"How's she coming, Bud?" they heard then.
"Bud? And that sounds like his voice, too," muttered Bowen.
"Wa-atch out!" Even with the roar of it Nelson and Bowen could hear the
warning from the pilot-house to the man in the stern of the tug. A
tremendous sea it was and the little _Whist_ went over--over. Over until
her side-lights were under. There she held for a moment, started to
rise, and then a following sea caught her and overbore her and that time
she rolled low enough to take salt water down her funnel.
She came back--after a time. Up, up, nobly; but when they next looked
from the light-ship they could see no figure in her stern. Bowen leaned
far over the light-ship's rail. Nothing there, but he called to Nelson
for the torch, and Nelson let it flare out over the water.
Then Bowen saw him. Almost under the bow of the light-ship he was, and
the big torch was throwing a light like blood on his face. "It is him!"
cried Bowen.
"Vat iss?" demanded the puzzled Nelson, and then under the light he,
too, saw the face in the tossing waters.
Bowen, with a life-line under his arms was already over the side. But
his plunge fell short. Nelson heard a sound as of a man's voice
smothering, saw a hand raised and lowered, and then into the tossing
blackness the lone figure was swept.
Nelson hauled Bowen aboard. When he recovered his first word was, "God,
Nelson, that was Harty!"
"Harty, wass it? I don't know him, but he was one goot man."
The big hawser strained and groaned, chocks and bitts crooned their song
of stress, the wind whistled its dirge, while out from the breakers the
_Whist_ hauled her tow.
To the wheel of the tug Baldwin glanced ahead and behind, pointed her
nose for the breakwater, gave her four bells and the jingle, put his
mouth to the tube, and answered, "Yes, Pete, that's right--'twas Bud
went. And now it's up to you, son. Keep steam on her, and if the hawser
holds and nothing else happens, she oughter stagger home all right."
Nothing more happened and the _Whist_ staggered home. The morning light
saw her safe to the Navy Yard with the light-ship moored alongside.
Bowen stepped from the light-ship to the tug. Up in the pilot-house he
found Baldwin. The sailor was staring through a window, staring out to
sea. Bowen waited.
Baldwin turned inboard at last. "I s'pose you're wonderin' how we knew.
Well, 'twas Bud passed me the word, and more than that, 'twas Bud broke
me out of as promisin' a little game as ever a man sat into. Chips?
Enough to fill my service cap afore me, and not all white chips either.
And he comes along and just the same as yanks me up by the collar an'
says, 'You got to go!' and I had to. And of course where I go Pete
goes."
"And a game thing, Baldwin."
"Game hell. It's our trade--Pete's and mine. But it wasn't Bud's. But he
was bound to go. And when he went under, when I woke up to it he was
gone, I looked out. The sea was still rolling up to the clouds. I sticks
my head out the window to cool it, and to myself I says: If there was
only somebody else in this watch so I could take five minutes off
somewhere and lie down and cry. That's the way I felt about it. Yes,
sir, if it wasn't for you fellows behind and good old Pete below, I
believe I'd let everything go. Yes, sir, government property or no, I
believe I'd a let the old _Whist_ roll up on the beach and been glad to
roll up with her. And Bud--" Baldwin came suddenly to a full stop and
stared out to sea. After a time he turned and asked: "Did you see him
when he went?"
"I did. And that time I grabbed for him and missed and he went by me, he
half-turned and looked at me, and I thought he said, 'I never meant it.'
Just that I heard, when the sea washed over him, and when he came up
again he must've thought that I didn't understand, and he waved one arm.
It was like he was saying 'Good-by!'--the way he did it. Yes, he was all
right--Harty."
"You betcher he was all right. An' more than all right. As for that,
it's a damn poor specimen' that ain't all right when it comes to a
show-down. I've known Bud--I can't remember when I didn't know Bud
Harty. And, Bowen, he was a better man than you or me. Bud always let
you see the worst of himself, but you had to guess at the best of him.
Bud, he sure could hate a man--but, son, he could like you a lot better
than ever he hated you."
The two men sat and looked out to sea in silence. At last Baldwin, with
a heavy sigh? stood up, and, reaching into a locker, brought forth a
bottle and two glasses. "I s'pose we oughter try to forget it for
awhile. This stuff here, it's against regulations havin' it aboard, but
lots of things against regulations never hurt anybody. It was against
regulations our takin' out the _Whist_ last night. And when the
commandant's back from leave I reckon I'll get mine. For you"--he laid a
forefinger against the big rating badge on his coat sleeve--"that I've
been shipmates with for fifteen years--off and on--I reckon will be
detached. But I've been disrated before and we'll let that pass. But you
an' me and Bud, we ain't been the best of friends we used to be
since--well, you know when, but you're goin' to drink for him now the
toast he wouldn't drink last night, but the toast that if he was here I
know he'd drink now, for it's a sure thing that when he went into the
breakers he didn't go out of hate. So you drink for Bud, and I'll drink
for myself. Here's to you and yours, Bowen, your wife and the baby
that's comin'--"
"And that baby--if it's a boy, Baldwin, I'll name after him."
"Will you? God, but he'll like that--Bud'll sure like that. And now,
here you go--
"May the wind be always fair for you
Whatever the course you sail!
"An' you an' me and all of us we'll be like we used to be, an' Bud'll
like it, I know. An' now one to Bud himself. I know 'twill please him to
see us doin' it. Here's to Buddie, Bowen. Is it a go?"
"Let her run!"
"Run it is, and a gale behind her--Christmas to Bud!"