CHUMS
It was a beautiful Saturday morning, and Captain Josh was busy in his
little work-shop at the side of his house. He was in a hurry, and his
big hands moved swiftly and deftly as he cut the cotton or tied a piece
of string. Once or twice he stepped back to view his work, and then a
pleased expression appeared upon his face. Occasionally his eyes
turned toward the little window above the work-bench until they rested
upon the road, leading from the main highway to his house. The captain
was expecting company, and this was something remarkable at "The
Anchorage," the name of the snug cottage by the riverside.
Within the house Mrs. Britt, too, was busy, and as she moved about the
kitchen, her step was lighter than it had been for years. She had just
finished making a batch of doughnuts, not the lean kind, mostly holes,
but big fat ones, coated with sugar, like thick frost upon the window
pane in winter. She was now making apple pies, the kind where the
juice runs out into the oven, and some of it sticks to the plate.
Mrs. Britt was known throughout the parish as an excellent cook, though
of late years few people were ever allowed the privilege of tasting her
dainties. This was her husband's fault, and not hers. She was
naturally of a sociable disposition, and fond of company. But Captain
Josh's crankiness had antagonised every person in Hillcrest, and it was
Mrs. Britt who suffered the most. But she was loyal to her husband,
and if people would not come to her home, she would not go to theirs.
At one time Captain Josh had been the most agreeable of companions, and
his return from a voyage was always a red-letter day in the parish.
His ringing laugh was heard at the store, and every evening his house
was filled with neighbours, who dropped in to have a smoke, and listen
to the yarns of the old seaman.
But two events coming close together produced a great change in the
captain. One was the absence of his only son, Jimmy, who had gone far
away to the northland, and never wrote home to his parents. The other,
was the loss of his vessel, the _Flying Queen_, a three-masted
schooner, which, loaded with a valuable cargo, lost her bearings, and
went ashore in a heavy fog. Owing to Captain Josh's excellent past
record, the shipping company was most lenient. He was permitted to
retire with a moderate allowance. This amount, together with what he
obtained from his few acres of land, and the fish and the fur he took,
was quite sufficient to keep him and his wife in moderate comfort.
The loss of his vessel, followed by his retirement, was a severe blow
to the captain. He was too old to take command of another ship for new
owners, and he chafed at his enforced stay on land. He longed for the
sea, for nowhere else did he feel so much at home. His pride was hurt
as well. He felt keenly the humiliation, and he believed that his
neighbours laughed at him behind his back. Thus for years he brooded
over his troubles until they became a vital part of his very being, and
soured his former jolly disposition.
There was one redeeming feature, however, to Captain Josh, and that was
his intense sympathy for any unfortunate creature, whether man or
beast. Let any dumb brute be abused, and it aroused the captain to
intense indignation. And so when he found that most of the people in
Hillcrest were turned against Parson Dan's lad, simply because he was a
waif, he naturally took an interest in the boy, which increased the
more people talked. The climax to his interest was reached the day he
took Rod's part against Tom Dunker.
On this Saturday morning Captain Josh had tied the last string, and cut
off the ends close to the knot. He then glanced once more through the
window, and his eyes brightened as he saw the little lad he was
expecting not far from the house.
Rod was not walking very fast, for he was on new, and hitherto
forbidden ground, and, notwithstanding the invitation, he was not
altogether sure of the reception he would receive. He was a trim,
looking lad in his well-fitting suit, as clean and neat as Mrs. Royal's
hands could make it, while a large straw hat covered his curly hair.
He wore neither shoes nor stockings, and his feet and legs were as
brown as the sun could make them.
Captain Josh was at the shop door to receive him.
"Ye're late, lad," was his only greeting.
"I'm sorry, captain," was the reply, "but I had to go to the store for
grandma. Oh!" and he stopped short as his eyes rested upon the fine
full-rigged schooner sitting upon the work-bench.
"How d'ye like it?" the captain asked, delighted at Rod's interest.
"Great!" and the boy stepped cautiously forward, as if afraid that the
white sails were wings; to bear the wonderful thing away. "Who made
it?" he whispered.
"Oh, some fool."
"You?"
"What! d'ye call me a fool?" the captain roared, looking so fierce that
Rod shrank back a step.
"No, no, no. I didn't mean that. I only, I only----"
"I know, lad, I know," and the captain laughed heartily. "Ye didn't
mean any harm. Yes, I made her years ago fer another boy. She's been
lyin' here a long time, and so t'other day I got her down, cleaned her
up, and put on new sails, thinkin' that perhaps ye might like her."
"What! For me?" Rod asked in surprise.
"Sure, if ye'd like to have her."
Would Rod like to have her? His eyes sparkled, and his hands trembled
with excitement as he examined his treasure. What a wonder it was.
"What's her name?" he asked.
"The _Flyin' Queen_, after the schooner I lost."
"Will she sail?"
"Y'bet. Let's launch her."
From the window Mrs. Britt watched the two as they walked down to the
shore. She recalled the day, over twenty years ago, when another
little lad had trotted as eagerly as Rod by the captain's side, and it
was to sail a small boat, too. Her eyes grew misty as her thoughts
went back to that scene. But mingled with this sadness was a feeling
of thankfulness that her husband had taken such a strong liking to Rod.
Not since Jimmy left had he done such a thing, and she was hopeful that
this child would unconsciously change him back to the genial
big-hearted man he was when she married him.
Rod was delighted with the _Flying Queen_, and wading in the water to
his knees, he sailed her along the shore. The captain had a pickerel
net to look after, which kept him busy for some time. But he missed
scarcely anything that Rod was doing, and he was greatly pleased at the
boy's delight.
"Pull her ashore now, lad," he at length ordered, "and let's go fer a
sail."
"What, in the _Roaring Bess_?" Rod eagerly asked, as he glanced toward
the yacht fretting gently at her anchor a short distance away.
"Sure thing. Dinner won't be ready fer an hour, so we'll take a spin
around fer awhile."
Rod could hardly believe his senses. How often he had looked upon the
_Roaring Bess_ from the respectable distance of the main road. To have
a sail in her had been his one great ambition. While lying in bed he
had often imagined himself skimming over the water, with the sail, big
and white, bending above him. Now his dream had really come true, and
here he was at last sitting by Captain Josh's side, watching him as he
headed the boat upstream. A gentle breeze was drifting in from
westward, sufficient to fill the sail and send the _Roaring Bess_
speeding over the water. A deep sigh escaped Rod's lips.
"Hey, what's wrong?" the captain cried. "Gittin' tired, and want to go
home?"
"Oh, no, no," was the emphatic reply. "I sighed because I am so happy."
"H'm. That's it, eh? I thought people generally whistled or laughed
when they are happy."
"Is that what you do, Captain Josh, when you're happy?"
"Me? I'm never happy."
"Why, I'd be happy all the time if I had a boat like this."
"Ye would? Well, take the tiller, then, while I fill me pipe."
A new thrill of joy swept through Rod's entire being as he clutched the
wooden handle and moved it to left or right as the captain ordered.
Never did any commander in charge of the largest vessel feel greater
pride than did the young helmsman. His face glowed, and his eyes
sparkled with excitement, while the breeze tossed his wavy hair.
Captain Josh watched him out of the corner of his eye as he puffed away
at his short-stemmed pipe.
"Ye'll make a good sailor some day, lad," he remarked. "Ye've got the
eye fer sich business."
"That's what I'm going to be," was the reply. "I'll be a captain, and
have a big ship of my own. I'm going to call her the _Roaring Bess_,
and I'll take you along with me."
"I'd like to go well enough," and the old man's gaze wandered off into
space, "but I guess my sailin' days'll be over by that time. But here
we are back home again. Betsey'll be waitin' dinner fer us."
And what a dinner that was! Rod remembered it long afterwards, and how
Mrs. Britt sat there smiling upon him, and urging him to have "just one
more piece of pie, and another cruller." Never before had he felt so
important. He was the guest being treated with such respect. When
holding the tiller that morning he had longed for Sammie Dunker and the
rest of the boys to see him. So now, sitting near the bluff old
captain and his wife, he desired the same thing. He felt quite sure
that no other boy in the whole parish had been so honoured, and if his
schoolmates ever heard of it, they would be sure to look upon him as a
person of great importance.
When dinner was over, Captain Josh pushed back his chair, filled and
lighted his pipe. Rod was surprised that he did not return thanks when
they were through, as was the custom at the rectory.
"I'm very thankful for that dinner, Mrs. Josh," he remarked.
"I'm glad you enjoyed it, dear," was the reply.
"Yes, I did. It was so good that I want to thank God for it. Do you
mind?"
"No, certainly not," and Mrs. Britt glanced anxiously toward her
husband. But when she saw the captain take his pipe out of his mouth,
and bow his shaggy head while the boy repeated the few words of thanks
he had been taught, a feeling of gratitude came into her heart, and her
eyes became moist.
There was silence for a few minutes when Rod finished. The captain
puffed at his pipe, while Mrs. Britt began to clear away the dishes.
"Kin ye swim, lad?" Captain Josh suddenly asked, in his deep gruff
voice.
"No, I can't," was the somewhat nervous reply.
"Ever been in the water?"
"Oh, yes. Lots of times."
"And ye can't swim. Well, ye'll have to git over that if ye're round
where I am."
"Can you swim, Captain Josh?" Rod asked.
"Ho, ho," and the old man leaned back in his chair and shook with
laughter. "Kin I swim? Why, boy, I could swim before I was as old as
you. When I was fifteen I could swim across the river."
"You could!" and Rod's eyes shone with admiration. "Did you ever swim
across the ocean, captain?"
"Not quite, lad. Not quite that far."
"Well, then, I will some day, Captain Josh," Rod cried, as he rose to
his feet, and stood erect. "When I'm a man, I'll swim across the ocean
and back again before breakfast, see if I don't."
"That'll be quite an undertakin', lad," and the captain's eyes
twinkled. "I hope I'll be standin' on the shore when ye git back. I
guess ye'll have more cause fer thankfulness then than ye did after
eatin' yer dinner to-day. But come," and he rose suddenly to his feet;
"I want ye to help me put out my net. Ye must take a nice fresh
pickerel home with ye when ye go."
What a wonderful afternoon that was to Rod! Most of the time was spent
upon the water, and he received his first real instructions about the
handling of the _Roaring Bess_, the ropes, sail, port and starboard, to
say nothing of his lesson in splicing. There was also the swim in the
little secluded cove, with the captain as an excellent teacher. Rod
little realised that he was being thoroughly sounded as to his
qualities and capabilities.
"Ye'll do, lad," was the captain's comment, when at last they came
ashore. "Ye're worth botherin' with, I kin see that all right. If ye
don't know more'n yer master in a few months, I'll be much surprised.
So, there now, take this pickerel to yer grandma, and tell her that ye
took it out of the net yerself, and don't ferget to give her my
compliments."