Michael's Journals and Valarie's Diary

Prologue

Four years have passed since I purchased this beautiful old town house on Jones Street in Savannah. It has been almost two years since I discovered the trunk in the attic of the carriage house and servant’s quarters out back. I had a plan to fix up and rent out the servant’s quarters. My plan included adding insulation to the attic. I had no idea what was up there. I couldn’t even imagine how much dirt and junk would have collected in the hundred and fifty years since the house was built. I had to look.

The attic was poorly illuminated by a small dirty window at each end; it was hot and dirty and smelled of rats. It was possible that no person had been in that attic for over a hundred years. The house was built in 1855. I suppose the servant’s quarters were built at the same time. In the dim light, it was apparent that the attic was bare except for one trunk, sitting well back towards the eve of the roof. With over a half inch of dust on the rafters I had to traverse, there was no way to get to the trunk without getting filthy. The trunk was very old and sported at least a century of accumulated dirt. I grabbed the crumbling leather handle and gently pulled. The trunk was light, evidently there was nothing inside it. As I dragged it over to the hatch, I realized it wasn’t empty at all.

Here is what I found in the trunk: Eight books, tied together with ancient leather straps. Filled with sketches, maps and writing, the books had suffered varying amounts of water and insect damage, but much of the writing was readable. Some of the illustrations and maps were legible and are reproduced herein.

The books, together, make up a most amazing story about a fourteen year old rich boy who was orphaned in 1863 and used his math skills and his literacy to survive.

I have transcribed this story for you as accurately as I could. It is possible that these chronicles are not true. The schooner Alma exists. She is now called the Australia and you can see her in the Mystic Seaport Museum. For my part, I choose to believe that Captain Hood, Bud Lassiter, Bart, Spencer, Runaway Simon, the Sopwell Family, Moses, Jim and John O’Reilly, Valarie O’Connell and Michael O'Grady really did exist.

Michael's Journal #1

November 19, 1863

San Juan, Puerto Rico

I divided my money up. I knew I was going to be robbed. I thought if I divided my money up, I might be able to hang on to some of it. I put about half of my money in my bag with my journal and was putting half in my pocket. So when the big boys robbed me, they would believe the money in my pocket was all I had.

Unfortunately, in the dark, I dropped a coin on the floor. I didn’t drop it in my bed; the straw would have silenced the fall. I had to drop it on the floor. Not only did it make noise hitting the floor, it continued to roll down the aisle between their pallets, making even more noise.

Sure enough, there was a bigger boy awake, a bigger boy who recognized the sound of money hitting the floor.

It was almost pitch black in the dormitory, but I could hear the shuffling sounds of the boys getting up out of their straw beds and calling to each other in the dark. They were getting organized to come after me. It was time to go.

I grabbed the bag with my journal, shoes, pants and my last shirt and began to move towards the door. In the poor light, I could barely see the door at the end of the large room. It was maybe twenty steps to the door, down the stairs fifteen steps, get the street door open, then I would be safe!

A shadow moved into the aisle between me and the door. Oh oh, somebody had other plans.

Where ya goin,’ kid? It was in English. It had to be Johnson. He was the only American in the orphanage besides me.

Nowhere. I stopped talking and listened. I thought I could hear more boys converging on me from behind. This was no time to wait and see. I moved quickly to get past Johnson before I was caught from behind.

Not so fast! Johnson must have heard my intake of breath before I moved. He managed to get an arm around me. I pushed the arm up and ducked under it. It was dark, but I could see the door twenty steps in front of me. I began to run. I was tackled from behind and, in the grasp of my assailant, skidded right into the closed door.

Shh. It was Johnson. If you get the Father up here, I’ll kill you!

I was being held against the door by the neck. I couldn’t call out if I wanted to.

So what do we have here? Johnson said conversationally as he patted me down. Aha! A money pouch. I’ll take this thank you very much.

I brought my knee up into Johnson’s groin, as hard as I could. Johnson was a foot taller than I, but my knee found its target and did some damage. Johnson exhaled in a grunt and let go of my neck. It was all I needed.

I was through the door and down the stairs in six steps. I had the street door open and in seconds was out on the street. I had escaped the orphanage into the dangerous streets of San Juan.

My parents and I came to Puerto Rico for the winter for my mother's health. Mother and Father then died of the yellow fever. Now I'm alone in a foreign country, and I don't speak the language here.

The streets were very confusing. They were narrow and crooked, and they started one way and then turned another. Some buildings had street signs on them but they meant nothing to me. I had no place to go anyway. Instinctively, I went down hill, towards the docks. I had to get back home to Boston. I figured I might as well get started. Thanks to Johnson, I no longer had enough money to book a passage, but maybe I could get work.

I found the docks. What I didn’t find right away was a place to sleep. I wanted a safe place to wait for morning. What I found was a missing plank on the dock. It left a gap that I could crawl down through. The river mud down below was smelly but I found a dry place to curl up and wait for the day.

Valarie’s Diary

My First Voyage

September 2nd, 1863: Dear Diary: This is my first attempt at keeping a diary. My first ocean voyage seems to be an appropriate time to begin keeping a journal. I intend to make entries every day.

We gathered around the table for our first lunch on board the Providence. The Providence is not a steamer. Steamers don't go from Boston to San Juan. People who want to go to San Juan have to ride on a sailing ship. Not only is she not a steam ship; the Providence isn't really a passenger ship either. No, she carries mostly freight and some passengers. She has exactly four passenger cabins built in under the quarterdeck. The cabins, two on each side of the ship, open onto a common area which includes the dining area. My mother and father and I make up half of the passenger list. Michael and his mother and father make up the other half. We have both cabins on the left side of the ship. Michael’s family is on the right side.

We're going to San Juan for different reasons. My father bought a plantation in Puerto Rico and we're going there to live. Michael’s mother has bad health and they are going to San Juan to avoid the harsh Boston winter.

The Providence officers didn’t join us for that first meal. They were on the deck, involved with getting us down the river, into the ocean and under way. We were seated, three on each side of the table, the O’Connells facing the O'Gradys. I was seated at the end, facing Michael. We had all been introduced by the captain when we boarded so I knew his name. He looked like a typical Beacon Hill boy, with his brown hair and blue eyes. He was dressed in trousers and a frilly shirt. He might have been a year or two older than me, although he is not a bit taller. I am 12 years old. My name is Valarie O’Connell. My grandparents came to Boston long before the famine struck Ireland. My grandpa made a fortune with rental houses.

The adult conversation at the table was boring. Every time I looked at Michael he was staring at me. It was like he had never seen a girl before. It irritated me for some reason. I finally turned to my mother and whispered, Mother, he’s staring at me.

Except it didn’t turn out to be a whisper. Everyone at the table heard me. Then they all looked at me. This wasn’t what I wanted. Everyone expected me to say something, maybe something apologetic. I didn’t know what to say in this awkward moment, so I didn’t say anything. I just crossed my arms and sulked. Eventually the conversation picked up again. When I looked up, Michael was looking at me again!

Sept. 4th, 1863. Dear Diary: My resolve to make an entry every day didn't last very long. But, you see, we were all sea-sick the first whole day at sea. I didn’t go out on deck until today. By then I was so tired of the sick smell and the confinement in the cabin, I would have gone out on the deck in a blizzard. My parents were still too ill to argue with me. Mother said I was allowed to go out on the main deck only. The Providence has a large main deck. The wheel is on what father calls the quarterdeck, above our cabins. There is an elevated deck above the crew’s quarters which father says is called a fore-deck. I was starving for fresh air, so even though it was rather cold and windy, I was quite happy to be out looking around.

The deck was tilted to the left, to port, and the wind was coming from the right, starboard. I knew we were sailing generally south, so I went up to the starboard rail to see if I could see land. Alas, no land in sight, nothing but water for as far as I could see in every direction. This was intimidating. It was also quite chilly. Although I had dressed for it, the wind seemed to cut right through my coat, and my face was beginning to hurt. I needed to find a place out of the wind; a place where the bright sunshine could find me and the wind could not. The deck appeared to be quite clean, but I didn’t want to sit down in my nice clothes, so I ended up just standing by the aft cabin bulkhead with my face still up in the freezing wind.

I looked around quickly. I knew I wouldn’t be out here for long. As badly as I had wanted to get out the door, I couldn’t stand the wind much longer. I looked around the ship. It was my first time on an ocean-going sailing ship. I was surprised at how noisy it was. The sails vibrated. The ropes, lines according to father, vibrated and hummed and slapped into the mast. The bow made quite a bit of noise crashing through the waves. I could feel the power of the sails. I shouldn’t have been surprised at the noise. One shouldn’t expect a big ship to glide silently through the water.

I looked up to see if the masts were bending under the pressure from the sails. It was only near the top that I could detect a little bit of bending. That was reassuring. The sails obscured my view of the forward masts and sails, so I ventured forward along the rail to get a better view.

A sailor was aloft in the forward rigging. I thought it must be cold up there. He must have had a really important job to do, to be up there in the cold and wind. It was Michael. He had climbed perhaps a hundred feet above the deck and was just hanging up there, having a look around I suppose. I hooked my right arm over the rail and watched him for a while. Eventually he noticed me. He waved at me. I didn’t know what politeness required in this situation, but my left hand wasn’t doing anything. So I waved back. He began to climb down.

I don’t know if he was showing off, or maybe he really was part monkey. He climbed down like a wild-man. My heart was in my throat. I thought he would surely fall. I didn’t want to be the first one to go to his crumpled body. He landed lightly on the fore-deck and then slid down the starboard ladder to main deck like a sailor. His demonstration came to an end when he hit the main deck a little too hard and lost his balance. He ended up face down on the deck in front of me. As soon as I saw that he hadn’t been hurt, I began to laugh. He sat up and leaned back against the ladder and laughed with me!

Your face, he said finally when he could speak. It’s red as a beacon! You must be cold!

My face isn’t any redder than yours! I declared.

He put his hands to his face. If you say so. He sprang to his feet. Let me show you the warmest place on the ship!

As soon as I realized he expected me to climb the ladder to the fore-deck, I stopped. Michael stopped and looked at me with a big question mark on his face.

I can’t go up there, I said. My mother won’t let me. Besides, I have on a dress.

The first argument he just brushed aside. You’re afraid I’ll see your petticoats? he teased. I’ll just go up the ladder first then. He proceeded up the ladder in two seconds and waited for me at the top.

It took me considerably longer to get to the top of the ladder. Michael was waiting there with his hand out like a little gentleman to help me onto the deck. The fore-deck had a large winch on it for the anchor chain. There was a small house, or a large cabinet, in the bow which seemed to be for housing the anchor chain. I followed Michael forward along the starboard rail. He got to the cabin and sat down against the wall. It was perfect. He was sitting in the sunshine and the wall of the little house kept the wind off him. It was perfect except that, in my dress, I couldn’t sit down.

Very nice! I said. I’m going back now.

Michael didn’t say anything; he just followed me back to the ladder. He was sitting at the top of the ladder watching me when I backed in to the forward cabin and closed the door.

Sept. 5th, 1863: This morning my parents were feeling better, and we all took a walk on the main deck. I looked for Michael up in the rigging and didn’t see him. I wondered if he was sitting by the anchor cabin, but I wasn’t tall enough to see. We all had lunch together again, but Michael and I didn’t speak. It was almost as if our adventure the day before was a secret. Well, it was a secret from my mother anyway.

In the afternoon, I took another walk around the main deck with my parents. I looked for Michael but didn’t see him. At dinner I didn’t speak to him, and he didn’t speak to me.

Sept. 6th, 1863: In the morning of our fourth day at sea I came out onto the main deck all dressed to stay for a while. I had gloves and a heavy scarf around my neck, a scarf I could cover my face with. Automatically I looked up into the rigging for Michael, but he was sitting on the deck right beside the door, waiting for me.

Hello Valarie! he said. I have something to show you.

He jumped up, crossed to the starboard fore-deck ladder and scrambled to the top. He turned around then and waited expectantly for me to climb up.

He handed me up on the fore deck like a gentleman.

It’s even better in the mornings, he said. We were still on a starboard tack, that is to say, the wind was coming over the starboard rail. Michael led me around to the port side of the anchor cabin. Here we were in the sunshine and completely protected from the ice cold wind.

There was a bright red wooden chair against the cabin wall. Michael indicated it with his hand.

You needed a place to sit. So I built you a chair.

The chair was certainly bright red. It was made of turned wood with hemp woven across it to make the seat and the chair-back. Demonstrating a little athleticism of my own, I pulled my skirts up and straddled the chair. The chair was a little wobbly but it was just my size. The deck was tilted down to the left, so it was necessary for the chair to be tilted back for me to stay in it. I pulled the chair a little away from the wall and pushed it back with my feet to lean it against the wall. This turned out to be a mistake. When the back of the chair struck the wall, the whole thing fell apart! The chair just disintegrated and let me fall flat on my back with my feet up in the air! I slid down the deck and ended up against the port scuppers in a pile along with the remains of the chair!

I tried to get up with dignity, but didn’t succeed. If that wasn’t bad enough, Michael was laughing at me! My embarrassment turned instantly to rage!

That’s the worst chair in the world Michael O'Grady!

His laughter immediately stopped. His face took on a guilty look.

And you are mean to laugh at me! I added.

I’m sorry! he said. I sure didn’t mean to hurt you. I would never do that.

I was still mad. You are mean! I was very careful going down the ladder to the main deck. If I had fallen, I would never have gotten over it.

Oh, Valarie, You’ve ruined your dress! Mother said.

I fell down. It was only a little lie. I was afraid if she knew the truth she would keep me away from Michael.

Well you must have fallen in the red paint, she said.

This was the first time I knew about the red marks on the back of my dress. The paint on the chair hadn’t been dry! Boy is Michael going to get a piece of my mind!

Michael wasn’t at lunch. That afternoon I didn't see him when I walked with my parents, nor did I see him the next morning. I wondered where he was. Did he stay in his cabin to avoid me?

Sept. 7th, 1863: This morning was the beginning of our fifth day at sea. The wind was still from the west, so we were still on the starboard tack. This time I searched the decks for Michael. He appeared on the main deck after I had searched the fore-deck for him. He was dragging the red chair.

Good morning Valarie! he called out with a huge smile.

My harsh words the morning before seemed to have been forgotten.

Hello Michael. It looks like you repaired the chair.

It’s a new chair. I just made another one for you. This one is better. The pegs are much tighter. His smile was so wide and so innocent that I forgot all about the speech I had ready.

That paint had better be dry, or I will feed you to the birds! It was the best I could do.

He came climbing up the ladder with the chair held behind him in one hand. The paint is dry, and it will last you all your life.

In a minute I was seated, leaning back against the port wall of the anchor shed. I had checked the paint, and the chair