"Next May, if all goes well, I'll take you and mamma on a voyage to
New York and back. How's that?"
"Hurray!" All disappointment was forgotten in the promise, and the boy
alternately hugged his father and skipped around the room in joyful
antics. "Won't that be great! Hurray! Jingo! I must tell Joak. And in
the _Sarmania_ too! I can hardly wait until the winter's over. Just
think of it, mamma! To New York! Three thousand miles across the
Atlantic!" His delight knew no bounds and seafaring ideals were, for
the nonce, postponed.
On a brumal November day, the _Sarmania_ was to sail on her first trip
under the Sutton house-flag. Captain McKenzie had bidden his family an
affectionate farewell early in the morning and had driven away in a
cab with his white canvas sea bag and portmanteau on the "dicky."
Mother and son had watched the four-wheeler rattle down the road and
had waved to the Captain peering for a last glance of home through the
window. Partings are holy moments, fraught with memories and fears,
and both watched the conveyance disappear from sight without speaking.
"Mamma," said Donald, when they entered the house again, "what do you
say if we take a cab this afternoon and drive down to Renfrew and see
the ship pass down the river. I'd like to see daddy's ship going down
to the sea." The idea appealed to Mrs. McKenzie and she assented
eagerly. "And mamma," continued Donald, "I'd like to ask a favor and I
hope you'll grant it."
"What is it, dear?"
"Let me go and get poor Joak McGlashan and take him with us. His papa
is on the _Sarmania_ too, and I'm sure it would be a great treat for
him to see the ship."
Mrs. McKenzie's lips pursed and she was about to refuse gently, but
something had softened her heart towards the undesirable Joak, and she
gave permission. Donald grabbed his hat and coat and was off to
thirty-seven M'Clure street.
Later in the day a cab plodded down to the grassy banks of the Clyde
at Renfrew and the occupants got out. Joak had had a hair-cut and wore
a collar--an adornment which chafed his neck and made him feel like a
"bloomin' toff." In Mrs. McKenzie's eyes, the youth, thus adorned,
looked quite passable, and were it not for his "atrocious
conversation," she would have been impelled to invite Joak to tea on
occasions. Joak's dialect, however, barred him from the polite society
of Maxwell Park, and Mrs. McKenzie felt that the restrictions could
not be relaxed.
The party sat on a seat by a river-side path until Donald, who had
been scanning the roily windings of the Clyde citywards, discerned
three tall masts coming slowly around a bend. "Here she comes!" he
cried.
Slowly and majestically the liner swung into view, with a
paddle-wheeled tug straining at a stern hawser, and the boys scanned
her over with appreciative delight. The _Sarmania_ was, indeed, a
queen among ships--a long, straight-stemmed, black-hulled dream of a
vessel, flush-decked from stem to stern, with white painted rails,
stanchions and life-boats in orderly array, and varnished teak
deck-houses, whose brass-rimmed ports glittered in the cold November
daylight. A lofty, black, red-banded funnel arose from a phalanx of
ventilators amidships, and three tall pole masts, with square yards
crossed on the fore, added to the appearance of a handsome ship.
The pilot-jack flew from a stem-head staff just in front of the
uniformed Chief Officer standing up in the eyes of her; the graceful
Stars and Stripes waved from the fore-truck, while the Sutton house
flag and a red mail pennant decorated the other masts. Astern, from
the jack-staff lazily waved "the old red duster"--the "blood and guts
of Old England"--the red ensign of Britain's Merchant Marine, and "The
Flag" never floated from a nobler looking ship.
Mrs. McKenzie saw not the ship. Her eyes were riveted on the high
bridge which stood, spider-like, on stout iron stanchions forward of
the long funnel, and upon which strode her husband, uniformed, alert,
and monarch absolute of the little world he ruled. Captain McKenzie
paused in his thwartship pacings and whipped up a pair of binoculars
to his eyes. The boys were swinging their caps and shouting; Mrs.
McKenzie was waving a handkerchief. The Captain spied them, and taking
off his uniform cap waved heartily. He turned for a moment and gave an
order. A burst of steam whirled up from the liner's funnel and the
syren blared forth a farewell roar. "He's blawin' th' whustle tae ye!"
yelled Joak. "Ah see ma faither at the front o' the shup. Haw,
faither! Haw, faither!" And Joak yelled himself hoarse at the stocky
figure which detached itself from a knot of seamen and waved a cap at
the rail.
Slowly the fine ship glided past, decks thronged with passengers, and
a column of black smoke ascended from the funnel as the firemen stoked
for "a full head of steam." The stern tug came abreast of the
watchers, and the ship swung around a bend and slowly vanished.
Mrs. McKenzie called the boys, and with something of an ache in her
heart, she drove home--remaining silent while the others chattered and
described the fine points of the wonderful ship their fathers sailed
in.
The _Sarmania_ arrived in New York after a rapid passage, and Donald
and Joak had discussed stealing down to the river-side when the ship
was due back and watching her come in, but the December weather had
set in with gales of wind and rain and the time of the ship's arrival
was problematical, so they gave up the idea and decided to meet the
ship at the quay should the time of day be appropriate.
On a cold, wet winter's morning, Donald trudged to school, intending
at lunch hour to go down to the wharf office and ask if there was any
word of the _Sarmania_, which was then due. Joak was not present that
morning, but that was nothing unusual, as Joak was becoming tired of
the Fifth Standard and played truant often. The morning dragged
slowly. It was a dark, dismal Glasgow day--a day of sullen clouds and
slashing rain--when the street lamps remained alight to do the work of
the skulking sun, but Donald hummed softly at his work and looked
forward to an evening with his father and a recital of the wonderful
_Sarmania's_ maiden passage in the New York trade. He would be in that
day, sure enough! He was a day late, but they always gave a day extra
on winter passages, and Alec McKenzie seldom exceeded it.
Noon came and Donald was seated in a corner of the play-ground shed
eating a lunch and kicking his legs to keep warm, when Joak--a grimy,
wet and haggard Joak--came running up. Donald noticed that the tears
were streaming from his eyes. "Who hit ye?" he gasped as he stood up
and caught his staggering chum.
Joak ignored the question. "Oh Donal', it's awfu', it's awfu'! Ah
dinna ken what to say!" And the tears and sobs burst forth anew.