Chatper Two -- Overboard!

High Seas Adventures

By Ellen Weaver Bailey

This is a slightly fictionalized version of the biography of 19^th-century seaman Joseph Bates. While all of the events are strictly true, his Autobiography often lacks detail, so I have added logical dialogue and actions to fill in the blanks. I have also somewhat modernized the language.

Joseph raised his face to the breeze as the brig Fanny slipped from her mooring in New Bedford and glided out of the harbor, headed for New York and London. It was June of 1807, a month before his 15^th birthday, and he was a real seaman! He could hardly wait for the adventures to begin.

It didn’t take long. A pilot took the wheel as they approached the city of New York by way of Long Island Sound and the East River.

“All hands on deck!” commanded Captain Terry

“All hands on deck!” echoed First Mate Eldridge as men scrambled from every part of the ship.

“We’re approachin’ Hurl Gate,” announced the pilot. “Sailors call it Hell Gate, and there’s a good reason fer that. This here passage is narrow, so the tides tear through like bull seein’ a red flag. Many ships have been lost like that” -- he snapped his fingers –  “ ‘cause of a moment’s inattention.” Then he appointed each man to a station to manage the sails.

“Stand at your station with no jabberin’. Watch me and listen fer my commands. If we run into trouble, ye’ll need to hop to instantly, or none of us is goin’ to be writin’ home about it.” Joseph stood silent among his shipmates. Each crewman kept his eyes on the pilot, afraid to move, ears straining to hear his voice above the crashing of the waters in the strait. When the ship winged its way safely through, every man drew a relieved breath. Joseph was impressed with the knowledge and skill of the pilot. Promptness and exertion brought us through a perilous situation, he told himself. I’ll remember that.

In New York, they took on a load of wheat, so much that it spilled into the hatchways.

“We’ll be lucky if we don’t sink from the weight of so much cargo,” worried Adams, an old hand.

“We’ll be all right,” Captain Terry assured him. Joseph hoped the captain was as knowledgeable and capable as the pilot had been.

All hands boarded the ship the night before they were to sail although some of them were rather late in coming on board. Eldridge left it so long that it was full dark as he approached the vessel, and he had to carry a lighted lantern to find his way up the plank. But even that didn’t save him from slipping over the edge into the strong, swift current, between the ship and the wharf. He yelped as he was pulled under. Thinking fast, Adams slung a coil of rope under the wharf, on the off-chance that Eldridge would catch it.

He did! It was a struggle against the powerful pull of the water, but at last he was hauled safely up onto the deck. When he could breathe in anything but terrified gulps, his first thought was of the lantern.

“It’s down at the bottom of the river,” he mourned, with good New England thriftiness.

“No, it’s not!” exclaimed Adams. “It’s right there in your hand!” Heads swung toward Eldridge’s right hand, where he clutched the lantern in a death grip, and the crew found it impossible to restrain their laughter. The good humor was interrupted by a cry from the wharf.

“Ahoy the ship!” All heads swung back toward the gangplank, where a man about 20 years old was climbing swiftly in the dark. Captain Terry greeted the newcomer.

“We’re carrying a few passengers,” said Terry. “Do you wish to travel with us?

“I’d love to, but I don’t have the money for the passage,” said the young man.

“Well, then, why have you come?” asked the captain.

“My name is Moore, and I’ve come all the way from Philadelphia,” said the man. “There’s a book I want, and I can’t find it anywhere here. I’m told it might be available in London.” He drew a deep breath.  “My question is, may I work my way to London on your ship?” The captain was so surprised it took him a moment to answer.

“Well,” he said, thoughtfully, “you did a god job of climbing the gangplank in the dark – and without even a lantern.” The crew’s focus returned to First Mate Eldridge, who grinned sheepishly. “But you realize, you’d be going as a green hand on a voyage of six or seven months. The work would be harder and the pay lower than for experienced seamen.”

“I’ll work as hard as I need to, if only I can go with you. I really want that book.” So the determined Mr. Moore was hired on. Since Joseph was also new to sailing and his job description as cabin boy was that he would do any work the captain told him to, he and Moore often worked together. What a man! To work so hard, on the chance of finding a particular book. The teenager was impressed.

The voyage out was pleasant, and they made good time into the English Channel.

“Hey, what’s that?” called out a sailor. There in the water were numerous kegs, tied together into groups, with buoys attached.

“Lay to the main tops’l!” ordered the captain, and the crew lashed the main topsail to the mast. A few snickering sailors lowered a boat  -- they knew what they would find -- and soon returned with several kegs, which were quickly broached.

“Gin in this one!” yelled a sailor, triumphantly.

“I’ve got good French brandy here,” exclaimed another.

One by one, all the kegs were found to contain the illegal liquor. Party time! Crew members surged toward the kegs, but the captain’s upraised hand stopped them in their tracks.

“Contraband,” said the captain grimly, for the benefit of those sailors who had not come this way before. “Brought in from France by smugglers. When the revenue cutters chase ‘em, the smugglers throw the kegs overboard. If they’re caught with the goods, the fine is so high that it pretty much ruins them financially. For life.”

“Why do they attach buoys?” asked Joseph. 

“To help them find the cargo after the revenuers leave. But even if it’s lost, though, they can make up the money on their next voyage.”

“Can we keep these?” asked a sailor, still hopeful.

“No way,” replied the captain. “If we were caught, I could never pay the fine. And we’re heading right into London. We’re sure to meet revenuers.” The sailors groaned mournfully as they tossed the kegs overboard.

  As soon as the Fanny arrived at the dock, she was boarded by officers of the Royal Navy.

“Good thing we didn’t keep those kegs,” a sailor murmured out of the side of his mouth as the officers flung open the hatches.

“My word” exclaimed the group’s commander as he gazed down at the golden cargo, “there’s so much!” All the officers knelt and ran their hands through the grain.

“So clean and dry!” exclaimed one.

“This’ll be a boon to our sailors when they go out to face old Boney,” said a second.

“Yes, with good grain like this, our boys‘ll be strong enough to fight off Napoleon Bonaparte and all his allies,” their commanding officer concluded. “Well done, Yanks! We’ll be glad to buy your entire cargo. Name your price.”

At this, Captain Terry beamed. The Fanny was obviously a lucky ship, he thought, with typical sailor superstition.

“Captain Terry,” said Moore after the officers had left, “could I have an advance on my wages so I can buy the book? I – I might not have enough cash with me.” He looked both eager and fearful at the same time.

“It’s not usual for sailors to be paid until the end of the voyage,” said the captain. The young man’s face fell. “But I’ve been impressed by your willingness and hard work. I’m convinced you’re not about to jump ship. Sure, I’ll cheerfully pay you for the time you’ve put in.” Thanking the capnaib, Moore took the money and headed out into the city. Late in the afternoon he did return, waving the book over his head.

“I found it! I found it!” he exclaimed triumphantly as he ran up the gangplank, and all the sailors cheered.

With the cargo unloaded and paid for, the captain ordered the crew to prepare for the voyage home. First, they had to replenish their water supply. Joseph knew their water barrels were nearly all empty and was glad they would be refilled. But he was shocked when the empty barrels were lowered into the filthy Thames and hauled back aboard, trailing water streaked with green, red and yellow mud. Joseph couldn’t help making a face at the sight. A nearby sailor clapped him on the shoulder.

“’Feart of a little Thames water, me lad?” he teased. Joseph nodded. “Don’t worry,” the sailor continued. “All the muck’ll settle to the bottom, and we’ll drink the clear water off the top. It’ll taste fine. Trust me.” Joseph nodded weakly.

“I still say, give me good spring water from Vermont or New Hampshire,” he said, causing the sailor to guffaw and clap him on the back again.

“If yer gonna be a sailor, me lad, ye’ll be eatin’ and drinkin’ worse than this. No room for namby pamby misses aboard ship.” Joseph squared his shoulders and stood up to his full height, determined to prove his manliness. Not another word would he say about the disgusting-looking water.

Nothing happened for the next 18 days, as the ship sailed past Land’s End and out into the North Atlantic. Then, one Sunday morning, a shark was spotted following the ship. Very little was known about sharks in those days, and the crew delighted in relieving their boredom by scaring the passengers – and themselves – with tales they had heard about these ferocious creatures.

“A shark’ll follow behind a ship when someone on board is sick,” said one sailor, looking wise. “When the person dies, the shark catches the body as it’s thrown overboard, and eats it up.”

“If a person falls overboard, a shark’ll swallow him whole,” said another. This was a chilling bit of news for a 15-year-old cabin boy.

“Naw,” a third disagreed. “The shark bites ‘im in two and then swallows the pieces.” Somehow, the thought of being eaten in two pieces instead of one did not comfort Joseph much.

“Let’s catch the shark!” suggested one of the crew. So they dangled a piece of meat over the side, hoping to lure the marine creature close enough to grab it with a barbed gaff and haul it aboard. But the shark would not be moved. It kept its position somewhat to the stern of the ship.

“That way, it can see anythin’ that falls from either side of the ship,” said an old sailor. “Then it’ll swim up – and they can move fast – and catch whatever falls as soon as it hits the water. Maybe before it hits.” After a few hours of this, though, everyone lost interest in the shark and went about their business.

Along toward evening, a bored Joseph decided to climb the main-topgallant masthead to the crow’s nest, which may have been simply a barrel nailed to the mast, and see if he could see another ship, -- or anything -- on the water. Nothing. The sea was an endless blank slate. With a sigh, the boy began to descend the rigging.

He was about 50 feet from the deck when he missed a handhold, bounced off the rigging and plunged into the sea! The cold waters of the north Atlantic closed over his head.

The Beasts of Midnight

I enjoy “camping out” in the shed with the cats, and I’m glad the possums come in to eat and tank up on water. Maybe all that water they drink is the reason their fur is so soft. It gives me a good, Sam-Campbellish feeling to provide for critters, domestic and wild. I haven’t been able to sleep in a bed since the electric scooter accident back in ’04, so I have a new recliner out in the shed, and it is very comfortable.

At night I leave the shed door open slightly, winter and summer, so the cats and possums can go in and out at will without waking me up. Because they will. The possums scratch at the door, and the cats meow until they get my attention and roust me out to serve them. Last night, though, it got so cold by midnight in spite of the heater that I got up, put a full food dish outside (a water dish was already out)  and shut the door, hoping Bright was up in the loft instead of out in the cold. Hurry Possum got shut in with the rest of us because she was too scared to go out the door with me standing there, and I was too tired to go back to bed, wait for her to leave and get up again to shut the door. I told her to curl up in a snug spot and go to sleep. Then I returned to the recliner and pulled the covers over my head.

But possums are nocturnal animals. That means they don’t sleep at night. They roam around. They crunch food. They turn over wastebaskets. And hiding under the covers does not shut out the sounds of their scrabbling little feet as they climb and fall, then open and inspect my boxes of stored belongings. At one point, I felt a tug on the sheet, and, thinking it was one of the cats, I pushed back the covers and opened my eyes so I could see to pet it. It was Hurry, climbing up over the arm to take possession of the recliner!

At sight of me, she dropped to the floor, where she continued her explorations, accompanied by the rattling of rakes and shovels, occasional crashes of unknown objects and the slide of a stack of documents from the desk onto the floor.

By 3:00 o’clock I couldn’t take any more. After righting the wastebasket, I held the door open and ordered Hurry to leave. She froze in place, blocking the doorway so that Bright, who had been out in the cold, had to jump over her to get back inside, where he immediately leaped onto the cat condo and from there up to the loft. I gave up and returned to bed with the door still open. For the rest of the night, I heard occasional possum-cat squabbles over the food dishes, but I returned the covers to the over-the-head position and ignored the fights.

Eventually I fell asleep, just in time to be jerked from a deep slumber by the alarm.

High Seas Adventures Chapter One – Dreams of Adventure

This story is taken primarily from the Autobiography of Joseph Bates.

Chapter One – Dreams of Adventure

“Man your stations! The pirates are boarding!” The stalwart Captain of the East Indiaman knew the dangers of the Malacca Strait, and he had trained his crew for just this sort of encounter. For some time the sailors were able to hold off the assault with their modern flintlocks, manufactured in the famous works at Harpers Ferry, Virginia. Each firearm could be shot only once because reloading took too long in the heat of battle. The sailors dropped their spent guns to draw their swords and daggers of fine Toledo steel, also supplied by the forward-thinking captain, and slashed at the lines holding the grappling hooks to the rails of his merchant ship.

Seeing a pirate strike his first mate, the brave captain rushed to the rescue of the downed man, brandishing his own sword. The pirate fell back, but a sudden blow from behind knocked the captain’s weapon to the deck. Drawing his dagger, the captain spun to face this new threat and saw the grinning pirate leader holding his blood-drenched sword aloft.

“Now I have you!” snarled the pirate. “Now you die, Mr. Bates! –“

“Mr. Bates!” the schoolmaster’s voice yanked Joseph from his daydream. The 14-year-old lad sprang to his feet.

“Well?” the schoolmaster asked impatiently. “Do you have the answer for us?” Joseph stared, his mouth open, unable to think of anything to say.

“You were attending, were you not?” asked the teacher sarcastically. “You did hear the question?”

“Er – uh – n-no, Sir” Joseph stammered. The teacher’s face darkened into a scowl.

“Very well, come to my desk and hold out your hands.”

Joseph walked to the teacher’s desk, a distance that suddenly seemed miles long. There were a few snickers form the other boys in the room. Joseph was just happy that the girls’ class met in the other room. Not everyone believed in education for girls in 1806, but the people of New Bedford, Massachusetts, were proud of their academy, sponsored by Joseph’s father and other community leaders, which educated both sexes. They did not go so far, however, as to imagine that boys and girls should be taught together. Joseph knew Prudy’s face would wear an expression of intense sympathy, and that would be harder to bear than the boys’ snickers.

He clenched his jaw as the teacher’s sturdy wooden ruler smacked down across the back of his fingers once, twice, three times, inflicting agonizing pain. He managed to not cry out, but only just. It hurt so badly he wondered if he would ever be able to use his hands again, but he gave no sign of his suffering. There were no snickers as he made his way back to his seat.

“Perhaps that will teach you not to daydream in class,” snarled the teacher, sounding an awful lot like the pirate leader in Joseph’s daydream.

As soon as school let out, Joseph hurried from the classroom and out the boys’ door. Sure enough, here came Prudy from the girls’ door. They met in the middle.

“I heard what happened, Joseph,” she said in her no-nonsense way. “Come home with me, and I’ll put some witch hazel on your fingers.”

“Oh, I’m all right, Pru- er, Miss Nye,” he said. Joseph and Prudence Nye, a year younger, had been best friends since they were preschoolers, but just recently he had begun to see her as a girl. He found himself flushing and stammering whenever he was around her. Prudy carefully took his hands and turned them over.

“Not all right at all,” she said. “Come along. And don’t ‘Miss Nye’ me. We’ve been friends too long to go all formal now.” She led him to her house, where he greeted her mother and sister and received a liberal dabbing of witch hazel over his knuckles. Then he hurried home to do his chores before supper. He ate slowly, and then reluctantly opened his math book on the kitchen table. It was hard to keep his mind on the Rule of Three when visions of sailing ships kept intruding.

“Mother,” he said, turning to where she bustled about. “Would you speak to father about letting me go to sea?”

“Oh, Joseph, surely you don’t want to do that,” said Mother. “Sailors lead low, immoral lives. They suffer terrible diseases from exposure to all kinds of weather. You would ruin your constitution and destroy your soul.”

“No, I wouldn’t. I promise. My schooling will be finished in a few months, and I have to do something.” His eyes, like his voice, were pleading. Mother sighed.

“Why don’t you go into business with your father?” she suggested. “Or become a doctor like your brother Aaron?”

“I don’t want either of those. I want to be a sea captain. I want to explore the world. I want to see for myself what it looks like on the other side!” Joseph’s voice rose n excitement.

“You realize that nobody starts out as a sea captain. You would have to work for years and years as a common seaman, in the worst conditions.”

“Of course, I know that. I can handle it, I know I can. If you and Father would only let me go!” Joseph was almost hopping around, he was so desperate to carry his point.

“Well, right now, you just do your homework. I don’t want you to get punished by the schoolmaster again.” Joseph subsided into his chair.

“Yes, Mother,” he mumbled, his head hanging.

Finally, his parents accepted that he was not going to be happy until he went to sea, but they worked out a scheme with Uncle Barnabas that they thought would cure him.

“A few days of seasickness, and he’ll change his mind quick enough,” Uncle Barnabas assured them. Joseph was called into the parlor.

“Joseph,” said Father, “we have arranged for you to take a short voyage to Boston and along the coast, with your Uncle Barnabas here.”

“If you’re sure you want to go,” teased Mother.

“Yes!” exclaimed Joseph. “I mean – Aye, aye” He smartly saluted his uncle, who laughed to see his eagerness.

The voyage had the opposite effect of the one his parents had hoped for. It confirmed for Joseph that the sea was the life for him. With sighs of reluctance, his parents capitulated.

“Your father has arranged for you to ship as a cabin boy on the Fanny,” Mother told him.

“It’s a new ship, commanded by Captain Terry,” Father said. “It will sail from New Bedford to London very soon. You don’t have much time to get ready.”

Time! Joseph needed no time. He was ready to go right now. Well, of course, he had to say goodbye to Prudy first, and pack his trunk, but those things wouldn’t take long. He hurried to Prudy’s house.

“Are you annoyed with me because I’m going to sea?” Joseph asked her. “After all, you thought I was going to be a minister.”

“Oh, I’ve known for some time that you were over that idea,” said Prudy. “And my father was a sea captain, remember, so I know what it’s like to wait for—“ she broke off with a blush. Joseph’s voice was very soft as he responded.

“You will wait for me?” he asked, almost timidly. Prudy raised her head and looked him in the eyes.

“Yes, I will wait, as long and as often as I need to,” she declared.

Flurry in "Her" Apartment

At 2:00 this morning, I found a very happy Flurry Possum in the cat condo apartment she considers hers. I just love the possums' tiny pink toes.

Tenacity

When I left PT yesterday, these Stel D'Oro lilies were still blooming.

 I admire their tenacity.

Gizmo the Squirrel

The following is a true story -- with my own ending

Photo by James  Barker, courtesy of Free Digital Photos

Gizmo and His Family

Gizmo was a reddish-brown squirrel with a fluffy tail who lived in the hollow of an old oak tree with his wife, Gillyflower. But they didn't call each other Gizmo and Gillyflower. They called each other Honey. In squirrel talk, of course, so it came out something like chitchitchittercheechee.

"Honey, I'm home!" Gizmo called as he entered the hollow in the tree. His cheeks were so stuffed with acorns that he almost could not get inside the opening that was the door to their den.

“I see that, Honey," said Gillyflower, who sat right next to the door, watching over their sleeping triplets, Garth, Gail and Glen. The babies' parents called them Garth, Gail and Glen. "The babies just ate, and they're taking a nap so they can play with their Papa."

"Good," said Gizmo, unloading the acorns into a crack in the hollow. The crevice next to it was already full, and Gizmo looked around with pride.

"The cracks and crevices are almost all full," he said with satisfaction. "Next, I will fill the hollow below ours and then the one above. We will have plenty of food to last us through the winter."

"Soon the babies will be big enough to leave the nest, and then. I can help you gather more food. And we will teach the babies how to gather, too." 

Just then Garth opened his little brown eyes and saw Gizmo.

“Papa! Papa!” shouted Garth, waking his sister and brother. Soon all three babies were shouting.

“Papa! Play with us! Play with us!” So Gizmo played tag, horseback ride and hide-and-seek with his babies until Garth, Gail and Glen were worn out. Then the little ones up together and fell sound asleep. Gillyflower covered them carefully with leaves and dandelion fluff. Then she joined Gizmo to stand in the opening to their den. She pressed her head tight against Gizmo’s and sighed in contentment as they watched the sunset together.

“We have such a good life,” said Gizmo. “Being a squirrel is the best thing in the world.”

Gizmo Meets Mr. Bill

On a sunny day not long after, Gizmo hummed a happy little squirrel tune as he gathered horse chestnuts and maple seeds to add to the pile in the hollow below the den. Suddenly he stopped. A metal pan lay on the ground right in front of him. And it had something in it. Something that smelled like nuts, but not any nuts that grew in the yard. Gizmo reached out a paw and picked up a nut. He turned it around and around, checking it out carefully from every side. Then he held it up to his nose and sniffed it. He bit off a piece of shell and shook it. Out fell two strange-shaped nuts. Gizmo took a cautious bite of one. It was good!

“Do you like the peanuts, Gizmo?” Startled, Gizmo looked up to the porch, where the voice came from. He recognized the man speaking although they had never met. The porch was on an apartment house, and this man, Mr. Bill, lived in the first apartment just inside the door. Mr. Bill held a bag that still had some peanuts in it.

“Go ahead and eat all you want,’ said Mr. Bill “I’ll put more in the pan every day.” For the next several minutes, Gizmo ate and ate. Then he stuffed his cheeks full and ran up the tree to the den.

“Honey you’ve got to try these nuts,” he said excitedly, handing one to Gillyflower. She tore the shell off the nut and bit into one. Her eyes opened wide.

“That’s good!” she exclaimed. “I never tasted something like this before. Where did it come from?”

“Mr. Bill filled a whole pan with them, and he said he’s going to do it every day! He calls them peanuts.

“Tell you what,” said Gizmo, “I’ll stay with the babies, and you go out and eat all the peanuts you want. If there are any left over, we can put them with the rest of our food supply for the winter.”

“And if Mr. Bill puts more out every day, we can add lots and lots of peanuts to our winter supply.”

“That’s wonderful, Honey!” said Gillyflower. “We can eat the peanuts for dessert all winter!” And with that, she leaped out of the den and ran down the tree to the yard. When she had eaten all she wanted, there were still lots left over. Filling her mouth with peanuts, she ran back up the tree to the lower hollow and deposited the peanuts in a crevice.  Then she smiled a squirrel smile. This would be the best winter ever!

After that, Gizmo brought peanuts to Gillyflower every day, and they both stashed peanuts in the tree hollows for winter meals.

And then one day when Gizmo hurried to the pan, he found it empty! What had happened? Did Mr. Bill forget? Was he sick? Gizmo was very confused and upset. What could he do? He looked up at the porch. The door to the building was open; he could see Mr. Bill’s door just inside. Maybe if he …

Gizmo found himself on the steps up to the porch. How had that happened? Never mind; he was almost all the way up, so he might as well continue. When he reached the porch, he stopped and looked around. Nobody was in the hall or on the steps. He couldn’t hear Mr. Bill moving around in his apartment. Maybe he had fallen and couldn’t get up. Sometimes that happened to older humans. Slowly, Gizmo crossed the porch. He took a deep breath and stepped across the threshold into the hall. So far, so good.

Gizmo stood in front of Mr. Bill’s door. Cautiously, he raised a paw and made it into something like a fist, like he had seen human visitors do.

Knock, knock, knock. Was that right? It was a very small knock. Once again. Knock, knock, knock.

It worked! He could hear Mr. Bill moving around inside. In a couple of minute the door opened and Mr. Bill looked out. But he was looking up high.

“Chitchitchit!” said Gizmo. That did it. Mr. Bill looked down. His eyes got big, and his mouth fell open.

“Gizmo!” he said, “Was that you knocking? I never heard of a squirrel knocking on a door before.”

“Chitchitchitter!” said Gizmo.

“The peanut pan is empty,” said Mr. Bill. What was this? Did Mr. Bill understand squirrel language?

“Chitterchitterchitchitchit!” said Gizmo, urgently.

“All right,” said Mr. Bill. “I’ll be out with more peanuts in a couple of minutes.”

He shut the door, and Gizmo was left marveling. A human who understood squirrel language! Would wonders never cease? He scampered back out to the yard, and sure enough, in a couple of minutes here came Mr. Bill with his bag of peanuts.

He poured peanuts into the pan until they were heaped up extra high. Gizmo hurried to fill his cheeks with nuts because he could see other squirrels heading for the pan. Here came Gustav -- and Burt the Bully, with the usual frown on his face. Everybody filled their cheeks and ran back to their trees, making trip after trip until the pan was empty again.

After that, whenever Gizmo found the pan empty, he scampered up the steps, across the porch and to Mr. Bill’s door. He knocked and Mr. Bill always opened the door and promised to bring peanuts right out. The squirrel family’s stack of desserts grew higher and higher. Life was good.

The Family Goes Visiting

“Honey,” said Gillyflower one summer day, “the babies are ready to leave the nest. They’re eating solid food now, and they are big and strong. They’re almost as big as we are.”

“All right,” said Gizmo. “We will take them out today.” He turned to the children.

Now, watch Papa and me, and do what we do.”

The kids followed their parents down the trunk of the tree. The outside world was so much fun! With lots of room to run, they began to chase each other round and round and up and down the trees. In the following days, Gizmo and Gillyflower showed Garth, Gail and Glen how to gather delicious food for the winter. The kids also enjoyed eating the peanuts left by Mr. Bill. In fact, they all enjoyed the peanuts so much that Gizmo made a decision. The next day he called the family together.

“Garth! Gail! Glen! Brush off all the leaves and fluff. You’re going visiting today!”

“Hooray! Hooray!” called the kids. “We’re going visiting! Who are we going to visit?”

“Just get ready, and you’ll see,” said Gizmos. “There is someone I want all of you to meet. You too, Honey,” he said to Gillyflower. Quickly, the youngsters began to brush each other’s fur.

“Hold it, Garth,” said Gail. “There’s a bit of leaf behind your ear. She tossed the piece of leaf to the floor. Soon all the squirrel children’s fur was brushed and shining.

“You all look so elegant,” said Gillyflower. “You make me very proud. You’re ready for whoever we’re going to meet.

“And you look elegant, too, Honey,” said Gizmo. He led the way, with Gillyflower at his heels and the children not far behind. They all scampered across the yard.

“Aren’t we going to eat some peanuts?” asked Glen as they passed the peanut pan.

“Not right now,” said Gizmo, as he ran right up the steps on to the porch. His whole family stopped short. Going into a house! They weren’t ready for that.

“Come on,” urged Gizmo. “It’s safe. This is my friend Mr. Bill. He’s the one who gives us the peanuts. I want him to meet my whole family, and I want you to meet him.” Gillyflower put one foot on the bottom step, then the other one. The children pushed up against her, kind of hiding behind her.

“Oh, come on,” she said with determination. “We don’t know Mr. Bill, but we know we can trust your father.” Moments later they all stood in front of Mr. Bill’s door. Gizmo raised his paw and knocked on the door. They all stood quietly, waiting, and a couple of minutes later the door opened.

“Chitchitterchittercheecheechit,” said Gizmo.

“Oh,” said Mr. Bill, “so this is your family. What a nice family”

“He knows squirrel language!” Gillyflower whispered to her husband.

“Yes, isn’t it exciting?” Gizmo whispered back. Gillyflower looked right at Mr. Bill.

“Cheechittercheechee,” she said.

“Why, thank you,” said Mr. Bill. “I’m very pleased to meet you, too.”

Gizmo Takes on a Bully

It was autumn, and Gizmo and his whole family were gathering nuts and seeds for winter. Their den and the downstairs hollow were both full; the upstairs hollow had only a little space left. The peanuts supplied by Mr. Bill had helped a lot. Gustav came up and started picking up peanuts from the pan, too. Then Mack and his family joined them and – oh-oh! – Burt the Bully. As usual, Burt had a scowl on his face. He always frowned at everyone.

For some time, the squirrels worked peacefully, but Gizmo kept a sharp eye on things. Burt the Bully was edging closer and closer to Garth. Suddenly, Burt knocked Garth right over, hit him in the face and stole the peanut right out of his paws! Garth squealed in pain and pressed a paw to his face.

Like a streak of lightning, Gizmo leaped straight across the peanut pan and punched Burt in the face. Now it was Burt who went rolling in the dust, squealing with pain and fright.

“Cheecheecheechit!” screamed Gizmo, meaning, “Leave my kid alone!” Burt shielded his face with his paws as Gizmo continued to pummel him.

“All right! All right! I’m sorry!” whimpered Bully. “Just let me up. I’ll never go near anyone in your family again.” Gizmo stopped hitting him. He stepped back and let Bully get up off the ground.

“That’s better,” said Gizmo. “There are plenty of peanuts for everyone. Just stick to picking up your own and don’t ever steal from someone else again.”

“I promise,” Burt said humbly as he got up. “It’s just that nobody seems to like me, and that makes me get wild sometimes.”

“Everybody would like you just fine if you didn’t bully them,” said Gizmo. “If you were nice to them, they’d be nice to you.”

“Really?”

“Really. Try it.”

“But they all hate me now. How can I ever convinced them that I’ve changed?”

“I’ll tell you what,” said Gizmo. “Why don’t you come to dinner with us tonight? When people see that I’m not mad at you, they will be more likely to give you a chance.” Burt was astonished.

“You’d do that for me?”’

“Yeah,” said Gizmo. “I’d rather have a friend than an enemy, anytime.” Burt turned to Garth.

“I’m really sorry, Garth. Will you forgive me?”

“Sure,” said Garth. “Are you coming to dinner at our house?”

“I guess I am,” said Burt. And for the first time since they had known him, Burt smiled.

No Sam Campbell

I have to face it, I'm no Sam Campbell. Last night I set out food and water for the possums outside my Grammy Cave and shut and latched the door. I slept without fear of having to clean up possum waste.

But I did get up a couple of times and refill their dishes.

Possum Kids

Scurry Possum headed into the top "apartment" of the cat condo, obviously intent on pooping. I picked her up, nearly giving her a heart attack, and put her in the possum litter box. She jumped out and ran for the door. A little later, Curry or Hurry wnet into the apartment and did NOT poop, so I gave her some cat treats. She ate out of my hand! So I petted her; that was too much. She ducked away. So far, the possums have hissed, shown their teeth (but not used them), ducked, dodged and ru. None has yet played possum.

Last night I saw Flurry Possum leaving the cat litter box, having properly used it. I praised her and went to get some treats to reward her. Came back to find her squatting on the plywood floor (We were in the shed, aka Grammy Cave), with urine issuing from behind. I yelled. Note to self: yelling does not abate the issuance of possum urine. To Flurry's credit, she then clmbed into the top apartment of the cat condo, sat in the window and comtemplated my sister's painting of Hannah praying for a son. Who knew possums were art connoisseurs? Or biblical scholars?

Too Many Critters

There are four possum youngsters in the shed  (aka Grammy Cave) tonight. I'm writing this at 3 a.m. -- because who can sleep with four possums in the place? For one thing, I have to lie awake and wonder whether there were four all along, and I just didn't notice it because only two came in at a time. And are they even Edgarina's offspring? Maybe they simply heard through the PNC -- Possum News Channel -- that this was a good place to get a meal and a nap.

Jut to be on the safe side, I named them -- Curry and Hurry. Curry climbed onto the cat condo. Scurry already had the top platform, so Curry went to the highest "apartment." Flurry was already in there, and  sibling or not, she was not about to share her quarters, even though there was plenty of room. Flurry therefore encouraged the newcomer to leave -- quickly. So Curry settled down on a lower platform, and began to wash herself, as Scurry ws doing on the top level.

Meanwhile, Hurry ate as quickly as she could. I scared her half to death by going over nd refilling the food and water dishes.She dodged to one side and made motions like she was about to take refuge under the built-in worktable, but she hurriedly returned to eating when I stepped away. They all are probably fattening up for a long winter's nap. Soemtimes I wonder whether they have chosen my Grammy Cave for their winter den.

As each possum moved to a different place, I reminded them, "Use the litter box." They unanimously ran through it and hid in various corners of the room.

H and C must be newcomers beause the cats quickly reached the limit of their tolerance. Even Goldsmith  is whining and growling a cat challenge, and he loves everybody. The possums may be scared, but they aren't about to give up the free eats. There has been some scurrying and interspecies hissing, but the possum children have settled down to eat in twos, which I suppose gives them some feeling of security. And it worked because Goldsmith has given up his challenge and resettled on my office chair next to the recliner I sleep in. Nervous BB has left his spot atop a box and is cowering next to me in the recliner.

Interestingly enough, I've been reading a Sam Campbell book. Campbell was a naturalist who lived most of the year in an animal sanctuary in the north woods until his death in 1962. He and hi wife, Giny, rescued, raised and released many orphaned animals, from tiny red squirrels to bears.He wrote about their adventures and troubles with the wild creatures, and in the deepest recesses of my heart, I have always wanted to be Sam Campbell, so I welcome the wild ones.

I just hope I don't have to clean up possum poop when daylight comes.

Growing

Scurry Possum was in the shed last night, and I was awake from 2:00, so I fed her treats. She was hesitant at first. She would not take them from my hand; I had to put them down on the platform of the cat condo, where she was washing herself. But when she got a good sniff, she attacked them. Sooner or later, she will warm up to me.

She's growing into her ears. They no longer look so huge on her head.

I choose to sleep out in the shed because it's cooler than the house. And I like being surrounded by the cats and possums.

Scurry As a Baby

Scurry, one of Edgarina's surviving babies, likes to sit on the top platform of the cat condo and wash herself. I never knew possums washed themselves like cats. Maybe that's why the two species seem to get along -- at least in my shed. I used to pet her, but it only terrorized her.She has grown some since this photo was taken. The background painting was done by my sister, Lois Bailey Houston.

Best Friends at the Hofgarten in Dusseldorf.

These two stayed close to each other the whole afternoon. I wish I knew their story.

The Monster and the Fleas

The Monster and the FleasI shut the shed door so the cats couldn't escape after breakfast. Then I hunted them down one by one and squeezed a couple of drops of flea treatment on each. Their general attitude toward this procedure is: They're MY fleas! Leave them alone!

 Bright struggled, Angel ran but went still when I grabbed his head, and Goldsmith sat fatalistically awaiting the inevitable. BB, however, squirmed and squalled as though I were torturing him.

Edgarina Possum was shut in, too, observing eveything with eyes as big as a possum's beady little orbs can get. When I opened the door for the cats to run outside, Edgarina made tracks, too. Then she went into her den under the shed and told her kids that I'm a monster. She must have because now as soon as Scurry and Flurry catch sight of me, they flee for their lives.

God and the Tsunami

It was a beautiful, sunny Boxing Day (the day after Christmas) morning in tropical Sri Lanka. Kohila Sanders was in the kitchen, mixing powdered milk for her three-year-old daughter when one of the orphan girls burst in, gesturing excitedly toward the beach.

“The sea!” she cried. “The sea is coming!” Kohila did not understand what the child was yelling about, but it sounded serious. She ran outside to look toward the sea, and her heart stood still. A giant, ash-colored wave was building, growing higher by the moment as the water piled up. Kohila ran to the bedroom where her husband Dayalan lay awake. He was thinking about the sermon he was to give that morning, but all thoughts of the sermon vanished when he saw the terror on his wife’s face. She echoed the girl’s warning.

“Come! Look! The sea is coming in!”

“Keep calm,” Dayalan soothed, “God is with us, and no harm will come to us unless it is our time.” But he had never seen his wife so frightened. What could possibly be that bad? He decided to check it out, but he was in no hurry.

Dayalan was a member of the Tamil ethnic minority in Sri Lanka. He was a United States citizen, living in Maryland with his parents and sisters, when he felt the call to be a missionary, so he and Kohila had come to this spot on a peninsula of Sri Lanka. With their life’s savings, they purchased a four-acre piece of land with the sea on one side and a lagoon on the other and built an orphanage which now housed 28 children of various ages. The villagers all called him Father Sanders. It was a busy life, but a peaceful one. In the next moment, all that changed.

Dayalan stepped outside into the palm grove and turned to look at the sea. And he understood his wife’s terror. A 30-foot wall of black water stretched from one end of the beach to the other – and it was rushing toward them with the sound of a thousand freight trains!

Galvanized, Dayalan spun around and shouted at the top of his lungs,” Everybody drop everything!  To the lagoon! To the boat!” He began running, snatching up a child in each arm. Staff members and children poured out of the buildings and ran to the lagoon, where a fence with a gate barred the way. Dayalan tossed the smaller children over the fence while the others rushed through the gate.

“Where’s my daughter?” he cried, looking around desperately. One of the older girls shoved the child into his arms, and he tossed her into the boat while older children and the adults tumbled into the launch. Usually it took about 15 minutes to get children and staff aboard, but this time, everyone was in the boat in ten seconds flat.

The outboard motor was always removed from the launch at night to prevent its being stolen, but this had been an especially busy weekend, with the Christmas pageant, Christmas services and a dinner for 250 guests, including a number of Hindu villagers. Dayalan had been especially tired last night, so he had – just this once – left the motor in place. Stefan, the boatman, yanked at the cord, which always required several pulls to start the motor. This time, though, the engine roared to life at the first pull, and the overloaded launch charged into the lagoon just as the massive wall of water broke over the orphanage with a mighty roar.

The frightened passengers watched in horror as the water smashed a garage, their new Toyota pickup bobbing to the surface. The vehicle crashed into a palm tree and then was washed away like a toy and swallowed it up again by the massive wave. The pickup was followed by the maroon van, which also smashed into a tree before being thrown into the sea. Roofs splintered and flew off buildings. A motorized rickshaw, caught in a whirlpool, spun helplessly in a circle.

Everything the Sanderses had built up for twenty years was destroyed in moments. Not only was the tsunami crashing in from the sea, but the raging river was pouring into the far side of the lagoon. Dayalan was sure that when the two currents met, the launch would be swamped.

The wave was about 15 feet away, and they were eyeball to eyeball with the wall of water. A Bible verse popped into Dayalan’s head: “When the enemy comes in like a flood, the Spirit of the Lord will lift up a standard against him.” (Isa. 59:19 NKJV).

Springing to his feet in the rocking boat, Dayalan raised both hands toward the tsunami wave and shouted, “I command you, in the name of Jesus Christ, on the strength of the Scriptures, to stand still!” And the mighty wave stopped, as though held back by an invisible hand. It did not hesitate long, but it was long enough for the launch to get to the far side of the lagoon. As they passed a young man struggling in the water, they were even able to pull him into the launch.

Dayalan thought perhaps he had imagined that the water stood still, but later he was approached by some villagers who had survived by climbing palmyra trees.

“Why did the water stop for a moment when it reached your land?” they asked. “Was it the density of the trees or the buildings?” Dayalan saw a chance for a quick sermon.

“There is no power on earth that could have held it  back,” he answered.” It was the power of God. I called upon God, and I commanded it in the name of Jesus, who 2,000 years ago commanded the waves, and they obeyed. He commanded the sea, and it obeyed. And this is the very same God. He did the same for us, and He gave us those precious few seconds that we needed.”

                The Sanderses lost everything they had, but they saved every life belonging to the orphanage. Dayalan’s sisters back in Maryland started a fund to help him rebuild. He and Kohila bought 25 acres farther inland, and although construction was delayed because of social and political unrest in the area, the couple and their staff were soon caring for 81 children.

               

Roosevelt College, Middleburg, Netherlands

They really love FDR in Middleburg. They have a street, a college and an institute named for him. This building, housing the college, is the old -- very old -- city hall.

Interior, Palais de Justice (Palace of Justice), Brussels, Belgium

My first stop in Brussels was at a candy store. I emptied the food out of my backpack and refilled it with chocolate. Then I went to the Palais de Justice. Like so many landmarks in Europe, it was surrounded by scaffolding for refurbishment. Acid rain is really doing a number on the monuments and magnificent buildings.

Something There Is That Kind of Likes a Wall

Snapped this on the K-State campus. It kind of reached out and grabbed me.

Dining Out, Madrid, Spain

After we landed in Madrid, we signed into our hostel and went looking for a place to eat. We found a restaurant that had tables outside. It was a lovely day, and we had tortillas, which in Spain is a kind of omelet. Yum!

Nonconformist

Waiting for the Mail

Storm Coming, Konza Prairie, Kansas

Train Station in Liege, Belgium

This was snapped from the train as we passed through the station. I was knocked out by the artistic architecture. I wish American planners would realize that just because it's functional doens't mean it has to be ugly.

Infantry Memorial, Brussels, Belgium

This memorial, honoring the members of the infangtry in WWI and WWII, stands outside the Palais de Justice in Brussels. I found it as I left the Palace, looking for a taxi.

Flowers in Either Frankfurt or Mainz, Germany

One thing that captivated me about Europe was the presence of greenery and flowers in every conceivable place. This appears to be a temporary construction shelter set up outside stores, and it has been topped with boxes of bright geraniums. But I'm not sure where it was. I think it was Frankfurt-am-Main, but it could well have been Mainz, since they and Wiesbaden all ran together so that I never knew for sure where I was.
Flowers in Frankfurt or Mainz, GermanyEllen's Photoraphs - Germany 2013

Family Outing at Hofgarten, Dusseldorf, Germany

Edgarina Visits

When this possum first started coming into the shed to eat and drink, I named it Edgar because it was A. Guest. But when she had babies, my daughter called her Edgarina, and it stuck. 

When the babies were a couple of months old, Edgarina would come in almost daily, curl up in the corner and take a nap for an hour or two. Sometimes a mom just needs to get away from the kids.

Edgarina and her two surviving babies, Scury and Flurry, still come to visit. The babies ofen spend part of the night on the otherwise-unused cat condo. The cats and possums ignore each other, but the possums are scared of me. I tried petting the babies, but it just gterrified them.

I Know I Filed it Here Somewhere

Angel figured out that he could open the file cabinet and endlessly practiced his new skill.

His Majesty Goldsmith

My oldest cat, Oliver Goldsmith. After I named him, I went back and read all I could find of Goldsmith's writings. He was an excellent writer, and the cat is well named.

Jerez, Spain

My daughter's friend took us on a walking tour of Jerez. I was fascinated by this structure, the only way to get from the lower street to the upper. The family all got up the stairs in spite of the heat. Wielding cane and camera, I brought up the rear.

Goethe Haus Museum

This is Goethe's restored house in Frankfurt-am-Main, the original having been burned down by the Nazis. The Goethe family contributed furnishings for the restoration. In spite of needing a cane, I was determined to see everything I could. Fortunately for me, the fifth floor (and maybe the fourth) was closed off.

At the Rhein (Rhine) in Mainz

Looking up the Rhein in Mainz (there's a confuence of the Rhein and the Main in Mainz). The empty dock shows that we missed the river cruise: the boat left at 9:45 a.m., and we were there at 4:30 p.m. Next time.

Duck House on a Canal, Middleburg, The Netherlands

The Dutch love their canals and the critters that live there. To protect the ducks in the winter, the people of Middleburg, Zeeland, have placed duck houses here and there along the canals.

The World's Best Hostel, Granada, Spain

We absolutely loved this place. Our room was off this indoor courtyard, through the door on the left, next to the plant. We had air conditioning, which was barely needed, our own bathroom and a French balcony overlooking the street. It was comfortable and convenient, without losing character. I wish I could remember the name. It started wth a  "Z."

Lizard at La Alhambra in Granada, Spain

I saw this little guy skittering around at the base of one of the buildings, and I couldn't resist snapping a picture.

Pigeon at Outdoor Cafe in Granada, Spain

There was a whole plaza with tables from various restaurants. This pigeon was evidently a frequent visitor. He lit on the chair next to me with no sign of fear. As we left, we saw him hop onto another table and begin pecking at crumbs, ignoring the people seated there. In Spain we had fresh-squeezed orange juice at nearly every meal. Heavenly!

Roman Bridge in Cordoba, Spain

We did not cross the bridge. We were on foot, and it was hot. We stood and looked at the Guadalquivir and longed to return to cool Granada.