ABOARD THE "_ARROW_"
It was not until the second day of the voyage back toward Santario
that Hugh felt quite himself again. The nervous strain of his
experiences as a captive would have been enough to exhaust him,
and in addition he had suffered real buffeting and hardship at
the hands of his captors.
Dave stretched a hammock for him on deck at the captain's orders, and
there Hugh spent nearly the entire first day of the homeward trip.
The other boys and Norton diverted his few waking hours with stories
and riddles and simple games, and Captain Vinton, himself, contributed
more than one tale from his store of recollections.
"Tell you what, boys," the old captain said as he concluded one of
his yarns, "we fellers these days meet with a few excitin'
experiences now and then, but to get some idea of what lively times
on the water may be, go back to John Paul Jones and his day, or even
to the sea fights of '62."
"Have you read much of the history of those days, captain?" inquired
Roy Norton interestedly, while the boys leaned forward to hear the
reply.
"Son," said Captain Vinton in answer, turning to Alec Sands, his
blue eyes alight with a keen expression, "Son, go to my cabin
and bring me an old, worn book from the shelf there: 'Famous American
Naval Commanders,' it is called."
Until Alec's return, the captain looked out over the water with
far-seeing eyes, and the others, watching him, wondered what stirring
scenes his imagination was picturing to him just then.
He glanced up as Alec handed him the volume of naval history and
grasped it with the firm gentleness of a true book lover. He turned
it over thoughtfully, straightened its sagging covers, opened and
closed it several times, and finally spoke:
"Thar's the answer to yer question, Norton," he said. "And that's
only one of about a dozen hist'ries I've got on my old shelf.
When times is dull or I'm waitin' fer a party who've gone into
the Everglades, or when the _Arrow_ is lyin' off shore in a dead
calm, then I start in at the first page of the book that happens
ter be on the end of the shelf, and I live over the old days of
the privateers, when it meant somethin' to sail the seas."
"Who is your _biggest_ hero?" asked Mark as the captain paused.
The old man smiled humorously before he answered.
"Wal', my biggest hero," he said, "is the littlest hero on record
as a sea-fighter, I guess. Like Napoleon Bonaparte, his bigness was
not in his body but in his mind. And that's Paul Jones of the
_Bonhomme Richard_."
As the captain pronounced the name of his hero, he struck his worn
book a resounding slap, and his jaws clicked in emphasis of his
statement.
"Can't you tell us something about him?" asked Chester, fascinated
by the old captain's earnestness.
"That's the ticket---I mean, please do," endorsed Billy heartily.
"No, I can't do that," was the deliberate reply, as the captain rose
to relieve Dave at the tiller, "but you can all borry the book and
read the historian's account of the battle between the _Serapis_
and the _Bonhomme Richard_. I git so excited when I read that,
I hey ter go put my head in a pail o' water to cool it off! Fact!
You know that's whar the cap'n of the _Serapis_ calls out: 'Hev
ye struck?' And John Paul Jones shouts back: 'Struck! I am just
beginnin' ter fight!'"
As Captain Vinton straightened his rounded shoulders and delivered
this emphatic quotation, he shook his fist at an imaginary enemy
and then brought it down hard on the railing. Then he grinned
sheepishly.
"You see how 'tis," he said, laughing at himself as he moved away.
"Guess I'll hev ter stop talkin' or go fer that pail o' water!"
The boys, left to themselves, discussed the theme that the captain's
words had suggested, and were rather ashamed to see how vague their
knowledge of the famous battle was. So, at Alec's suggestion,
Norton agreed to read the account of the fight as given in the
captain's book; and grouped about Hugh's hammock, the boys listened
eagerly.
"That makes our experiences on picket duty seem tame in comparison,"
said Alec, commenting on the story when Norton had closed the book.
"We were not all on the firing line," replied the young man, smiling.
"I'll venture to say that Hugh did not find his share at all tame."
Hugh smiled and nodded ruefully as his mind flew back to his dangerous
situation as a captive of the desperate filibusters, and he felt that
he could understand a little of what it meant to be in the thick of
the fight.
"Me, too," exclaimed Billy, shuddering at a sudden recollection.
"I haven't told you fellows that I came near having my ear shot
off, that time the other night when I was separated from the rest
of you for a while. Excuse me from anything nearer real battle fire
than that!"
Just at that moment, a soft, regular thump-thump-thump from the deck
behind Hugh's hammock made all the boys turn quickly.
There stood Dave, skillfully flinging gayly colored hoops over a post
at some distance from him.
"Oh, ho! A game of ring-toss, is it?" cried Chester, rising eagerly.
"Say, boys, let's form rival teams and have a tournament."
"Good!" echoed Billy. "The Pickets versus the Pirates!"
"That sounds exciting!" called Hugh, sitting up in the hammock. "Count
me in on that, boys. Guess I can get up long enough to take my turn
now and then."
"Let Dave and Mr. Norton choose sides," suggested Alec, "Dave for
the Pirates and Mr. Norton for the Pickets."
"Hurrah!" cried Mark. "On with the game!"
In less time than it takes to tell it, Dave, grinning broadly at his
prominence, and Norton, entering into the contest with his usual
spirit of enthusiasm, had chosen sides and a list was hastily
written and posted on the cabin wall as follows:
Pirates vs Pickets
Dave Norton
Hugh Billy
Chester Alec
Mark Captain Vinton
"Oh, but I can't play!" protested the captain. "I've got my hands
full with the _Arrow_!"
"We'll take turns and spell you at the helm," returned Norton.
"All hands on board are enlisted in this fight."
Pleased at his insistence, the old captain yielded the wheel whenever
it came his turn to toss, and he proved to be an adept at the game,
to everybody's delight.
Norton and Dave had agreed that the contest should consist of five
complete rounds, giving just twenty opportunities to each side.
Only the total successful tosses would determine the winning score,
but the best individual records would decide who should be the
team captains in subsequent games.
The fun of the thing entered into every one of the contestants, yet
not one of them failed to put his best efforts into the game.
"Now we'll see some accurate shooting," called Billy as Hugh took
the rings for his fourth turn.
"No fair trying to rattle me," returned Hugh, laughing good-naturedly.
"I'm still the interesting invalid."
"Hush!" whispered the irrepressible Billy quite audibly. "Don't say
a word, boys! It might shake his nerve, you know, and he might
suffer a relapse!"
"You teaser!" commented Hugh, beginning his play.
One after another, Hugh steadily tossed the rings over the post.
"Pshaw! You can't disturb him," ejaculated Alec. "He is as calm
as the sea is just now."
"Five!" counted Chester softly. "Six! You put every one over this
time, Hugh. Billy's jollying just inspired you!"
"And now it is his turn," said Hugh, returning to his hammock. "Now
we shall see something!"
Billy flushed a little, grinned, set his teeth, poised his body
firmly, and then swung into the position of the famous "disk thrower."
Thump! The first ring struck the deck a good foot beyond the post,
rebounded, and rolled rapidly toward the railing.
Roy Norton stopped it with his foot and called, "Steady, Billy!
Take your time."
Thump! The second ring, tossed more cautiously, dropped at least
six inches in front of the goal.
Thump! Thump! Thump! Three more landed in quick succession, draping
themselves gracefully against the standard that upheld the post.
"One more, Billy. Make this one count," coached his captain urgently.
By this time, Billy's face was scarlet and his hand shaking. He took
a long breath, fixed his eye on the top of the slender post, and
tossed the ring desperately. It fell well to the right of the goal
and rolled up against Dave's feet.
Dave quickly stooped to pick it up, trying to hide the wide smile
that parted his lips.
Billy's scout friends made no attempt to be so polite. Pickets and
Pirates alike, they burst into a roar of laughter.
Captain Vinton, his weather-beaten face wrinkled into a dozen
humorous lines, called out:
"Billy, words is sometimes like a boomerang---they fly back and ketch
ye, ef ye don't watch out!"
And so the contest progressed; now luck favored the Pirates, and again
Captain Vinton's skill brought up the uncertain score of the Pickets.
At the end of the final round, however, Dave's team had a clean
balance of ten counts over the combined records of the Pickets, the
winners showing a total of ninety-five successful throws out of a
possible one hundred and twenty.
Captain Vinton had the best individual score, securing twenty-six
out of a possible thirty points, while Hugh, thanks perhaps to
Billy's inspiring comments, stood next with a record of twenty-four.
The sun was setting redly over an almost calm sea as the games
were finished. Dave, beaming at the success of his team, vanished
without urging and soon the welcome odors of supper cooking were
wafted to the eager nostrils of the hungry boys.
That evening they all gathered around the old captain as he sat at
the helm and guided the lazily-moving craft, begging him for another
tale from his own reminiscences or from his favorite history.
"Wal', boys," agreed the captain at length, "I'll tell you about
one sea fight that I almost witnessed myself. Fact is, I was a
little too young to be thar, but my father was mighty nigh bein' in
the thick of it, and I've heard him tell the tale a hundred times ef
I hev once.
"It was in March, '62," the captain resumed after a little pause.
"The North was consid'rably stirred up over rumors of how the
Confederates hed raised the _Merrimac_ and made out of her a terrible
ironclad vessel, warranted to resist all ord'nary attacks. Then
these rumors were followed by news of the destruction of two sailin'
frigates, the _Cumberland_ and the _Congress_.
"The Union forces were pretty uneasy when they heard what hed
happened off Hampton Roads, but they were all pinnin' their faith
to a little new ironclad just built on Long Island and already
speedin' south ter meet the _Merrimac_. My old dad, servin' on
the _Roanoke_, was lucky enough to see both them craft:---the
big, clumsy _Merrimac_, all covered with railroad iron and smeared
with grease, and the nifty little _Monitor_, that they said looked
like 'a cheese box on a raft'!
"Wal', 'course you boys hev all read about what happened when the
little fellow steamed out ter meet the big fellow, the day after the
frigates were destroyed.
"Fer four hours, Dad said, the two ironclads jest pestered each other
with hot fire, but the shot and shell slid off them like water from a
duck's back. The little _Monitor_ darted around the big _Merrimac_
like a bee buzzin' round a boy that had plagued it.
"Thar wa'n't no great harm done---except that Lieutenant Worden, who
was in command of the Monitor, got hurt by the bits of a shell that
drove into his face---but the little ironclad hed proved two things.
Fust, that she could hold her own; and next that the day of wooden
vessels in naval warfare was over.
"As you boys know, warships now-a-days are all ironclad. Folks hey
called 'em 'indestructible,' but I guess thar ain't no sech word
allowable any more. Between the new explosives and the airships---wal',
they say we ain't heard the last word yet, by a long shot!"
The old captain rose as he spoke, shaking his head thoughtfully and
gazing out over the sea and into the sky.
"Wal', boys, off to yer bunks now! We'll hev a fairly calm night, but
thar'll be wet decks to-morrow!"