Free Teetoncey and Ben O'Neal by Theodore Taylor

said.
    That's a rotten word. "On what?"
    "Moon, sun, atmospheric pressure; onshore wind, offshore wind..." Mark saw me frowning and said, "Keep watch for me." There was a steamer going north; a barkentine headed south. Sea, calm; wind in its usual prevail, west of south. There wasn't much to "lookout" from that tower.
    Mark went down the ladder and soon came back with a thick tan book. "This is the greatest book ever written," he said. (Mama would argue the point and stick with the Holy Bible.) "It's by Nathaniel Bowditch."
    He read, "The cause of the tides is the periodic disturbance of the ocean from its position of equilibrium brought about through the periodic differences of attraction upon water particles of the earth by the moon, and to a lesser degree by the sun..."
    More or less, I knew that. He read on and finally got to the part which confirmed my January 16 date. "...at times of new and full moon, the highest high tides and the lowest low tides are experienced..."
    That was it. "Is January better than February or March?" I asked.
    He read again. "Tides will be increased by the sun's action when the earth is near its perihelion, about January 1..."
    "Peri what?" I asked.
    "Perihelion. I'm not sure what it is but it appears that tides are lower and higher in January than in July."
    That was perfect. Tee would be long gone by July.
    I asked again: "How long do they stay slack?" A very important question so far as Heron bar was concerned.
    Mark laughed. "That depends. Jabez says they stay slack long enough for a gull to digest a perch an' clean his wings. That's about right."
    Stroking his cat, Mark asked, "Ben, why do you want to know all this information?" The cat's big yellowish eyes were boring in on me.
    I said, "So I can discuss it with Teetoncey."
    I thanked Mark and wound down through the messroom. Filene was sitting at the crew's table, specs on nose, reading a copy of the Norfolk
Virginian-Pilot.
He glanced up and gave me a look that was enough to close my windpipe but didn't say anything. I went on my way to Kilbie's house to report what I'd learned.
    The year came to a close.
    New Christmas, December 25, which all the mainlanders seemed to celebrate, was filtering very slowly to the Outer Banks but we paid more attention to the eve of January 6, Old Christmas, which was the traditional celebration for as long as anyone knew. Let the mainlanders play with sacred dates. Busybodies, they were ruining our post office names but had to let Christmas alone. It was now the Year of Our Lord, 1899.
    On Christmas Eve afternoon, Mama, Tee, Fid, Boo Dog, and myself went to Chicky village to watch Kilbie and his brother, Everett, run around in cow heads and hide draped to their waist. They were pretending to be Old Buck, the wild bull of Trent Woods. The program did not vary from year to year. Tee seemed to be baffled by the whole thing, which surprised me, since we had inherited our Christmas from England. Then we went home and had a festive evening.
    Every few days, while waiting for the calendar to tick off January 16, we were meeting in the hulk of the
Hettie Carmichael,
sheltered from the wind, to discuss the silver salvage. Of course, we were also sheltered from snooping eyes.
    On this particular day, Kilbie had brought a sketch along. It showed the sandbar and had a pair of straight lines penciled across to mark the area where we thought the
Empress
had piled up.
    Kilbie showed it to Tee and asked, "Where did your papa keep the chests?"
    "In the cabin with us. They're extraordinarily heavy, Kilbie. It took four men with ropes and planks to get them down the ladder."
    Kilbie nodded and drew the outline of a vessel in the sand. "Now show me where the cabin was."
    Tee stuck her finger down. It appeared to be a bit forward of midships. Kilbie studied it a moment and then drew an X on his sketch. "That's where the chests are," he said confidently.
    I said, "Kilbie, how do you know that the
Empress
didn't slew around