The Collision on the Chesapeake
The weeks slipped by quickly now.
Athletics cannot occupy as prominent a place at Annapolis as at
the universities and colleges, for the midshipmen must, above
all, be sure that they stand high enough in their academic work.
Dave and Dan were both invited out for baseball try-out,
but both asked to be excused.
Dan, by himself, would have gone in for the Navy nine, and
doubtless would have made it.
It was Darrin, the cautious, who dissuaded Dalzell.
"Better shy away from athletics, Danny boy, until you've made your
academic footing secure," was Dave's advice.
"You didn't talk that way in the High School," argued Dan.
"No; there the athletics were more necessary, if we were to keep
in condition. Here athletics may be regarded as the luxury, which
we are not yet entitled. Here, with the gym work, the fencing,
the drills under arms and the boat drills, we're kept in the pink
of physical condition without need for special training."
"Next year, when we feel absolutely solid in our marks, we can
go in for athletics, if we wish, Dan."
So Dalzell gave in. He was beginning to realize that his chum
had a "long" head and that his advice was always good.
With the coming of spring the boat drills were resumed in earnest.
Dave, standing well in "grease," now, became captain of one of
the boat crews, for he had developed unusual skill in boat handling.
One bright afternoon in the latter part of April, while half of
the brigade marched off to instruction on shore, the other half
marched down to the docks beyond the seamanship building.
Here the members of the third class embarked in the steam launches
each craft representing a war vessel--for fleet drill.
The fourth class men embarked, by crews, in the sailboats.
As each captain gave the order to shove clear of the dock the
mainsail was hoisted. Then each crew captain kept one eye on
the watch for the signals of the instructor, who was aboard a
boat designated as the flagship.
The sail was downstream. Beyond Annapolis some pretty manoeuvering
work was done. While this drill was proceeding, however, the
wind died out considerably. Then, light as the breeze was, the
youthful crew captains were forced to beat back against almost
a head wind.
There being no signs of squalls or puffs, the crew captains did not
seem to need to exercise much caution. The members of the crews
stood indolently at their stations.
Yet Dave was as alert as ever. He stood close to the midshipman
tillerman, looking constantly for signals from the flagship, and
at the same time watchful for any wind signs.
An hour or more they had proceeded thus. Some of Dave's boat
crew, who had been making a lark of their nearly becalmed condition
now began to demur over the prospect of getting back late for
supper.
"The steam-launch fleet might show up and give us a tow," grumbled
Farley.
Dave smiled and said nothing. He was as eager as any midshipman
in the boat to have his supper on time, but he felt that the crew
captain must appear above any sign of complaint untoward fate.
For a moment or so Darrin turned to look aft at the weather.
"Motor boat 'John Duncan' on the port bow, two points off and
bearing this way, sir," reported the bow watch.
Darrin turned quickly, bending to glance under the boom, for the
mainsail was in his way.
What he saw made him dart quickly forward, to take up his stand
by the mast.
"Pass me the megaphone, Mr. Dalzell," he requested.
With this mouth-piece in hand, Dave watched the nearing craft.
The "Duncan" was a semi-speed boat, some forty-five feet over
all, without cabin, and carrying only a sprayhood forward to protect
its engine.
Two men appeared in the boat--Mr Salisbury, the owner, and his
engineer. The latter was steering at this time.
Chug-chug-chug! came the fast craft.
Dave waited, well knowing that his hail could not carry to either
engineer or owner over the noise that the "Duncan's" engine was
making.
Farley stood close to Dave watching. The tillerman also had his
eye on the approaching craft. The other midshipmen, telling stories
or staring out over the water, paid little heed. There could
be no danger from the motor boat. Both the owner and engineer
were well known, in these waters, as capable boat handlers and
as men of judgment.
Darrin, himself, did not believe that there was any danger.
"Throw her head a point and a half off to the starboard," called
Dave Darrin evenly.
"Aye, aye, sir," responded the midshipman tillerman, and the sailboat
responded slowly under the slight headway.
"Great Scott, don't those fellows know that a sailboat has the
right of way over a power craft?" demanded Darrin suddenly.
"Perhaps they're going to see how close they can come to us without
hitting us," remarked Farley.
Dave raised the megaphone to his lips, waiting until he judged that
there was a chance of his hail being heard.
"Duncan, 'ahoy!" bellowed Darrin. "Go to port of us!"
Still the motor boat came onward, at a speed something better than
fourteen miles.
"Hard-a-starboard!" Darrin roared back to his own tillerman.
Then he repeated his hail. He was almost frenzied now; for the
motor boat had not yet changed its course.
Suddenly, when the two craft were almost together, the engineer,
after throwing over his wheel, held up one hand.
Before Dave could guess what the gesture meant, the "Duncan" loomed
up on the sail-boat's port bow, coming on at unabated speed.
There was an instant scampering of midshipmen for safety. Then
bump! the motor boat's bow crashed into the sailboat, cutting
a great gap in her.
The force of the shock threw most of the midshipmen into the water.
The rest jumped.
Now, the "Duncan" responded to her engine by backing off. But
the motor boat, too, had received her deathblow. Ere she had
backed off a hundred and fifty feet she began to fill rapidly.
Owner and engineer had only time to adjust life-preservers
and leap overboard. Then the "Duncan" went down.
At the moment of collision there was a crash of spars and a snapping
of cordage. The sailing craft's mast had gone by the board, though
not much before the sailboat itself had filled.
Dave himself was pitched headlong. He sank below the water, but
had no fear for himself, for he was wholly at home in the water.
Yet, as he found the water closing over him, Dave Darrin felt
a great thrill of terror for others run through him.
"My boat crew is the poorest in the class in swimming!" he gasped,
with a throb of agony. "Not more than half of them know how
to take care of themselves! And I, as captain, am responsible
for their safety!"