IV

The Port Light saloon was doing a fine business. The swinging doors

between the backroom and the bar were swinging all the time--and at the

various tables a score of young men and a dozen or so of young women,

and one stout fellow at the piano, were roaring dull care away.

The piano occupied one corner of an alcove off the large backroom. In

the other corner of the alcove Baldwin and a few friends were sitting

into a quiet little game. Things had been breaking well for the sailor,

and it promised to be a blissful night, for when luck came his way in a

poker game, Baldwin could fall into a trance, if nobody disturbed him.

It was Hatty who came bursting through the swinging doors to disturb

him. One peek at his chum's face and "O Lord!" murmured Baldwin, "still

on it." Aloud he added, "Sit in, Bud," and Harty sat in, after first

ordering a round of drinks.

Baldwin lifted his drink. "Fell off that water-wagon kind o' sudden,

didn't you, Bud," but without even a curious glance emptied his glass.

Four or five hands were played, and, luck still running the sailor's

way, he was smiling like a moonlit sea, when, "Say, Baldy," shook him

out of his revery.

"Lord, Bud! What?"

"A hell of a fine bunch we are."

"Fine how?"

"To be spending our Christmas here."

"Why, where else would we be?"

"Where but home?"

Baldwin smiled broadly. "Say, Bud, I don't see you logging any

record-breaking runs for home.

"Blast it!--I've got no home."

"Well, who has?"

"But--" Harty took the spare pack which he had been riffling and slammed

it down on the table--"there's men who've got homes--good homes--who're

going to their death to sea to-night."

"What's the matter, Bud? Sit down. Sure there are. They're there every

night, goin' to their death somewhere out to sea, but how c'n we help

it?"

"We _can_ help it." Harty stood up "Fine men we are, all of us."

Ting-a-ling-a-ling-a-tump-ti--

Ting-a-ling-a-ling-a-tump-ti--

came from the piano.

Harty whirled around. "And as for _you_!" He picked up the spare pack

and hurled them at the fat piano-player. "Blast you! Yes, _you_--I said

_you_, didn't I--shut up! It's petticoats you ought to be wearing."

The piano-player's lower lip fell away from his teeth. His wall eyes

opened abnormally. "Why, what did I do to you?" he gasped.

"Nothing. You couldn't do anything to anybody. You haven't the gimp.

Shut up."

Harty faced Baldwin. "The hell we can't help it. The light-ship to South

Shoal could be going to her death with all hands, and we're sitting here

and guzzling rum."

Baldwin was holding his cards up in front of his eyes. He riffled the

close-set edges with a dexterous thumb, took another squint, pursed his

lips, said softly--"M-m--yes, I'm in," dropped two white chips onto the

little pile in the centre, then, looking up, laughed tolerantly at

Harty.

"Rum? Mine's rye, Bud, when there's any choice, but what's wrong with

you to-night? Sit down. Maybe you've got it right, Bud, but what's the

use of gettin' highsterics over it? Maybe some of us could be a lot

better than we are, but I don't know's any of us ever pretended to be

anything great, did we?"

"Great? I didn't say anything about _great_ men. We're not half men,

Baldy--the light-ship is going with all hands."

"One card," Baldwin scaled his discard to the table and stuck the new

card in with his others before he answered. His voice was now less

patient. "Say, Bud, maybe we're not half men, but don't rub it

in--don't. If anything's wrong with the light-ship, how'd you know?"

"I know."

"But how?"

"Wireless."

"Wireless?" Baldwin was peering at his cards. Suddenly he looked up.

"Hah--wireless? Eheu-u--" he whistled softly, gently laid his cards

face-down on the table. "You got word, Bud?" He half-turned to the man

on his right. "Do I see you, Bo, did you say?" He picked up his cards.

"Sure I'll see you--and two more red lozenges to come along. But what

can we do about it, Bud?"

"There's the _Whist_, Baldy."

"What, her? Send her to sea to-night? We couldn't if we wanted. She only

goes out under orders from the commandant, remember. And the commandant,

he's on leave, visitin' his married daughter somewhere over Christmas."

"And a G.C.M., too, wouldn't it, Baldwin?" put in the man called Bo,

"without orders."

Harty whirled on Bo. "Who the hell gave you a rating to butt in on this?

Orders? To hell with their orders, and to hell with their general

court-martials. Orders, Baldy, when it's lives to be saved? Christ,

Baldy, you haven't forgot, have you? Bowen's on her. Bowen, man, and

remember she's going to--"

Baldwin held up one wide-spread hand palm out. "That's enough, Buddy.

You've said enough. I don't know what the poor old _Whist_ will do once

she finds herself away from the lee of the breakwater t'night, Bud, but

we'll go, and if they're there and we stay afloat, we'll get 'em. And

Bo, I could play this hand all night, but two round blue moons to see

what you got. Hah? King full, eh? The nerve of you! What did y' think I

was only taking one card f'r? There, feast your eyes on that fat black

collection, will yuh? In a row? Sure in a row. Look at 'em--a three-toed

black regiment of 'em. And these other little round red, white, and blue

boys, cash 'em in, will yuh, Bo? And put the money in an envelope for

me?"

"And for me too." Harty had drawn out a roll of bills and laid them on

the table. "I don't know how much is there--count it, you. And if I

don't come 'round again, here's an address--South Boston, yes--where you

can send it. A little nephew of mine, a fine fat little devil who thinks

his uncle's the greatest man in the world. The poor kid, of course,

don't know any different. So long, fellows. All ready, Baldy?"

"All ready, Bud--head away."

Through the streets, past the Navy Yard gate and through the Navy Yard

the two friends tramped silently.

"Won't you need more than the three of us to handle that tug?" asked

Harty.

"Three's plenty, Bud. You and me an' old Pete, we can make out. What's

the use of risking any more, though if we did need 'em, we'd get 'em.

We'd only have to beat up the water-front, and volunteers! They'd come

a-running, Bud, from every joint and dance-hall, enough to run a

battleship--in no time, yes, sir. Why, Bud, even that squash-head of a

piano-player would 'a' come if we'd ast him."

"H-m-m--you surely think well of people, Baldy."

"No more strain than to think bad of 'em. But what'd be the use? Us two

an' old Pete, who'll be sleepin' aboard, c'n run her, Bud."

And they had put out in the _Whist_, and now down in the combined engine

and fire-room of her were Harty and old Pete toiling to keep steam up. A

notorious little craft, the _Whist_, one of those legacies which

sometimes fall to the Service; the department always going to fix her

up, and always putting it off until the next appropriation. Her old

boilers leaked, and in a sea-way her old seams gaped, and what between

keeping steam up and her bilge pumped out, Harty and Pete could hardly

find time to brace their feet whenever she attempted, as she did about

every fifteen seconds, to heave them across the floor.

To the wheel of the _Whist_ was Baldwin, and as with every dive of the

plunging _Whist_ the spray scattered high above her bows, so through the

open windows of the pilot-house came barrels of it, and not a spoonful

that didn't go to his drenching.

"But it's a good thing to get good and wet at first," reflected Baldwin,

"then you won't be worryin' any more about it." It was not only wet, but

cold. But naturally, too, when you're a-wrecking to sea of a cold

winter's night you just got to expect a few little discomforts.

The ancient _Whist_ rolled down, down, down, and jumped up, up, up; but

mostly she went down, and while she was down the swooping seas piled

over her. However, all right so far; an hour now since she had left the

breakwater, and there she was still afloat. No telling always about

those wheezy little wrecks of tugs. Baldwin looked out and back toward

her stern, almost with pride. Going since the Civil War, she'd been, and

still afloat. Must have been some little original virtues in her planks

that pleased old Neptune, and so he passed her up. Maybe she'd never

been caught in the open seas on a night like this; well, maybe not, but

you betcher she wasn't afraid of it.

Straight out from the breakwater Baldwin kept her going. Slow, heavy,

pounding work; and now two hours gone, and no light-ship yet. He swung

her about, a ticklish feat, and paralleled the beach to the north, and

just off the beach, after an hour of northing, he spied the distress

signals--two, three, yes, and four big torches.

The countless white-plumed riders were charging by, but straight for the

drifting lights, straight down the line of roaring troopers, Baldwin

paraded his little _Whist_; and when he was near enough, "We'll heave

you a line!" he hailed. "And in God's name get it, for there mayn't be a

chance for a second one afore the breakers 'll get you."

He placed his mouth to the engine-room tube "Ho-o, Buddie. On deck with

your line now."

"All right, Baldy." Harty turned to his working mate. "So long Pete, see

you later."

"So long, son, and have a care on that open deck."

Harty climbed the iron ladder to the deck, shouldered his way through

the wind-pressed door and onto the deck, and started aft.

It was cold. Under his thin suit of dungaree Harty was rolling in sweat.

The winter wind whipped him like a cat-o'-nine-tails. He crept aft,

coiled his heaving line and waited in the stern for the word. She was

jumping so that to hold his feet on her open, icy deck aft, he was

compelled to hook one hand to the towing bitts.

"Only time for one try, so don't let nothing go wrong. An' watch out for

any of those big fellows comin' aboard, Bud," came Baldwin's last

warning.

V

On Light-ship 67, drifting broad onto the breakers, all hands were

perched high in her rigging, safe above any stray seas; all but Nelson

and Bowen, who were hanging on to her weather rail forward.

Bowen was the first to realize what the figure on the after end of the

tug meant to them. "Heave for here!" he shouted, and Nelson, also awake

to the situation, held up one of the torches for a mark.

Nearer and nearer butted the tug. "Stand by!" they heard the call from

the forward end of her. Looking up, they could see the shadow against

the pilot-house light. "By!" came the echo, and the man astern stepped

on to her open quarter and balanced himself to heave.

A note in that answering voice caught Bowen's ear. "Say, Nelson, that's

not one of the tug's regular crew!"

"I don't know. I don't t'ink, but he ban a foolish man," replied

Nelson--"he should lash himself."

"Stand by with the line!" came again.

"By!" echoed tensely from astern.

"Ready!"

"All ready!"

"When she lifts! Now--w--"

From the top of a sea the line came whistling down to the light-ship

rail. "I'll take it," called Bowen, and, loosing his hold of the stay,

he reached out and caught the flying line to his breast. "A good throw,"

he muttered, and hauled it in.

The hawser followed the heaving line, and Nelson and Bowen, with

life-lines about them, bent the stubborn end of it around the windlass.

It was heavy work, even for two men, on the tumbling, slippery deck,

and, that done, they turned, anxiously, to see how the man in the stern

of the tug was making out. He was there, back to, bending the thick

stubborn bight about the towing bitts with slow, heavy motions. They saw

one great sea break over him; and another: but when the seas were past

there he was still working away.

"Won't he never mak' him fast?" wailed Nelson.

"Give him time," snapped Bowen. "He's doing well. He's got to do it

right. If his end came loose, where would we be? Give him time."