Peregrine's Rest

First came the song, dancing on the white tips of the waves:

“A sailor is a man of the sea...

And a man of the sea he’ll always be

Now scuttle me timbers and lower me mast

Cause this sailor’s comin’ home at last.”

Lizzy walked the beach and listened. Her toes sank into the soft, chilly sand. She watched the gulls and pelicans, bobbing like small corks on the rolling surf.

Most days, Lizzy counted the birds as they frolicked. They were familiar friends. Today though, morning fog rested on the shore, hiding the birds from her view at times. The fog hid the singer too, but could not hold back the song.

Suddenly, the song was replaced by a jarring sound, full of weight and will. Lizzy shivered, as she did when Billy ran his fingers across the blackboard at school.

The fog drew back like a curtain. Lizzy watched in amazement as the bow of a two-masted schooner slid out of the surf. The boat settled on the sand, hissing a sigh of relief.

“Could it be pirates?” she wondered. When she saw the large round man leap from the bow, she was sure it was.

He wore a navy cap too small for his head. It perched at an angle, a halo of gray frizzled curls to escaping in every direction. Dancing hazel eyes peeked out of a reddish face peppered with a bushy white beard.

The man examined the boat with care. He spoke to it like a best friend. “Well lady, it looks like you did me well again.” He caressed the hull, looking for damage.

As he worked, he sang:

“A sailor’s life is on the wave,

For a sailing life, you must be brave.

So me never cry and me never bawl.

Cause me’s the bravest lad of all.”

The song rose from his belly, echoing off the wooden hull. His voice was warm and deep, like hot chocolate bubbling over a fire. Lizzy knew she was watching a real-life pirate. She had imagined that such a meeting would be scary. But when the man sang, Lizzy felt safe.

Other sailors joined him, rising like ghosts from the mist. Some were big and wide as their leader, others small and wiry. They huddled, forming a plan. Lizzy knew it was about buried treasure.

The sun rose, chasing the fog behind the dunes. The sailors tugged mysterious trunks with large rusty metal hasps up to higher ground. Boxes made of pine board were heaved off the ship and dug themselves into the soft sand. From her hiding place Lizzy saw a rope bed, balancing on the shoulders of two sailors, carried a safe distance from the surf.

“This was a big haul,” Lizzy thought. “I wonder if they made anybody walk the plank?”

Lizzy was so busy watching and wondering she did not see the big round pirate.

“Hey me young matey,” the man called. “Ever seen a real Spanish doubloon?”

“No,” stammered Lizzy.

“Well then,” said the pirate, holding up an ancient coin, “If ye be of a mind to help, ye may find one in yer fist by end of day.”

“Me name be Cap’n Pete,” said the man. “And what be yers?”

“I be... I mean, I am... I mean, my name is Lizzy,” said Lizzy.

“Well then, Lizzy,” Cap’n Pete smiled, “hoist yerself up on me ship. Help us and be ye rewarded handsome.”

Lizzy wanted to ask Cap’n Pete who he had plundered, but thought better of it. They walked to the hull, and Cap’n Pete called up, “Scivey, give us a hand, will ya lad?” Two tattooed arms appeared over the side of the boat and Cap’n Pete hoisted Lizzy to meet them. The arms grabbed her and before she knew it, Lizzy was standing face to face with a tall thin man on the deck of the ship.

“Welcome aboard, Matey.” said Scivey, his dark eyes twinkling.

Boxes and trunks, like those Lizzy had seen on the beach, were tossed about everywhere. Several men were counting them and humming to themselves. Lizzy recognized the tune as the one she had heard sung by Cap’n Pete.

She turned to a new sound of grunting behind her and saw the Cap’n’s frizzled head pop up over the ship's rail. His body soon followed with great effort.

“So Lizzy, me lass,” he said, “what ye be thinking of me ship? She’s a dear, ain’t she?”

“She is very nice,” Lizzy said.

Cap’n Pete strolled to the top of the deck and looked out at the dunes.

“Miss Lizzy,” said the Cap’n. “Let me tell you about me ship. Her name be the Peregrine. Named fer the falcon. That bird be a wanderer and so be the Peregrine. Her and I have sailed many seas together. We been far as Hong Kong. Many nights have I spent here on this deck lookin’ out to the stars. They gives a great comfort on the lonely nights.” Cap’n Pete’s voice was a mix of melody and memories.

“One day,” continued Cap’n Pete, “me knew that the Peregrine and I had to stop wanderin’. The seas be changin’. No place for schooners these days.”

“But Cap’n Pete,” said Lizzy, “what will happen to the Peregrine?”

“I be thinkin' this is the end for the Peregrine,” said Cap’n Pete, “When we finish takin our gear off her, I guess we will turn her back to sea and scuttle her.”

“That sounds very sad, Cap’n Pete,” said Lizzy. “Are you sure you have to do that?”

“It is the saddest day I can remember,” said the cap’n, a tear sliding down his red cheek as he thought of saying goodbye to the beloved ship.

“Cap’ Pete, where are you going to live once you leave the Peregrine?” asked Lizzy curiously.

“I hadn’t thought of that part yet me lass,” said Pete. “I am sure I will find something.”

“Well, I have a idea,” said Lizzy, “Why not live in the Peregrine? Have you ever heard of a houseboat?”

“I have heard of such,” Pete answered. “But the Peregrine will not sit well in shallow waters.”

“I don’t mean that kind of houseboat Cap’n Pete,” said Lizzy. “I mean making a house out of the Peregrine. You could turn her over and live inside.”

“Well Lizzy,” answered Cap’n Pete. “I think ye be onta the greatest idea I be hearin’ in some time. We will drag her up onto the dunes, roll her over, and have ourselves a proper house made of a boat. Me figure if she could keep the water from coming in from below, she can keep the water from coming in above.

“All she needs is a door and some windows and the Peregrine would make a wonderful house,” said Lizzy.

“And some flower boxes,” added the Captain. “Never had flowers at sea and me be wantin’ to grow some.”

So it was done. The Peregrine’s masts were pulled down. With stout ropes and much huffing and puffing the boat was dragged up the beach and turned upside down.

Cap’n Pete came to live in that houseboat among the dunes. It had a door and three round windows that looked out toward the sea. It had lovely flower boxes hanging below each window and eventually a fireplace with a chimney pipe that stuck out where the rudder had once been.

Lizzy became Cap’n Pete’s best friend and loved to hear his tales of the sea. One day they found a cast-off board in the surf and together made a sign to hang above the door of the houseboat. On it was carved “Peregrine’s Rest.”

“Didn’t seem quite right to call her just “Peregrine” when she wasn’t wandering anymore,” said Lizzy.

And sometimes at night the sound of the Cap’n’s voice drifts out to sea as he sits by his door and sings:

“A sailor is a man of the sea...

And a man of the sea he will always be

Now scuttle me timbers and lower me mast

Cause this sailor’s come home with his boat at last.”