neither man engaged
me in conversation, knowing, I’m sure, that things hadn’t boded well, when Chip
had told them that their skipper wasn’t returning with me. That’s all Chip knew
himself. I hadn’t had the heart to tell him the news in absentia. He deserved a one
on one conversation.
It was a short flight
to Seaview, which was nearing the Cliffs
of Moher. Instead of ordering Chip to set a course for home, I told him ‘All
stop,’ as I wanted to make sure all hands were able to get in the magnificent
sight once the fog cleared.
It didn't take but a sorrowful negative shake of my head to inform him of
Lee's decision, which I confirmed by taking out the log, and after writing the same, and handed it to him to sign.
"I still think there's hope," he said.
"No, Chip. It's over."
The
topic of Captain Lee Nelson-Crane was on all the news as I tuned from one broadcast to another.
I wondered if the
boy’s still planned to visit the cliffs. It was something Miss McAffee had stressed to them that no visit to Ireland
would be complete without. Perhaps they still would, despite
the press conference at the police station, in which they confirmed they’d be
leaving Ireland shortly, and thanked the police for transportation to nearby Shannon
Airport. In fact, shortly after Lee and Joe had gone back into the station, a
police car emerged from the rear with motorcycle outriders, sirens blaring. All
the news trucks followed. I couldn't help thinking that either that was a well played misdirection, or Lee had again
allowed himself personal aggravation to spare me from the same.
I couldn't bear to watch the news
anymore, but was amused when the reporters, lying in wait for more interviews at the airport,were informed
that that since all flights were delayed, the police had driven the captain and commander back to the Ennis
Police Station.
Or had they, I had to wonder. After all, one police car looked like another, and there
must certainly be more than one police cruiser at Shannon's secured (and off limits) parking lot.
A few hours later,
as the fog cleared, I took my stance in the conning tower as several crewmen
began to climb topside to ooh and ahhh at the sight of the cliffs.
I could
see the visitor’s center. In addition
to a parking lot, it graced an observation platform for those unable or
unwilling (hey, it’s dangerous) to walk along a cliff with rocks and sea below.
I used binoculars to
scan the area. Of course, even so, we were too far away to distinguish anyone.
“Excuse me sir,”
O’Brien said as he joined me, “Mr. Morton thinks you might want to use these
high magnification clip on lenses.”
High magnification
lenses? So, Chip was hoping for Lee to visit the cliffs, too. Our new captain was on deck, his
eyes aimed at one part of the cliff. He suddenly stiffened. I took the hint.
Lee and Joe were standing near the edge of
a section of cliff. A bit too close to the edge I
thought.
I could see Lee’s
hands knot up into fists as he and Joe
were apparently looking toward Seaview. They were arguing but Lee never took
his eyes off the boat.
His face was morphing
from one emotion to another. I saw resolution, regret, sadness, longing,
despair, love even. And were his eyes watering? Or was that the mist from the
waves crashing against the cliff.
His lips pursed, and
he said something to Joe, who argued with him all the more, until Lee turned
and headed away toward the parking lot and a rental car, if the big R on it meant anything, Joe following, waving his arms
about as they climbed in.
Indeed. It was over.
“Keep her here until everyone’s
had a chance to see the cliffs,” I managed to
tell Chip after I joined him on the deck.
“Aye sir.”
An
hour later, when we were just about to
sound the klaxon to dive Sparks called
out that the Irish Coast Guard was ordering us to cease and desist whatever we
were doing and that they were going to board us as soon as one of their vessels
reached us.
“What the hell?” was
all Chip or I could mutter.
“All our papers are
in order,” O’Brien said. “And this isn’t a restricted area. Unless they changed
the maritime rules without telling us.”
Even our call to the
US Ambassador hadn’t figured out the problem. Finally, the Coast Guard cutter
arrived and secured their gangplank to our deck.
“It’s Commander
Jackson, sir!” O’Brien called out as he came out from the cutter’s wheelhouse.
“Permission to hitch
a ride home, sir?” Joe hollered.
“Permission granted,”
I hollered back, “with pleasure.”
“Thanks,” he said as
he strode over the gangplank to Seaview.“Beats coach on an airline any day.”
I had Kowalski and
Riley stow his baggage and escort him to his former cabin.
I was about to ask
what was taking so long for the Coast Guard to uncouple with us, when someone
in an American naval uniform emerged from the wheelhouse and shook hands with
the vessel’s master.
Then he turned, and
called out, “Permission to come aboard?”
“Well,” Chip answered
after he and I learned to breathe again, “let me think about it….”
“Oh good grief,” Lee
said, ignoring him, strode across the gangplank, saluted the colors, and
stepped aboard. “Again,” he said gently, “permission to come aboard, Chip? As
her captain? But only if you’re sure it’s okay,” he added quickly. “I want you
to be sure, Chip. I need you to be sure.”
“Damn it, Lee, when
haven’t I been?” Chip replied, grabbing and squeezing Lee’s shoulders, only
releasing our errant skipper to click the mike for a boat wide message. “The
skipper has the conn! I repeat, Captain Nelson-Crane has the conn!”
I swear I could hear
the whoops and yells of joy all the way from the depths of E deck.
“Mr. Morton,” Lee
said, “as soon as my gear is stowed, and we’re uncoupled, set a course for
home.”
“Aye sir!” Chip
replied in undisguised glee.
“Harry,” Lee said,
taking my arm, (I was still in shock, leaning against the conning tower for
support, breathing heavily, noticeably overcome) “come along, Let’s get below.”
Needless to say, it
was a happy crew as Seaview disappeared into the depths and took her leave of
the Irish coast.
I was still
overwhelmed by the fact that Lee was ‘home’, glad that I had a chance to soak
it in while he attended to his duties in the Control Room, (including altering the log), before joining me in
the Observation Nose.
“Damn, that felt
good,” Lee said as he finally approached. I could tell he wanted to talk, but
just then Maleficent decided to make her presence known .
“Ah,” Lee said, and
bent down to pick her up, “so you’re our ship’s cat…Mallie, isn’t it?”
She meowed and began
to purr in his arms.
He pulled out a little fish shaped treat from
his shirt pocket for
her. He sat down in the chair next to me, the cat pawing at his pocket for
another treat.
Just then Cookie
approached, “Skipper, what would you like for supper? I mean, now that I’m not
cooking anymore of that fancy European stuff.”
“I don’t have a
clue…what about you Chip?” he called out, “what would you like for supper later?”
“Hey, don’t forget
me,” Joe said from the spiral ladder.
“Whatever they want.”
Soon Chip, Joe and
Cookie were involved in a deep discussion.
“Excuse me, Skipper,”
Kowalski interrupted, “we were wondering if you’d like to see what’s left on
the crew’s bulletin board before we finish
up the last scrapbook of your adventures.”
“I’ll be down shortly,
Ski.”
“Excuse me, Skipper,”
Sparks called out, “the White House for you. Private call. Not secured.”
Before Lee could tell
Sparks to tell the president where he could go, (okay, I’m exaggerating but personal calls from the president
boded no good), I
patted Lee on the arm and told to go ahead and take it in his cabin, and took
Maleficent from his arms.
That was more than an
hour ago. Maleficent’s long since disappeared back to her kittens, and Lee’s
been attending to some of the myriad of duties that as captain he has now. What
the White House call was about, I have no idea.
In a way I’m glad for
the delay in talking with him as I’m still overwhelmed by his resumption of
command and think I might have blubbered like a baby in sheer relief, had we
spoken right away. I still may.
Welcome home, son.
Welcome home,
Captain.
