Sins of Commission – Thank God

Description

THE LONG-LOST MEMOIR OF A WOMAN WHO SPENT THE 1920s AT SEA

“Today, as I write these memoirs, I continue to be appalled at the colossal ignorance with which I set out on what could have been an extremely questionable journey. But in those days I was young and fascinated by the promised romance of the sea and travel, and I wasted no thought or apprehension on what might lie ahead.”

So wrote Jeannette Schoen Smith in her long-lost 1983 memoir, SINS OF COMMISSION — THANK GOD, reflecting on her solo voyages in the 1920s aboard freighters, steamers and sailing ships, and on her many other remarkable travels after that time. She printed but few copies of her book – gifts to family and friends – and today only three are known to remain.

By fortune, I had one, for this daring young woman was my great-aunt and inspiration, and her book is, to me, a message in a bottle, floating upon the sea of time. It washed up on my beach and, thanks to new digital tools, it can now wash up on yours. Here’s a glimpse into Jean’s voice and vision.

 

A SWIM TO ADVENTURE

It was high summer; I was in Hudson Park in New Rochelle, swimming with the gang. I had just given a swimming lesson at the Larchmont Yacht Club, and was standing on the porch overlooking the harbor, when a man next to me said: “You see that little black schooner anchored out there?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that belongs to Captain Dingle, the guy who writes sea-stories for the SATURDAY EVENING POST.”

Maybe you think the cold shivers didn’t run up and down my spine! I knew exactly what was coming. The tide was turning and the GAUNTLET’s clipper bow etched a lovely silhouette against the bay. She was anchored about a half mile out. I said my polite goodbyes at the yacht club, made a surreptitious reconnaissance of family members not too far away, and slipped into the bay.

By the time I’d covered the half mile and looked up, GAUNTLET loomed above like the QUEEN MARY. I was shivering from cold, yes, but mostly from excitement. What the hell was I thinking of, anyhow, climbing uninvited aboard a strange ship to ask a strange man what seemed suddenly some pretty strange questions? I was clinging to the accommodation ladder, fearful, exhausted and in the state of belated panic, when a face appeared above the rail. A hand took a pipe out of its mouth, and a voice said:

“Won’t you come aboard?”

It was a moot question whether or not my shaking knees could propel me upward, but somehow I reached the rail. Pop took my arm, steered me up and over and I sat down, dripping and shivering, in the cockpit.

“Are you cold? Can I get you a coat or something,” asked Pop.

“Oh, no thank you,” I lied through chattering teeth. “I’m perfectly okay.”

Dead silence. Then: “What can I do for you?”

What, indeed, could Pop Dingle, old-time sea captain and author, do to make impossible dreams come true? I could not remember any of the questions I’d rehearsed on the long swim. For an interminable moment, I couldn’t even speak. Finally, in a very small voice, I managed to say: “Did you ever want to do something that you knew was silly and impossible, but you wanted to do it so badly, you had to try?”

Pop took the pipe out of his mouth again, and with a smile said, “I’ve done that all my life.” It was then I knew I had a friend.

And indeed I did. Pop and his companion Mary (introduced as his sister to simplify matters) came to the house in New Rochelle for dinner one night, and out of a clear blue sky, he asked: “We’re sailing to Halifax next weekend. How would you like to crew? There’ll be four of us, and we’ll take watch and watch about.”

Fortunately, my parents had not yet arrived from St. Louis to voice any objection, so, naturally, I jumped at the chance. Ignorant I was, indeed, never having been on anything but an ocean liner before. But unenthusiastic I was not. The GAUNTLET was sailing from Stamford; I was to tend to whatever affairs needed attention, pack warm clothes and join her there.