The Captain’s Daughter: Meet Abbie Chipman

by

Mark J. Aitchison

SMASHWORDS EDITION

* * * * *

PUBLISHED BY:

Mark J. Aitchison on Smashwords

The Captain’s Daughter: Meet Abbie Chipman

Copyright © 2011 by Mark J. Aitchison

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

* * * * *

The Captain’s Daughter: Meet Abbie Chipman

…for my first daughter Kelly Macdonald Viana Aitchison; may she grow up to be as strong, capable and independent as her mother, Tania, a real Captain's daughter…

Introduction

Imagine a storm at sea if you can- a strong, windy and wild storm. The rain is coming down hard and everywhere you look there is only water. You are in a small boat and you are far, far away from land. Nighttime is fast coming upon you. Around you the waves rise high above the boat and crash over her sides. The boat seems like a cork being thrown around the ocean as though it were nothing at all.

As darkness closes in the storm only gets worse. Up and down the boat is tumbled and you hold on as best you can so as not to be thrown over the side and into the frothing sea. The wind howls in your ears, and the water on your face and hands is cold as ice. You are wet and alone, and your boat is lost at sea in a storm.

Through the blackness you see the white line of land, a beach perhaps. The boat flies through the turbid waters towards the pale land ahead. It IS a beach and you believe you will be saved. Then suddenly a noise like an explosion fills your ears. The boat has hit a reef and its belly has been ripped open beneath you. The boat is dragged back and forth across the reef and bit by bit begins to break up. In the near distance you can still see the white sand beach but it is now too far away. A monstrous wave rears up behind you and your boat is finally smashed to pieces upon the reef. Now imagine that all you can see is blackness. All you can feel is the ice cold water of the sea around you sucking you down. And all you can think of is the white sand of the beach you saw just moments before.

Chapter One

The Whales

“No one can guess the full value of any kind of animal…its potential is spread across a spectrum of known and as yet unimagined human needs.”

- Edward O. Wilson, The Future of Life

The storm had passed and the sea around the island was flat and strangely quiet once more. The pale blue sky of spring replaced the blackness of before and with it reappeared the birds of the island. Darting terns dove and swept above the beach dust. Plovers hobbled and bobbed by the edge of the dune grass guarding their young. Heavily feathered seagulls sang out greetings as they cruised the sandy shore in search of savories left behind by the violence of the recent tempest.

Beyond the faint murmur of morning breeze came the sound of horse hooves clapping down the road above First Encounter Beach. Behind the dunes someone was whistling, and another was shouting to be heard. A simple open carriage appeared drawn stiffly by a dwarf chestnut pony. In the trap sat a bright young woman with wavy dark hair and large, wild eyes. Her driver was an old man with a red face. The man whistled as much to keep his lazy pony running as to keep himself calm. Thunder and lightning couldn’t have kept the girl at bay however.

"Dear God," the young woman exclaimed as they drew within earshot of the beach. "Pray let the tide still be up so our work ain't too hard."

The girl’s name was Abbie Chipman and she was 16 years old. The old man beside her was Chet Ranlett, her teacher from the local grade school. He was also her godfather and closest friend.

"For a fact I can’t be sure, Miss Abbie,” Chet managed between breaths. “I been held a week in bed by the flu and I ain't kept track of the tides."

The carriage jumped from the roadway and lit out upon the sand. The pony faltered for a second, considered the new surface, and found his footing once more. They continued over the soft ground and dropped down over the beach past the high water line. The tide was well out and across the extensive sand flats the whole of Cape Cod Bay appeared empty of water. Abbie shot a hurt look at old Chet who steered them out onto the hard packed sand towards the disaster which had summoned them there in the first place. Had there been a tide at all that day, Abbie wondered to herself?

A hundred yards away and spread out over a quarter mile or so of gray wet sand lay the pitiful remains of perhaps two dozen Pilot whales. They had beached themselves. Again. It was a shocking sight though it wasn't the first time the small black whales had beached themselves on the sand flats of Cape Cod Bay. The pained expression on Abbie’s face did little to mask her fear that it might however be one of the largest strandings the town had ever seen.

Abbie loved whales more than anything in the world. With her mother she lived in the small seaside town of Eastham, on the outer banks of Cape Cod on the North East Coast of the United States of America. Chet Ranlett lived in the house next to the Chipmans; a building which, at the time, doubled as Eastham’s Town Hall. Despite the obvious differences in age and temperament the two friends shared much in common. Above all they shared a great love for the land and sea of Cape Cod, which was their home.

Earlier that morning Abbie had been collecting beach plums in a valley orchard below her house, a statuesque yellow Queen Anne called The Overlook, which looked out over a pan-shaped salt pond towards the sea in one direction and the heath and farmland of the calmer bayside in the other. When he’d first heard news of the whale stranding Chet had run over to find Abbie. Together they’d prepared a bag of supplies in the kitchen. And much to their surprise there they’d found Captain Barnabus Chipman, Abbie’s father, seated at the large oak breakfast table wolfing down a breakfast of toast and boiled eggs with heaps of ground pepper on top.

"How ‘bout coming with us, Father?" Abbie asked timidly. She actually wasn’t used to seeing her father at home much and his presence had always intimidated her. "They're practically in our backyard this time."

Barnabus Chipman hardly looked up from the table and continued stuffing his mouth with his food. Finally he licked his fingers clean and wiped his mouth with a coarse napkin. He glowered at his only daughter.

"Girl, leave me out of it. You know what I think of them beasts. Leave me in peace to enjoy my last day home. Do your precious duty if you must, and you might see me there soon enough- there'll be pickings for everyone, I’m sure."

Were his words meant to hurt her, Abbie wondered? Because they did. And why must he always be so mean to me, Abbie thought as she took Chet’s hand and turned for the door? She tried to love her father despite his callous nature. But why could he never find any time to be with her and inquire after the things she thought important in life? Was he not after all one of God’s gentle creatures too? Abbie was having serious doubts about this.

At the door she took a last look at her father. It was true; he was shipping out the next day, her mother had said as much. Homeport was New Bedford, the capital of the American whaling industry, which lay a stone’s throw south of Cape Cod. This man might be my father, Abbie thought, but he is surely the devil as well. How else could she judge a man who made his bread and butter mercilessly hunting whales off the North Atlantic coast by summer and through the South Pacific seas by winter? Abbie was ashamed to live in a house supported by a man who slaughtered innocents for a living, but what could she do? She was just a sweet, little girl in a big, awful world; a world controlled by men like her father.

Shaking herself free of such dark thoughts Abbie left her dour father and stole away from the house with Chet Ranlett in tow. A warm breeze came away off the Salt Pond and fairly lifted the two friends away. It was a spring wind from the south, signaling a change in the seasons, and Abbie breathed in deeply the strong sea air, an air of things to come, distant lands to see and newborn dreams to achieve. They climbed aboard a small carriage which lay by the driveway. Above the salt marsh the sun was rising quickly and the day was bright and full of promise. Away to the bayside they flew; Abbie holding the older man’s arm close beside her for support.