“And how did you come to choose the Norman D?”
“Sadly, few square-riggers are sailing nowadays. But Mother discovered a neighbor who’d been a sailor, an old salt with a tattooed arm and the sea in every line of his face. He told us of a schooner that had recently put in at New Haven. The very next day, my whole family—my parents and my little sister and I—visited the pier. We hailed the captain and asked if we could come aboard. He and his crew were quite jolly to have visitors, and they showed us all around the ship. When I crawled up on the spanker boom, the captain said, ‘I see you’re a girl as likes to climb about.’”
“Not many girls have sailed aboard a schooner. And, as any sailor will say, the sea can be cruel.” Stark was getting into the spirit of things now, imitating her sailor-like cant and almost winking as he did so. “Did your parents resist the idea?”
“Very much so, at least in the beginning. That first day onboard, Mother warned me against climbing too high on the ratlines. But I couldn’t help myself, so taken was I with the prospect of looking down on the harbor from the crosstrees. And I wasn’t at all afraid, for I have a sailor’s way with heights.”
“I see,” said Mr. Stark, scribbling on his pad.
Barbara had taken satisfaction in defying her mother that day, and now that feeling mingled with a kind of resentment. She sensed her mother perched beside her, playing the delighted parent, nodding and urging her on. I’m fourteen now, she thought, and I don’t need my mother telling me what I can and can’t do all day long.
Barbara said, “Then when I got it in my head to sail, Mother didn’t want me to go. But I persisted, for I knew if she agreed, my father would go along. I told her I must sail, that I would stow away if she wouldn’t allow it. Finally, she said I could go if our family friend Gordon traveled as my chaperone—assuming, that is, the captain consented.”
“Was it difficult to get the captain’s permission?”
“Not terribly. We had visited his ship many times and invited him to dinner. And I began to think he would welcome me, for he was a great storyteller, and I loved listening to his tales. Each time I visited the ship, I improved my reputation by learning the ship’s parts, skipping about the deck, and helping with the ropes. And when we made the most important visit of all, to ask the captain if I could sail with him, my father took him aside for a private talk. I waited ashore, and with each passing minute, I feared all was lost, and my dream dashed. But then my father came tearing off the ship and down the wharf and announced that I would sail in a week’s time.”
Smiling, Stark tapped his pen on his writing pad. “I understand that arrangements came down to the hour, and you almost didn’t go.”
“Yes, when the captain was signing me on the ship’s list, we discovered I’d need some identification to cross into Canada. It is a foreign country, after all. Mother and I were topsy-turvy all day, running to the lawyer’s office, desperate to get an affidavit drawn up. But finally, we got the papers and arranged to have my birth certificate mailed to Nova Scotia.”
“What other preparations did you undertake?”
“I packed my sailing togs, plus an oilskin and sea boots. The captain recommended I bring some nibbles, such as crackers or fruit, in case I got seasick. The day before we sailed, I ate a big lunch and sat in the most tipsy rocking chair in our house and rocked wildly, just to accustom myself to lurching about on a full stomach.”
“And did you get seasick during the journey?”
“The first mate and cook made a wager on whether I’d be seasick. The mate, hoping to improve his chances, gave me some advice. But those are sailor secrets, and you must write in your article that people need to read the book to find those out—and to discover who won the bet.”
Stark asked, “Won’t you read a bit for us, Miss Follett?”
“If you like.” Barbara noticed the other reporters had abandoned their tasks and swiveled their chairs around. She untied the manuscript. “I can read about the first night at sea.”
“Excellent,” said Stark, setting aside his pad and pen.
Barbara undid the string on her manuscript, peeled back the wrapper, and turned a few pages. “‘When I saw the stars, I had a strange experience. Despite the small breeze that kept the sails from making their infernal racket, there was quite a roll and swing and swoop to the ship; she dipped her prow like the wings of a seagull. But when, looking up at the high stars, I picked out a bright one above the truck of the mizzen-mast and was trying to identify it, I saw it swinging about the mast in bewildering curves and flashes of gold. To my puzzled eyes, it seemed to leave a burning track behind.
“Now, I had seen shooting stars, and my first thought was that this revolving star was a magical shooting star. But I’d never seen a shooting star make curves and circles. I looked at the other stars, and they all seemed to gyrate crazily about the sky, sometimes fast, sometimes slowly. I could feel the mighty ocean throbbing beneath me, and again I looked at the mast, and it seemed stock-still against the wheeling sky. Yet, I could feel the schooner rolling and pitching in the swell. Of course, the sky was just as it ought to be: It was the mast and schooner that rolled as the sea heaved.
“The moon had not yet risen, and everything was pitch dark except for magical sparks of starlight. All afternoon we had
