“You did good work in bringing him back, Mr. Osborn,” was the greeting
Ralph received from Captain Waddell, as he stepped aboard the _Puritan_.
“He brought me back, captain; I hope he’ll receive credit for that.”
“Make your report, sir,” ordered the captain crisply.
“I had the forecastle anchor watch from three to four o’clock this
morning, sir. Some time after seven bells were struck I noticed a man
creeping on the deck from the forward hatch; I rushed over to stop him
and he jumped into the catamaran. I bent over the railing and tried to
grab him but went head first over the rail into the catamaran. I didn’t
know anything for a few minutes, and after I came to Collins bathed my
head and then sculled away to the shore. We talked it over for a while
and then Collins decided to come back. He felt terribly worried first
about his sick wife and then about what he’d just done. Oh, captain,
he’s a good man; he’s full of good feelings and good intentions. He was
carried away by his troubles. He did the best he could to undo his
wrong act; I hope, I hope, sir, it won’t go too hard for him.”
Ralph’s eyes were full of sympathy and appeal. Captain Waddell regarded
him keenly. “How did you come by that bruise on your head, Mr. Osborn?”
“That was where I landed when I went into the catamaran, sir.”
“Did Collins strike you?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you make any resistance or cry for help?”
“No, sir.”
“Why not?” asked the captain sharply.
“Why, sir, I was knocked senseless at first.”
“And then?”
“Why, sir,--I--I--I was not in a position to.”
“Did Collins assault you, or abuse you in any way?”
“Captain, I hope you won’t require me to answer that. He did not injure
me; he was beside himself, and after he got to thinking he came back of
his own accord.”
“You’ll have to tell everything, Mr. Osborn; this is a most serious
affair. But I’ll ask Collins a few questions first. Collins, what have
you to say?” he demanded sternly of the pale, anxious, enlisted man.
“Mr. Osborn has not told it all, sir. I got rid of my irons and got
into the catamaran. Mr. Osborn grabbed me, but I gave him a quick jerk
and he landed in the catamaran. While he was unconscious I gagged him
with my neckerchief and passed the boat’s painter around his arms and
legs so that he couldn’t give an alarm or make any resistance. Then I
sculled the boat ashore. I didn’t know what to do, sir; I was wild.
I have always tried before this to do what was right, and it seemed
to me I was suddenly becoming a bad, desperate character. I took the
gag off Mr. Osborn’s mouth and he talked to me and made me feel I was
my own worst enemy. My grief and anxiety about my wife and the awful
feeling of having irons on, as if I were a criminal, caused me to give
way to impulses; Mr. Osborn made me feel that there was some good in
me in spite of the way I had used him. Then he made me feel that the
officers were really friends, not enemies of the enlisted men. Well,
sir, I knew I had done an awful thing, but Mr. Osborn brought me to
believe that the best thing I could do was to come back to the ship,
that that would undo part of the wrong I had done. Oh, sir, I am not a
desperate character. I have always tried to be a good man, but of late
it has seemed to me I hadn’t a friend--and then my mother’s death and
my wife’s illness--I’m only an enlisted man, sir, but I have the same
feelings----” and here Collins broke down completely and was shaken
with convulsive sobs.
“Mr. Osborn, I again congratulate you. You have done far more than if
you had overpowered Collins and brought him bound aboard ship. You
have not only prevented him from completing a most serious offense but
I believe you have saved a good man,” here Captain Waddell glanced
kindly at the contrite Collins, “not only to the Navy, but to himself
and to his family, which is far more important. By the way, Mr. Osborn,
years ago I had a friend of your name, Ralph Osborn, in Toledo. Are you
related to him?”
“He was my father, sir. He gave me a letter of introduction to you.”
“You should have presented it, but we’ll talk about that later. Now,
Graham,” to the executive officer, “what is your recommendation about
Collins?”
“Captain, when he came to the mast at Newport News he was in the
fourth conduct class and asked for special liberty. At the time I was
aggravated and didn’t believe him and treated him harshly. I have since
learned he had told the truth about his mother and wife. My unnecessary
harshness undoubtedly drove him to jumping ship at Newport News and
led to the occurrence this morning. Sir, I would recommend extreme
clemency. He has certainly proved there is some good in him. He could
be severely punished and made permanently bad. But I believe he has
good impulses and I would be glad to show him that naval officers are
the enemies only of those enlisted men who are bad characters.”
“May I say a word, sir, about Collins?” asked an enlisted man, stepping
before the captain and Mr. Graham. It was Chief Water Tender Hester; he
had stood near during the conversation above recorded and had heard it
all.
Captain Waddell looked earnestly and fixedly at Hester. Then a strange
expression came into his eyes.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“Hester, sir, chief water tender.”
“Go to my office, Hester; I’ll see you alone about Collins.”
The captain walked aft to his office. “This is a queer proceeding,”
muttered Mr. Graham, looking the surprise he felt. Then he turned
kindly to Collins, and said: “What is the last news you have had of
your wife?”
“She is very sick, sir; the crisis is to occur in two or three days.”
“I hope she’ll come out all right, Collins; I am sorry I was so hard on
you at Newport News.”
“Thank you, sir, and for your kind words a few minutes ago. I know I
was very wrong but I hope I’ll have the chance to redeem myself.”
“I hope so.” Mr. Graham looked around, wondering that the captain
should have thought it necessary to have talked in private with Hester.
Presently the captain and Hester came forward, and the former said to
Collins: “Collins, you yielded to wild impulses but you were under
a great grief and strain, and you did what you could to undo your
wrong act. I don’t excuse you for that, but I shall suspend action;
and further, in view of all of the circumstances and the executive’s
recommendation, I shall remit the remaining days of your confinement
and restore you to duty. Mr. Graham, you’ll see that’s carried out.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, Collins, the officers of a ship have the happiness and comfort
of the enlisted men under them at heart. And we want and must have
their hearty good-will and coöperation in their work aboard. I have the
greatest sympathy for you in the trouble you have had and I believe you
will prove yourself a valuable man.”
Collins looked up with startled eyes. He could hardly believe he was
hearing aright.
“And, Collins,” continued the captain, “I’m going to give you a week’s
leave to go see your wife, and if necessary, at the end of the week you
may apply for an extension.”
Collins was stunned with sudden happiness.
“A week’s leave!” he gasped. “Oh, captain, I don’t deserve it.”
“When you get back you’ll have a chance to prove you will hereafter.
That’s all, Collins; I hope you’ll find your wife better.”
“Oh, thank you, captain; if I don’t act right after this I’ll prove
myself a miserable ingrate.”
Collins was torn with conflicting emotions of gratitude and happiness.
He could hardly believe in his good fortune. He went forward and
shifted into clean clothes and soon left the ship.
It is likely that Ralph was even happier over the outcome than was
Collins. His warm sympathies were all aroused; he was delighted beyond
measure in the good that had come to Collins, and more than that he
had been actively instrumental in doing a great service to a fellow
man. All sorts of happy feelings crowded themselves into Ralph’s heart;
and he was pleased to learn that these austere officers, ordinarily
so sharp and so severe, were really filled with the milk of human
kindness. In addition to this came gratified personal pride; he,
a third classman, had been praised on the quarter-deck of a great
war-vessel by its captain!
“Mr. Osborn, you have done your duty very well,” remarked Captain
Waddell to him in the midst of these thoughts. “You saved a sailorman
from the crime of desertion and subsequent imprisonment, and I’ve no
doubt Collins will prove himself worthy. But you’ve done something else
which as a midshipman you may feel is a great misfortune; you’ve lost
your breakfast; the midshipmen’s tables are cleared up----”
“Oh, I can stand that, sir,” interrupted Ralph.
“You won’t have to; now go to your quarters and wash up and have the
surgeon examine that bump on your head and then come up and have
breakfast with me. Hurry along, now; I’m getting hungry and I’ll give
you twenty minutes.”
Ralph was ready in fifteen; the bruise on his head was not serious and
he felt much refreshed by the bath he took. But he was worried and
ill at ease as he approached the captain’s cabin, and his appetite
momentarily abandoned him. He was in great awe of Captain Waddell and
the idea of breakfasting with him made Ralph uncomfortable in mind.
But this did not last, for as soon as he entered the cabin the captain
immediately put him at ease.
“You ought to be hungry, Mr. Osborn; a midshipman can always be
depended upon at all hours to be hungry, but you’ve been up since
three this morning and have had an exciting time. So I’ll expect you
to enjoy your breakfast. Now try that melon; it looks like a good one.
And there’ll be coffee and bacon and toast and eggs after the melon--a
regular navy breakfast. Now tell me about your father, my old friend; I
haven’t heard of him for years.”
“Father is dead, sir,” replied Ralph soberly; “he was killed in a
street-car accident just a little more than a year ago.”
“Indeed! I hadn’t heard of it. I’m awfully sorry. What a pity!”
Captain Waddell asked many questions and went into Ralph’s life at
the Academy. He was much interested in the watch episode and in the
anonymous letter the superintendent had received. “It’s evident that
there’s some one there determined to injure you. This means, Mr.
Osborn, that you must be doubly particular in everything that you do.
If you are the young man I take you to be you will have no occasion
to worry over this unknown foe. And being forewarned gives you an
additional chance to protect yourself. As the superintendent and
commandant know of this state of affairs, your unknown foe, should he
continue in his efforts against you, will really have a hard time to
injure you. It shouldn’t be possible for him to do so provided you live
a good life and are mindful of the regulations. And one thing more,
Mr. Osborn; should a serious trouble come to you where you will need a
friend, I want you to write me frankly; it would be a great pleasure to
me if at any time I could be of service to the son of my old friend.”
Many months later, when charged with a most serious offense which
he could not deny because he was guilty and for which he was
court-martialed and dismissed from the naval service, Ralph Osborn
remembered these words of Captain Waddell.