All Blood Runs Red: Life and Legends of Eugene Jacques Bullard - First Black American Military Aviator. Henry Scott Harris
“Sparrow, these bunks are three high. You have the top one over there. Listen up; being on the top, you must be careful not to step on anyone’s face. Of course, some of them would look better, but if you do, it could cause trouble. Next rule - don’t wake anyone. Your cabin-mates have various work shifts. Make your bed. There is a sheet, pillow and a blanket. Stay clean and keep them clean. You will wash the sheet once a week. Okay, you’ve heard me. Those are the rules. Do what you are ordered and we’ll all get along. Be in the kitchen when the Sun comes up, right?” I saluted and said, “Right!” My bed, top-side, was just a narrow, wooden slat covered by a thin mattress. But it was home for now. I worked my way on that ship, doing whatever was asked, and learned German.
It was, “Sparrow this” and “Sparrow that.” “Fly over here, Sparrow.” “Serviere kaffee, kartoffel schalen, dem recept nach, steh auf und schlaf spatter.” (Bring coffee, peel potatoes, follow recipes, up early and sleep later). I scrubbed floors and ran errands. Men on night watch demanded, “Hey Sparrow, more coffee now,” and I was quick to deliver. It was, “Sparrow, clean up the galley, take this to the bridge, bring this to the engine room.” I was always on the move. Whenever I had the chance, I was on the bridge where the first mate taught me to navigate by the compass and by the stars. “Remember the stars, little blackbird. Wherever you go, they go with you. They are your friends. Study the stars and you will never be lost.” Taught me how to read a map and to understand map directions in German, Ost, West, Nord and Suden. Looking at the chart, I asked, “Where is France, for that is where I am going.” He replied, “Not on this ship. This is a German ship bound for Scotland and then to Bremen to deliver gewehren and tausenden kanonen, guns and a thousand cannons.” He pointed to our course. “ Look here. This is Aberdeen, Scotland, where we will be unloading and where we must put you off. France is just across the Channel.” Thunderstruck, in shock, “You can’t put me off! You can’t just drop me. There is no one there for me. I never heard of Aberdeen or Scotland.”
H: What did you do?
E: Had no choice. Did my chores and after dinner, not too happy, I entertained. The crew, now friendly, enjoyed it and they sang songs in German. I learned some of them. Words I would not forget and didn’t realize then how important they would be for me to know. It was very hard work, but managed until the storm. The ship was buffeted and I was bounced out of bed. Rushed to dress. Put on my life-preserver and headed topside.
The early evening’s white clouds had turned murky gray and soon the sky was dark. Thunder claps roared and lightening lit up a raging ocean. The seas were running high and wild. Fierce winds rolled the ship left and right and up and down in giant swells. Everything was in motion. Plates flashed off tables and smashed on the floor. Fear…are we going to sink? The motion was up, down and sideways. Reaching the deck, roped myself to the passageway. Huge waves washed over the deck, soaking each of us. The wind-driven rain was frigid. The ship was a toy as it bounced and dipped, with my stomach matching each move. I was seasick, my skin clammy. Stomach ached so bad, thought I was dying. In fact, there were times I wanted to.
Friendly sailors stood midst this storm and almost force-fed me, saying, “No matter how sick, you must eat. Must have something inside to get rid of or you could hurt your gut.” I was freezing. Soaking wet in the rain, roped so as not to go overboard, for if I did, there was no chance of rescue. I held white-knuckle tight to the railing. Leaned over and upchucked everything, including, I felt, my insides, and was sure I was dying. They chuckled, “Eat Sparrow, you look pale, almost white. When you heave, watch out for the wind.” Big joke. I was too sick to listen. It wasn’t funny, but to the crew’s delight and my regret, the backlash of the wind blew everything I threw up, right at me. My night’s dinner, including the potatoes I peeled, came up, went over the side and then the swill flew back on me. The men enjoyed every moment of my pain. It was disgusting. I was filthy, but stayed on deck, holding the railing and praying and letting the rain wash the stink and muck from my face and clothes. Felt like an eternity until the seas calmed and so did my stomach. Didn’t eat for days.
H: You poor kid.
E: Henri, I learned the compass, directions and many German words. Each would be very helpful in the future. But for this time, it was how far Scotland was from France, and what awaited me in Aberdeen.
CHAPTER 6: ABERDEEN AND GLASGOW
E: The steel-colored clouds were motionless, the day gray and dark; a dismal fog touched the sea and touched me. The ugly sky was a dense canopy of bone-chilling mist that welcomed the ship as it pulled into Aberdeen Harbor and docked. I climbed down from my bunk, tossed back the pillow, folded the blankets, dressed, and glanced around knowing I would never see this room again. I carried a weary weight on my heart, having arrived in Scotland, not France. It was a foreboding and frightening sight. Stood near the gangway, cap on my head, worn jacket buttoned tight offered little protection from the cold weather. Shaking, fearful, trembling with dire thoughts and the feelings of being dumped ashore, abandoned and seul (alone).
H: Terrible, alone in a foreign country.
E: C’est la vie. I had no choice; at least I was in Europe. The bosun placed his hand on my shoulder as we leaned on the railing. I stared out at this new city wondering where to go, what to do and how would I live in this strange land? My thoughts were interrupted by the bosun, “It’s time Sparrow. Won’t be bad, you’ll see. The Scots are decent people, and your France isn’t far away.” He paused, patted my back and handed me two envelopes saying, “You turned out to be a good sailor. This envelope is your pay from the captain. You earned it. The other is a collection from the men to make it easier for you ashore.” Mon dieu, they moved my heart. I walked slowly to the top of the gangway, ready to depart when he called, “Hold Sparrow, almost forgot, this old duffle is a gift from the crew and is full of, not the newest but clean clothes, pants and a couple of sweaters to keep you warm. Maybe too big but you will grow into them.” Cookie rushed over, grabbed my hand, touched my cheek and handed me a box. ”Didn’t want to miss you. Put this in the bag. You won’t go hungry for a while. Smile, remember no more peeling potatoes.” As I made for the gangway the first mate shouted from the bridge, “Remember the stars! Sparrow, remember the stars and remember us.”
H: Obviously, the men liked you and respected you.
E: Did my job as best I could. But it was over. Prepared to take my first steps down when the captain appeared and commanded, “Sparrow, halt!” What did he want now? What is he doing here, came to see me off his ship? Dressed in his crisp, clean whites and glistening cap, he towered over me, stood at attention, saluted, bent down and said, “Aller anfang ist schwer.” The bosun quickly translated, “All beginnings are difficult. The first step is the hardest.” I looked into the captain’s eyes, understanding what he meant and replied, “Danka.”
H. Can’t imagine your emotions - fear, terror, anticipation. What happened?
E: Slowly, defiantly, stood straight, my face wet, hiding my trembling hands and eyes blurred, body shaking from the cold fog seeping into my bones, cautiously took each step down the gangplank, knowing I was leaving another “family.” As my feet touched on the drab concrete Aberdeen dock, put my duffle down, turned for a last look, smiled and danced a quick, dandy two-step and waved goodbye. The men, lining the deck were delighted and cheered, “Auf wiederschen Sparrow! Dance your way to France.” Slung the duffle over my shoulder and bravely skipped into an unknowing future, alone in Scotland.
I found that the Scots are unusually gentle people. When passing them on the street, they smiled. Of course they seldom saw a black person, much less a young one wandering, street performing and always asking the questions about France. Stopped a sailor, with a weather-beaten face drawn from years at sea, who answered my longing for France, “Matey, you would do better in Liverpool, where there are more ships.” And so tired, yearning, with his encouragement, took his advice and I journeyed on.
H: I’ve heard some stories about your adventures in Glasgow.
E: So Henri you think you know? The truth? I was hungry, hadn’t had a decent meal in days. Le deprime (depression). Sleeping in doorways and alleys, sometimes in a church. Needed a job,