NEW YORK · ALFRED·A·KNOPF · LONDON

_Copyright 1928 by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc._

_Manufactured in the United States

of America_

_Note by the Publisher_

_The manuscript from which this book is set is the carbon copy of a

letter which the author wrote, during the weeks just following her

return from the voyage recorded, to a distant friend with whom (as

appears in the context) she had long had some piratical understandings.

She mailed it in eight-page typewritten installments as they were

produced. The book is identical with the letter except in the following

particulars: (1) Many purely personal passages are omitted. (2) Much

repetition due to the haste of first composition has been weeded out.

(3) The name of the actual schooner and the names of some of the crew

have been disguised. (4) The division into sections is an afterthought.

(5) The end-papers consist of a document in code with which the author

amused herself during one interval in the composition of the letter._

_The narrative represents chiefly two obvious traits of its author.

The first is a circumstantial memory. (Her jottings made day by day

throughout the voyage, four pages all told, served but to recall

changes of weather and stages of progress.) The second is that same

intense natural love of natural beauty which found its first public

expression in_ The House Without Windows and Eepersip’s Life There

(_1927_). _In_ The House Without Windows _this passion clothed itself

in fantasy which incorporated here and there some details of actual

experience. In this record of an actual experience, it clothes itself

in a shimmering veil of fantasy, so transparent that the actuality of

the basic experience is rather heightened than obscured._

_The voyage was taken three months after the author’s thirteenth

birthday. The book comes to publication a little before her fourteenth.

It is, then, the spontaneous output of a very young writer who, as it

happens, has never as yet had a day of formal schooling, and who learns

her craft by that simplest of all processes, enjoying with abandon

whatever comes into her life, reading with absorption whatever comes

into her hands, and writing with demoniacal energy whatever comes into

her head. To the publisher, it seems that this one exhibit justifies

her obvious contentment with the schooling which, for part of an

ecstatic month, was got out of the_ Norman D., _her rigging and sails

and crosstrees, the men of her cabin and her forecastle; and out of the

various magic of the waters beneath her keel_.

_The_ VOYAGE _of the_ NORMAN D.

_The Cottage in the Woods

Lake Sunapee, New Hampshire

July 23, 1927_

Dear Alan:

Thank you a lot for your very mysterious letter from Honolulu. I wish I

could have been with you. But the Congressmen and their families must

have been a bore. I could have helped you concoct a regular mutiny,

and, with me aboard, you may be sure it would have been done in a

piratical way. I should have accosted the desperate-looking sailor and

become acquainted with him. That would have been the first step.

Well, I feel tempted to sail full force into my own adventures, even if

they are not so exciting and mysterious as your own. For the adventures

that have befallen me since you set sail for Sulu are wilder and rasher

than anything you ever heard me tell you before.

You know very well (better than anyone, I think) my profound devotion

to pirates and things piratical. And you know, too, about the pirate

tales which I started a little while before you went away--very

bloody, exciting, villainous, profane stories, were they not? I had

such a great many ideas for pirate stories (and more and more ideas

kept showing their faces), I finally decided that my pirates would make

a much greater showing if I blended all the short tales I had written,

and a great many more that I had in my mind, into one moderately long

story. No sooner said than I started to work.

I found, in the course of the very first few pages, that I was getting

involved in considerable difficulties. There had to be ships, that was

certain; but I found that I knew almost nothing about ships. So I laid

the story aside a little while, turned to Webster, and buried my face

in the dictionary. I looked up every nautical term that I could think

of, whether I knew it or not. I looked up nautical words found in books

I had read. I studied the list of nautical words and their meanings at

the end of _The Dauber_. Then the sails bothered me. I needed to know

something about sails, and about different kinds of rigs, and about the

fastenings of the sails and the names of them all. So I turned to the

word _sail_, and--lo and behold! exactly what I wanted. Accompanying

the word _sail_ were two pictures, one of the schooner or fore-and-aft

rig, and the other of the beautiful square-rig, each sail numbered and

named below. I fell to work with great zeal, and learned topsails,

topgallants, royals, skysails, jibs, staysails, and all the rest of

them; I can reel them off now like second nature.

♦ _Rudimentary Nautics_ ♦

Then I realized that I didn’t know much about rigging and ropes--the

uses, the names of them. I found just what I wanted under the word

_ship_. It was a picture of a ship in diagram, showing all the

principal ropes, spars, and yards. There were close to two hundred

figures in all, but I settled right down to business and learned just

about everything: lifts, braces, clews, stays, backstays, sheets,

ratlines, tops, caps--the whole works. I don’t know how many exciting

hours I spent at my dictionary, digging into a perfect treasure-trove

of nautical words. I never in my life before realized how many nautical

terms there are. And I was getting very gay indeed. I was really

learning something, and I was not slow to make use of my knowledge. I

danced around the house, shouting out ship words and phrases which I

had found in _Treasure Island_ and other books, but which now had a new

meaning for me. The first result was that my pirate story gradually

began to improve a great deal. The second result was far more important.

I found myself going about to various people to find out still more

about ships. But I based most upon the dictionary; I was sure that

was correct, at any rate. I found myself getting crazy and crazier

about ships (whether pirate ships or not--though of course they were

preferable) and about the sea. I found that _my own writing_ was

getting me into a wild state. My own writing was making me want to

sail. Now, if somebody else’s writing (the writing of somebody who had

really sailed) had been making me crazy about it, I should not have

been so surprised. But when I had never sailed, and knew nothing about

ships except what I had learned from Webster’s Dictionary--that seemed

strange indeed. Whether from one source or another, _something_ made me

want to sail, and so badly that my blood fairly itched within me, and

I went after the dictionary harder than ever, in case an opportunity

should suddenly come up; for I wanted to be well prepared.

♦ _A Real Authority_ ♦

This was the second result (or, at least, the beginning of it), and I

presume it was making me a bit hard to live with. One day Mother took

me over to see old Mr. Rasmussen. Mr. Rasmussen is the chief carpenter

of the house they are putting up behind ours, and, so Mother had

discovered some time before, he had been a sailor all his life. I had

told her very savagely that I had determined to sail. Even a schooner

“would do,” thought I, though of course a square-rigged ship would do

better. Mother tried at first to dissuade me. She told me that the

only schooners in existence now, as far as she knew, were the fishing

schooners that came into Boston, and they were so soaked with fish and

fish oil that they were really quite unbearable. But I was not to be

dissuaded so easily, though I did begin to wish that I had been alive

in the days of the great old clipper ships, dashing across the Atlantic

from England to America. I was furious with myself for living at a

time when the beauty and stateliness and romance of sailing ships had

dwindled down to a few stenching schooners in Boston Harbor.

* * * * *

Well, then, I went over to see Mr. Rasmussen. You would love talking

with him, Alan. He is full of tales of his old sailing days, and

rattles them off even while he is sawing lumber or driving nails. And

as for knowledge, why, ships are second nature to him. The sea is in

every line of his face, too. He has a mass of wrinkles radiating from

the corners of his eyes, from squinting in the sun and looking off into

the dazzling sea. He is brawny, firmly muscled, and tattooed on the

inside of his left forearm. He is delightfully disgusted with things on

land. I remarked to him, as he was up on the scaffolding: “Well, that

kind of rigging isn’t so much fun, is it?” He replied instantly: “No,

too steady. Hasn’t got give enough.” (He said “gib.”) He has a quaint

power of description, too. He tells about typhoons off the China

coast--says “you would think a pack of demons was loose on the sea.”

Mr. Rasmussen, by the way, has a forty-foot sloop of his own, and about

every two weeks he goes off in it for the week-end, going over to Block

Island to fish. He has promised me that I shall go with him on one of

those trips sometime.

But, to go on with the story, Mother said to him: “I’ve got a daughter

here who’s gone crazy about boats. We thought you ought to know about

all the sailing ships there are, and we wondered if you knew where

there is a schooner or square-rigger that is working now.”

Says he: “Why, yes, indeed. There’s a nice little schooner come in New

Haven now; she come in right ahead of me last Monday. She come down

with lumber from Nova Scotia. Pretty boat, too--all white. I think her

name is _Norman D._”

“Do you think there’s any chance we could go aboard of her, mate?” I

asked. (I liked to pretend that he had been a shipmate of mine.)

“Go aboard of her? Oh my, yes--they’d be tickled to death to have a

chance to show somebody the boat. The crew are all home boys, and I

guess they’re mighty lonely down here where they don’t know anyone.”

♦ _Topmasts against the Sky_ ♦

He gave us full instructions as to how to get to the schooner, and we

resolved to go the next day. I stayed and had a little talk with the

old sailor. He says: “I usually go out o’ port on Friday. Now, ’tain’t

commonly supposed to be lucky to leave port on a Friday, but I don’t

take no stock in superstition. I once sailed along of a captain that

wouldn’t leave port on a Friday, even when there was good wind, good

tide, good weather--everything just right.”

* * * * *

Mate, you can believe that I hardly slept a wink all that night. I was

going down to see a real schooner. I was going aboard of her. I should

see the crew, and be friendly with them. I should climb up in the

rigging, if allowed. (That was a secret hope of mine, and I was almost

more excited about that than anything.) I would show the family, and

the crew, too, that if I got a chance to go up in those ratlines, I

would go!

We must have made quite a sight, the whole Follett family going down

the street under royals and skysails, headed straight for the schooner

_Norman D._ It seemed an infinitely long way, but we saw the masts of

her as soon as we got out of the trolley car, and I know I was like a

bucking wild horse all the way down Brewery Street. When I saw those

noble topmasts against the blue sky ahead of me, I wanted to run and

get there; but Sabra was with us, and we couldn’t hurry. I ran a few

steps, excitedly snapping my fingers; then I would buck and wait. So we

proceeded down towards the old broken-down wharf. As we came nearer and

nearer, though not yet near enough to see the white hull of her, the

beautiful, stately topmasts and lower masts became clearer and clearer,

and at last I could see the rope ladder--the shrouds and ratlines

that I might be going up in. And, at the idea of climbing into those

spider webs, I was so thrilled that I was almost dizzy, and knew hardly

anything.

We came up and up alongside her, till we were right beneath her

bulwarks, and saw over us her stately bowsprit, with the jibboom and

flying jibboom. I was thrilled to realize that I had already begun to

recognize things. I recognized that small vertical spar projecting

downward from the jibboom which is called the “dolphin striker.” This

was one of the many things I had learned from that diagram under the

word _ship_.

They were busy discharging her cargo of lumber; the deck load was

making good progress. There were three carts on the wharf alongside

her, on to which they were loading it. The captain was sitting on the

edge of the deckhouse superintending the work, which was going on very

briskly. We hailed him: “May we come aboard?”

♦ _Initiation_ ♦

“Why, I gesso,” he replied. “What you want?”

“Oh, we’re just landlubbers who want to see your ship.”

“Well, come ahead,” he said.

So we scrambled over the lumber carts, the whole Follett family,

still under full sail and laughing heartily. I was the first upon the

bulwarks amidships, and I jumped down and landed with a thump upon the

deck load. (Quite a long jump it seemed to me then, but before long I

jumped from the bulwarks on to the empty deck without thinking anything

of it.)

I spoke to the captain first of all, but very vaguely and dreamily,

gazing about me--fascinated, enraptured, all the time. I looked at the

long, huge booms, with the sails frapped closely round them; at the

great, splendid masts; at the many ropes descending over blocks and

made fast on belaying pins along the side of the boat; at the double

and triple sheet-blocks; and, above all, at the ratlines and shrouds,

into which I longed to go up. The next minute I had jumped upon the

spanker boom and crawled along to the very end, hanging slightly over

the water, where I supported myself by one of the wire lifts.

“Oh,” said the captain, “I see you’re a girl as likes to climb around.”

And that was true: for really I liked to climb around even better

than I dared admit at first. I climbed many times upon the top of

the deckhouse and on to the spanker boom, I walked stealthily and

cautiously along the bulwarks, I talked a bit with two of the sailors

who were waiting for one of the carts before they began loading again;

I laid my hand longingly upon the shrouds. But, though I had plenty of

courage, and a lot left over, to climb, I had not quite the courage

to ask permission, since I felt sure that I should not be allowed. At

last, after I had explored around a bit, after I had taken hold of the

vast, hand-worn spokes of the wheel, after I had examined the compass

in the binnacle--I went up to the captain and said: “I don’t suppose

you would let me go up into the rigging, would you?”

“Sure!” he replied, “only stick to the ladder, see? Don’t go off the

rope ladder--and hold on tight.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” I answered. “I most likely shan’t get up very far.”

And I ran to the starboard mizzen rigging.

♦ _From the Crosstrees_ ♦

There Mother accosted me: “Oh, don’t go up there! You scare me

to death.” I overlooked her entirely, and laid my hand upon the

shrouds. Upon the shrouds! I felt a little thrill go through my hand.

Next minute I was over the taffrail. “You don’t dare, do you?” she

continued. “Watch me and see,” I replied. Then I pulled up on to the

ratlines. The emotions and sensations of that moment are indescribable.

I was starting my career as a sailor. I was already in the rigging,

and I hadn’t been on the ship for more than twenty minutes! And only

yesterday, before that talk with my old sailor friend, it was a

far-away dream, pretty nearly impossible to accomplish. Things had

shaken about strangely. I was in the rigging! Up and up I went, hand

over hand. I could have gone much faster without a quiver, but I was

so taken by it that I went slowly. I felt the rigging sway beneath

my weight. Fascinating! The shrouds were getting closer and closer

together, and the ratlines, therefore, shorter and shorter. I was a

few steps below the crosstrees, I never believed, never in this world,

that I should be able to go more than halfway up. Yet up I went, and

the ratlines were so very short that I could just wedge my feet between

them. Next moment I had reached out an arm, put it over the crosstrees,

braced my foot on the iron futtock shrouds, and pulled myself up. There

I was, _sitting on the crosstrees_, one foot braced upon the futtock

shrouds, the other foot dangling in mid-air, sixty-five feet above the

deck.

The deck down there looked about six inches long, and the busy crew

about the size of ants, yet very clear and sharp. I had never dreamed

of being so close to the truck. There was the slender tip of the

mizzen-mast hardly twenty feet above me. There I was, sitting on the

crosstrees. I thought of many and curious things. It was here that Jim

Hawkins had sat, in his terrified flight from Israel Hands. Here I was,

and I could imagine an Israel, wounded, dirk in teeth, climbing after

me. I stood up on the crosstrees, and, looking out to sea, I found

that I could see very far and clearly. A few little harbor boats were

cruising about. Yes, the deck was certainly not more than six inches

long. But I found, to my intense delight, that I could look down upon

it without a tremor. My head is built for height. I have a sailor

heart, and a sailor head, thought I. Now, if only I were sure that I

had a sailor stomach, everything would be perfect.

It is very alarming to get from the crosstrees on to the ratlines

again. It is necessary to hang over space for a moment, until you can

get your feet on the rigging. But it did not bother me. I lowered

myself by the strength of my forearms, took the futtocks with my hands,

and dropped my feet on to the ratlines. Then I came down, feeling,

Alan, a good deal more like a real pirate than I had ever felt before.

The captain complimented me gravely, saying: “I couldn’t go up as far

as that,” and telling me that I had a good head.

* * * * *

♦ _The Ancient Mariner_ ♦

That was about the end of the first day’s climbing. Right now I

forget whether I went up again or not, but the first time was the

most thrilling, anyway. I talked for a while with two of the sailors;

then the captain took us about the ship, showing us the galley, the

fo’c’sle, the engine-room, the after cabin. The latter is a very ample,

seemingly luxurious place: two moderately large rooms, one used for

dining room, which has a massive table hooked up to the wall to prevent

its rolling about; the rest of it divided into five small compartments,

each containing a bunk. Of these the captain, mate, bo’s’n, and cook

had four, and the other was a spare bunk. In the fo’c’sle there

are bunks for four, but there were only three men there, then. On

asking one of the men if that wasn’t quite a small crew to handle the

schooner, they answered very definitely in the negative.

The captain is a most delightful old fellow, a true sea captain. He

will talk for hours at a time. I think he can say as many words in an

hour as another man in a day. He told us about various experiences of

his in his many schooners--storms, losing deck loads, and so on. He

says:

“I’m not boasting, but, folks, I’ve never lost a ship in my life, and

only one deck load. Now, that’s a good record for a man that’s been at

sea forty year. An’ I’ll tell you, folks, how I lost that deck load. It

was in that gale we had last October--on a Friday, I think ’twas--an’

part of the port taffrail got carried away--see there, folks, where you

can see that new paint? Well, that’s the piece as got carried away, and

I see we had to lose that load. So we give it a little start, and, I

tell you, folks, it wasn’t very hard. All we had to do was give it a

little start, and off it went. I had it all insured, folks, and I guess

the boys would have been glad enough to have the whole lot go, hold and

all! Ha! Ha! Ha!” (It was the same gale that carried down one of the

oak trees in the woods near us.)

He evidently liked to boast about his early days at sea. One tale he

told which particularly took my fancy: “When I was a greenhorn, I got

the hang of a sailor’s job pretty quick. I was a smart lad at the

helm. The cap’n was particklarly pleased with me. I was proud, I tell

you, folks, one time when we was havin’ some rough weather. Another

greenhorn that put out to sea with me went up aft to take his trick,

but he couldn’t manage it at all--the waves come breaking over the

ship, and the cap’n saw he didn’t know the ropes at all. Well, I’d jist

had my two hours; I was all through and gone up forrard, but when the

cap’n see this lad didn’t know nothing, he called me aft agin, and gave

me the helm fer another trick. Well, I was proud, I tell you!”

♦ _Heard and Seen on Deck_ ♦

So he rattled on, tale after tale. He was telling us about the schooner

he was in command of before the _Norman D._ “She was a sweet schooner,

folks,” he said; “she would do anything but talk, and she tried hard

enough to do that.”

For the matter of that, I have said little enough about the _Norman D._

herself. She is a 390-ton schooner. The captain said she used to be

425, but she was cut down, because on a schooner of more than 400 tons,

there has to be a certified mate--a mate who has passed examinations

and has a license or something of the kind to indicate that he is a

competent officer. Nowadays there is so little sailing, and the terms

of enlistment are so short, and the men are so unsteady, sailing a few

months and then going off ashore somewhere, that they don’t get enough

training to become certified mates. Therefore mates are very hard to

get. So the schooner was cut down. (An ordinary man would have told all

that in about three minutes and three quarters, but not so the captain.

He told it inside and out, backwards and forwards, two or three times,

and we never heard the last of that certified mate.) She has masts of

about ninety feet; very fine trees they were once. Her booms are huge,

especially the spanker, which is almost as large around as the part

of the mast just below the crosstrees. Her jibboom is very long and

straight, for she carries an outer jib--jib, flying jib, and outer jib.

She is all painted white, with a narrow stripe of red about three feet

below the bulwarks, and a little red painted ornament on the top of

the cutwater. Her hull seemed to me to be of a beautiful shape--but it

was beautiful enough to see a wooden hull at all, these days.

The captain explained to me a great many things about a sailing vessel,

and I went home with a much clearer idea of things. He told me all

the names of the sails, showed me the gaffs, which I had never quite

understood, and told me which sails were usually taken in first in a

wind, and which were first hoisted. Like Jim Hawkins when he found Long

John Silver, I began to realize that _here_ was a _shipmate_! If I

could live with Captain Avery for a while, I did not doubt but that I

should really know something.

* * * * *

♦ _Sunday Obstacles_ ♦

There could be only three or four different results to all this. So

far, the result was that we invited the captain out to dinner the next

Sunday, and arranged to have the Bryans come over “to meet a real old

sea captain.” Accordingly, Sunday morning about half-past ten (five

bells), I set out alone for the schooner. Again I had the pleasure of

seeing her proud and noble topmasts against the sky, but this time

I could go tearing at full speed down Brewery Street. Yet I was not

so hasty but that I stopped to think a minute. It was Sunday. Very

likely the crew would be ashore: suppose there were no one aboard the

schooner--no one to let me aboard? Then I should have to go prowling

about alone, without permission, sneaking down into the cabin to search

out the captain, and I might be suddenly challenged and questioned

by one of the sailors. Also it would look rather curious, to anyone

ashore, to see me going over the ship’s side without permission. I

might be in some embarrassing situations before the end of the morning!

I confess that I was a little worried, and I stopped tearing along, and

walked quietly and decently down the street.

The gate to the wharf was closed, and at that time I didn’t know about

a certain little side gate, always possible to open by hand. Here was

my first barrier. I determined, however, to get to the ship anyway; and

I pulled lightly over the fence and dropped down upon a heap of coal.

Then I started around it. But I was looking down, walking rather fast,

and before I saw what I was doing I had brought up short against the

bow hawser of the schooner. I was a bit stunned, for the rope was heavy

and very taut. I ducked under it and found my way to the side of the

schooner.

At first it looked as though the worst of my suspicions were too true.

There was not a sign of a soul upon the decks. The whole ship was

as still as night. I didn’t even hear any voices from the cabin or

fo’c’sle. But I determined to stick it out until I knew. The silence

was positively terrifying. I could only judge that the captain had gone

off to Boston (as he had warned us he might), and that all the rest of

the crew were ashore. Yet, I thought, someone ought to be aboard; the

ship wouldn’t be likely to be left all alone. With this in my mind, I

raised a small hail--“Yoo-hoo!”--and, to my delight, someone appeared

in the door of the fo’c’sle. Two or three others were behind him,

looking curious and rather startled.

I put a very bold and saucy face upon the matter. “Look here,” said I,

“I’m the kid who was here a couple o’ days ago, and the captain was

coming out to lunch with us today, so I came down to get him. Is he

aboard?”

There were many answers to this question. “The captain’s ashore.” “I

think he’s gone to Boston.” “No, no,” from the cook, “the captain’s

aft. He ain’t gone to Boston.”

I thought I had better cover up the toploftiness with which I had

started, and I was very pleasant and friendly for a bit. Then I said:

“May I go aft and find the captain?” “Yes, indeed,” they returned.

Meanwhile I had slipped rather sure-footedly from the edge of the wharf

to the top of the bulwarks, and leaped down upon the deck. (By this

time the deck load of lumber was gone.) I found my way down into the

cabin.

♦ _Forty Winks_ ♦

Then came the most exciting thing of all, my hunt for Captain Avery.

He was not in the dining room or in the other part of the after cabin,

where there were a desk and a barometer, a couch and a few chairs.

Then I began ransacking the various sleeping compartments--for I did

not remember which the captain had said was his. I found him in the

second, lying down, fast asleep, his white hair falling over his face,

his cheeks rosy, and part of his Sunday clothes on. I waited ten full

minutes, I am sure, to see if he wouldn’t wake up of his own accord;

for if there is anything I detest, it is waking up sleeping persons.

At last I said very softly: “Captain Avery!” No answer. Then I tapped

gently on the open door, and said again: “Captain Avery!” He woke as

though eight bells had struck, or as though the bo’s’n had suddenly

called “All hands on deck!” And, believe me, there was no yawning or

coughing or blinking or rubbing. He was wide awake in a flash--which

shows what a sailor he is. He recognized me immediately with a smile.

“Well, I guess I dozed off all right. I took it into my head to read,

’n’ so I got out my Bible and read a chapter or two. ’N’ then I began

to feel sleepy, ’n’ I jist dozed off.” Then he was up and putting the

finishing touches to his Sunday dress. I was rather sorry, though, to

see the old fellow dressed up. It didn’t look right to see him in a

stiff collar and a clean white shirt.

He fell to talking immediately, about this and that and the other and

why he didn’t go to Boston and what the crew was doing and what they

wanted to do and what they usually did on Sunday and how they went

cruising around and how soon he thought the cargo would be discharged

and how long he thought the schooner would be in port--everything all

in a jumble, with no commas, just as I have written it. Then he told

about his home town, Moncton, Nova Scotia, and the various railway

routes and harbors. Also he began to tell what he had done in New

Haven, and what a pretty town it was, and how glad he was to have a

chance to see more of it, and was I sure about the trolley car routes?

and did I have plenty of car-fare? and how far out did we live? and

what building was this, and that, and the other? and so on, and so

forth, and so following. Then he fell to about ships and schooners;

and that I was really glad of, and began to pay more attention. And he

began yarning about storms and gales, and furling the sails hastily,

and coming through dangerous shoals and shallows under bare poles,

until I thought that I had never met such an interesting old codger.

♦ _Monological_ ♦

By this time we were in the Whitney Avenue trolley car. The captain was

much impressed by the stately elms. They led to a general discussion

of all the various trees in all the various parts of the world,

especially Nova Scotia. But really the business part of the town was

the most interesting to him, and, as I said, he kept asking me about

this building and that one till I thought I had never had such a drill

on my own home town. All the way up Armory Street he ran on, in a

monotone which it often became difficult for me to understand. When we

got home I dumped him into a rocking-chair, feeling quite stunned with

all the talk I had heard. I was willing to have the air more silent

around me, and so I was rather glad when he picked up a newspaper and

began to scan it. I never heard anyone so entertaining when reading

to himself. He would read the headlines aloud, then the articles to

himself, making audible or inaudible comments now and then. And after

he had finished he would say: “Hm! And a hard enough time they’ll have

of it, too!” or the like incomprehensible ejaculation.

All day Sunday he talked in the same way, pouring forth streams of

conversation concerning everything under the sun. Of course I liked his

ship talk the best, but, since that was second nature to him, he seemed

to prefer talking of other things. Late in the afternoon we all went

down to take him back to the schooner, and to show her to the Bryans.

* * * * *

I have never managed to go down there without having thrills run

through and through me at the sight of the _Norman D._--her long and

graceful jibboom, the sharpness of her white cutwater, her mazes of

rigging, ratlines, blocks; even the very idea of her--of a schooner,

a real schooner, a large vessel under sails--thrilled me. The bo’s’n

brought a ladder when he saw the captain coming, and aboard we all

went. By this time I had got to feel very much at home on the ship. I

wanted to feel at home on her; I loved to, because I felt more than

ever like a sailor. I grew, of course, steadily more daring, and now

I walked right along the bulwarks without a quiver. The first thing I

did when I got aboard was to scramble up the rigging again. Oh, how

I loved that rigging! How I loved to grip the shrouds tight, to feel

myself going up hand over hand over hand! How I loved the quivering,

the shaking, which my weight gave to it! And how I was thrilled, how I

was always thrilled, to find myself sitting on the crosstrees!

♦ _A New Acquaintance_ ♦

One thing, however, I had not hitherto dared to venture upon--the

topsail ratlines. Just above the crosstrees are five or six more frail

rope steps, not nearly so steady and strong as the main part of the

rigging. These steps are used when the sailors are aloft working at

the topsails. Somehow they looked too frail and shaky for me. I didn’t

quite dare begin climbing _them_, especially when I was starting more

than sixty feet above the deck. But I stood out on the crosstrees, and

I put my hand to my forehead, and I looked out to sea--feeling a good

deal like the lookout man on the fo’c’sle deck.

By this time they had entirely moved the deck load and were working on

the hold (though, of course, not on that day), and so the boom of the

mainsail had been belayed to the port side of the schooner, to make

room for hoisting out the cargo. Now it was loose, and I had a lot of

fun pushing it back and forth. Then I scrambled up on to it--and quite

a job that was, too--and Daddy pushed it back and forth, until it swung

almost out over the water, bringing up hard on the sheet. Afterwards I

learned to get up on the boom in one pull of my arms, by means of the

downhaul, but of course the sails weren’t hoisted then.

That evening we became acquainted with the mate. He is a very nice

fellow. Evidently he had been ashore, for he had on his shore togs.

We went up forward on the fo’c’sle deck and had a long talk with

him. I happened to hint something about the jibboom. I longed to

go out on it, but I didn’t quite dare to. I hadn’t quite got my

sailor-familiarity-with-the-ropes on yet. But the mate immediately

started to go out on the bowsprit. “See,” said he, “this is a nice,

easy little walk out here”--as he went along a shelf of the bowsprit

no more than three inches wide, holding on by a wire rope. “See, you

just be careful to hold on to this rope--you must be careful to not

grab anything that’ll let you down.” Then he reached the jibboom, and

stepped down on to the footropes. “But these footropes are a good long

stretch for a youngster,” said he. “I tell you, this is a nasty place

in bad weather; it certainly is. Imagine how it would be with waves

running high, and washing up over you when you are out on there!” Then

he told us how once he had managed to fall off the jibboom when a high

sea was running, but, happily, had caught by his armpits among the

bowsprit rigging and climbed up on again. I surely believed him: I had

never known anything, even the topsail ratlines, look more insecure

than those footropes. They jerked back and forth, and at every step

they sagged ’way down. But I determined to be sailorly, and, though I

didn’t go out that evening, I secretly resolved that some day I should

surprise everyone by going out on those frail, jogging footropes,

where, if I should fall off, I should probably stick fast in nice, oozy

harbor mud.

* * * * *

♦ _Wanting the Moon_ ♦

How that schooner haunted me! I was like a caged lion all day, and at

night I dreamed that I was sailing off, back to Nova Scotia, with

her. The days were drawing on. She would be going in about two weeks.

I should see her no more. Perhaps I should _never_ see her again, for

Captain Avery has no regular schedule, and he goes into New Haven very

rarely. Yes, perhaps I should never see her again. And there would

end my brilliantly begun sailor career. Again I should have to resort

to the stenching fishing schooners around Boston. The best I could

possibly hope for, thought I, would be to go out on the tug which would

tow her out of the harbor. Then I could at least see her hoist her

sails and sail and roll away. How lonely I should be! I was afraid of

the thought. In my imagination I could see her casting her towrope,

her sails filling with a fresh breeze, already her cutwater making

wings of foam reach out along her sides. I should see her dwindle to a

snow-sailed fairy ship in the distance; then she would be a microscopic

speck on the horizon. Oh, but that was to die by inches, thought I. I

think I could never have borne it.

“Oh! don’t you wish we could go with her when she sails?” said I to

Daddy, who was fascinated by her, as I was.

“Why yes, of course I do,” said he. “But we can’t--so there’s no use in

talking about it.”

No, there was certainly no use in talking about it. The impossible

cannot be accomplished. But the schooner continued to haunt me.

And so Mother and I escaped from the house and went down to see the

schooner again. This proved to be one of the most thrilling visits of

all. When we got aboard, the mate was sitting on top of the deckhouse

piecing the great outer jib. That sail had been ripped in a gale, and

they had taken it off the jibboom to mend it. The mate had a huge

rope-needle, and he wore a regular sailmaker’s thimble, which is a

small metal disk set in a leather strap worn around the wrist. He was

putting in a strip of new canvas, which looked very clean and white in

contrast to the other. We had a little talk; then I played about the

ship as usual, climbing along her bulwarks--in fact, literally skipping

and running along her bulwarks, to Mother’s terror. Then, after I had

climbed up to the crosstrees two or three times, always looking rather

longingly at the topsail ratlines, Captain Avery asked us if we would

like to eat supper with him, aft, at four bells (six o’clock). Mother

called me down from some high perch and asked me. Would I eat a meal on

a real ship? Would I indeed!

♦ _Nautical Fare_ ♦

So down we went, into the room where the massive table was hooked up

to the wall. Before that I had become well acquainted with the cook, a

delightful old man who told us he was up in the seventies somewhere.

(You may believe it or not, but his name was Oscar Follett.) He was,

or at least had been, the best sailor aboard; he had served in real

square-riggers, and knew a great deal about them. I called him

“matey,” and we had a grand time together. Once I had asked him if

he wouldn’t like me to go with him back to Nova Scotia. I told him

I would wash dishes for him. He replied: “Yes, you could help me a

lot.” For the matter of that, I had even asked the captain--in joke,

of course--if _he_ wouldn’t like me to sail back with him, and I had

told him too that I was willing to wash dishes to earn my passage.

Said he: “You wouldn’t have to wash dishes to go with me!” The cook

is very amusing. Right off, then, I had a feeling--a doubtful, vague

feeling--that all was not quite right between the cook and the skipper.

For the cook, seeing company arrive, was in the process of changing the

tablecloth, which was rather begrimed. The captain said: “Oh, don’t

bother about that, steward--that’s all right.” Then said the cook very

violently: “’Tain’t neither! ’s dirty!” And he yanked it off with one

good snatch.

Down we sat, the three of us, to a delightful meal of cold fat ham,

boiled potatoes mixed up with corned beef and a kind of greasy gravy,

very tough ship’s bread, canned pears, and very strong black tea. It

was coarse grub--there is no denying it--yet, in the excitement of the

moment, it seemed to make everything more romantic and adventurous. I

tackled the bread with the determination of one possessed; I hardly

heard the cook spinning us a yarn. This is something to the effect of

the way he talked:

“The only disadvantage of your comin’ along of us when we sail is ’at

ye’re powerful likely to be seasick. ‘Most everyone is seasick for a

few days. Me, when I first went to sea, I was seasick ten days, and

I lay there in me bunk, and ate nuthin’ at all--nuthin’ ’cepting a

little cold water, an’ I’d chuck that right up again. Now, the cap’n I

was sailin’ with, he was always nice to me, ’n’ he didn’t see me for

ten days, so after a while he come forrard and asked me what was the

matter. ‘What’s the matter with you, Si?’ says he. ‘Well, sir,’ says I,

‘I’m seasick. I’ve been here ten days.’ ‘Have you eaten anything, Si?’

says he. ‘No, sir,’ says I. ‘Well, but, Si, you must eat something, or

you’ll die. You must eat something, Si. Now come, get out of your bunk,

and walk around a bit.’ So I got out of my bunk, and I was so weak that

he had to put his arm around me, or I should have fallen over. ‘Now,

Si, ain’t there anything you’d like to eat?’ ‘No, sir, nothing,’ says

I. ‘But, Si, you must eat something, or you’ll die.’ ‘No, sir, I can’t

eat anything.’ ‘Now, Si, you jist take it easy, and think if there

ain’t something I can get you to eat.’ ‘No, sir, there ain’t nuthing.’

‘Now, Si, you jist think a minute, and see if there ain’t anything.’

‘Well, sir,’ says I, ‘I believe I’d like a little strong cold tea,

without any sweetening in it.’ So he got up and went and fetched me my

quart mug full of tea, and I drank the last drop of it, and it stayed

down, too. ’N’ I was niver seasick again after that.”

♦ _Strained Relations_ ♦

(I managed to hear that three times before seeing the last of the

steward, and each time it was longer and more complicated, with more

details.) All the time, the little old man was leaning up against

a projecting panel of the wall, with his arms crossed, glaring and

glowering and staring and scowling at the captain. He would arch up his

bald forehead, making the high wrinkles show, and his eyes would look

most keen and piercing--his old blue eyes--beneath his high forehead.

I never saw such expressions of hatred in my life; and I confess

that I was amused very much indeed. And when Captain Avery looked at

the steward to ask him for something, he, too, looked frowningly and

hatefully. But the cook was fond of me, partly because I listened to

his talk with a long ear, and partly because I had helped him, to my

own delight, setting the table and getting the supper ready.

* * * * *

We were through before very long, and the mate and bo’s’n came down to

take our places at the table. The most exciting part of the evening

was still to come; it was indeed. No sooner was I out on deck than I

scurried again up into the rigging. I never got so used to climbing the

rigging that I could treat it as a commonplace matter. It was always

thrilling to me, and I felt myself growing more and more a sailor. By

this time the whole crew knew that I liked to climb around and that I

was daring about it, and usually I could see one or two, especially the

old cook, looking out of the galley or the fo’c’sle, grinning up at me.

I was no longer in their world: I was at the level of the sea gulls.

But on this trip up to the crosstrees I had a new idea in my

head--those quivery, frail topsail ratlines. They tempted me hugely. I

felt that my climbing in the rigging was very imperfect until I could

say that I had been on the topmost of those additional rope steps.

This time, when I reached the crosstrees, I didn’t pause at all. I was

afraid my idea might not work. I gripped for those shrouds right off,

and I went right up those shaky ropes. They were hard to climb, too,

because I didn’t quite dare do them from the outside, where, of course,

they would have been a great deal easier. Instead, I went up from the

inside of the rigging, so that I was climbing at a very awkward angle.

But I went on up, until I stood, quivering and shaking, on the topmost

rope. I felt as if I were adding more and more steps to my brilliant

sailor record. So I was quite proud and delighted when I came down

from the ratlines. I went and talked a moment to the cook, who had been

sitting on the starboard bulwarks amidships, watching. He immediately

said to me: “Why didn’t you go right on up to the truck?” “I see no

footropes,” said I. “Well,” said he, “you might have shinned right up.”

“Oh, I imagine I’ll come to that in time,” I answered.

♦ _Invasion of a New Province_ ♦

But now I had an even more exciting idea in my mind. I went back to the

mate and told him I was going out on the bowsprit. “I’m going out as

far as I can,” I said. “I don’t know whether I’ll get any farther than

the jibboom, but I’ll get out to those footropes anyway.”

“Well,” said he, “just be careful to hold on to that wire rope, and

you’ll be all right.”

So I started. I crawled, step by step, out along that three-inch shelf

on the side of the bowsprit, holding fast to the indicated rope. Once

the furled jib, which was loosely a-swing amid its tackle, lumbered

outwards toward me and nearly pushed me off the bowsprit; but, happily,

I ducked under it and went on. As I walked along that shelf, I felt

that I could not possibly keep on climbing out so successfully; it was

incredible that I should be able to walk so far without any mishap. Yet

I reached the frail footropes of the jibboom in safety. Cautiously I

stepped down upon them, and they sagged deeply beneath me. From knot

to knot I edged, bracing my feet upon the cross-ropes. Without them I

could never have made my way out, because the jibboom was tipped uphill

so steeply. And at each step I felt new surprises. Why didn’t something

happen to stop me? Why didn’t I go suddenly hurtling down into the sea

so far below? Was I actually going to be allowed to reach the very end?

After a little breathless manœuvring, I did reach it--the very white

painted tip of the jibboom, which is one of the most romantic inches of

wood in the world. Holding on to the forestay, I stood up and smiled a

smile of triumph.

Then I had one of the strangest surprises of my life. It was time for

the factory workers to be getting out, and, when I stood up and looked

over to the road, there was an audience of at least fifty people, of

all ages and sexes, leaning over the bridge and looking at me. Some of

them waved and grinned. How like a sailor I felt! Then, cautiously,

but not quite so slowly, I edged down the jibboom again, always being

careful to brace my feet on the footrope knots so that I shouldn’t

slip. When I got back I will not deny that I skipped, danced, ran,

flew, all the way down the bulwarks until I reached the taffrail, where

I leaped down.

♦ _Breaking in a Green Hand_ ♦

Gradually my reputation was increasing. I was climbing rung after

rung of the ladder of sailor fame. I was so gay that I skipped about

among mate, cook, and captain, asking the names of ropes and things.

I learned quite a lot that evening. But I had more delights coming

to me: I still had great duties to perform about the deck. The mate

was running about, getting everything ready for the night. The main

gaff was hoisted, having been used to swing the main cargo up from

the hold and over the side of the ship, where the men working in the

lumber trucks had unfastened it. So the gaff had to be lowered. That

was where the main part of my work came in. I held the peak halyards;

the mate, on the other side of the ship, held something else--I could

not see what, but in all probability the throat halyards. The mate

came over and said to me: “You want to be a sailor man? See, now, hold

this rope, and let it out very slowly.” So I took the rope, and I let

it out slowly, hand over hand. Slowly the gaff came down, and I felt

an enormous weight pulling at the rope, so that sometimes it pulled

itself more quickly than I wished through my hands, burning them. Once

it almost got free from me, and I saw it whizzing along. I heard a cry

from the mate, and with a little strength I managed to stop it. There

was a small bang and the gaff came to rest.

Then a rope had to be uncoiled from the mainsail boom, which the mate

wanted to use to make the gaff fast. We uncoiled it together, one on

each side of the boom, and pulling the rope across hand over hand--I

pulling, the mate loosening the coils. Several times I got the rope’s

end in my face with a smart little _smack!_ but that was sailorly, and

I minded it no more than the dirt.

After that I helped the mate by carrying coils of rope which he wanted

moved, and doing other small jobs. By this time Mother was saying that

it was time to go home; so after the mate had finished his work I said

to him: “Oh, how I wish I could go along back to Nova Scotia!” and left

the schooner.

* * * * *

♦ _Sea Fever_ ♦

I don’t remember whether or not we visited the schooner any more

before a certain memorable day, only a few days before she sailed. It

was on a Saturday. I had been talking steadily about the schooner to

everyone; I had described in full detail my various accomplishments

to my old friend Mr. Rasmussen; I had thought more about the beauty

and the adventures of the _Norman D._ than I had ever thought about

anything before. And this Saturday morning, more than two weeks after

the schooner had come in, the fever which was in me for sailing

became intolerable. I shall never forget--never, though I live to be

a thousand--how I felt that morning. I strode up and down the porch,

feeling, ranting, and looking a good deal like a lion just brought in

from the jungle, caged. I was frantic--wild--unpersuadable. I said:

“You can’t keep me from it--you can’t, you can’t--I’m going to sail

with the _Norman D._ And I’m going up to the dictionary _now_ to learn

the thirty-two points of the compass by heart, so that I shall be well

prepared, and so that I shall be allowed to steer. Yes, I’m going with

the schooner!”

“But you can’t go alone.”

“I can! I can! I must! I shalt die if I don’t. Of course I can. Of

course! I know the captain well, and the mate, and the cook, and the

bo’s’n, too, for that matter. Oh, don’t talk to me--I’m going; I must

go!”

“But how can you get back?”

“Oh, Lord! I am wild, and I am crazy, but I’m not so wild that I

can’t think that out. You know the _Norman D._ is going to load up at

Bridgewater; then she sails for New York; and Daddy can meet her at New

York when she comes in. Oh, don’t try to talk to me, or keep me from

it, because you can’t. You can’t do it. No! I’m going to sail.”

What a wretched, cruel thing _reality_ is--one of those hideous

monsters which ill-fated Pandora let out of her magic chest!

“Now, Bar, be reasonable. You know you can’t go without someone else

to go along too, and look out for you--someone we know.”

“But we do know the captain, and the mate, and the cook.”

“Yes, but not intimately. Now, listen a minute, and I’ll tell you

something.”

“Not a word, unless you give me permission to go. And if you don’t

give me permission, I’ll go without. I’ll run away, I will, and be a

stowaway aboard the _Norman D._ And, if that’s the case, what’s more,

I shan’t return home at all. I shan’t come back to New York. I’ll stay

aboard her all the time. Indeed I will! And I’ll live the life I’m made

to live.--Oh, if I were only sure I had a sailor stomach!”

“That’s right, too: you’ll certainly be seasick.”

“What do I care? Do you think you can break me of my desire to sail

just by telling me I’ll get seasick? To be sure I’ll be seasick. And,

what’s more, I’ll get over it, too. Now, may I go, or must I go without

leave?”

“Now, listen again. You can go if you get someone to go with you. And

if you can’t get someone to go with you, you just cannot go with the

schooner, that’s all. That’s definite--you cannot sail with her unless

someone goes with you. But you can go out on the tug to see her set

sail--”

“Oh! I could never stand to see her sail away without me.”

♦ _Argumentative_ ♦

“And you can go with her some other trip--perhaps on her next trip--”

“But she has no schedule, and she only comes into New Haven very

rarely.”

“No matter. Perhaps you can sail with her from New York the next time

she comes in there.”

“But by that time I may not want to sail any more.”

“Well, that’s absolutely the best that can be done. If you can get

someone to go with you, you may sail; if not, no.”

“And so now I’m going to learn the points of the compass.”

“But wait! Not so fast! Supposing you can’t get anyone to go?”

“Why, then I’ll go alone, and heaven help me!”

“No, you won’t go alone.”

“Well, I’m going to learn the points of the compass, anyway, because it

may take me a long time to learn them all--and I shan’t mind knowing

them anyway, whether I go or not. But I’m going! I’m sure of it.

Something tells me so.”

* * * * *

So I fled upstairs to the dictionary and looked up the points of

the compass. After about fifteen minutes of hard studying, I could

stand off from the dictionary and repeat them all, slowly and

rather hesitatingly, from north clean round to north again. In five

more minutes I could say them off quite smoothly, and before I got

downstairs I could run them off pretty fast--though I still had to

think hard about them. Now I can reel them off as fast as the names

of the sails of a square-rigger. They are nothing but second nature

to me. All the morning ran through my head: “North, north by east,

north-northeast, northeast by north, northeast, northeast by east,

east-northeast, east by north, east. ...” (You have no idea how much

harder that is to write than it is to say.)

When I appeared downstairs, the family stared at me as though I had

gone absolutely cuckoo. In fact, by this time I had not the slightest

doubt that I had. I immediately confronted them with “North, north by

east,” and the rest of it. Then I said: “Now whom do you suggest?”

“For what? To go with you?”

“Ay, ay! What else should I mean? For what else can anyone possibly

serve?”

“Bar, are you serious? Is it true that you really want to go so badly

as all this, or is it just one of your jokes?”

♦ _Free Fantasia_ ♦

“Lord! Do I joke? Can’t you tell that I am serious? What? Have you

never seen me serious before? Or possibly you haven’t. Anyhow, don’t

you know when I’m serious, and when I’m not?”

And through me flowed a stream of the most marvellous sea dreams I

have ever known. I thought of having the high white sails puffing with

wind over my head. I thought of a great ship leaning over, I thought

of pirates, buried treasure, mystic isles. I thought of the delight

of sailing, not to New York or Boston, but to Nova Scotia--a strange

country, new to me. I thought of the companionship I might develop

with the crew. I thought of the storms, gales, perhaps even typhoons,

I might encounter. I thought of the stories I should have to tell

when I came back, swinging to and fro in my sailor walk, sunburned,

brawny, knowing everything about the ropes which looked as numerous to

my inexperienced eyes as sea shells on the seashore. I thought of how

strange it was that, only two weeks ago, I had considered the whole

thing well-nigh an impossible dream, and of how, now, here I was on the

point--perhaps--of sailing myself.

* * * * *

To be reasonably brief with the matter, there was a whole lot more

talk, but eventually it was decided that, if I could get G. S. Bryan

to go as my shipmate on this adventure, the chances were all in

favor of my going--that is, if Captain Avery assented. Otherwise the

chances were distinctly unfavorable. And so, after a lot of complicated

long-distance telephoning, I communicated the idea to the Bryans and

got them to come over Sunday (the next day) to talk it over with us and

with Captain Avery.

Of course, I spent most of my time skipping wildly around the house,

shouting out “North, north by east ...” and other ship words. Also,

I spent a good deal of time with my face buried in the dictionary,

learning new words and names, so that I should not be landlubberly

when I went off sailing in that schooner. Off sailing--think of it! My

dreams realized so soon--so soon!

♦ _The Art of Digression_ ♦

Well--and this is leaving out a great, great many details--the Bryans

did come over on Sunday, and we all went down to assault Captain Avery.

The old skipper was most entertaining that day. He spread out all his

charts on the dining room table and showed us his various passages,

and by which way he would go up to Nova Scotia, and which way he had

come on _all_ of his previous trips; and, of course, that involved

us in listening to a great many tales of all kinds, I really thought

the man was powerless to stop talking. He spread out chart after

chart, and explained them all to us--all the various things which the

mysterious little signs indicate. This was a whistling buoy, that

a bell buoy--and so on, absolutely endlessly. (Charts are certainly

fascinating. They show the stretches of sea all marked and written

up, even more than a land map shows the land. They show soundings

everywhere, marks for buoys, lighthouses, and the rest, and also

signs which indicate what kind of bottom you are sailing over. As for

the land, it is simply blank, just as the sea is in land maps--blank

except for a few of the important shore towns.) Then, after they had

been rolled up and put away, he fell to telling tales once more. He

came into a description of rough weather; and that evidently reminded

him to show off his trick furniture, for he immediately put his hand

beneath the table and pushed a shutter of some kind, and instantly

little racks, crisscrossing each other and running all around the edge,

shot up two or three inches above the rest of the table. “It’s a very

primitive arrangement, folks, but it certainly does come in handy in

rough weather.”

He pointed to a hook on the wall of the cabin just beside his desk,

to which was attached a long string with an empty ink-bottle hanging

at the end of it. “Now, folks,” said he, “do ye knaow why I hung that

up there? Well, I’ll tell you. You look very carefully and see ’f you

can tell which way the schooner is listing.” We all studied the empty

ink-bottle for some time in silence. At last Daddy said: “It strikes

me she lists to port a little.” “That’s right, folks; she lists just

a leetle bit to port. Yes, I allus did have an idea that she listed a

little.”

He described everything in absolute detail. He would tell us exactly

what sails he took in or let out during such and such a trip; also

exactly how many reefs he took in this sail or that during this or that

kind of weather. And some of his pronunciations were delightful. He

was continually saying: “Ye knaow, folks ...” and he always pronounced

“route” as “rout.”

♦ _The Reward of Persistence_ ♦

We fell to giving little hints about our going on the trip back with

him. But he was rather obstinate, and persisted in his own material.

Some of the hints he would take, and then slyly pass them over,

with “Oh, yes, I guess that girl would like to go along with us! I

wouldn’t mind taking her either, if she had another girl friend to go

along with her.” This seemed to suggest something like accordance,

and we redoubled our efforts. But he persisted gently in his “girl

friend” idea, and wouldn’t take the most obvious hints. At last we all

withdrew from the schooner, except Daddy, who stayed behind, talking.

We considered ourselves vanquished in our hopes, and there were some

pretty gloomy moments. But Daddy shortly afterwards came tearing out on

to the wharf, looking very excited about something or other. “Now you,”

he said, “you’re going to go down to the schooner on Tuesday morning,

to find out when she sails. And then you telephone your shipmate here,

and tell him when; and then the two of you pile aboard and away to Nova

Scotia. And I think I make out that it would relieve Captain Avery of

considerable embarrassment if you would take along some blankets.”

My head was in a whirl, being mixed up with the captain’s indifference

to hints and Daddy’s explosion of the welcome which the captain had

apparently given to the situation when it had been placed before him

directly. But the delight that possessed me! I was really going to

sail! Yes, in spite of all obstacles, I was going to sail. And not long

before that I had thought of sailing only as a vague dream far off in

the future; and not long before that I was only beginning to know a few

of the simplest things about ships, which were all vague and romantic

and fairy-like to me; and not very long before that I didn’t know the

slightest thing about sails of any kind, and, not knowing, had not

cared. But now! Something had suddenly started to open up to me, like a

great window overlooking ships and the sea.

And I could not help a few doubts crossing my mind. It was really a bit

too good to be true, and I was inclined to disbelieve it a little. For

my superstition warned me that something would turn up to keep me from

sailing--that an accident might occur aboard, or an accident at home,

or an accident that would prevent my shipmate from accompanying me.

And, after all, it _was_ too good to be true.

* * * * *

♦ _Anticipatory_ ♦

Yet nothing did occur. The few days flowed on smoothly. On Tuesday

morning, as had been previously arranged, Mother and I went down to see

Captain Avery and find out when he “calculated on” sailing. We walked

down Brewery Street in a drizzling rain, and just before reaching

the wharf we encountered the skipper himself, walking up the street

to town, with a huge umbrella over his head. We consulted with him,

standing there in the rain, for a few minutes. He told us to be aboard

the schooner by four bells (six o’clock) that afternoon; he told us

to bring blankets, and also any small snacks, such as crackers or

fruits, which we might want for luxuries, in case we were seasick. It

seemed almost certain that I should go. I didn’t see anything standing

in the way. Again the romance, the adventure, the piraticalness of

it overwhelmed me, and I could not believe my senses. We walked down

close to the wharf gate and stood there for a short time, watching them

discharge the lath from the bottom of the hold. They were using the

main gaff as a crane. They would swing it over the hold, tie several

bundles of the lath on to a rope from the end of it, and then swing

it out over the lumber carts, where the teamsters would unfasten the

bundles. They were working the gaff, of course, by the machinery in

the engine-room. I was thinking about the next day, and of being towed

out into the open sea; I hardly saw the crew toiling away in the rain,

hardly heard the steady drone of the engine.

To my delight, who should be riding back in the same trolley but my old

friend Mr. Rasmussen? I fell immediately to telling him all about it.

“Well,” said I, “the captain says for all hands to be aboard by four

bells this afternoon.”

“So!” said he. “And you--are you all ready? Have you got your oilskins,

sea boots, sou’wester?”

“Well, no. You see, I haven’t had very much time to get ready. I only

decided a few days ago that I would sail with the schooner.”

“Why, what kind of a sailor are you?” said he.

“You see, mate,” I replied, “I haven’t yet decided whether I shall

enlist as a regular member of the crew. I’m still only a passenger.”

We talked some more, about his own sloop, and what the chances were of

my having a sail in her sometime. He told us all about her--how he had

bought her, and how he had taken her all apart to find out what she

was made of and whether she were really seaworthy, and how he repaired

her here and there until she was as snug and tight as he could wish,

and how now he was not afraid of any weather for her, knowing her to be

as strongly made and ship-shape as a sailor’s heart could desire.

We telephoned, and the Bryans agreed to be over at two bells, so as to

have a good margin left over. The day seemed horribly long, I was so

wild and excited. After lunch I went to the most tipsy rocking-chair in

the house and rocked, and rocked, and rocked--so that I should be ready

for a little rolling after meals. I didn’t honestly think I should be

seasick--but I am a very suggestible sort of person.

There was something darksome and fearful in the air--and, in spite of

my common sense, I could not help a vague misgiving. I found myself

repeating hotly: “I’m going! Of course I’m going! There is nothing to

prevent it.”

* * * * *

♦ _Anxious Moments_ ♦

In the early part of the afternoon the telephone rang. I jumped like

a madman for it. It was Captain Avery’s familiar croaking voice, and

I was so startled that my heart sank down into the toes of my boots.

He was pleasant, even though he didn’t sound as if he were accustomed

to telephoning. All he wanted was to know my address and that of my

shipmate; evidently he had to register us.

I was indescribably relieved. But the telephone rang again a very

few minutes afterward. Again I sprang for it, and again I could feel

my heart running downstairs. Again it was Captain Avery. But this

time his voice seemed to denote trouble. “Barbara,” he said, “do you

realize that you will have to have some identification to go into

Canada--something to show that you’re an American citizen? You’re

likely to be held up at Boston, coming back, as an immigrant.”

“But--but--what sort of identification must I have, Captain Avery?”

“Just a minute.” (Pause.) “I think a letter from your father would do,

Barbara.”

“Hold the line, please, Captain Avery.” I was absolutely terrified,

now, and I was about to call for help, when another person took up the

line and said, in a pleasant, expressionless voice, “Is your father or

mother there?”

“Just a minute,” I said again--and, at the same time, I heard the

voice of Mother answering on the telephone downstairs. For that I

was grateful--so grateful! My heart was still going like a perfect

sledge hammer, but I had to pick up the upstairs receiver and

listen. This is what I heard (or something to this effect, for my

brain had gone absolutely crazy, and my senses had forsaken me. I

found myself saying: “You fool! Didn’t you know all the time that you

couldn’t--couldn’t--couldn’t go on this trip? Didn’t you know that

something would come up? You mean to say you didn’t know that it was

far too good for yourself?”).

“Do you realize,” said the pleasant, expressionless voice, “that an

adult male is taking a minor female into a foreign country?”

“Well,” said Mother, characteristically, “I hadn’t thought of it in

just that way, but, now you speak of it, those do seem to be the facts.”

But I could listen no more. I couldn’t listen--it was like hearkening

to my own doom, and I put down the receiver. I afterwards found out

that the rest of the talk was simply on the necessity of identification

of some kind, and what kind, and the need of going to a lawyer about

it, and so on. And here it was, the afternoon I was supposed to sail;

undoubtedly the Bryans were now on their way; and it looked pretty

black and desperate.

Mother came dashing upstairs and assaulted me: “This is very serious,

Bar. It looks as if you mightn’t be able to go, after all. We have to

go down-town to see a lawyer, and we may not be able to get through in

time.”

♦ _Calamity Threatens_ ♦

We bustled into good clothes and bustled at full speed down-town,

through the same sort of drizzling, melancholy rain that we had

had earlier in the day. Even the rain and the dull greyness of the

day seemed to predict no good. Yes, everything was going wrong

now--everything which, up to half an hour ago, had been going

right. What a difference a telephone call may make! It might make,

in this case, the difference between a week of the most piratical,

adventuresome, glorious days that I had ever known, and a week of

gloomy days at home, lamenting the marvellous chance which I had lost

through carelessness, and through not having a wider margin of time

left over. I was prepared for the blackest. But my piratical fancies

did not forsake me altogether, and I dreamed of how delightful it

would be if I could leave home suddenly--snooping out, and flying down

the street; down to the _Norman D._ Then I should tell my friend the

mate all the trouble, and I was sure he would sympathize, and allow

me to stay aboard until she sailed back to New York. There he would

smuggle me ashore as a bundle of old clothes, and Daddy would pick me

up. Everything would go in a mysterious, piratical fashion. It seems

strange, but none of us had ever thought of Canada as a foreign country.

* * * * *

♦ _Subscribed and Sworn to_ ♦

And now I was to be put to the trial of facing one of those formidable

persons called lawyers. But the hope of going even now put courage into

my heart, and I strode eagerly. We went into Mr. Holbrook’s high office

feeling very queer indeed. In that place I looked for no surprise; but

one exciting thing did happen. When I went desperately over to the

window to get a little light, if not air, while Mother was stating, in

her most pitiful tones, the entire case, I saw, over tier after tier

of roofs and high buildings, the blue water of the bay, and, looking

like a child’s toy dock, the old, broken wharf, and, lying alongside

it, like a child’s toy ship, the _Norman D._, mirrored in the calm

water, white, noble, with her beautiful tall masts towering up against

the sky. While Mr. Holbrook was in some of his most solemn moments

of discussion, I shrieked out: “Oh, look! There’s the schooner now!

See, down there by that tiny little wharf. That’s the _Norman D._ See?

Isn’t she beautiful?” At the same time Mr. Holbrook was dictating the

necessary affidavit to his secretary. It had to be signed by each of

us; and it had to be certified and sealed by the Clerk of the Superior

Court; and arrangements had to be made for my birth-certificate to be

mailed to Nova Scotia for us on the return trip. While Mother took

care of these grave matters, I was dashing furiously homeward in the

first trolley, to arrive before the Bryans, if possible, and explain

the whole complicated mess to them. And again I fell into my dreams of

adventure. It happened that the Bryans had not arrived when I got home,

but they had called up from Derby, and been told as much as the house

knew about it, and that had put them into confusion, and I was very

much afraid that they had gathered from the report that they weren’t to

come at all. What a grand mess that would be! But they did come, soon

after Mother, and again the mess was gone through, and pored over, and

thought about. We felt truly safe and sound, having such a ponderous

affidavit with us; we did indeed! “... By and with the full consent of

the deponent ...”!

We drove down to the schooner to find out for sure whether she was

to sail that afternoon or the next morning. We hoped it would be in

the morning, because we were very much crowded and confused, and

rather giddy with so many accidents and telephone calls and lawyers

and affidavits, and we wanted time to get settled down a little and

to think things over, and to buy crackers and fruit as Captain Avery

had suggested. But I, secretly and against my common sense, hoped to

sail right then. I was furiously eager to get away from New Haven

and all its traps and snares. Also, I feared that, if I had to spend

another night at home, I should be so excited that I shouldn’t sleep. I

should be so full of ideas about the sea, and ships, and pirates, and

adventures--and the trip, the actual trip that I was going on--that I

_knew_ I shouldn’t sleep a wink.

We drove down in the same sort of rain we had been having all day. We

told everything to Captain Avery; also Mother, following one of Mr.

Holbrook’s numerous advices, asked him if he would please write a note

to certify that we really were his passengers, on board his schooner,

from New Haven to Bridgewater. This note we should present to the

officials at Boston if challenged.

But we found, to everybody else’s joy and my dismay, that the

schooner was not to sail until Wednesday morning. Tired and confused

and a little dizzy, I ran about among the various members of the

crew--especially the cook and mate--and told them, with huge glee, that

I should be sailing with them. The cook, good old soul, seemed very

much delighted, and at once retold his favorite yarn about the cold

tea. The mate said he was sure I should make a splendid sailor.

♦ _The Day of Days_ ♦

Glorious! But I need not repeat my new dives into even more wonderful

sea dreams. Now, for the first time, I could really shake off the

misgiving; now I really knew that I was to do what I had, though for

so short a time, longed to do. We ate supper down-town. When I got

home to bed, instead of lying awake and tossing, and becoming feverish

from excitement, I dropped like a stone into a deep, dreamless sleep.

I never slept more soundly in my life--except, perhaps, afterwards,

when--but wait a page or two.

* * * * *

The day dawned fair, and there seemed to be a breeze where we were, for

white fair-weather clouds were scudding across the sky. I woke rather

early; I was wide awake in a flash, and I leaped out of bed, clapping

on my old clothes as hastily as I could. My hair I braided up tightly,

as I always do when I go on any wild enterprise. Mother fussed a little

over the braids, and said I looked like a hobgoblin. I said that braids

were nautical, and befitted the schooner and the sea.

We took three jars of our own homemade orange marmalade, some of

which was to go to the men in the fo’c’sle, the rest aft. We thought

this would please Captain Avery. Then, with my sailor rags fluttering

about me like a proud banner of triumph, Mother and I marched down

Armory Street to the trolley. Mother left me down-town to wait for the

Bryans and to buy those everlasting crackers and fruits, but I simply

_couldn’t_ wait, and I transferred into another trolley and sailed

down Chapel Street. I was so absorbed in my own dreams that I almost

went past Brewery Street. But I saw the topmasts of the schooner

just in time, and got out. I couldn’t resist saying to myself: “Oh,

thank heaven! She is still there.” You see, my superstition tried its

hardest to make me believe that I still might possibly be hindered from

going. It was still trying to make me see imaginary obstacles. But I

didn’t see any, and I wouldn’t see any, and I went tearing down Brewery

Street, vaulted lightly through the little gate, and reached the side

of the ship, with my suitcase and the three jars of marmalade.

But--what is this? Is my superstition right after all? Are there still

more difficulties? It seemed so, for not a soul stirred on deck. I

stood there, gazing at the ship, with my suitcase in one hand, and my

heart again sinking into my boots. I was just about to raise a hail, as

I had done once before, when a sailor-like man, in a blue cotton shirt

with the sleeves cut off at the shoulders--he was very brown, almost

coppery, with terrific muscles--strode up to me and asked if I wanted

to go aboard. He hopped aboard, brought a ladder instantly, and lowered

it over the side.

♦ _Wager on a Delicate Subject_ ♦

In no time I was having delicious conversations with the cook, who was

telling me he was sure I should be seasick, while the mate sat on the

bulwarks on the other side of me, telling me he thought I shouldn’t be.

The mate and the cook fell into a sort of playful arguing, and finally

they laid a wager on me--the mate wagering a quarter that I shouldn’t

be seasick, and the cook wagering his quarter that I should.

The delight of it! Already, this intense familiarity with the crew--and

two of them wagering about my seasickness! I could contain myself

no longer. I slipped down off the bulwarks and ran to the foremast

shrouds; then up on to the bulwarks again and up the ratlines, quick

as a squirrel, hand over hand. There I sat on the crosstrees, in the

blazing morning sun, watching three or four of the crew who were out on

the jibboom replacing the repaired outer jib.

When I came down, the mate and the cook were still talking where I had

left them. The mate began to compliment me again on my daring aloft. He

told me about one of the crew, Richardson, who had never been much good

as a sailor, and who couldn’t climb nearly so well as I. We watched

that same Richardson, a foolish-looking lad, going up the port main

rigging on some little task, and he seemed, indeed, very timid and

scared. He turned almost white when he was ordered up, and he went very

slowly and cautiously. It was perfectly true that he couldn’t climb so

well as I. Then the mate came back to my seasickness. The cook had gone

back into the galley, and evidently the mate wanted very much to argue

in favor of his wager, and strengthen his side a little. So he said

to me: “Now, ’tain’t likely as you’ll be seasick. And, if you are,

you’ll certainly get over it in a couple o’ days. As long as you’ve a

good head, that makes all the difference in the world. Now, Richardson

here, he hasn’t got a head--he can’t stand the height, and he gets

seasick every trip. But you--look at the way you go scrambling up to

the crosstrees. Them as can climb like that never get sick.”

We talked about the trip, and what time the captain thought he should

be getting out. The captain was then ashore, collecting the last

provisions, and they were all anxiously awaiting him and the tug which

was to tow us out of the harbor. It was, of course, dead calm in there,

but there was a line of vivid blue out beyond, and it looked like a

breeze. I asked the mate, in order to air my knowledge a bit, if four

bells had yet struck. But the mate evidently saw my trap and thought

that I was talking about what I knew nothing of, and he queried in a

tone of obvious scorn: “What is four bells?” And I was proud to reply

without the slightest hesitation: “Ten o’clock, mate.”

* * * * *

♦ _A Purchase on Suspicion_ ♦

But now, in spite of the pleasure of sitting and yarning with my matey,

I began to think over again the delight, the impossibly delightful

idea, of the voyage. And I fairly squirmed and itched all over. Of

course I was impatient for the return of the captain. Shortly he

appeared, with a large and mysterious-looking bundle under his arm.

Said he to Mother, who was standing on the wharf: “I bet you can’t

guess what I’ve got here!” and he chuckled mysteriously.

“No; what is it?”

He chuckled some more. “Well, I’ll tell you! I’ve got two brand-new

_pails_, in case they get seasick!”

To myself I was thinking: “Supposing we fool you? Then your new pails

would go to waste, wouldn’t they?” For I was secretly pretty sure I

should be steady. I talked a little to the captain, asking him what

time he thought we should be under way, and how soon he expected the

tug; for now everything was ready, and we were to slide out to sea as

soon as the tug appeared. The mate got up instantly when the captain

drew near--not to be caught idling, I suppose--and began to busy

himself about the deck. That man has a marvellous knack of finding

things to do. When he feels like working, he can always find a thousand

little jobs to do here and there.

Mother came aboard, too, and talked with the captain and the mate.

The mate was extraordinarily pleasant, telling her all about what

a fine climber I was and what a good head I had, and saying that he

didn’t think I would be sick. A man had come from town along on to the

wharf--seemingly a very nice person, dressed in city clothes. He leaned

over the bulwarks, talking to Mother, and telling her how he loved to

see the schooners that still came into New Haven now and then, and how

rare they were now, and how lucky I was to be sailing with the _Norman

D._, and how soon he’d go if he had the chance.

And, amid all these happenings, the tug which was to tow us out to sea

had chugged up slowly, and now lay alongside the schooner to port.

There was shouting and _yoho_-ing among the two crews, and through

the confusion could be heard the hoarse, loud voice of Captain Avery,

rapidly giving his orders. He seemed to me to have a clear idea of what

he wanted done, but, if a moment were lost in the execution of his

orders, he immediately became nervous and hectic. Towropes were got out

and thrust through the cable-holes. Now our mate had skipped ashore and

loosened the ropes which held the ship to the posts on the wharf; then

he called out to me to untangle the rope where it was snarled around

the capstan. Shortly afterwards I was sent to coil it up in a snug,

neat coil.

♦ _Outward Bound_ ♦

Now everything was astir. The schooner was securely made fast to the

tug by a long, stout towrope. This was let out, and the schooner began

slowly, slowly to move from the wharf. Now she was quietly turning

upon her heel, and soon she was headed out for the open sound, past

the breakwaters, past the lighthouses. I felt her sliding on beneath

me. There were several little yachts and small sailboats in the bay:

they turned and stared at us as we went gliding past. Beautiful indeed

we must have looked--but of that I was hardly thinking; indeed, I was

thinking of few things, my head was in such a whirl with the delight of

the moment.

The wharf grew more and more distant, and the smoking town, too. I was

glad to realize that, at length, we were leaving it behind and were

bound for the open, free sea and the wild winds and waves. Now we saw

East Rock and West Rock as small nubbins of hills in the distance.

The tug was to stay with us until we had rounded the tip of a long

green peninsula which jutted out into the bay. Beyond this I could

still see the bright blue which seemed to denote wind. Now the tug

had reached full momentum, and the great schooner was gliding pretty

swiftly through the water. More and more distant grew the land behind

us--nearer and nearer the open sea.

I was called back to myself by the sudden sound of an engine running.

The bo’s’n had started our engine, and now the sails were to be run

up. Oh, was it true? Could it possibly be true that we were going to

run up sails? that there really were a few sails left in this modern

world? I heard the voice of Captain Avery giving orders. “Mainsail

up first--then foresail, forestaysail, and jibs--put up the spanker

and topsails last. Lively there, boys!” And--it was so glorious that

I had to pinch myself and rub my eyes hard--the peak halyards were

wound around the winch on one side of the engine-room, and the throat

halyards around the other, and now, amid the roaring of the engine and

the quivering of the great tackles, up went the gaff slowly, quivering

and shaking; up went the sail, spreading out gracefully, as white hoop

after white hoop ran up the tall mainmast. Up and up and up! Then the

mainsail was stretched to its full length, and the gaff came to rest

just below the crosstrees. Never had I realized what a vast expanse the

sails have. The halyards were made fast. And now the foresail, too,

shivering and groaning, began to reach up. It, too, was soon made fast.

And then the beautiful jibs, two at a time, went rolling up, their

long points seeming to reach into the sky itself. The first two were

the forestaysail and jib, the last the flying jib and outer jib. The

schooner shuddered. The engine had awakened her; the sea had called,

and she was answering.

♦ _Under Sail at Last_ ♦

We were now almost out of the bay. A gentle puff of wind rose, and I

saw the great white sails lifting and filling. Then, when the wind

died down, they collapsed. And now we had cast the towrope. The tug

fell away. We felt like a queen on the ocean, dominating the little

boat proudly. Now the tug circled, wheeled about, and started for the

wharf again. The _Norman D._ ran up her spanker, the largest sail of

all, headed her nose for the open, and began to sail gently on with a

steady little breeze puffing out the sails. We were off! We were headed

for who knows what strange and mysterious adventures?

* * * * *

About the first thing we did was to have dinner. We went below aft,

and fed on the same sort of sailor grub that Mother and I had had the

night we ate supper there. I was sorry that I had to break up the

delight by having dinner, and I finished hastily, and went back on

deck as soon as possible. Yes, we were sailing. The bo’s’n was at the

wheel. I talked to him a while. The wind seemed to be rising just a

little bit. I tried my best to make the schooner seem to be rolling,

but all I could see was a slight waving of the horizon up and down; I

couldn’t feel it at all. But the sails were full and steady, and oh!

so beautiful they seemed to me. I could see myself entering into the

spirit of sailing right off. I had the most curious sensations I have

ever experienced--of mystery, of adventure; I can’t describe it at

all. But I could think myself a sailor. The crew were now unfurling

the topsails. When they were all loosened, the topsail halyards

were hauled, and up went the topsails, one at each topmast, sharp

mountain-peaks on the lower sails.

♦ _Amenities in the Galley_ ♦

But, thought I, I mustn’t neglect my duty through sheer delight. I ran

up to the galley, had a talk with the cook about almost everything

under the sun, and dried his dishes and helped clean up the galley

for him. He thanked me cordially and very touchingly, and I resolved

to help him a great deal. He seemed like such a sad little old man!

I never knew quite what to make of him. The arched wrinkles upon his

high, bald forehead, his smallness and robustness, all combined to make

him a very curious-looking specimen. He wore, too, a sort of butcher’s

apron arrangement, and somehow the strings dangling behind always

seemed comical to me. But he knew more about ships than anyone there,

and he seemed rather disgusted at the greenness of this young crew.

“Oh, Lordy, Lordy,” he would say, “that crew--they give me a pain. Why,

in old days, when the sails were much harder to hoist up, and when all

the work was a cursed sight harder--why, we poor sailors would get

flogged and fired fer bein’ so slow as on this schooner. And here, they

have an engine and everything made to suit them, yit they dawdle and

lazy around and don’t seem to know how to do nothing.”

There seemed now to be quite a breeze outside. I could somehow feel the

deck sliding from beneath me, and I staggered around in the galley,

much to the amusement of the cook, who put his hands on his hips, and

roared aloud, and told me I hadn’t got my “sea legs on yit.” I stepped

out of the galley to see what the weather was doing. It was sparklingly

clear. The sun made mazes of color on the blue sea. The wind _was_

coming up, and I could see the waves sloshing against the side of the

schooner. We were slipping down along the coast of Rhode Island, a low

green bar far off. The ship was leaning gently and quietly before the

rising wind. The sails looked fuller and puffier than ever, and the

breeze was very fresh and delightful. I returned to the galley and

said: “Well, there seems to be quite a breeze out, cook.” But the cook

was not to be fooled with a landsman’s idea of a breeze. And he replied

in a truly pathetic tone of voice: “Oh! Oh! There’s such a terrible

wind out--I’m seasick!” and he laughed and laughed.

The dishes were finished very shortly. I went on deck and sat and

watched the sea. I had such a marvellous sense of remoteness! In

spite of the long green coast, I could not help feeling that we were

out in mid-ocean--and when I turned my back to that edge of land

I was sure of it. The sea seemed to stretch away boundlessly. The

sky was of a marvellous color, but away off on the horizon there

were banks of clouds, casting weird and lovely shadows down on the

far skyline--maroons, wine-colors, green, and dark, dark blue. Very

strange! And the sails seemed white--oh! so white--in spite of the fact

that they were somewhat dirty with rough handling.

The wind was steadily rising all the time, and the schooner keeled over

gently and quietly, more and more, on her starboard side. When I ran

to the starboard bulwarks to look down into the waves, all I saw was

the raging white bone which the schooner carried proudly in her white

teeth--a mass of foam, white, whiter than fresh-blown snow, curling

into gorgeously weird and beautiful shapes, with a rushing noise as

its small bubbles went out, thousands at a time. How angry the sea was

becoming! The waves rose high and high--ten times higher than in any

gale I had ever fought in the canoe. The waves roared, the wind moaned,

the whitecaps rose up mysteriously like snow-palaces and then subsided

again. All this time the sea was becoming overcast with clouds, and now

the waves were shadowed and strange. And to see them, in their dark

green and blue, with those castles of foam surmounting each wave like

proud ivory--oh, this was sailing! And yet it was nothing to what was

to come.

♦ _Waves and Foam_ ♦

The schooner was keeled away over now, but she didn’t roll a bit.

She was absolutely steady, and kept on her course without varying a

quarter point, straight as an arrow. I shall never forget the delight

with which I went to the fo’c’sle deck, where I sat as far as I could

squeeze into the peak of the bow and looked down on the port side,

where the raging sea seemed far, far below; and then down on the

starboard side, where it was near, and angry, and lapping furiously at

the ship, and reaching hungrily for it. And from there I could look

down straight ahead and see the foam, I could see where the sharp

cutwater divided the seas in half, and I could see one long chain of

foam reaching down the port side and another down the starboard--each

of them like a range of towering snow-capped mountains. And three or

four white-winged gulls swooped and darted about, looking, as they flew

low over the waves, like whitecaps themselves.

* * * * *

For a good part of the afternoon this kept up. But, alas, towards

night I could feel the breeze going down, and the schooner slowly and

gradually righted herself, and the sails were close-hauled a little to

catch every bit of breeze that was coming to us. And then I began to

feel the roll. I could see the horizon ahead of us waving up and down.

It was a delightful sensation, like that of a seesaw, for the schooner

was not pitching, but only rolling head-on. All the same, I was sorry

to find the sails flapping. First they would puff out suddenly at a

little spurt of wind, then slowly empty again and hang idly flapping.

Calmer and calmer it grew, and then the tackle began to rattle and

groan: and what a racket it did make!

♦ _Sunset at Sea_ ♦

I believe there is no other din aboard a sailing vessel that is

anywhere nearly so loud, tiresome, or monotonous as that which the

tackle makes in a calm. First the sails would swing out to the full

stretch of their sheets, either when the schooner rolled forward or

when a tiny spurt of wind suddenly rose; then they would bring up

short against the sheet with a terrific groaning as the ropes became

taut with a jerk; then, on the return, the booms would swing back in

again and every bit of breeze would go out of the sails. They would

flap, and billow and roll uncannily, with the reef points jigging

about like live creatures. This would go on while the schooner rolled

back, and then, as she dived forward again, the sails jerked back on

the full reach of the sheet. The sails would fill for a brief moment,

and during that moment each reef point would tap its tip upon the taut

canvas, each at a slightly different time, so that there was a sort

of _purr-r-r-r-r-r-r-r!_ and almost at the same time the sails would

relax. Again they would billow and flap, and again swing back inwards.

And a terrible creaking and groaning was going on all the time, until,

if you listened to it, it would almost drive you crazy.

The schooner was now rolling deeply. Below in the cabin, everything was

banging about. The inside of it was so much more like a house than the

deck was, that I could scarcely persuade myself I was on a ship; and it

seemed strange to feel a house rolling and swinging.

The air, in spite of the calm, remained clear and sharp, and there

was a glorious sunset. Long fingers of fire reached out in fan-like

shapes from the horizon, and the sky was all flushed with rose. To

see a sunset from a schooner! We were so enchanted with our new kind

of life that we stayed up very late that night. It grew dark quickly;

night came down upon us like a sudden black cloud, and it grew cold. A

breeze came up--just enough to hold the beautiful great sails steady as

though they had been carved of marble, and to make a glimmering pair of

foamwings along the sides of the ship.

It was then, standing by the wheel in the dark, that I had my first

real talk with the mate. It was also the first time I thought of him

as piratical-looking. He was, when I stopped to think about it, the

most piratical-looking person I ever laid eyes upon. He is very dark

and swarthy, with luxuriant black hair and eyes the most wicked-looking

on earth; wicked, yet strangely playful at the same time, and with

a curious twinkle which shows when anything amuses him. And he is a

silent, mysterious, soft-footed person, who looks as though he were

brooding dark and treacherous things--perhaps concocting a mutiny. And,

standing there in the dark, his pirate face sharply silhouetted against

the brightness of the starry sky, he made me feel as though I were

cabin-boy on a pirate ship. But this is looking at him from only one

side. In the morning, and on sunny days, one wouldn’t suspect that he

was piratical. There is only a hidden suggestion of it--a faint smile

of treachery in his eyes, and something that is evil in his chuckle. It

is on foggy days, and in the late of the afternoon when it begins to

grow dark, that the pirate in him shows. He is the one for us to sail

with, Alan, if we ever start off on a treasure-expedition!

* * * * *

♦ _A Rolling Sky_ ♦

When I saw the stars, I had a strange experience. In spite of the small

breeze which kept the sails from making their infernal racket, there

was quite a roll and swing and swoop to the ship; she dipped her prow

like the wings of a sea gull. But when, looking up at the high stars,

I picked out one bright one above the truck of the mizzen-mast, and

was just beginning to try to identify it, I saw it swinging about the

mast in bewildering and beautiful curves and flashes of gold; and,

to my puzzled eyes, it seemed to leave a burning track behind it. I

have seen shooting stars; I saw one two years ago which glided very

slowly and softly across the northern half of the sky--so slowly that

I could watch every motion of it. And my first thought was that this

revolving star was a specially magical shooting star. But I never saw

a shooting star make bewildering curves and circles. I looked at the

other stars, and they all seemed to be gyrating crazily about the sky,

sometimes fast, sometimes slowly. And then I could feel the mighty

ocean throbbing beneath me, and again I looked at the mast, and it

seemed stock-still against the wheeling sky; yet I could feel the

schooner rolling and pitching in the swell. Of course, the sky was just

as it ought to be: it was the mast, the schooner, that rolled as the

sea heaved.

The moon had not yet risen, and everything was pitch dark except for

magical sparks of starlight. All the afternoon we had been continually

passing small steamers and barges, and I had never thought they were

beautiful until now. I was too devoted to my original idea of vessels

with sails to pay much attention to little “chuggers,” as the crew

often called them. But now, at night, they suddenly became fairy-like.

A small steamer would click slowly by across our bow, with a swash of

foam, and she looked like an enchanted ship out of some mysterious land

of stars. Then a long string of barges passed us far ahead, all towed

by a small power boat, and each one gleaming with red and green and

yellow lights. One after another they passed, at even intervals, until

we had begun to think that there would never be an end to them. And

when they had gone, we were again alone in the darkness, except for the

far-away lights on shore.

I ran up forward as soon as it was dark, to watch Roy set our side

lights. These are large, strong lanterns, one red, one green, which are

set in cases a few steps up the rigging. The green one is to starboard,

the red to port. They cast mysterious color-shadows on to the sea by

our sides.

♦ _Moon-magic_ ♦

Then the captain began to tell us about the small power boats known as

“rum-chasers.” You are likely to see them at any time, cruising about

and keeping an eye on all the sea traffic. Sometimes, he said, they

board a schooner and examine her cabins and cargo. We had seen several

of these boats ploughing at terrific speed through the waves, piling

up mountains of foam. One of them now speeded up to us through the

darkness and cast a powerful search-light upon our stern, apparently

to read our name. And those long rays shone out strangely in the

darkness. Then the boat wheeled about and tore off, diving and rearing

and plunging.

And now I began to see a strange, soft light over in the east. I

watched and watched, and then I began to see the top of the full moon’s

circle. Up and up she came, huge in the darkness, and shining like

sunlight on snow. I had often dreamed of sailing by moonlight. And

now my dreams were realized. Now the breeze held everything quiet,

and, except for the swing and roll of the ship and the rushing of the

foam divided by her cutwater, everything was silent--oh, so silent and

beautiful!

We were on a long run with the wind on our port beam, so that the

sails were blown mysteriously over to starboard. They were so still,

so soft and still and rounded, that I could scarcely believe they were

full of wind. Of course the binnacle lamp was now lighted; and strange

it seemed to be steering by that faint glimmer. And now the moon was

rising higher--higher. I looked forward at the front part of the ship,

and saw the moonlight full on those taut sails, making the moon’s side

of them shine like newfallen snow, while the inside was dark, gray,

and shadowed. How lovely it was to see them gleaming with that strange

light, while on and on they bore us without a sound!

I ran up forward on the fo’c’sle deck. The lookout was sitting there,

whistling faintly. It gave me a curious feeling to find him there.

Ships had lately become so mysterious that I had actually begun to

think such things as two-hour tricks, lookouts, and the like were

slightly too romantic to be true--though, in the nature of the case,

they _must_ be true. And, though I knew that there must be a lookout at

night, yet, when I found the man sitting there, alone, on the fo’c’sle

deck, I was surprised. This was growing more like the old sailing days

with every minute!

I had gone up forward for the simple purpose of looking at those

moonlit sails from all parts of the ship. Now I saw the jibs once more

from close up; and beautiful they were, rounded with wind, running up

their slender points into the sky, and flooded with the snowy moonlight

like all the other great, majestic sails. Sometimes their rounded outer

sides were huge, dome-like mountains with crowns of snow--mountains

whose flanks were shadowed, but whose summits loomed out into the

full moonlight. Then I looked over the bow, and saw the foam down

there, looking more than ever like two white wings. With the moonlight

shining on it, it was ghostly white and curling--moonlight on newfallen

mountain snow! The sea itself, very dark green, mysteriously heaving

and throbbing, was shadowy except on the eastern side, where the

moonlight changed it to a delicate mass of quivering, shifting silver.

♦ _A Sailor on Seafaring_ ♦

* * * * *

When I returned aft, after I had sat there on the fo’c’sle deck in

the moonlight for a long time, the mate was standing just where I had

left him. Evidently it was his watch on deck. He began talking to me

immediately--telling me about what a miserable business sailor life

was. “It’s all right in summer,” he said; “yes, it’s real fun in summer

when there’s no rough weather, but, I tell you, it’s a rotten, beastly

business in winter. Imagine how it would be to get down the sails in a

blizzard, when there’s snow and hail and sleet flyin’ around so thick

you can’t see, and when your hands freeze up, and you can’t keep warm

no matter how many clothes you have on--and when you _have_ to stand

your four hours, whether you want to or not, no matter in what kind

of weather, and when you _have_ to be ready for a call, whether it’s

your watch or not. I tell you, it’s no fun. You know, Barbara, I could

get plenty of good jobs ashore, with just as good pay as I get here.

But--there’s somethin’ about it, in spite of the hard work, and so on;

and I just stay and stay, and I don’t seem to leave the sea. So I

guess I’m a sailor for life, now!”

I had discovered that Bill was his name, and for fun I always used to

call him Mate Bill, because of Billy Bones in _Treasure Island_. I

told Bill my opinion of sailing, and how I had always wanted to sail,

and how glad I was to see that there still were sailing vessels in the

world besides fishing schooners. Also we discussed the weather for

tomorrow. I told Bill that I wished we could have a real gale of wind,

because I had never been at sea, and had never seen anything in the way

of rough weather except some of the breezes we used to have on inland

lakes. I told him there would be whitecaps, and good white foam, and

black squalls, but that they were nothing compared with even the little

wind I had seen that afternoon.

Soon Bill strode over to the port bulwarks and looked down into the

water. I looked down, too, and to my surprise there were mysterious

sparkles in the sea, close to the side of the ship. They were much like

firefly sparkles, except that they stayed longer and faded slowly.

Bill didn’t know what caused them, but he said that they were always a

sign of a strong northeast wind. I expressed my delight and said that

I hoped for a terrific gale. Bill thought he would tease a little; he

said: “Oh, you want to get there too fast! I guess you’re eager to be

leavin’ us.”

♦ _Words on the Weather_ ♦

“No, it isn’t that, mate. I should just like to see some rough weather,

never having seen any on the sea.”

“And right you are. I should like you to see some weather out here,

except that I know you’d be seasick--and then I should lose my

quarter!” he added, chuckling slyly. That man has an irresistible

chuckle--very piratical and treacherous indeed. “But,” he went on, “I

don’t believe we’ll have any really rough weather out here--’cause it’s

June, and it’s summer, and you almost never get much wind then. But I

guess it wouldn’t take much to have you call it a gale!”

“No, I guess not.”

“You know,” he said, “I don’t like the idea one bit of a northeaster,

’cause that is exactly the way we’re trying to sail--northeast--and it

will slow us up a lot.”

“Well, that won’t be so bad,” said I. “Because then I’ll have my rough

weather, and yet I shan’t have to leave you so soon! And I should like

very much to see how a big sailing vessel tacks, too.”

“Well,” said Bill, “you’ll see some tacking, all right, if we have a

northeast gale.”

He talked about the whales which he had seen. He said we were always

likely to see one, and that they had seen one seventy-five feet long

on the trip down from Nova Scotia. (But I didn’t ask whether he had

measured it with a tape measure.) He said that there were also a great

number of blackfish in the sea, which swam and blew just like whales,

but were ever so much smaller.

At last he went back to the life at sea. “I’ve sailed as cook quite a

lot, Barbara, too.”

“Which do you like better, being mate or cook?” I asked.

“Well, ’t’s hard to tell. There’s good things to say for both. I

kinda think I like bein’ mate. The cook’s job is a mighty pleasant

one, though. He don’t have to stand no watch, or git wet ’n’ cold in

bad weather--he jist sits tight in a warm galley and cooks the meals.

You may want t’ be mate, but there are some times, I tell you, when

you’d like bein’ cook. ’t’s no fun taking in the sails in winter, in

a blizzard; ’n’ ’t’s no fun standin’ four hours’ watch in freezin’

weather.”

It was getting on to ten o’clock--four bells--and we turned in,

leaving the mate alone with his watch. I think I have never--even on

mountain-tops--slept more soundly. The roll was like that of a cradle,

and it wasn’t enough to be uncomfortable, as it grew to be later--only

a gentle, easy motion that put me off to sleep in a flash.

* * * * *

♦ _Teasing a Landsman_ ♦

I woke up bright and early, and went on deck. The day started off with

just enough breeze to feel fresh and cool and to keep the sails steady.

We were passing Martha’s Vineyard, and the big island looked very green

over on the horizon--a long, rather high green bar, in sudden contrast

to the bright sea-blue.

We were now getting into the shoals which Captain Avery had showed

us two or three times on the charts. There were buoys, lightships,

and lobster-trap buoys everywhere. Every now and then we would pass a

lightship with, painted on it, the name of the shoal at which it was

stationed. There were odd names--Handkerchief, Half Moon, Stone Horse.

Going down to breakfast with a very good appetite, I couldn’t help

counting off on my fingers the number of meals I had had without the

slightest seasick feeling. The crew were very teasing and bothersome

all day about it. They kept asking me, every time I was silent and

stood gazing down into the water, whether I were seasick. I laughed--I

couldn’t become angered with those people whom I had always wanted for

companions--took their teasing as a matter of course, and determined

to make them respect me later on. I had already won the esteem of the

cook. I dried dishes for him again after breakfast. Then I saw that

the mate had a broom out and was sweeping the deck. Wishing to be of

service, I said: “Don’t you want me to help?”

“Do you like to sweep?” said he.

“Sure!” I replied.

He gave a curious, pleased grin and left the broom where he had been

working. I picked it up and began, rather deftly, I thought, to sweep

in narrow corners of the deck and under coils of rope. I started

working down from the port bow; the mate went to fetch another broom

and swept down from the starboard bow; and together we made quite

brisk work of it. Then the mate fetched a shovel, dumped the débris

overboard, and thanked me. Yes, I would show that crew that I was no

more afraid of work than any of them.

♦ _Steward on Skipper_ ♦

I rather liked Bob, the bo’s’n. The youngest aboard, except possibly

Richardson, he had been at sea only two years, but already he had risen

in rank. He was a most amusing lad. He told me all about his family,

and about himself, and about Bill; and, when I asked him if he didn’t

like having Bill for a mate (I believe I forgot to say that Bill

and Bob are brothers), he replied that it didn’t make the slightest

difference to him, except that perhaps he didn’t get so much blame for

things. He is remarkably careless when he is steering. If the captain

orders the spanker to be close-hauled, Bob leaves the wheel in mid-air,

as it were, and fixes the sail. He told me that all the other boys

made a mess of steering--that they were always turning the wheel this

way or that way; but that he found the right position and then let it

take care of itself, as it would for some time.

* * * * *

The day turned out remarkably exciting. To begin with, my shipmate and

I went forward, in the middle of the morning, to talk with the cook,

who was sitting sedately in the galley doorway, looking very curious

and sad. He seemed mighty glad to have someone to talk to. He rattled

on for a while in a delightful way, about this and that and the other

thing; really he was much more entertaining than Captain Avery, and he

stuck to one subject longer. But I was watching the sea and the sky

and the sails, and I didn’t pay much attention to him until I heard

something that made me prick up my ears.

♦ _Oral Portrait of the Skipper_ ♦

“As for Captain Avery,” he was saying, “I never knew an uglier, more

nasty, more contemptible man. I never knew a man that could do one

half the mean things he does. Why, he’s famed all along the coast of

Nova Scotia for being a rascal! I tell you, he’s never paid a bill in

his life without making a row over it. Why, even the men who came to

buy the lumber we brought down--he tried to cheat them out of the few

dollars they earned. Now, here, I get sixty dollars a month for cookin’

for this schooner. I can’t even get that much without some kind of a

bally row. And every man of this crew is dissatisfied. If you don’t

believe me, go ask some of them. They’ll tell you what they think of

him! You know, I’ve been cook of this vessel before, and, when the

owner enlisted me agin, I didn’t want to go. Says I: ‘Now I just can’t

get along with Captain Avery, and I refuse to sail on this vessel while

he’s skipper.’ But the owner says: ‘Now, Si, you’re all wrong about the

captain.’ ‘He hates me,’ says I. ‘now, Si,’ says he, ‘he told me with

his own lips that he thought you was a fine cook, and that he thought

very highly of you.’ ‘Oh, nonsense,’ says I, ‘I’ve sailed with Captain

Avery before, and I know what I know--he hates me!’ Well, the owner

coaxed and coaxed, and finally I said I would go, for sixty dollars a

month. But Captain Avery don’t play fair with me. He tells me to my

face he dislikes my cooking. How can I help that, when he won’t give a

fellow anything to cook with? You wouldn’t believe it when I tell you,

but I haven’t got a drop of flavoring extract of any kind on board this

vessel. And he always buys provisions of the very poorest kind--the

poorest, cheapest, dirtiest brands of coffee and tea they make. Why,

I asked him if he didn’t think he ought to get some fancy biscuits or

cookies of some kind, for you folks--and do you know what he got? By

the Lord, do you know what he got? Uneeda Biscuits! Do you want me to

tell you why he never plays the graphophone? ’cause he almost never

does. Do you want me to tell you? He’s too stingy to use the needles!

Once that man was made captain of a Chinese vessel, with a Chinese crew

and cook. Before he had been on the ship ten minutes the cook chased

him ashore with a drawn cutlass. Do you know why? ’cause he come nosing

around and poking his blasted head into the cook’s galley. Now, the

galley belongs to the cook, and no one else is supposed to interfere

with the cook’s work, and it made the Chinese cook mad to see him come

interfering. So he just drew his cutlass and chased the man ashore.”

(I had an idea that it would be untactful to inquire how Captain Avery

happened to be in China.)

“Why, I’m very surprised to hear all this about Captain Avery,” said

I. “When he came up to lunch we thought he was very entertaining and

delightful. He strikes me as a very nice old sailor.”