THE SAILOR AND THE SOLDIER.
The approaching vessel which appeared to be a pilot-boat, was
close-hauled, and was beating down the harbor. Her course, at the time
she was discovered on board the Dashaway, was at a sharp angle across
that of the little schooner. She was going off on the port-side of
the Dashaway; and all danger of a collision seemed to be over, though
Lieutenant Bankhead still retained his position on the forecastle.
“Hard a-port the helm!” shouted the naval officer suddenly: “she is
going in stays!”
“Keep her away, keep her away! Up with your helm!” screamed Mr.
Bankhead, as the stranger came about, with her sharp bows close aboard
of the Dashaway.
John had obeyed the order of the lieutenant: but, at the instant he
did so, he realized that it was a mistake, which, if executed, would
be likely to swamp the boat; and, the moment the foresail began to
shake he jammed the helm hard down, at the same time hauling on the
foresheet, thus bringing her up to the wind. The Dashaway began to draw
again, and swept round in a graceful curve: but the stranger was upon
them; and, to the eye of the officer at the heel of the bowsprit, a
collision was inevitable.
“Jump for your lives!” shouted he, as he sprang from the forecastle of
the Dashaway, intending to grasp the bobstay of the pilot-boat; but he
missed his mark, and went into the water.
Captain Bankhead was about to follow the example of his brother, and
save himself from the impending wreck of the Dashaway.
“Stay where you are!” exclaimed John, seizing him by the arm, as the
Dashaway swept round, barely grazing the bows of the stranger. “We are
safe!”
“But my brother is lost!” replied he in an agony of suspense.
“He leaped aboard the vessel.”
“No: he fell into the water,” gasped the captain.
The pilot-boat had swept by on her course; but, on discovering the
accident, she came up with the wind.
“Boat ahoy!” cried a voice from the rolling waves.
John put the Dashaway about, and came up again before the wind, heading
for the spot, as nearly as he could judge whence the sound proceeded.
“Go forward, and haul him in, if you see him!” said John, sharply, to
the soldier.
“Boat ahoy!” again cried the lieutenant.
“I hear him!” replied the captain, as he sprang forward. “I see him!”
A huge wave bore the struggling sailor upon its crest, and his brother
attempted to grasp his extended hand, but the boat swayed off, placing
him out of reach of the willing soldier. But, fortunately, John saw the
poor fellow, as the wave lifted him up; and, putting the helm down,
he rushed to the side, and succeeded in grasping the lieutenant by
the arm. With the aid of the brother, he was hauled on board, nearly
exhausted by his struggles with the angry billows.
John sprang to the helm again; for the boat had nearly swamped by
getting into the trough of the sea. Without loss of time, he put her
upon her course again. The Dashaway had shipped a great deal of water;
and the young skipper, without regarding the dignity of his passengers,
ordered the captain to take the bucket, and bale out the standing-room.
“Do it, Fred,” said the lieutenant. “I can take care of myself now.”
“We are all right now. How do you feel?” asked John of the sailor.
“I am almost used up; but I shall be better in a few moments,” he
answered feebly.
In a short time he had recovered his breath, and was able to assist
the soldier in the labor of clearing the standing-room of the water.
When this work was completed, the boat rode easier over the seas, and
confidence was in a measure restored in the minds of the passengers,
who had seated themselves by the side of the skipper.
“I have been overboard twice before; but I was never so near being
drowned as I have been to-night. My lad, you have saved my life, and I
shall never forget it as long as I live,” said Lieutenant Bankhead.
“I did the best I could for you, and I am sorry you had such hard luck.”
“If it had been I, that would have been the end of me,” added Captain
Bankhead: “I should have gone to the bottom like a stone.”
“So should I, if Jack hadn’t hauled me in just as he did. My wind was
about gone, and I should have given up in half a minute more. Fred,
do you know that minutes seem like years when a man is overboard in a
heavy sea?”
“I never tried it.”
“When you missed your grasp, I gave up for lost; for I knew I couldn’t
hold out till the boat went round and came up again. Jack, you are the
pluckiest little fellow I ever saw in my life.”
“I tried to do what I could,” replied John modestly.
“No one could have done more or better; but, my lad, why didn’t you put
the helm hard a-port, as I told you?”
“It would have gybed the boat, and she would have filled and gone down
if I had.”
“Perhaps you are right. You know your boat better than I do.”
“Besides, I was satisfied she would go clear if I brought her up to the
wind,” added John. “If you had stuck by the Dashaway, you would have
been all right.”
“But I was sure the schooner would come aboard of us.”
“It was a close shave: we only escaped by the skin of our teeth. I
wouldn’t try it again for a hundred dollars.”
“I wouldn’t for a thousand.”
“We may well thank God that we are still alive,” said the captain.
“With all my heart I do thank him,” replied the sailor reverently. “I
shudder when I think of our poor mother: what a blow it would have been
to her in the midst of her woe if only one of us had returned to close
the eyes of our dying father!”
The brothers were silent during the rest of the passage; for thoughts
too solemn and holy for utterance were stirring their souls. Without
further incident or accident, the Dashaway reached her moorings.
Lieutenant Bankhead assisted John in making all snug on board of her,
after which they pulled ashore in the dory.
“I never was so glad to set my foot on land before,” said Captain
Bankhead, as he stepped upon the wharf. “I am half frozen, as well as
frightened out of my wits.”
“I don’t feel very comfortable; but we have no time to spare.”
“I suppose not: it must be two o’clock in the morning,” added the
captain, whose teeth were chattering with the cold.
As they walked up from the wharf, they discovered a person approaching
them. It was Captain Barney, at whose stable Lieutenant Bankhead had
left his horse. He had been anxiously awaiting the return of the boat;
for the howling wind and the cutting rain had raised some doubts in his
mind concerning the prudence of his action in permitting Mr. Bankhead
and John to venture upon the bay on such a night. He had not expected
to see them yet, and was merely walking down to the wharf to take an
old sailor’s glance at the sea and the weather.
“Is that you, Jack Somers?” said he, as he approached the party, for it
was too dark to make them out with his eye.
“Yes, sir: we have come back safe and sound,” replied the young
skipper, proud and happy that he had succeeded in executing the duty
imposed upon him.
“I am glad to see you, Bankhead; for I’ve been worrying about you. It
has blowed heavy ever since you went away, and I began to be afraid
that I had made a mistake in letting you go. Well, I see there are
three of you: so I suppose you found your brother.”
“Yes, sir,--Captain Barney, my brother,” added the lieutenant,
introducing the parties, who were strangers to each other.
“Happy to know you,” replied the old gentleman. “You are not a sailor,
and I suppose you don’t take this kind of a night as kindly as your
brother.”
“It’s a terrible night to go to sea, and I’m thankful to be once more
on the solid earth.”
“So am I,” added Lieutenant Bankhead. “But captain, we have no time to
lose.”
“Come into the house and warm you, while I get your horse ready,” said
Captain Barney, as they reached the hospitable mansion of the old
shipmaster.
John volunteered to get the horse; and the two officers went into the
house, where their kind host insisted upon providing them with dry
clothing. By the time the horse was ready, they had not only put on dry
garments, but they had related the history of their perilous cruise,
and given John Somers the highest commendation for the skill, coolness,
and energy with which he had discharged his duty.
“He saved my life, and I shall never forget him,” said Lieutenant
Bankhead in conclusion.
“He’s a smart fellow,” added Captain Barney.
“He wants to go into the navy: and, if I can have any influence with
his mother, he shall go; for we want as many such fellows as we can
get.”
The two brothers shook hands with Captain Barney and John, and the
lieutenant promised to visit Pinchbrook again as soon as he could.
Though it was only half-past twelve o’clock, instead of two, the sad
mission which had induced him to venture upon the water in such a night
urged him to the utmost haste, and he drove off at a rapid pace.
“Jack, you are a smart boy!” said the captain bluntly, as the vehicle
disappeared in the gloom. “You have done a big thing to-night, and it
may be the making of you. Come into the house and warm yourself now.
I’ve got some hot coffee and a lunch on the table.”
“Thank you, sir; but mother will be worrying about me, and I think I
had better go home as soon as I can.”
“That’s right, Jack: you are a good boy. Always look out for your
mother. But you must have a cup of coffee and a bite before you go.”
The old gentleman insisted; and John concluded that the coffee and
eatables would enable him to walk enough faster to make up for lost
time: so he followed Captain Barney into the house, and consumed a
marvellously large quantity of bread and ham in a marvellously short
space of time, very much to his own satisfaction, and not less to that
of his bountiful host.
“Jack!” said Captain Barney, who sat in his arm-chair, watching the
busy jaws of his young friend.
“Sir,” replied he, not in a very clear tone; for his mouth was too full
for a favorable exhibition of the human voice.
“You have made a good friend to-night.”
“Yes, sir; but I only did my duty.”
“Did your duty, you dog!” roared the captain, laughing heartily.
“That’s just what I’ve been saying. It’s every man’s duty to do the
best he can, blow high or blow low; but blow me, Jack, if there’s one
man in a thousand that does it. Why, Jack, if every man did his duty,
we should all be angels, and every rogue would be fit to make a parson
of.”
“I couldn’t do any less than I did; but I thought the lieutenant had
piped down for the last time when I saw him go overboard,” replied the
happy boy, as he finished his lunch. “Now I must go home, sir. I will
come down in the morning, and put the boat in order.”
“Well, go home, Jack, and quiet your mother; and within a month you
will be a reefer on board a man-of-war. Good-night, Jack.”
“Good-night, sir.”
John walked home as fast as his legs would carry him; for he knew
his mother was worrying about him, and would not go to bed till he
returned. I need not tell my readers how gladly she welcomed him
home after the dangers through which he had passed, nor with what a
motherly interest she listened to the story of the cruise, nor record
the exclamations of wonder and alarm with which she interlarded the
exciting narrative. But, before two o’clock, John was sound asleep,
dreaming of batteries and broadsides, bob-stays and bowlines, great
guns, cutlasses, and boarding-pikes.