‘NOTHING EVER HAPPENS’
Harbor Police Lead Quiet Life
By CLINTON H. JOHNSON
1937
The plaint of the harbor police is:
"Nothing ever happens."
Through long, lazy summer days, with the sun glinting on the harbor water outside their little station at
the foot of Caroline Street, with nothing to break the silence but the waves slapping against the pilling of their pier--or
through the long winter months, snug beside their stove in the station, or swinging their
arms listily to keep warm as their trim craft plows its way along on one of its endless, aimless patrol cruises--through all
their days and nights the same thought echoes in their minds: "Nothing ever happens."
Fleeting Fame
Their fellow members of the force get chances, now and then, to use their guns or their wits-or both-to gain
passing front page fame and a place on the commendation lists. The harbor patrol squads read the stories, scan, the lists
and sigh resignedly.
It never occurs to them that perhaps the reason nothing ever happens to them is because they're doing a thorough,
efficient job. They read about harbor pirates in Boston, New York and San Francisco and wonder why no gangs like that ever
operate here.
They shouldn't have to look far for the answer. They themselves are the reason, And that's why, when someone
asks Captain Harvey Van Harten, commander of the harbor patrol, to spin a yarn he grows fidgety and changes the subject. He
knows what the public expects--a story of danger in the darkness of' the waterfront, of wily smugglers, daring thieves shanghaied
scions, captive damsels. In short, Lime-house stuff.
That's what they want, he knows all too well. Being obliging by nature, he'd like to give it to them. But
being also honest, he's sorry that he can't.
Under prompting, however, he may manage to dig up one tale from the more than 20 years he’s been patrolling
the waterfront.
Mutiny Story
It's a story of mutiny--but as he gets that far the Captain raises a warning palm and tells you not to expect
too much.
It happened, Captain Von Harten tells you, several, years ago. He goes on:
"I've "forgotten the name of the boat and the name of the skipper now. All I remember is that he was bound
for Baltimore with a load of oysters from some port way down the Western Shore.
"He had a crew of five. Why in the world they ever decided to mutiny is beyond me, but mutiny they did. They
got together and decided they were going to lock the skipper in his cabin and run the ship to suit themselves.
They walked aft to where the skipper was and told him they were taking charge of things. He gave ‘em
an argument and one of the gang clipped him, not hard but just enough to show him they meant business. They weren't armed,
but neither was he and they were five against one.
Turns Tables
They made him back up until he hit the cabin companionway, then back down to his cabin. They were going to
lock him in. The skipper was so mad for those few minutes he hadn't been able to think, but as he was backing down the steps
his mind began to work again and he remembered he had a shotgun standing right inside the cabin door.
When he got to the door he just reached behind him, got the gun and swung it up, to cover them. That turned
the tables. The skipper climbed back up the companionway, making the crew back up as he advanced. He backed 'em right to the
forepeak companionway and then made 'em go down into, the forepeak.
Once he got 'em in he locked the door quick, piled a spare anchor against the door and then sat down to figure
out what to do next.
Luckily he came within hailing distance of another in bound ship and shouted out for the skipper to send the
harbor police out as soon as he could.
That's how we came into it. We, got the message when the other ship got in and started out to look for the
mutiny boat, We finally found her anchored over at the Canton flats. We went aboard, pulled away the anchor and all the other
stuff the skipper had piled on the forepeak door and hauled out those five mutineers. They were a sorry looking sight, too.
The forepeak hadn't been too comfortable. Captain Von Harten shifted an easier position against the rail of the police boat,
snapped what was left of his cigar off into the water and took a hitch at his belt , and that was the mutiny, such as it was.
Remember I said it wouldn't be much. Nothing ever happens down here.
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