The cruiser is in midocean, bowling merrily along over a dark sea,
growing darker and rougher under the approach of a storm and increasing
wind.
As the breeze freshens a strong swell causes the ship to roll heavily,
and the barometer steadily going down, causes the officer of the deck
to keep his weather eye to windward alow and aloft.
“Knowing ones,” old salts who have sailed the seas over for a
generation or more, also cock an eye to windward now and then, but of
course, feel only confidence in their officers and the man who happens
just at that time to hold the ship’s destiny in his keeping.
The ship has been kept well crowded with sail, and the wind being fair
the run across promises to be a phenomenal one, a promise that pleases
all hands.
The middies have had their chance to work the ship in fair weather and
foul, but just now the falling barometer promises a night of it that
will blow great guns, for the cloud-bank is steadily rising and the
wind comes in stronger and stronger squalls.
The ship is sticking her nose deep into huge white billows, but surging
ahead the while in splendid manner.
Suddenly a cadet comes aft and reports to the captain:
“The wind is freshening, sir.”
A few seconds after comes the ringing cry of the first lieutenant:
“All hands ahoy to reef topsails.”
In an instant all is seemingly wild excitement on board the good ship,
and yet perfect order reigns, for every man knows his duty.
The “executive” takes command, great coats are donned, cap peaks pulled
hard down over their eyes, and the middies, acting as sailors, rush for
their posts of duty.
Then comes in trumpet tones the orders, issued in the commanding tones
the sailors love so well to hear, and which fill their hearts with
confidence in their commander:
“Reef topsails! Man the topsail clew lines and buntlines--weather
topsail braces! Stand by the lee braces, bowlines and halyards!”
The young reefers obey with alacrity and seeming recklessness, the
orders being taken up and repeated, the boatswain’s whistle piping
merrily the while.
Soon comes another order in hoarse, manly tones from the executive,
and it is given to a mass of youthful humanity huddled together at the
foot of the shrouds, and awaiting their turn with all the eagerness of
champions about to spring away upon a race of life or death.
Loud came the orders:
“Haul out the reef tackles! Haul up the buntlines! Aloft, topmen! Lay
out!”
Away they go up the shrouds like a stampede of monkeys, and out upon
the slender yards and “lay out.”
With strong hands they gather in the flapping, heavy folds of canvas
and reef close, while just as the order is upon the lips of the
officer: “Lay in, top men!” one of the reefers, by a violent lurch of
the ship, is torn from his hold and goes downward, striking with a
dull thud the yard below in his fall, and thence downward into the sea.
The command of the officer is heard and obeyed:
“Lay down from aloft!”
While a score of voices utter the thrilling cry:
“Man overboard!”
But all are startled by seeing a form run out on the yard and spring
into the sea. What does it mean?
The executive officer did not lose his head for an instant, for his
command came sharply, and with promptness to lay the ship to and man
the lifeboat. At the order:
“Lay down from aloft!” came the young sailors at a run, some of them
fairly flying down the shrouds, others sliding down the backstays, and
getting to the deck as best they can.
The good ship is “laying to,” and the life boat is lowered and pulls
back over her wake to pick up the two men who have gone overboard,
while the question goes the rounds:
“Who are they?”
At last one answers who knows:
“It was Clemmons who was thrown from aloft, and Merrill who sprang
after him.”
The speaker was Bemis Perry, and he was at once ordered before his
captain, who asked:
“Do you know the men, Mr. Perry?”
“Yes, sir, the one who fell was Clemmons, and as he struck the yard
Merrill called out to me:
“‘He struck hard, so must be hurt. I will go after him.’ And then he
ran out on the yard and made the leap, sir.”
For once discipline was cast to the winds, and such a yell as rose
from the midshipmen at this news had never been heard on the good ship
before.
But every eye now was upon the life boat, as it went leaping over the
seas, and again came a ringing cheer as the executive called out:
“The boat is returning, sir.”
But had those on the boat given up the search in the face of that
terrible storm, threatening to break every instant?
Had they found one?
Had they found both?
These questions could not be answered until the boat returned.
The clouds grew blacker, the sea ran higher, and the wind whistled more
viciously.
Over the black waters, dimly seen, the bounding light carried on board
the lifeboat was seen to draw nearer and nearer.
The ship’s lights were burning brightly to guide the daring rescuers
back to safety.
“They are pulling for their lives,” said the executive officer,
somewhat anxiously, and then came the low response of Captain De Long:
“They have need to.”
Nearer and nearer came the leaping light in the boat, and the storm was
keeping pace with it, perhaps outracing it, for so many believed.
Once it struck the ship before the lifeboat reached it, and the
rescuers would share the fate of those they had risked their lives to
rescue.