Father was leaning against the spanker mast watching the sails belly out in the wind when I went to him.
“Hey, look, Father, all I got just for a few old charts and books,” and I displayed my treasures.
“Charts? What the hell are you talking about?” he shouted.
“I gave them all the old charts I could find below and the books on navigation and they gave me all these things,” I explained.
He didn’t stop to hear any more. He took me by the back of the neck and almost carried me down in the cabin.
“Now what did you give them?”
I pointed to the empty place where the charts had been.
“How in the hell can I navigate now?” he shouted. This sounds calm as I write it, but Father wasn’t calm. His face was blue he was so mad.
“I’ve heard you tell the sailors lots of times you were so good at navigating that you didn’t need charts,” I answered.
I was sorry a moment later I had traded away my overalls for that native dress, as the dress was no protection for the rope’s end that tattooed my behind. I got a licking, but Father to this day has never bragged about his navigating abilities where I could hear him! But he was too stubborn to go back to the island for his charts. He had to steer by dead reckoning the rest of the trip.