At the sound of reveille the next morning, the boys were all out
of their bunks in short order; and, after a cup of cocoa with some
crackers, they got the gear out of the way preparatory to scrubbing the
decks, and the cabin skylights and portholes were closed.
“What the dickens is the use,” said Dick to Tom, “of having all these
things done on the very minute? A fellow has hardly time enough to look
around!”
“That’s all right,” answered Tom, “the things have all got to be done
sometime, and the quicker they’re put through, the better. There’s no
sense in wasting time over the chores.”
“Right you are, Tom,” said Perkins, who was standing near, “and on
board a vessel you have to be even quicker than on land; for otherwise
we should be knocking our heads together--there are so many of us in a
small space. That’s why things have to go like clockwork.”
While the decks were being scrubbed with salt water, the officers in
the cabin heard the swish of the water up against the portholes as they
were dressing below. Suddenly an exclamation was heard from the cabin
companionway, immediately followed by the scout master’s whistle and
the cry, “Boatswain’s Mate!”
The boatswain’s mate ran down and found Mr. Miller wiping the back of
his neck which had just been soused by a stream of salt water coming
through an unclosed porthole.
“Who is responsible for closing the portholes, Perkins?”
“On the starboard side, Sir? I will find out at once. It must be some
one in the second division, first section.” Jack returned on deck and
found the boatswain’s mate of that section. “Gray,” was the answer,
“Number 4,” and Jack went back to the cabin and reported to Mr. Miller.
“Put him on report,” said he, “and bring the matter up at ‘Mast.’”
“Ay, Ay, Sir,” said Jack, and the incident was closed for the time
being.
Then the scrub-deck gear was stowed, portholes and skylights were
opened up again, all hands began washing, for which they were allowed
four buckets of fresh water, and pretty soon, at the sound of the
boatswain’s pipe, which seemed especially musical in the morning air, a
lot of hungry boys--followed by their officers--went below with raging
appetites.
“Colors” came immediately after, and, at the command “Attention!” every
man and boy on deck stood up straight and practically motionless,
facing the quarter-deck. One minute later, at the words “sound off”,
it was interesting to observe the quartermaster as he held the ensign
under his left arm, deftly wound up, so that it should not touch the
deck or the rail, and then gave the halyard a quick haul. The ensign
broke out clear and ran up to its staff head without a hitch. At the
end of the bugle call, all the right hands on deck went up in salute,
and then everybody was dismissed and the ceremony was over.
Morning “Colors” is the beginning of the official day on board a
vessel in the Navy or in the service of the Boy Scout brotherhood. No
visitors are expected on board before this time, and nobody need feel
the necessity of being completely dressed before breakfast, which comes
half an hour earlier. Scrubbing and washing down the decks is done
in bare feet and legs with the trousers rolled up over the thighs--a
custom which originated the fashion of the “bell shape” characteristic
of sailors’ trousers. A ship’s company before morning “Colors” is very
much like a household when people are dressing or doing early morning
chores in slippers and dressing gown, the difference being that there
is more “housework” to be done at that early hour on board ship. The
raising and saluting of the ensign is not alone an act of respect to
the flag, reminding us of the first point of the scout oath and of our
duty to our country, but it is like opening the front door of a house
and saying good morning to the world at large.
This is true even in a more literal sense; for, immediately after
morning “Colors”, the boat booms are let down and the boats
lowered--thus providing means of communication with the shore and other
vessels; and, at the same time, the side-ladders, which give general
access to the ship, are put in position.
For the time being--as they stood at attention during the bugle
call--both Chippie and Dick had clean forgotten their little adventures
of the night before. Everything was so different from the way things
look during the night watches. The deck of the vessel, alive with
boys and men, only arrested in their activity by the brief ceremony
of “Colors”, other vessels in the neighborhood all astir with
preparations for the day, the sun shining brightly in the east and
reflected in the rippling surface of the water, broken only by the
shadows of the hulls and their spars,--how different a scene was this
from that in which Chippie had been the central figure as he stood in
the dark the evening before, with not a soul in sight, solemnly holding
up his thumb in the still air to see which way the wind was blowing!
All that was outside of Chippie’s thoughts now as completely as if it
had never happened; but it would return again later with many other
shifting scenes; and through them all there was something in the
back of his mind which could always be recalled whatever his outward
surroundings and circumstances might be. He had no father, and he
was his mother’s only son. She was a hard-working woman who had made
it possible for him to have everything he needed ever since he could
remember. She had made it possible for him to come on this cruise, and
he was deeply grateful to her for all her goodness. He remembered what
Jack Perkins had told them that evening at his house about saluting the
flag not only as the emblem of our country but also as the emblem of
our duty to God; and this morning, as he stood there “at attention”, he
thought to himself: “I guess the biggest duty I’ve got is to stand by
my mother!”
Just before “Colors” the coxswains, who had cleaned their respective
boats before breakfast, reported them to the scout master as ready for
inspection; the quartermaster reported the clocks wound, and the watch
was relieved.
The new watch consisted of Clarence Ellsworth, boatswain’s mate, a
coxswain, a quartermaster, and five ordinary and apprentice seamen,
of whom Dick Gray was one and served as messenger. This watch was on
duty for four hours, from eight to twelve, and the boatswain’s mate was
responsible for all the routine orders during that time. Immediately
after the old watch had been relieved, Mr. Miller handed to Ellsworth
a slip of paper upon which were written these routine orders. He was
supposed to blow his “call” and to give his orders in a clear, audible
voice and then to see that they were carried out as stated. It was the
special duty of the master-at-arms to help in carrying out orders by
mingling with the boys, setting them a good example, and giving the
slow or lazy ones a good-natured shove ahead. The boatswain’s mate
cannot be in two places at once, and the master-at-arms is a great help
to him in this respect, and must necessarily be a boy of ability and
character; for the master-at-arms could not possibly have the right
influence with the boys if he merely tried to order them around; he is
obliged to be good-humored and dignified, and to keep his mind on his
job all the time. The master-at-arms at this time was admirably suited
to fill all these requirements.
As the boatswain’s mate of the watch sounded the call for “Mast”,
the boys all lined up on the starboard side just forward of the
quarter-deck, and the captain and scout master stood facing them. Dick
was the only Sea Scout on report, and was charged with not properly
closing a porthole before washing decks. He pleaded guilty and was
let off with a warning, as this was his first offense. All hands then
joined in the “setting up” exercises before going over the masthead.
The master-at-arms was an “able seaman” by the name of Young, who came
from Attleboro, an inland town, where there were few facilities for
practicing seamanship; he was a boy who was earning his living and
the leader of a small gang who had formed themselves into a section
of Sea Scouts. He had received a good many hard knocks, and, through
them, some knowledge of human nature; and there was a good-humored
determination about him which made him a natural leader whom it was
easy to follow. There was nothing showy about Bertie Young, but you
could not have found a boy on board who did not value his regard.
Nothing special was apt to occur for the master-at-arms to attend to,
during the morning hours at anchor, except to exert a steady influence
for order and quiet; and, without having to think of it, he habitually
kept track of the time and of the messenger in ringing the ship’s bell.
But one of his chief jobs came in the evening; namely, that of keeping
the berth deck quiet after tattoo and taps had sounded.
At a little after half-past eleven, Young happened to look at his
watch, and it struck him that he had not heard the ship’s bell sound
seven bells as it should have done a few minutes before. Looking over
toward the day bunk, he noticed Dick, the messenger, fooling with some
of the boys who were off duty, and quietly walked up to him.
“Say, Dick,” said he, “didn’t you forget to strike seven bells?”
“No, it isn’t time yet,” retorted Dick somewhat crossly.
“You’d better look at the cabin clock and see,” answered Young. “Say,
Dick,” continued the master-at-arms, “you have no business to be here
on the day bunk when you’re one of the watch on duty.”
Dick flung off in a huff to look at the clock and found that he was six
minutes late. Then he started forward to ring the bell and bumped up
against Chippie Smith.
“Get out of the way there, Chip; don’t you see I’ve got to strike the
bell? I’m six minutes late now, but I don’t care whether it’s six
or sixteen! I’m tired to death of all this doing things on time and
splitting the day up into seconds! It’s all bosh, I say.”
“You go and strike the bell,” retorted Chippie, “and do your talking
afterwards!” And then he thought to himself:
“I guess it’s about time to have another meeting of the club. I’ll go
and find Tom.”