ADVENTURE ON OCRACOAKE ISLAND; CHAPTER 1: THE LONG JOURNEY (FIRST OF 14 PARTS)

Delia Parrish stared at the gray waves that splashed around the boat and sent up fountains of spray. Although it was early afternoon on this late February day in 1942, the sky was as dark as twilight. It looked like a storm was coming.

Eleven-year-old Delia was the only passenger on a white mail boat called the Pelican, which bumped through the rough water as it pulled away from the little town of Atlantic, N.C. It chugged noisily up the Pamlico Sound, a wide stretch of water that separated the chain of islands called the Outer Banks from the mainland. Its destination was one of those islands, Ocracoke, 25 miles away. Delia's aunt and grandfather would be waiting for her at the village.

Delia had left her home in Roanoke just two days earlier. But it seemed longer ago than that, especially since she didn't know when or if she would return.

Her stomach had felt jumpy all morning. She'd eaten only a few bites of the lunch that her father had bought her in Atlantic. She hadn't slept much at the little hotel, either, knowing that not long after she woke up she would have to say goodbye to him.

"Be a brave soldier," her father had said, his eyes rimmed with red. "I'll write when I can."

Then he hugged her, helped her onto the boat, waved goodbye, and left for Norfolk. He had looked both proud and sad in his Navy uniform. Soon, he would be on a boat, too, crossing the ocean to England, and to war. Delia felt proud and sad herself: proud that he had such an important career with the Navy, and sad that he was going so far away. She knew there was a chance that he might not come back.

The wind started to rock the boat. It whistled inside the open cabin where the captain stood behind his wheel, and where Delia crouched on a crate behind him. Her small black suitcase stood by her feet. The boat smelled like wood and wet rope.

White seagulls, their wings beating against the wind, swooped by the boat. Now and then they screeched.

Delia's face was cold and her hands were cold, and even under her warm purple scarf her neck was cold. She looked down at her scarf, the fringed ends fluttering in the wind. It made her think about her mother, who had knitted it for her in the fall, before everything changed, before her illness took her away forever. Delia glanced at the dark sky. Was her mother watching her now?

Although Delia had made this trip twice before, she had been with her parents then. This time she was older, and she shouldn't feel afraid. But she did. She was alone now, and she was heading toward a strange place out in the wild, wild ocean.

The captain of the boat, Sidney Haskell, was a tall, thin man with a wind-worn face and a kind smile. He had called her by her full name, Cordelia, when he met her at the dock. Her mother had once told her it meant "daughter of the sea," which Delia thought was silly. Her mother had always loved the ocean, having grown up on Ocracoke, but Delia was terrified of it. So she always called herself Delia, and now most everyone else did too.

Capt. Haskell looked over his shoulder at her. "Are ya doin' all right?" he shouted above the wind and the roar of the Pelican's engine. "Sure ya don't want to go below?"

Delia shook her head.

"It's breezin' up," the captain said. "The sound can get mighty rough."

He had a different way of speaking. He said "all roight" and "saind" and "moighty rough." Delia knew that was how the islanders talked, and sometimes it was hard to understand them.

Delia brushed the hair from her eyes. "I'm fine," she said, but she felt worried, and not just about leaving her father. The water looked angry.

"Don't worry," Capt. Haskell said. "The Pelican here will carry ya to Ocracoke all right."

As soon as he said that, it started to rain. "Is a nor'easter coming?" Delia asked. She had heard about the fierce Atlantic storms that lashed the Outer Banks.

Capt. Haskell shook his head and frowned at the sky. "Nah, not a nor'easter. But a storm, sure, before dark."

He looked at her and smiled. "So, you're goin' to stay with your aunt? I've always said Hetty O'Dell is right goodsome. She taught my boy, Billy, before he joined the Navy. She'll take good care of ya." He paused and cleared his throat. "Your grandpa, too."

Delia loved her gentle aunt, who looked a lot like Delia's mother, her sister. But she felt like she didn't really know her grandfather. He was gruff and didn't talk much. At her mother's funeral he'd given her a rough hug and walked away.

Capt. Haskell coughed. "I'm awful sorry about your mama," he said. "She was a fine person."

"Thank you," Delia replied. She looked out at the dark water.

Trying to cheer her up, the captain started to tell her stories. He told her about the wild ponies that lived on Ocracoke. Some said they were descendants of Spanish ponies that had swum ashore during shipwrecks.

"They'll walk right up to your house if you don't have a fence," he said. "One time my wife put an apple pie on the window sill to cool off. Little pony walked right up and ate it. Then he stood there waitin' for more."

Delia smiled.

Then the captain told her about the evil pirate Edward Teach, known as Blackbeard, who had sometimes lived on Ocracoke more than 200 years earlier.

"They say his ghost haunts these parts," Capt. Haskell said.

Delia shivered. she burrowed her feet under a canvas mail bag.

Capt. Haskell also told her about the treacherous waters off the islands, the "Graveyard of the Atlantic," where many ships had gone down. The currents were strong and the shifting sands, or shoals, were deadly.

"We've nothin' to worry about in the sound," he said. "But out in the sea, that's another story." He paused and added, "There's somethin' mighty evil out there now, and it's got nothin' to do with currents or shoals." The boat rocked harder. They were near the windy Ocracoke Inlet, one of the churning channels between islands where the water opened to the Atlantic.

Delia said, "What is it?"

He glanced at her. "Well, maybe I shouldn't be puttin' scary stories in your head. Hetty wouldn't like it."

"Is it Blackbeard's ghost?" Delia asked.

Capt. Haskell shook his head and pointed out at the sea, rough with whitecaps and as dark as a shadow. "It's not the dead you should be scared of. It's the livin.'"

NEXT WEEK: Chapter 2: A Mysterious Visitor