The subtle signs are all about. The seasons are changing. Summer
is here.
Orion once again dominates the night sky. The flamboyant flowers
are all but gone and the first colorful frangipani caterpillars
have begun their annual feast that will render the frangipani
tree leafless until next spring when the caterpillars change
into giant dark brown moths and the trees blossom with new leaves
and beautiful fragrant flowers.
The winds that in summer carry dust blown up by sandstorms over
the desserts of Africa, have shifted and the skies are clearer.
On good days, you can see St. Croix clearly and sometimes even
Culebra, Vieques and El Yunque on Puerto Rico, from a good vantage
point on Gifft Hill.
Cold fronts passing over the Continental United States have
begun to bring breaking ground seas and a new flock of tourists
to the beaches of the North Shore.
The trade winds, unsettled and weak, during the hurricane months
of September and October, are piping up again and the hot sultry
days of summer are being replaced with the cooling breezes of
winter. Gone for the season, are those days when the seas can
become flat calm and mirror-like and one can barely discern the
distinction between the elements of air and water; days when
small craft can venture far from the protection of calm bays
and head out to open waters in relative safety and comfort.
Some years ago, after paddling a kayak from Leinster Bay to
West End, Tortola on a still windless summer afternoon, I had
the good fortune of entering into a conversation with the late
Mr. Joseph Romney, who lived at West End and who was approaching
his 100th birthday, with a failing body, but a mind as sharp
as a tack. A renowned sea captain, Joseph Romney could recount
innumerable tales of his own maritime experiences as well as
stories illustrating the history and traditions of boat building,
shipping, fishing and the lives of seafaring Virgin Islanders.
The condition of the sea led us to a story that Mr. Romney had
heard from his father about an event that occurred on a flat
calm day of summer, more than a century and a half ago.
That day, an enslaved worker on St. John, whose last name was
Benjamin, took advantage of the coinciding opportunities presented
by a perfectly calm sea and a new law abolishing slavery on the
island of Tortola.
While walking by himself on the coast near Brown Bay, Mr. Benjamin
noticed one of the large iron cauldrons used to boil cane juice
into sugar called a “copper,” lying just off the
shoreline and it gave him an idea. Using his machete, he carved
a piece of driftwood into a rudimentary paddle and then using
the mechanical advantage provided by convenient sturdy boards
he found abandoned in the bush, he maneuvered the heavy copper
into the water, climbed in and started to paddle across this
narrow section of the Sir Francis Drake Channel heading for Tortola
and freedom.
Understand that a heavy iron copper with a man inside most certainly
lacks the proper freeboard (that part of the boat that rises
above the waterline) for a safe crossing in all but the calmest
seas. In other words the slightest wave or even the splashing
from a paddle stroke could cause water to enter the copper, thus
increasing the weight and decreasing the freeboard. To mitigate
this problem, Mr. Benjamin used a small calabash to bail out
accumulated water from time to time.
After successfully crossing the open channel between St. John
and Tortola, Mr. Benjamin paddled between Little Thatch and Frenchman's
Cay. As he rounding the western point of Frenchman's Cay, the
wind picked up just enough to start sending water into the copper
faster than he could bail.
Paddling as fast as the lumbering craft could go, Mr. Benjamin
had not quite entered the mouth of Soper's Hole, when the combined
weight of the heavy copper, its passenger, and the added water
from the waves became heavier than an equal volume of just plain
seawater and by the laws of physics, could no longer float on
the surface of the sea. The copper sunk to the bottom, and Mr.
Benjamin was cast into the sea.
The story had a happy ending. Mr. Benjamin succeeded in swimming
the rest of the way into the harbor. Arriving at safely at West
End, soaking wet and with nothing more than his abilities and
his courage, Mr. Benjamin was able to carve out a free and dignified
life for himself on Tortola. The copper, according to Mr. Romney,
still lies in shallow water just off of the northeast corner
of Frenchman's Cay and, although heavily coral encrusted, can
be easily identified by snorkelers or divers who know where to
look.
