THE MIDDY ON THE BLOCKADE.
The Middy arrived at New Orleans about the middle of August, where she
was immediately followed by the Harrisburg. The little steamer was then
hauled up at Algiers, opposite the city, and completely dismantled for
the purpose of making certain repairs and alterations, to adapt her to
a different service from that in which she had before been engaged. Her
officers returned to the ship, with the exception of Mr. Dickey, who
remained in charge of the crew. The Harrisburg then departed for Ship
Island.
During the session of Congress, the navy had been re-organized;
and Jack learned that his friend Mr. Bankhead was now a commander.
Flag-officer Farragut was henceforth to be known as a rear-admiral. Mr.
Dickey had been promoted to the new rank of ensign. Mr. McBride was
still a lieutenant; but his name was much nearer the head of the list
than before.
Our sailor-boy was rejoiced at the promotion of his friends; but he
was heartily disgusted when he learned, a few days later, that Captain
Bankhead had been ordered to the command of a gunboat in the Eastern
Gulf Squadron, and that by no possibility could he obtain a berth in
the same vessel. He poured out his sorrows in dubious strains to his
friend Tom Longstone, who did all he could to comfort him.
“I’ve got enough of this fresh-water duty!” said Jack. “I want to see
the blue sea again, and be tumbled about in a gale once more. I suppose
we can get back into the Harrisburg again, if we want to do so.”
“Don’t you do it, my darling. We have done very well in this ’ere trim
little craft.”
“But I don’t want to paddle about here in fresh water all my days;
though I wouldn’t mind it if Captain Bankhead were to remain in
command.”
“See here, Jack: do you mind what them ’ere men are doin’?” continued
Tom, pointing to the shipwrights at work on the forecastle of the Middy.
“They are putting up bulwarks, of course.”
“That means that we are going to sea, my bantling.”
“But who is going to command her? That is the question.”
“I dunno, Jack.”
“Mr. Dickey, very likely.”
“Perhaps he be: he’s a ensign now!” added Tom with one of his inward
chuckles. “What a lubberly name that is to give an officer in the
United States Navy! It aren’t much better nor callin’ him a marine.”
The supposition in regard to Mr. Ensign Dickey proved not to be
correct; for the command of the Middy was given to Lieutenant
McBride: but the aspiring little gentleman was to serve as executive
officer, while an acting-ensign--Mr. Brackett--was attached to her as
second-lieutenant. The repairs and alterations were completed, her
quota of officers reported to the captain, and the Middy was again
ready for duty.
“All hands, up anchor, ahoy!” piped the acting-boatswain one fine
morning about the middle of September.
“Here’s a letter which Commander Bankhead requested me to deliver to
you, Somers,” said Captain McBride, who had just come on board with his
orders, having arrived the night before from Ship Island.
“Thank you, sir,” replied Jack, as he received the letter through the
window of the wheel-house.
“You had better open it before we get off; for it may contain an
official document,” added the captain. “I have been expecting an order
to send you ashore; but I hope there is nothing of the kind there.”
“Nothing, sir.”
“Anchor away, sir!” reported the boatswain.
“Strike one bell, quartermaster!” said Mr. Dickey.
“One bell, sir!” replied Tom Longstone.
There was a pilot on board, who had already received his instructions;
and, as Tom had the helm, Jack was at liberty to read his letter, which
was an object of no little interest to him. Captain Bankhead informed
him that he was waiting an opportunity to join his ship, and that they
should probably meet again in a few weeks; for the Middy had been
transferred to the Eastern Gulf Squadron.
“I hope you will continue to conduct yourself with the same heroism,
and devotion to your country’s cause, which have heretofore
distinguished you,” the writer continued: “for I have high hopes of
your future. Your character has, thus far, been above reproach; and I
am satisfied that you will continue to keep it pure and unsullied. I
have just written to your mother a long story about you, in which I
told her that you never gambled, drank liquor, or swore; that, when
you had a day’s liberty in New Orleans, you returned with no vices
clinging to you; that your shipmates love you for your virtues; that
you frequently read your Testament; and are, in every respect, what
I would have you. It is easier to be brave in battle than it is to be
a good man.
“But I have not written this letter to tell you what a good boy you
have been; though it was exceedingly pleasant to be able to give
your mother so good an account of you. I desired to inform you that
I have represented your case to the admiral, and others who have
influence at Washington. I hope to procure for you a warrant as a
midshipman in the navy. I think I could obtain a commission for you
as an acting-ensign; but you are not a navigator, and I wish to have
you well instructed. You must go to the Naval School for a time; and,
as your education has not been neglected, you need remain there but a
few months. The admiral warmly seconds my views; and I doubt not, as
a special favor to him, the request we make will be granted.
“Now, my dear boy, be true to yourself, your country, and God,
and I shall hope to see you an officer in the regular navy--not a
volunteer--in a few months. I have taken all this pains, and am
willing to accept a warrant, when I could procure a commission for
you, in order that you may not be thrown out of the service when the
war closes; of which, Heaven knows, there seems to be no present
prospect. I shall expect to see you when the Middy arrives; but I may
be gone before she comes.
“Good-by, Jack; and remember me to Tom Longstone.
“Your devoted friend,
“JOHN BANKHEAD.”
Jack was bewildered by the contents of this kind letter, and glanced
at his collar to see if there was not already an anchor upon it.
“Midshipman Somers” did not sound badly; and our hero’s face was
wreathed in smiles as the thought passed through his mind. A delightful
prospect was certainly before him; and he resolved to be good and
true to the end, that he might be worthy of such friends as Commander
Bankhead.
“What’s in the letter, my dear?” demanded Tom, bluntly, as Jack went
forward to look out at the window.
“Captain Bankhead desires to be remembered to you, Tom.”
“God bless his honor!” exclaimed the old quartermaster, lifting his cap.
“Starboard!” said the pilot.
“Starboard, sir!” repeated Tom.
“Steady!”
“Steady, sir!”
“Well, Somers,” said Captain McBride, stopping at the side of the
window of the wheel-house, “did the letter please you?”
“Very much, sir,” replied Jack. “Will you please to read it, sir?”
Captain McBride, in spite of the traditions of the navy, had ventured
to be quite familiar with the quartermasters of the Middy; for both of
them were trusty men, and had more than once won the approbation of the
officers. He took the letter, and read it through.
“I knew something about this matter before, Somers; and I congratulate
you upon the bright prospect before you.”
“Thank you, sir,” replied Jack, touching his cap; for he was determined
that this familiarity in his case should not breed contempt.
“I don’t know much about your education, Somers. What have you
studied?” asked the captain.
“I’ve only been to the common school, sir; but I went through with what
they called the high-school course.”
“Have you studied Latin?”
“No, sir,” laughed Jack; “but I have studied algebra and geometry.”
“Well, Somers, I’ll give you my opinion, and you may take it for what
it is worth. I’ve got some books in my cabin; and, while we are lying
at anchor, I recommend you to overhaul your studies, and brush them up.
You have plenty of time to spare.”
“I thank you, sir: I shall certainly do so.”
“You and Longstone have the wheel-house all to yourselves after we have
discharged the pilot; and there is nothing to prevent your making good
use of your time.”
“I shall do so, sir.”
“And, if you want any assistance, I will cheerfully afford it,” added
the captain as he walked aft.
“Thank you, sir. You are very kind.”
“God bless your honor!” ejaculated Tom Longstone, who felt just as
though all these favors were conferred upon himself. “What’s in the
wind, my darling?”
“Port!” said the pilot.
“Port, sir!” repeated Tom.
“Steady!” added the pilot, who was determined that the wheelman should
not do any talking while upon duty.
“Steady, sir!” repeated Tom.
But Jack, who sympathized with his friend in his impatience to know
what the important letter contained, took the helm, and handed the
document to Tom, who sat down in the corner, and proceeded to study out
its contents.
“Is it a middy, my darling?” exclaimed the veteran when he had
finished the letter. “I touch my hat to your honor.”
“Not yet, Tom.”
“Starboard!” said the pilot.
“Starboard, sir!” added Jack.
“No talking at the helm!” said the pilot testily. “If you say another
word, I’ll report you to the officer of the deck.”
Tom took the helm again, and Jack went below. In the course of the
day, the captain gave him several works on geometry, gunnery, and
mathematics in general, which he carefully deposited in the closet in
the wheel-house.
In the afternoon, the Middy went through Pass à l’Outre, and, before
evening, was rolling about in the swells of the Gulf; but she was a
good sea-boat, and the motion was rather refreshing to the old salts on
board. Before daylight, she came to anchor near the Harrisburg. Visits
were interchanged between the ship and the Middy during the day; but
Jack was disappointed to find that Captain Bankhead had gone the day
before.
At sunset, the Middy departed for the eastward, and, on the following
day, reported to the acting admiral commanding the Eastern Gulf
Squadron. Captain McBride received his orders, and immediately sailed
again for the station, which was near the mouth of the Suwanee River,
in Florida. Tom Longstone expressed his disgust when he found, as he
supposed, that the steamer was actually engaged in the blockading
service; but Jack was too busy with his books to object to this life of
inactivity.
After they had lain on the station a few days, and Jack’s head was as
full of lines and angles, projectiles and parabolas, as a professor’s,
an incident occurred which broke up the monotony of the blockader’s
life. Jack was standing at the window of the wheel-house, running over
in his mind a difficult problem in geometry which had perplexed him
during the day. It was a dark and foggy evening, and no lights were
allowed; for it was just the time to tempt a blockade-runner into a
daring deed: but Jack was an earnest student, and he did not cease to
study because he could not use his book.
As he meditated upon the mysterious problem, he thought he heard the
splashing of a steamer’s paddles in the water, between the Middy and
the shore. The sound drove all the mathematics out of his head; and
he soon satisfied himself that the splashing was not an illusion. He
immediately reported the fact to Mr. Dickey, who communicated it to
Captain McBride. The cable was instantly slipped and buoyed, and the
Middy was in motion. The fog was so dense, that nothing could be seen;
but, after going at full speed for fifteen minutes in the direction
of the mouth of the river, she was stopped, and her officers listened
attentively for the sounds. They could now be distinctly heard; and
the Middy continued the chase in the fog and darkness. She approached
the mouth of the river, sounding her way, and stopping frequently to
listen to the splashing of the steamer’s wheels, which could be more
distinctly heard at every pause.
“Hullo, de steamer!” said a voice, close aboard of her, at one of these
stoppages.
A negro in a skiff now emerged from a dense volume of fog, and came
alongside.
“May I come on board, massa?” said he. “I’m a pilot, massa: knows ebery
foot ob de riber.”
“Ay, ay; come on board!” replied the captain.
“You go mos’ aground, massa! No water ober dar,” added the man as he
pointed over on the port-bow. “How much water do you draw, massa?”
“We can carry up about five feet,” replied Captain McBride.
“Golly, massa! jus’ five foot on de bar at high water,--dat’s all!”
grinned the negro.
“Are there any batteries up the river?”
“Yes, sir: tree guns up dar. Mos’ on de bar now, massa cap’n.”
“We will remain here till high water, Mr. Dickey,” added the captain.
“Dis chile want to run away awful bad, massa,” said the visitor. “Good
pilot, massa: knows all about de Keys and all about here.”
“I am glad to see you, then. What steamer was that which just went up
the river?”
“Don’t know, massa: ’speck it was de ’Lympus. She done run de blockade
from de Keys.”
The Middy remained where she was, and the pilot was taken below to be
fed and clothed.