On Tuesday, the twenty-third of June, the _Bright Wing_ lay in the
berth assigned to her at the Navy Yard, all prepared to set sail at
noon. There was a moderate breeze down the harbor, the tide was high at
eleven o’clock, and all she would need would be a tow out for a mile or
so to get out of the way of the shipping.
Everything was shining on board. The ship carried a new suit of sails,
and her paint and bright work were all gleaming in the sunlight. At the
fore topmasthead the Boy Scout flag was rippling, and at the main truck
the long pennant was waving gracefully. The ensign did not catch the
wind so well, being under the lee of a big battleship docked close by.
Everything looked as if the _Bright Wing_ were chuckling to herself in
anticipation of her coming venture.
The three Northbridge boys had come up by the early train, accompanied
by Mr. Sheffield and Tom’s sister Eleanor, and Chippie had immediately
gone below to hunt up his locker, where he was putting the contents
of his sea bag in order. The other two boys remained on the dock,
taking in the scene before them with pride and pleasure; Dick talked
with Mr. Sheffield about different points of special interest, while
Tom’s beaming face spoke more eloquently than words as he and Eleanor
listened to the conversation.
“She’s like a duck in the sunshine!” said Dick.
“Yes, right after her morning dip,” said Tom.
Presently Mr. Sheffield and Eleanor bade the boys good-by and Tom and
Dick jumped on to the deck.
Some of the other boys had come on board the night before and had
already put their lockers in order and got into their white uniforms.
Dick and Tom received their individual “station billets” upon which
they found all the information as to their bunks, lockers, divisions,
sections, and special duties in the different emergency drills, written
out clearly, so that they could set to work at once to find out where
they belonged, what was expected of them, and how to make themselves
comfortable.
At a quarter to eleven the boatswain’s pipe was heard, loud and clear,
and the order “all hands aboard” rang out. The few scouts who were
left on the wharf cut their good-bys short and quietly clambered down
the ratlines or jumped on to the deck. Then the gangway was hauled up,
the hawsers released, and the _Bright Wing_ sat, like a gull, free in
the water. In the meantime the Government tugboat had backed up within
easy distance and thrown her line on board; and, as the vessel drifted
into the channel, the tug got under way, the line tightened, and the
_Bright Wing_ followed in her wake.
The regular watch were at their posts on deck as a matter of
course,--the lookout in the bow, the boatswain’s mate with his
quartermaster and other seamen just in front of the quarter-deck, while
the rest of the boys climbed up the rigging, shaking their hats in
final farewell to their friends ashore.
It was not long, however, before they were far enough out in the
channel for the tug to leave them. Jack Perkins was in the bow in
charge of the line; the Captain was at the wheel; Jack was waiting for
the order to “let her go”, and, as soon as the words reached his ears,
he cast off the line which slipped into the water and left the _Bright
Wing_ to her own resources. The Captain of the tug waved his hand in
salutation, the sails filled, and a sense of living motion was felt
by all on board as the _Bright Wing_ rolled over slightly and began
cleaving the water under the pressure of her sails.
Tom and Dick were standing near the rail, well forward on the windward
side. “Gee!” cried Dick, “what a difference there is between sailing
and being towed.”
“You bet,” said Tom, “something like being alive or dead!”
Soon after they had parted from the tug, the bugle sounded for mess
inspection, and the scout master passed up and down the line. After
that, all hands waited “at ease” until the cabin boy came up on deck
and announced dinner to the ranking officer. The boys then marched aft
by twos, followed by the officers, and stood at their places at the
tables until after grace.
Dick, Tom, and Chippie, much to their disappointment, found themselves
in different sections, so that they did not sit together at meals; but
Dick sat next to his boatswain’s mate, who was Clarence Ellsworth.
“Say,” said Dick, when he got a chance to speak, “why do the boys go
down to dinner before the officers? You’d think the officers would
march down first.”
“Well, you see,” said Ellsworth, “those who go down first have to wait
for the others, and the officers come down when everything is ready to
pitch into the food. Something like getting into a boat,--we have to go
down first to get things ready. (Law Number 5.) It’s the same for Sea
Scouts and for all sailors everywhere.”
“Oh, I understand,” said Dick.
The boys’ table ran down the whole length of the berth deck--fore and
aft--on the starboard side, while the smaller officers’ table was on
the port side. Jack sat at the head, or forward end, of the boys’
table as chief boatswain’s mate. The talk was very animated and rather
loud, for, of course, the boys felt the pleasant excitement of new
surroundings and unaccustomed conditions. Some of them were shy and a
little awkward on account of the strangeness of things they had never
seen before; but, under the influence of good food and good humor, they
all gradually unbent, and the boys of each section soon felt at home
with one another. Of course it was the business of the boatswain’s
mates to help this feeling along as much as possible, so that they
could get the best work out of their men; for it is a rule, both on
land and sea, that the best work is done when the men who work together
do it in a friendly and a happy spirit. This, you will remember, is
what Mrs. Perkins had learnt from her father, the captain of the _Sally
Smart_. She had taught it to Jack, and Jack had taught it to the other
boatswain’s mates.
Before dinner was over, Dick noticed the new watch go on deck to
relieve the old one, and the old watch come down to take their share
of the good things. By the time all the boys had returned on deck, it
seemed to him that they had gone about half the way to their anchorage
at Hull. The remainder of the afternoon was spent principally in
putting their belongings in order and in asking questions about the
different parts of the ship and their uses. By half-past four they
dropped anchor at Hull, and the sails were furled; and, at five
o’clock, the bugle sounded for the first General Quarters of the
cruise.
First, the boys were drawn up in two rows on each side facing each
other, while the setting sun threw long shadows to starboard on the
deck; they were then faced about toward the quarter-deck to hear
the first official words addressed to them by the Chairman of the
Committee. He was a tall man with gray hair and dressed in a blue
suit; you could see that he was fond of his job, and Dick thought that
his eyes were noticing everything that was going on. He spoke in a
clear voice that you could hear all over the ship, although it was not
particularly loud, and there was absolute attention on the part of the
boys.
“I’m mighty glad, boys,” said he, “to welcome you on board this
ship. You know, of course, that we are here for a serious purpose.
The _Bright Wing_ is not a yacht, and we are not here just to enjoy
ourselves, although we probably shall have a much better time than if
we were. We are here to learn to apply the spirit of the scout law
to the art of seamanship. I do not want to keep you long now, but I
want to point out to you at the outset the fact that you have a real
responsibility as the crew of this vessel.
“Men who are in the habit of facing danger look it squarely in the
face and do not pretend that it does not exist. There is always a
certain amount of risk in life at sea, although many sailors seem to
think it is more dangerous to cross Washington Street or Broadway
during business hours than to face the most adverse winds and dangerous
currents; but, for the sake of those we have left at home, as well as
for other good and sufficient reasons, the safety of the vessel is
something we are bound in honor to ensure to the utmost of our ability.
“Now there are three things which are essential to this safety. The
first is the soundness of the vessel and her tackle, and for this the
Sea Scouting Committee, of which I have the honor to be the Chairman,
is responsible; the second is the knowledge and skill of the Captain,
and for this both he and the Committee are responsible; and the third
is the handiness and good discipline of the crew, and for this YOU are
responsible.
“Both the Committee and I are satisfied with the soundness of the
vessel and her tackle, and also with the skill and knowledge of our
Captain or Navigating Officer; it remains for you to prove that you are
equal to the share of the responsibility which devolves upon you, and I
heartily believe that you will prove yourselves worthy of the trust.”
After this the boys were dismissed until Mess Inspection and supper at
half-past five.
“I say,” said a quiet boy, nudging Dick’s elbow, as they sat eating
their baked beans, “that old Chairman seems to mean what he says all
right.”
“Yep,” replied his companion, “you bet he does. And he expects us to
toe the mark. Any duffer can see that!”
After supper Dick found the other two members of the Triangle Club, and
they voted unanimously that the Chairman was “all right.”
Before prayers, the names on the Anchor Watch were posted by Mr.
Miller, with particular instructions for the scout on duty, and the
first watch was from eight to nine. This hour was always assigned to
one of the youngest boys, and Chippie happened to be the one selected
the first night on board. As soon as prayers were over, Mr. Miller
hastened to join him to make sure that he understood just what his
duties were, and to repeat to him the instructions already posted on
the berth deck.
It was Chippie’s business to know the name of the Sea Scout who
succeeded him at nine o’clock, and also the exact position of his bunk.
He was to keep a sharp lookout on all sides of the vessel and to notice
if anybody hailed the ship from shore. He was to watch the riding
lights fore and aft and to see that they were brightly burning. He was
to give notice of any boats or other vessels approaching or hailing the
ship. On noticing anything that called for attention he was immediately
to report to the scout master. In case of change of weather, he was to
call Mr. Wilson, the mate.
He was provided with a card called the “Rough Log” ruled off into
several different headings on which, before the end of his watch, he
was to note down the state of the weather, the state of the sea, the
cloud formations, the direction of the wind, and the direction of the
ship’s head, stating the time of his observations. This card was then
passed on to his successor, so that the complete record for the night
contained observations for every hour.
At five minutes of nine he was to go below and wake up his successor.
Then he was to return on deck and ring the ship’s bell (two bells) at
nine o’clock. After that he was to remain on duty until relieved; but,
if his relief failed to put in an appearance at five minutes past nine,
he was to go below and turn him out of his bunk. He was then to return
on deck until relieved, and under no circumstances to leave his post
before the arrival of the new watch.
“Remember,” said Mr. Miller, in conclusion, “you are responsible for
the safety of the ship during your watch, and you are on your honor.”
The boys had all turned in, and taps had sounded by the time Mr. Miller
had finished. Left to himself, Chippie began pacing the deck, stopping
every few minutes to peer out into the darkness and to listen to every
sound.
The binnacle lamp was always kept burning so that the compass could be
read; and, in the light of this lamp, Chippie filled out the spaces
provided on the Rough Log. He wet his thumb and held it up in the air
to judge which way the wind was blowing, and was surprised to find how
difficult it was to make up his mind. Finally concluding that there
was no wind (a fact which in his great earnestness he had failed to
notice), he put down a good big zero under the heading “Direction of
the Wind.”
[Illustration: He wet his thumb and held it up in the air to judge
which way the wind was blowing. _Page 52._]
“Good joke,” thought Chippie; “I guess it won’t take me so long to find
that out next time,” and then turned his attention to the “direction of
the ship’s head”, “the state of the sea”, “the state of the sky”,
etc.
Any job, when you are not accustomed to it, seems awkward, and Chippie
filled out his last space with a sense of relief. Then he ran forward
to look at the ship’s clock in the companionway, and found, to his
surprise, that it was already one minute to nine, and he should have
gone below to wake the next watch four minutes before.
But luckily the new watch had been lying awake in his bunk with his
clothes on, and saved Chippie the trouble of going below by appearing
at the top of the ladder just as Chippie was about to go down. So
then Chippie went straight to the ship’s bell and--“ding-ding”--“two
bells”--rang out into the night.
“Gee, but I’m in luck,” whispered Chippie to himself.
Then he went aft with the new watch, showed him the Rough Log and the
list of directions, and finally went forward again, slipped down the
companionway, and crawled into his bunk.
“I wonder if some of the other fellows will be trying to study out
which way the wind is blowing!” thought Chippie as he pulled off his
clothes. Then his thoughts went back to his home in Northbridge for a
while; and presently the _Bright Wing_ began rocking gently in the roll
of a passing steamer. He was just awake enough to notice the motion and
then sailed off to the land of dreams.
At ten o’clock it was Dick’s turn on watch. The last members of the
crew ashore--the carpenter and first mate--had come aboard at half-past
nine, and there were no more hails to listen for. The boats were all on
their davits, the boat booms and side-ladders were up, and the _Bright
Wing_ was tucked up and snug for the night.
After Dick had finished his observations of the weather, etc., and
had filled out the Rough Log, he watched the sky for a long time. He
did not know the stars very well, but they had a great attraction for
him. He looked around until he found the Great Dipper, which was the
constellation he was most familiar with, and then the Pole-star by
following the direction of the pointers. He noticed that the Dipper
was to the right of the Pole-star and below it. Then he noticed the
constellation called Cassiopeia--in the shape of a “W” to the left of
the Pole-star and above it.
“Here’s my chance,” thought Dick, with a sudden inspiration, “to see if
the northern stars do really turn around the pole like a wheel as they
are supposed to do.” He then looked at the buildings on shore to find
some landmark by which to test the turning of the stars. But his watch
on deck was already half over, and he had not time enough to make his
experiment properly. If he had been on land it would have been easier,
but the ship was swinging at her anchor with the tide as it ran in, and
there were no very prominent buildings in sight.
When the next boy came up to stand his watch, Dick tried to interest
him in his astronomical observations, but he got no response, and so
promised himself to begin his experiment in plenty of time at the very
next opportunity.