A WATER EXCURSION.
THE next Saturday Whistler came home from school in great haste, at
noon, and informed his mother that several of his young associates were
going to get a sailboat and take a cruise in the harbor, immediately
after dinner, and had invited him to go with them. Each boy was to pay a
small sum for the use of the boat, the amount of which assessment would
depend upon the number in the party. Whistler was quite anxious to go
with them, and he knew Clinton would be, also, although he had not been
able to find him since school was dismissed. The day was calm and
pleasant, the boys who were going were of good character, several of
them understood managing a boat, and they could not help having a good
time. Such was Whistler’s story.
But his mother was not at all pleased with the project. She did not
consider it safe for a party of such boys to venture upon the water,
without a man capable of managing the boat. Whistler argued and pleaded,
but could not change her mind. She finally told him that she should not
give her consent to his going, and wished he would abandon the idea; but
added that, if he was very anxious to go, he might ask his father’s
permission, and if it was granted she should say nothing more about it.
As Mr. Davenport generally dined down town when business was pressing,
Whistler started at once for his office. He found his father deeply
engaged with several gentlemen, and some time elapsed before he could
get even a look from him. After a while the busy lawyer stepped aside,
and, telling his son to “speak quick,” listened to his request. He asked
a question or two about the boys who were going, and, taking a handful
of change from his pocket, gave Whistler enough to pay for himself and
Clinton, and told him they might go with the party.
Whistler hastened home, and informed his mother of his success; but she
kept her promise, and said nothing about the matter, although he tried
hard to draw from her some modification of her judgment. Soon one of the
boys who was getting up the party called to see whether Whistler was
going. For a moment he was in doubt what reply to make. He could not
consult Clinton, who had not yet returned. He wanted to go very much,
but he did not wish to set at defiance the known wishes of his mother.
He soon, however, made up his mind what to do. After a short but severe
struggle in his mind, he told the boy that he should not go. When
Clinton came in, and was informed of the affair, he appeared to be
satisfied with Whistler’s decision, though it was no less a
disappointment to him than to his cousin.
“Well, boys, you have got back in good season from your excursion,” said
Mr. Davenport, when he came home from his business that afternoon.
“We didn’t go,” replied Whistler.
“Didn’t go!—how happened that?” inquired his father.
“Mother didn’t want us to go, and so I thought we had better give it
up,” replied Whistler.
“That was a good reason,—a very good reason,” said his father. “On the
whole, I think your mother was about right. It isn’t safe for a lot of
boys to go on the water alone; and I was sorry, five minutes afterwards,
that I consented to your going.”
There the matter dropped; but the regard Whistler had manifested for his
mother’s wishes was not forgotten by either of his parents. It was
talked over when they were alone, and it was determined to reward him in
some way for his self-denying decision. The next Monday his mother had
the pleasure of informing him that the whole family were going to sail
in the harbor the following Wednesday, which was his birthday. Mr.
Davenport had chartered a fine yacht[3] for the occasion. Whistler had
liberty to invite the Preston children, and also Marcus, to go with
them; and several other invitations were likewise to be extended.
Footnote 3:
Pronounced YOT.
Whistler lost no time in spreading the news of this arrangement among
those who were interested. He learned that Marcus and Oscar had intended
to start for Vermont on the day of the proposed excursion; but they were
easily persuaded to postpone their journey for one day, for the sake of
joining the party. Ella and her brothers, Ralph and George, only awaited
their father’s consent to give the invitation a cordial acceptance.
Indeed, so impatient were they, that Ralph proceeded at once to his
father’s store, and obtained the desired permission. Clinton and
Whistler went with him, and the first-named had the gratification of
meeting his chance acquaintance, Henry Hoyt, who had that morning
entered upon the service of Mr. Preston. Henry was not a little
surprised to find that there was so close a connection between his
courtesy to a fellow stranger and the success of his application for a
situation.
Wednesday came, and Whistler was fourteen years old. The accustomed
birthday present from his parents, which had never failed him within his
recollection, was found upon his table when he awoke. It was a plain but
highly-polished rosewood box, filled with implements and materials for
drawing. Everything that a young artist could desire in the pursuit of
his favorite study was here to be found, neatly secured in its own
place. Whistler was delighted with the gift, and assured his parents
that they could not possibly have selected a present that would have
pleased him better.
After breakfast, active preparations were made for the excursion; and
promptly, at the hour appointed, all of the company invited were
assembled upon the wharf where the yacht lay. The “Echo,” as she was
called, was rigged as a sloop,—that is, she had but one mast, and a
bowsprit. She was of about twenty-five tons burden, and looked quite
small by the side of the huge ships of ten or twelve hundred tons which
surrounded and overshadowed her. While these leviathans towered high
above the wharves, the modest Echo sat so low in the water that the
party had to go down a ladder to reach her deck. She was a neat, trim,
and graceful craft, however, and everything about her was scrupulously
clean. A blue pennant was flying from her masthead.
The party seated themselves in the stern of the yacht, where they found
very good accommodations, while the skipper and his two men—who
constituted the whole crew—took their positions forward. Having cast off
their lines, they hoisted the jib, and began to push out from the wharf.
Both the wind and tide were contrary, and it required some nautical
skill to get out into the stream. Once clear from the wharf, the first
thing they did was to run into a small row-boat, and the next was to
thump against the side of a large steamboat which lay at the opposite
wharf. No harm was done, however; and, after a few unintelligible orders
from the skipper,—who had now taken his post at the helm,—they swung
clear of every obstacle, the mainsail was hoisted, and they were under
way.
[Illustration]
The wind being in an easterly direction, the yacht was obliged to “beat
out,” as it is called; that is, instead of taking a direct course for
the outer harbor, she had to sail in zigzag lines, approaching very
gradually towards the point to which she was bound. The first “tack,” as
the sailors term the course of a ship when beating against the wind,
took the Echo close to the shore of East Boston. A large steamship, just
arrived from Europe, was entering her berth; and, at the request of
several of the party, the captain of the yacht sailed up to within a few
yards of her, giving all on board a fine opportunity to inspect the huge
and stately leviathan. What an impression of strength and beauty, of
gigantic power and indescribable grace, did they derive, as they gazed
up from their frail and tiny craft upon the towering walls of this ocean
monster! A crowd was assembled upon the wharf, awaiting the landing of
the passengers; and several small boats were hovering around, drawn
thither, probably, like the Echo, by curiosity. Altogether, it was a
very lively and interesting scene. After sailing slowly by the
steamship, the Echo was put upon a new tack, heading towards the
opposite side of the stream. In taking these tacks from one side to the
other, considerable skill was required to steer clear of the numerous
vessels of all sorts that were lying in the course of the yacht.
“Beautiful!” “charming!” “splendid!” were exclamations that frequently
arose above the general buzz of conversation, in the stern, as the Echo
glided smoothly over the waters. Nor were these extravagant terms; for a
sail down Boston harbor, on such a day, and in such a craft, is one of
the pleasantest excursions that can be imagined. But, while some of the
party were enjoying the beautiful views that presented themselves,
others, and especially the boys, were engaged in watching their boat,
and in examining its various appointments.
“What queer seats these are! What is the object of making them in that
shape?” inquired Clinton, as he examined a stool that was shaped
somewhat like an hour-glass, and was made of tin, and painted, with the
name of the yacht inscribed upon it.
“That is a life-preserver, as well as a stool,” replied Whistler. “If
any one should fall overboard, they would throw him one of these stools,
and that would keep his head above water till they could get him out.”
“Now, look out for your heads, ladies, if you please!” said the captain,
as he was about to swing the boom around to the other side of the boat,
for the purpose of changing the tack.
“No matter about the gentlemen’s heads!” said Whistler; and, suiting the
action to the word, he sat upright until the boom came upon him, and
then, dodging it a little too late, it took his hat from his head, and,
but for a quick movement on his part, would have sent it whirling into
the water.
“If you had sat still a moment longer, Willie, we might have had an
opportunity to experiment with one of these life-preservers,” said
Marcus.
“I know it,” replied Whistler; “and I’m not going to stay here and be
knocked round in this way! Come, boys, let’s go down into the cabin.”
Several of the party accepted Whistler’s invitation. The cabin occupied
the middle part of the boat. Of course it was a rather small apartment;
but, for all that, there was a good deal in it. Every available inch of
room was fully improved. It was only about five feet high,—not high
enough to allow Marcus and Oscar to stand up straight. A permanent table
ran nearly the whole length, with leaves that dropped down when not in
use. There was a raised edge around the table, to keep the dishes from
sliding off when the sea is rough. The mast came up through the table,
but was handsomely paneled, and, but for its decided slant, might have
passed for a pillar. A castor and a basket full of tumblers were hanging
over the table, and benches were placed on each side of it.
The cabin was also fitted up with berths, very much like the one which
Whistler occupied on board the steamboat, on his journey to Brookdale.
There were four of them on each side, and they were furnished with neat
white bedding. Under each berth there was a locker, for stowing away
clothing, &c. The cabin was lighted by the doorway, and by a skylight,
which was raised a little above the level of the deck.
Forward of the cabin, and connected with it by a door, was the
cook-room. It contained a cooking-stove, with a bright brass railing
around the top, to keep things in their places. The funnel went up
through the deck. A man was kindling a fire, and as the room seemed too
small to hold two at once, the boys did not go in.
Returning to the deck, the boys found that they were off Fort
Independence (Castle Island), distant a little more than two miles from
the city. The view was now very fine. The numerous islands of the harbor
began to appear, and glimpses of the ocean were obtained between their
green and sunny slopes. Several vessels, availing themselves of a
favorable wind, were entering the port in gallant style. Among them was
a noble ship, returning from a distant voyage. But few of her sails were
spread, yet she dashed through the waters with such grace and speed that
the boys could not refrain from giving her three cheers as she passed
their boat. The compliment was promptly returned by the sailors.
The next object of interest that the Echo passed was the Long Island
Light, distant about five miles from the city. The air was now growing
uncomfortably cool, and the captain brought up from the cabin a quantity
of shawls, hoods, old hats, &c., which he said he kept expressly for
company. They were gratefully accepted; and the sudden outward
transformation which the party underwent, furnished no little food for
merriment.
At noon, the captain invited the company to take something to eat. On
descending to the cabin, they found the table spread with a variety of
eatables. There were boiled ham, and tongue, and eggs; pies, crackers,
and bread; sardines, olives, and pickles; hot coffee and tea, and
genuine Cochituate, fresh, not from the pipes, but from an ice-tank.
There is nothing like snuffing the sea air to give one an appetite; and
the plain, substantial fare disappeared very rapidly from the table.
Before the meal was concluded, however, Ella and one or two others left
the table rather suddenly. Oscar, who was more of a sailor than any of
the rest, rallied his sister on her prompt acknowledgment of the claims
of Neptune; but she protested that she did not feel at all sick. Very
possibly she would, though, had she remained below a little longer. The
fresh air revived her, and the slight nausea she began to experience in
the cabin soon passed away.
The Echo was now seven miles out, but had, in reality, sailed
twenty-five miles in making that distance. The broad ocean was in full
view, studded with sails, and the sea was much rougher than it was
before dinner. A large steamship was soon discovered, threading its way
out from among the islands. It was watched with much interest by all,
and as it passed near them they had a good view of it. It proved to be a
screw steamer; that is, instead of paddle-wheels on the sides, the power
was applied to a propeller under the ship’s keel. She presented a noble
and substantial appearance as she sailed down the harbor, impelled by an
invisible power, and seemed strong enough to withstand any shock that
she might encounter on the ocean. A clipper ship, outward bound, also
passed near them, having most of her canvas spread, and was an object of
scarcely less interest than the steamship.
The yacht was now approaching George’s Island, where the party had
decided to land. This island, which is the key to the outer harbor,
commanding the open sea, belongs to the United States, and contains one
of the most extensive and costly fortifications in the country. The
fortress, however, is in an unfinished state. As they drew near to the
island, they found that it was surrounded by a sea wall, composed of
immense blocks of granite. This is necessary, to prevent the washing
away of the island in the furious storms which sweep over the coast. The
winds and waves have made sad inroads upon the islands in the harbor,
even within the memory of many now living. It is said that the breakers
now roll where large herds of cattle were pastured seventy-five years
ago.
Having landed at the wharf, the party walked up towards the fort, which
is named after General Warren. Immense walls of granite, of the purest
quality and smoothest finish, towered above them. On the top of the
walls were banks of earth, neatly sodded. The road led them to a
substantial stone gateway, which was open, and they accordingly entered
it. They now found themselves in a narrow passageway, with high walls on
either side. There were many long and narrow openings in the walls,
through which muskets could be fired, should an enemy succeed in
landing, and try to take the fort. An invading force, hemmed in by the
walls, would receive a dreadful raking from these loopholes before they
could get inside of the fortress.
On reaching the interior of the fortification they found themselves in a
large area. The captain of the yacht, who acted as their guide, informed
them that twelve acres were enclosed, and three more were occupied by
the walls. There were several workshops and a large dwelling-house
within the enclosure. As they were examining the fine specimens of
masonry which the walls presented, a gentleman wearing the uniform of an
army officer came up to them, and politely offered to show them over the
fortress. His offer was gratefully accepted.
“We will first ascend the parapets, if you please,” said the officer,
leading the way towards a long flight of stone steps.
“Work seems to be suspended here,” remarked Mr. Davenport, as they
passed several ox-carts that were covered with rust.
“Yes, sir,” replied the officer; “the appropriation is exhausted, and
nothing has been done here for several months.”
“This place will have cost Uncle Sam some money, when it is finished,”
continued Mr. Davenport.
“Something over a million of dollars, probably,” replied the officer.
“Well, perhaps it will be worth that money, in case of war,” said Mr.
Davenport; “but it strikes me that fighting is a pretty costly
business.”
“O, what a splendid view!” was the general exclamation, as the party
reached the top of the parapet.
“You perceive that the whole harbor is completely commanded by the
fort,” continued the officer. “Here, within a pistol shot, is the main
channel, through which all large vessels must pass as they enter or
leave the harbor. If an enemy’s ship were to try to pass here, after the
fort is mounted, we could bring from a hundred to a hundred and fifty
guns to bear upon her, at the same time, at any point.”
They continued their walk upon the top of the parapet for some minutes,
enjoying the fine view to be had on every side. It is here that the
heaviest guns are designed to be placed, in the open air. Large square
stones are set for the guns to rest upon, and semi-circular ones for the
gun carriages to traverse. There is also a wall, behind which the men
can hide.
On descending from the parapet, the officer unlocked a door, and,
through a rather gloomy passage, led them into the interior of the
fortress. Here they wandered for a quarter of an hour through a
labyrinth of massive masonry, gazing with wonder at the solid walls, the
arched stone roof, and the long series of rooms connected by doors. They
found but one gun mounted, but that served to illustrate the principle
on which the cannon are intended to work. The port-holes are so shaped
that the guns are allowed a wide range, and yet there is little room for
shot to enter from without. They have an inner and an outer flare, being
narrowest in the centre of the wall. That part of the carriage farthest
from the muzzle has a sideway motion, so that the gun may be readily
pointed in any direction required. The fort will mount about three
hundred guns.
Besides the gun-rooms there are a large number of other apartments, to
which the party were introduced. Some of them are intended for
ante-rooms, into which the soldiers may retire. They have fireplaces,
and will doubtless wear an air of comfort and cheerfulness when finished
and furnished. Other apartments, designed as parlors for the officers,
are still more expensively finished. There are also kitchens,
sleeping-rooms, magazines, cells for prisoners, &c.
“This must be one of the finest fortresses in the country,” said Mr.
Davenport, as they came out once more into the open air.
“Yes, sir, it is,” replied the officer. “It is impregnable from sea;
but, if it could be attacked by land, it might be blown to pieces, after
a while. No masonry is solid enough to be proof against efficient land
batteries,—that was proved at Sebastopol.”
“Well,” said Mr. Davenport, “the worst wish I have for Uncle Sam is that
he may never have occasion to use this immense fortress.”
“I heartily join you in that wish, in spite of my profession,” replied
the officer; and he then politely took leave of them.
Warmly thanking their guide for his attentions, the party hastened to
their boat, and were soon on their way back. The wind had died away, and
their progress homeward was not very rapid. The skipper evidently felt
somewhat concerned for the credit of his craft. He declared that she was
a swift sailer; but nothing, he said, could sail without wind, or in the
face of a stiff breeze. His equanimity seemed to be still more seriously
disturbed when a large schooner, with a great spread of canvas, came up
behind him, and began to gain upon the Echo. He kept a sharp eye upon
the intruder, as he evidently regarded her; and when she passed the Echo
to the windward, instead of the leeward, he could no longer restrain his
disgust, but remarked to Mr. Davenport, with some warmth:
“A fellow that’ll do that is no gentleman!”
A puzzled look from several of the ladies, who did not understand the
nature of the offence, recalled him to a sense of his dignity, and he
was soon as gallant and as good-natured as usual. In justice to him, it
should be remarked that the schooner, by going to the windward, had
taken the wind out of his sails, which is not considered a very
courteous act among sailors.
The party reached the wharf in safety, and all declared that they never
spent a pleasanter day than in their trip down the harbor.
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