The battle-fleet, home from foreign waters, now lay, within a
mile-square, emblazoned quadrangle, to placid moorings in the bay.
From the after bridge of his own ship Lieutenant Wickett had been
observing in silence the night life of the fleet, but when from some
happy quarter-deck to windward there floated down the opening strains of
a mellow folk-song, he lifted his chin from arms crossed on the bridge
top-rail to say to his shore-going friend beside him: "Were you ever
able to listen to a ship's band over water, Carlin, and not get to
feeling homesick?"
"Still the kid, aren't you? How can you be homesick and you home?"
"I'm not home--not yet."
Just below them the officer of the deck was roaming the quarter-deck. A
ship's messenger stepped up to him, saluted and said smartly: "Two
bells, sir."
"Strike 'em," came the sharp order; and as the two bells were striking,
from other ships, from windward and leeward, came also the quick,
sharp-toned double stroke.
"Why," asked Carlin, "couldn't they strike those two bells without
bothering that deck officer?"
"Regulations."
"They're the devil, those regulations, Wickett."
"Worse--sometimes. You can steer clear of the devil if you want to." He
paused. "And yet it would soon be a devil of a service without 'em."
A sailor stepped up to the officer of the deck, and, saluting, said:
"Anchor lights burning bright, sir."
A man in a chief petty officer's uniform stepped up to the officer of
the deck, whereupon Wickett, sitting up, said: "That's our wireless
operator."
"A message for Mr. Wickett, sir," came the operator's voice.
"You'll find Mr. Wickett on the after bridge," the officer of the deck
said; and the wireless man came up the bridge ladder and saluted:
"You raised the _Clermont_, Wesson?" Wickett's voice was eagerly
anticipatory.
"No, sir, I could not. She has no wireless."
"Oh-h!"
"But I raised the Cape station, and they reported she passed there on
schedule time."
"On time? Good! Thank you, Wesson; that's all."
"Were you expecting somebody on the _Clermont_?" asked Carlin, when the
wireless man had gone.
"Not really expecting. My home is a thousand miles from here, and my pay
won't allow of my family travelling around everywhere to meet me. But I
like to dream of rosy possibilities, don't you?"
A cool night breeze was blowing. Wickett bared his head to it. Presently
he began to hum:
"And it's O you little baby boy
A-dancing on my knee--
Will it be a belted charger
Or a heaving deck to sea?
Is't to be the serried pennants
Or the rolling blue Na-vee?
Or is't to be----"
He turned to Carlin. "When I hear myself singing that, in my own
quarters ashore, then I'm home--and not before."
He set to humming softly again:
"And it's O you little baby girl
Athwart your mother's lap----"