The entrance to Little Harbor at Portsmouth, between Great Island and
the breakwater, was so narrow that it would have been impossible to get
out to sea against the tide unless a westerly wind had been blowing. As
it was, the wind was light and easterly, so that the _Bright Wing_ was
obliged to adapt herself to the tide, which began to run out as early
as three in the morning. At four o’clock, therefore, all hands were
called to the windlass, and, as soon as she was free, the ship slipped
out past the breakwater and the fort, toward the rising sun, with her
sails slightly shaking in the breeze.
The course was about south by east as far as Thatcher’s Island; and,
from there, about south-half-east for Race Point on the tip end of the
Cape,--the whole distance being roughly seventy miles. So long as the
wind held easterly, or at least did not veer around in a southerly
direction, it would be possible for them to sail the first thirty miles
or so on one long leg, fairly close hauled; but, from Thatcher’s Island
on, they would be able to slack off their sheets.
The plan of the cruise included a short stay at Provincetown, to give
Mr. Jackson a chance to get ashore, and from there around the Cape to
Martha’s Vineyard; then through the Cape Cod Canal to home waters at
Hull.
As the _Bright Wing_ slipped along through the water at a moderate
speed, everything on board was going like clockwork. There was no
seasickness to interfere with the routine instruction, and the light
easterly breeze made it cool and pleasant, although it was very hot
ashore. At quarters it was announced that Randall Turner, “B. M.” of
the second division, first section, had left the ship at Portsmouth
the night before, in response to a telegram announcing his mother’s
serious illness, and that Ronald Jones, the coxswain of the same
section, had been appointed “B. M.” in Turner’s place. At dinner time
they were just about opposite the twin lights on Thatcher’s Island;
and, when the new watch came on deck after dinner, they noticed that
the wind had shifted to the north of east, and that the sky was
beginning to be overcast. The breeze, also, was freshening, and, as the
sheets were let out to catch more of the wind, the _Bright Wing_ began
running rather faster, with the breeze on her port quarter. The mate
and Mr. Wentworth were walking up and down, sniffing the air.
“Guess we’ll make Provincetown in short order, if this wind holds,”
said the mate; then, looking up at the clouds, he added, “I shouldn’t
wonder if it thickened a little before to-morrow morning, and I notice
the glass has gone down since we left Portsmouth.”
This was the first time some of the younger boys had sailed in a strong
fair wind. The motion, of course, seemed far less than if they had been
obliged to beat up against it, and there was little or no discomfort,
in spite of the fact that the wind was gradually increasing and the
weather thickening.
At about four o’clock in the afternoon, it began to rain, and all hands
on deck got into their oilskins and rubber boots. Fortunately, however,
there was no fog, and Cape Race light soon loomed up clearly across the
port bow. Once passed, it became necessary to beat to the northward
against the wind, so that they did not drop anchor in Provincetown
Harbor until after dark.
In the meantime the weather had developed into a storm, and the _Bright
Wing_, along with a number of fishing schooners that were moored in the
harbor, dropped extra anchors as a matter of precaution.
It was not possible to send the launch ashore that night for the mail,
and it seemed a strange thing to the younger boys to feel the motion
of the ship, and to hear the sound of the wind blowing through the
rigging, while at the same time they knew that they were at anchor.
Dick Gray had been getting more and more into his work since the crisis
he had passed through some days before. He felt as if he had thrown
off a great load that used to weigh him down while he was working, and
had taken more than half the fun out of his play. He had a new sense
of freedom which he had never felt before; and, at the same time, a
tremendous desire to make good in whatever he was called upon to do.
Dick “Number 1” was not only in command, but using all his force and
intelligence to make a good and obedient servant of Dick “Number 2.” He
began to feel a new sense of enjoyment in his life which he, himself,
did not quite understand; but the truth was very simple: he was
becoming a man, and learning to appreciate a man’s responsibilities.
Ronald Jones, the new “B. M.” who had succeeded Turner, was a boy who
had got ahead in his tests for ratings and merit badges rather by book
learning than from actual experience. Of course all the senior officers
as well as the “B. M.’s” were interested to see whether he had in him
the right stuff for a petty officer; and Mr. Wentworth, as Officer of
the Day, watched with even greater care than usual to see whether Jones
gave his commands on time, and also whether they were properly carried
out. The boy, of course, did not realize how carefully he was being
observed, and seemed rather pleased with himself than otherwise, until
Mr. Wentworth asked him why the order for the first instruction period
of the afternoon was three minutes late. Jones mumbled out an excuse of
some sort; but, as a matter of fact, it had really never occurred to
him that three minutes would make any difference one way or the other.
“You remember, Jones, I explained to you when I gave you your watch
billet that every routine order must be given and carried out _on the
dot_ by the deck clock. If you have not remembered to give the order
within sixty seconds of the right time, you are clearly at fault, and
no excuse will be accepted. Until you have had some practice, you will
not find this an easy thing to do, and it may be that you will never be
able to accomplish it. All men cannot be officers, for they haven’t got
it in them, and yet they may be very good privates. It is the same with
boys, and now you have your chance of proving whether you can make good
or whether you can’t.”
Jones might have understood from Mr. Wentworth’s serious tone
that there was need for mending his ways; but he seemed to take
his new authority more as a feather in his cap than as a serious
responsibility. This was not the first time he had been “called down”
since noon, when he and his section had been put in charge of the
watch. His “life buoy” (whose duty it is to stand on the leeward side,
prepared to throw the buoy at any moment) was lolling most of the time
on the cabin house instead of being alert on his two feet. There were
four or five more routine orders on Jones’s watch bill to be given
before he was relieved at four o’clock; and, of those, only two were
punctually and properly carried out.
At the officers’ conference that evening, Mr. Wentworth reported, among
other things, on Jones’s first watch that afternoon, and it was decided
to give him another forty-eight hours to see whether he could make good
as a petty officer.
The next morning Mr. Jackson, who was anxious to take the train to
Boston, found to his surprise that it was impossible to get ashore,
for the storm had risen to unusual violence. The Captain and the mate
kept a close watch on the anchor cables, for they feared the anchors
might drag at any moment. On account of the rain, quarters, setting up
exercises, and instruction were all held on the berth deck; but toward
noon there came a break in the clouds, and, with the first gleams of
sunshine, the wind began to abate.
It was not until after dinner, however, that the launch was sent ashore
with Mr. Jackson, the yeoman, and Billy Brown, who accompanied his
uncle to the train; and, as soon as they had landed, the yeoman started
for the post office, while Mr. Jackson and Billy walked to the railway
station.
“Say, uncle,” said Billy, “seems a long time since you and I came
aboard at Portsmouth, doesn’t it? You can tell the folks I’m having
the time of my life; but just find out, will you, whether Roger has
remembered the calf.”
Mr. Jackson promised. Bill watched the train roll out of the station,
and then found his way back to the wharf where Bob Brackett was waiting
for him, and they both returned to the ship just in time for the
afternoon swim.
The weather had cleared by three o’clock, the sun was shining brightly,
and all together the conditions were just right for a good dip,
although there was more motion in the water than usual, even inside
the harbor. Jack Perkins was in charge of the swimming party, and was
particularly interested in teaching Billy Brown, who seemed to have
great difficulty in getting over a natural aversion for the water.
Brown knew the stroke well enough, but would tighten up from lack of
confidence, and Jack was trying hard to teach him to swim in a quiet
and leisurely way instead of working in spasms.
They were all swimming off the ship’s side to leeward, as the Captain
and mate were preparing to row ashore, and Jack suddenly remembered a
letter which he had forgotten to give to the yeoman to mail.
“Captain,” he called from the water, “are you going near the post
office?” and, as the Captain nodded, he said, “I forgot to give the
yeoman a letter I wrote home,--would you mind mailing it for me, sir?”
At the Captain’s cordial assent, Jack scrambled up the side-ladder and
disappeared down the berth deck companionway.
Meantime, Brown had been swimming pretty well--for him--and struck
out from the ship’s side, followed by Chippie Smith, who knew Billy’s
peculiarities as a swimmer and was keeping a friendly eye on him. But
the tide happened to be bearing away from the vessel, and suddenly
Chippie noticed that Billy was sputtering and struggling ahead of him
in a kind of panic.
“It’s all right, Bill--take your time and swim back here to me,” called
out Smith in a reassuring tone.
Little Billy felt the force of the current against him, and finally
scrambled through about six feet of water to where Smith was; but,
having completely lost his presence of mind, frantically grabbed him
round the neck from behind and began weighing him down into the water.
One of the boys near the ship noticed what was going on and gave a loud
call for help which reached Dick’s ears while he was writing a letter
home on the day bunk. He had no sooner heard the cry than he bounded
to the ship’s side and took in the situation at a glance. Without
thinking of the side-ladder, he dove off the rail, clothes and all, and
came up again about four feet from where the two boys were struggling.
Approaching close to Chippie, he said quietly:
“Knock the back of your head against his nose, Chip; that will break
his hold, and then I’ll pick him up.”
Smith had been careful to keep his mouth closed while his head was
under water, and took in a deep breath whenever he could manage to
wriggle to the surface. Now Dick’s voice gave him just the support he
needed, and he quietly bumped against Billy’s face with the back of his
head. He purposely did not do it hard the first time; but the second
time he knocked just hard enough, and Bill relaxed his grasp. Dick then
turned over on his back; and, catching Billy under the arms, quietly
swam back to the side of the ship.
It did not take long to lift Billy to the deck, and it was found that
he was really more frightened than anything else. The Chairman, the
Captain, and almost the whole ship’s company had formed a ring around
him as he lay there on his back. Mr. Miller knelt beside him for a few
minutes; and, when he had reported his pulse fairly good and their
anxiety had been allayed, one of the boys cried out: “Look at Dick
Gray!” and burst out laughing.
All eyes followed those of the laughing boy, and the merriment became
general and hearty as Dick--dripping from head to foot--gazed with an
earnest look upon the little figure lying on the deck, his fountain pen
sticking up at a sharp angle from his mouth, in the same position it
had occupied when he first started from his writing on the day bunk and
jumped off the rail into the water!
“What’s the matter with me?” he blurted out.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full!” shouted Chippie, and only then did
Dick become conscious of his pen.
“How about your letter, Gray?” asked the Chairman, with a twinkle in
his eye.
“I guess I’d better change my clothes before I finish it, sir,” said
Dick, with a grin.
Meantime Billy Brown had got up on to his feet, and was ordered to
report to the Chairman as soon as he had changed his clothes.