It was nine o’clock in the evening when the _Bright Wing_ dropped
anchor in Vineyard Haven; and the long boat, with a picked crew of four
boys, took the Skipper and the Chairman ashore as quickly as possible.
Much to their disappointment, however, they found the telegraph office
closed; but, at the landing, they met the chaplain of the Sailors’
Bethel, who was an old friend, and he entered very heartily into their
plans for trying to communicate with the crew of lifeboat Number 1. He
had been at his present post for many years and had much experience of
shipwrecked seamen.
“It would probably not be any use to telegraph to the British Consul
in Boston to-night,” said he, “for the office would be closed by this
time; and, unless your other lifeboat had been picked up by some
steamer equipped with wireless, there would probably be no information
about her as yet at the radio station. The quickest and best way, both
of giving and receiving information, would be to wait until to-morrow
morning and then to report to the British Consulate by long-distance
telephone. In that way you can get an answer at once, and the Consul
will let you know if he is in touch with the other members of your
crew. But won’t you come over to the Bethel for a while and make us a
little visit?”
“Why, thank you,” answered the Chairman. “We would like to go, I am
sure, and I would especially like the boys to see your place.”
The boat’s crew consisted of Dick, Tom, Perkins, and Young; and, on
arriving at the Bethel, they found half a dozen seafaring men reading
the newspapers and magazines, or playing checkers. When they heard
from the chaplain what had happened, they all gathered around the
Skipper and plied him with questions about the fire and the wreck,
and everything that had occurred since. The Skipper had taken an
observation at noon the very day they abandoned the _Monmouth_, and so
was able to tell them just where they had left the burning wreck. He
answered all their questions clearly and fully, giving many nautical
details which are always interesting to seafaring men.
“I guess you must feel,” dryly remarked an old salt, “as if you had
just dropped off the gridiron.”
“Yes,” answered the Skipper with a smile, “but not into the fire. First
we dropped into the water to cool off a bit, and then we dropped into
the arms of our friends.
“Say, Chaplain,” continued he, addressing their host, “isn’t there
something in the Good Book about being ‘covered with His Wings’?”
“Why, yes,” answered the chaplain, “‘He shall cover thee with His
feathers, and under His wings shalt thou trust.’”
There was a pause--and all were silent, as they seemed to reflect upon
the words quoted by the chaplain.
“Well,” remarked the Skipper meditatively, “I have seen a good many
vessels in my life, but I never saw one just like that little schooner
we came off just now,--the _Bright Wing_, they call her. I shouldn’t
wonder if she was one of them wings of the Almighty that we are told to
trust in.”
“She might be one of the little feathers,” said the Chairman, with a
smile. “She floats lightly enough upon the water!”
“If you ever need a friend in a tight place, boys,” resumed the
Skipper, “I can recommend the Sea Scouts; I understand that’s what they
call the boys aboard of her.”
They must have talked for about two hours; and, when the visitors got
up to say good night, some of the men wanted to shake hands, and all of
them felt the way soldiers do when they have heard a thrilling tale
of battle or adventure. Their attention had been of the deepest kind
because the talk was about things that they understood through and
through, and cared more about than almost anything else.
The chaplain walked back to the landing with his guests; and, as they
neared the wharf, the boys ran ahead to unfasten the painter and get
the boat ready.
“Say,” said Dick, “that Skipper’s a corker. What do you think, Jack?”
“He seems to know his business all right,” answered Jack, “and to have
kept his head cool in spite of the fire. Sh-h! Take your positions,
boys, here they come.”
As the two men got into the boat, the Chairman said:
“We’ll see you again to-morrow morning, Chaplain, and report progress.”
With that they waved good-by and disappeared in the darkness to the
rhythmic sound of the oars.
Hammocks had been swung for the men of the _Monmouth_, partly on the
main deck and partly on the berth deck with the boys. There were
also two extra bunks in the forecastle prepared for them, and the
Skipper shared a double berth in the cabin with the Second Officer. Mr.
Wentworth and Mr. Miller slept on the day bunk, facing one another,
under the open sky. There was no better place on the ship to sleep
in than this, on summer evenings at anchor; but as the day bunk ran
directly under the main boom, it was exposed to a steady draught
whenever the ship was sailing, and only the green hands occasionally
wanted to sleep there when they were under way.
Jimmie, the little cabin boy of the _Monmouth_, had become great
friends with Chippie Smith, and the latter had found a cosy corner for
him near his own bunk. It was astonishing to see what a difference it
made on the _Bright Wing_ to have such a lot of new people aboard and
so many new faces, although the work went on just the same as usual.
Orders had been given privately the night before through the “B. M.’s”
to all the Sea Scouts that routine duties were to go on precisely the
same as under ordinary circumstances, and that the newcomers were to
be considered and treated as guests of the ship; and the hospitality
of the ship required that every scout and officer on board should be
willing to share the use of his belongings with their guests and feel
responsible for their comfort and safety. After consulting with the
Chairman and Mr. Miller, regular stations at quarters were assigned to
the officers and seamen of the _Monmouth_ and they were also informed
of the ship’s regulations through the Skipper and the Second Officer.
Among the _Monmouth’s_ men--besides the Second Officer and Mr. Apthorp
who had served as steward--were the chief engineer, two firemen,
Jimmie, the cabin boy, and three seamen. They fully entered into the
spirit of their new situation, and even proposed to the Second Officer
that they should form a ship’s band from among their own number; for
they had a concertina, a bugle, and a flute among them, which they had
been able to carry away from the wreck uninjured. The Skipper thought
they had better wait awhile before making permanent plans, for, much as
they enjoyed the good time they were having on the Boy Scout ship, they
could hardly, under the circumstances, expect to stay there long.
It was Thursday evening when they reached Vineyard Haven, and on Friday
morning, immediately after “colors”, the Chairman and the Skipper went
ashore again, in the launch this time, accompanied by Mr. Wilson, the
mate, and the boatswain. When they returned, two of the boat’s crews
were out for rowing practice, while the two other sections were on deck
splicing ropes and practising their bandaging for “first aid.”
The Chairman knew, of course, that the Skipper would first of all want
to have a talk with his own men and tell them the result of his effort
to communicate with the Consul; and so he offered them the use of the
cabin, and they all trooped down the after companionway. In about ten
minutes the Skipper put his head above the cabin house and invited the
Chairman to come down and join them.
“Mr. Chairman,” said he, “I have told my men here, including Mr.
Apthorp, my father-in-law, what we learnt over the telephone this
morning. Of course, we are mighty glad at the news that the crew of
lifeboat Number 1 was picked up by the _Mauretania_ and taken to New
York. So long as they are in communication with the British Consul in
Boston, we need not decide anything about meeting them until we get to
his office. But there is one thing we’ve got to attend to straight off,
and that is to shake hands with you, and every man and boy aboard your
ship. There’s no way that we can make a return, except by passing along
what you have done for us to some other poor devils, if we should ever
get the chance. So, all we have to say now, sir, is ‘God bless you’,
and put us ashore as quick as you can.”
“I think,” answered the Chairman, “we had better let you off at Wood’s
Hole, which is about the nearest railroad terminus on the mainland.
It is only about six miles from here, as the crow flies, and about
three hours by rail from Boston. I am sorry to part so soon, just as
we were beginning to get acquainted,” continued he, “for, if this wind
holds, it will not take us long to get across the sound. What does your
father-in-law think of this plan?”
Mr. Apthorp had insisted on putting on his regular clothes that
morning, and was sitting in one of the cabin chairs when he was thus
referred to.
“I think, sir,” said he, “the plan is a good one; I am beginning to
feel like a new man from the rest I have had on board your ship; but we
crowd you up more than is comfortable for you. I advise you to get rid
of us as quickly as you can, sir, because, when we get good and used to
your way of seafaring, we’ll all want to stay with you forever!”
There was nobody ashore, so they were able to set sail at once. Dick
Gray was on duty as messenger that morning, and he took the message to
the Captain to get under way as soon as he was ready.
The sails were set, and the anchor weighed in short order, for the crew
of the _Monmouth_ insisted on being allowed to do their share at the
ropes and windlass. A stiff breeze was blowing from the same direction
as the night before,--a little north of northeast,--so that they would
have to tack out against the wind until they passed the mouth of the
harbor, and then would have a straight course for Wood’s Hole, with
the wind abeam on the starboard tack. But, just as they were about to
hoist the anchor, the chaplain of the Bethel arrived alongside in his
launch and offered them a tow. This, of course, was a great help, as
the wind was too strong for a tow by the ship’s launch, so the offer
was gratefully accepted, and it became unnecessary to tack against the
wind.
The chaplain’s launch was a powerful boat which he was in the habit of
using to visit incoming vessels and to bring their crews ashore to the
Bethel. It did not take him long to tow the _Bright Wing_ out to where
she could head directly for Wood’s Hole, and then he cast off the line
and waved his hand for good-by.
Ellsworth was up in the bow at the time, with Dick Gray, and
immediately began hauling in the line and coiling it up in its place.
Dick watched the launch disappear in the distance until it was only a
speck upon the water.
“I guess _he’s_ done his good turn for to-day,” said he to Ellsworth.
“Yes,” replied the “B. M.”, “but you can’t trust that sort of fellow;
he’s likely to do a half dozen more before the day’s over.”
“That’s right,” assented Dick, “I suppose you get the habit,
like--after a while.”