The Perfect Prank and Other Stories by JIm O'Brien - HTML preview

 CHAPTER 19

The day came.

It was about a month after we had sent up our prayer . . . or perhaps the prayer hadn’t traveled but was heard none-the-less . . . and the three of us . . . with Ashley riding on my shoulders . . . made our way over to look-out point number one to cook and eat an afternoon meal. Ashley dismounted and I started a fire in the fire pit.

While attending to Ashley, Rachel casually looked out at the ocean . . .  and then froze. “Jim.” she said, and I quickly looked up and then out at the water. A sailing ship was about a half-mile off our coast. I dug out the spyglass and had a look. It was an American naval vessel and it appeared to be heading in our direction.

If there had been some invention that was able to measure excitement, the needle on its gauge would have . . . at that moment . . . registered a jump from zero to one hundred. Ashley didn’t understand what the commotion was all about, but she could tell that her parents were excited about something, and . . . without really having much of a choice . . . she got excited too.

I started to load the cannon and the girls moved off and stood about a hundred feet away. When the cannon was ready to go, Ashley . . . in one fluid motion . . . raised her right arm into the air and swung it down sharply. And I fired the cannon. I then started waving the giant flag like a madman. Then we heard a sound I will never forget: The ship fired one of its cannons. I looked over at Rachel. “It is over now.” I said in my thoughts,

“We are to leave now.”

I began to reload the cannon. Rachel and Ashley hurried up to the cottage where they tied up the she-goat and . . . milked her dry. Rachel then decanted this important liquid into a wine skin. In the meantime, I had fired the cannon a second time and returned to waving the flag. The ship fired a  second cannon shot. I dropped the flag and hustled down to the beach to start a fire where we wanted the ship’s longboat to come ashore.

After getting this fire going I went over to our little pond and fished out all of the tenants and evicted them into the sea. I then filled in a section of the canal with rocks. After this I scurried up the hill, stopped to douse the fire on look-out point number one, and then ran the rest of the way to the cottage to rejoin the girls.

We now had to return the she-goat to her former way of life. Rachel and Ashley gathered up some berries and greens while I knocked down part of the goat pen walls. Then . . . with little Ashley at my chest in a sort of papoose I had made . . . and with the goat in tow . . . we hoofed it out to the goat herd’s favorite gathering spot. Once there, we untied the she-goat, laid the goat treats on the ground, and sort-of induced her to eat them. We then made a hasty retreat, and, fortunately, the she-goat didn’t follow us.

Back at the cottage, the girls got dressed while I lugged the trunk down to the shore. The ship was just then dropping anchor. “Plenty of time.” I said to myself. Back home again . . . for it would be our home for twenty minutes or so longer . . . I shaved and got dressed. As a last minute idea, I grabbed four of the best pistols and four of the best sabers and tied them into a sort of bundle and carried it with me as the three of us made our way down to the shore . . . to greet our guests.

To the crew of the approaching longboat . . . seeing us standing there on shore wearing our Sunday best . . . it must have appeared that a well-to-do young family had recently been marooned on the island. Be that as it may, when the boat came ashore greetings were exchanged and we and our trunk were helped aboard. One of the sailors stood on the beach and gave the longboat a good offshore shove . . . and then hopped in. We were on our way. We were leaving Martindale Island for ever.

We were rowed out to the main ship and . . . with Ashley in the papoose again . . . we climbed a heavy-duty rope ladder up the side of the ship and were helped onto the ship’s main deck. More greetings were exchanged and I presented the weapons to the officers of the ship. These gifts were very well received. We were then offered a bite to eat in the ship’s dining room, but before being escorted below deck Rachel and I looked out at our island and . . . in an intimate understanding that no one else in the world could have appreciated . . . we shared a pensive smile.

During the meal we did not volunteer much information beyond the fact that we had been marooned. Rachel and I had decided beforehand that our story . . . if truthfully given . . . would generate exactly the sort of attention  we sought to avoid. The sailors were polite and, after determining that we were Americans . . . and I supposed that we were . . . the conversation shifted to our host. The ship was a naval frigate, the captain told us, out pirate hunting, and it was due in port in Philadelphia . . . and that was fine with us. He went on to say that he had been in the navy a long time, adding, “As was my father before me.” At this comment, Rachel and I broke into smiles.

After we had finished eating, the captain showed us to our cabin . . .  where we found our trunk waiting for us . . . and the three of us then tried to get comfortable. But it was an odd set of emotions that Rachel and I were going through. Here we were leaving an uncharted and unpeopled part of the world . . . and we felt a sense of loss, and we were on our way to a populated and civilized place and it felt like we were going into the great unknown.

The ship docked in Philadelphia and, after extending our heartfelt thanks, we bid captain and crew farewell. We were at the docks, so I inquired about transportation to Boston, and was told that a ship would be sailing for that destination in four days. So I booked our passage. We then hired a carriage to take us to a nice hotel in town, and after getting settled in our room, the three of us went outside for a stroll through the streets of Philadelphia. It was still within business hours, so we stopped at a bank and exchanged our old American paper money for new American paper money.

I had the thought of buying a new dress to exchange for the old dress . . .  but was vetoed. We then returned to the hotel and ate a light supper in the dining room there.

That night in our room, as Ashley slept, it dawned on me that Rachel and I were not legally married. It made no difference to us really . . . as our marriage was based on the approval of a higher authority . . . but what about little Ashley and any other children we might be blessed with? Those disparaging comments . . . that would surely come . . . would simply not do.

So, bright and early the next morning, we visited the Philadelphia City Hall where we obtained legal permission to marry in the state of Pennsylvania.

We then hunted up an understanding Presbyterian minister and, inside the parsonage, with the minister’s wife witnessing and little Ashley standing between her mother and father, he performed the sacred rite. The documents then being signed, we departed to spend our “honeymoon” in the City of Brotherly Love.

The voyage to Boston took two days and, as we neared the harbor, I felt . . . nothing. It was, I decided, a brand new place for all three of us. Once on shore, we hired a carriage and had the driver take us to Paul Matthews’  clothier shop, which I was very glad to see was still in existence. We had the driver wait while Ashley, Rachel, and I went inside and greeted a . . .  dumbfounded tailor. “Your cottage is in fine shape Jimmy.” said he, “And so’s your money.” After chatting about this and that . . . mostly what had become of me the previous seventeen years . . . we left Paul’s shop, climbed into the carriage, and made our way . . . home. When we stepped into that old cottage of mine it felt comfortable, and I looked over at Rachel to see her reaction . . . and she smiled. Great girl. And we settled in.

It was six months or so after our arrival in Boston that Rachel and I found ourselves experiencing some doubts. We were not altogether sure that we were better off than we had been on the island. Our lives were more complicated now, and we had . . . worries.

But we gave a little party for Ashley and invited all of the neighborhood children who were close to her in age. This, we hoped, would sort-of ease Ashley into the local toddler society. And when Rachel and I saw her running around . . . so happy . . . giving the other children a tour of the cottage, supervising (sort-of ) the pony cart rides (we had bought her a pony and a cart), we knew that we had made the right decision.

And now, as I sit here writing this story, Ashley is ten years old, Paul is six, Eric is three, and baby Martha is on her mother’s lap. And I think that . . . life is good . . . and giving . . . rather than taking . . . is the essence of Christianity.

I:  Have I left anything out?

Rachel:  You did not mention the tree climbing episode . . .  thank you.

I:  We did get you down eventually.

Rachel:  We were very lucky to have had that island . . . to  have met there.

I:  Very lucky . . . indeed.

Rachel: Indeed.

THE END

Jim O’Brien

P. O. Box 1098

Franklin, PA 16323

jimobrien1113@yahoo.com