ANOTHER BATTLE AT PLATTSBURGH.
Dory, without saying a word to Oscar, relieved Bates, and took his
place at the starboard window in front. Captain Gildrock was pacing
the hurricane deck, and the first pilot did not fear an attack from
the rebel. But Oscar looked ugly, and bestowed savage glances upon his
associate in the pilot-house.
“We shall get to Plattsburgh just at dinner-time,” said Captain
Gildrock, stopping at the door of the pilot-house.
“I suppose we can take dinner at the wharf as well as anywhere else,”
replied Dory.
“We shall not go up to the wharf; but we will keep the boat going till
after dinner,” added the captain. “What is your course, second pilot?”
“I am steering for that lighthouse ahead,” replied Oscar.
“All right; but you may go to the eastward of it.”
“What shall I steer for, sir?” inquired the second pilot.
“I don’t know of any object near enough to guide you; but you can
steer by compass, and make the course north by east,” added the
principal in a matter-of-fact way.
“I never steered by compass, sir, and I don’t know how,” said Oscar.
“That is one of the things a pilot ought to learn very early in his
course. There is a compass in front of you on the shelf.”
“I have seen it, but Bates told me to steer for that lighthouse.”
“You did quite right. That is Cumberland Head light. You are steering
just north by the compass, but there is a variation of the needle of
about eleven and a half degrees. Now, port the helm until the point
‘N. by E.’ comes to the mark on the front of the case. Steer small,”
continued Captain Gildrock, placing himself by the side of the second
pilot.
Oscar had learned enough of Bates to enable him to do this. He even
knew that “steering small” was to move the wheel but a little at a
time.
“That’s right: now you have the steamer on her course. Remember, that,
so far as any turning is concerned, the compass is stationary. It is
the steamer, and not the compass, that turns, the needle always
pointing to the north.”
“I think I understand it, sir,” replied Oscar.
But he did not, for the very first time he moved the wheel he turned
it the wrong way.
“The other way, Chester,” interposed the principal very gently. “You
are doing first-rate, and you will soon get the hang of the new
schoolhouse.”
Oscar reversed the movement of the wheel, and soon got the course
again. He was wholly absorbed in his duty, and at that moment he had
forgotten that Dory stood within a few feet of him. In a few minutes
the second pilot got the nack of keeping the point for which he was
steering on the mark.
“You are all right now, Chester,” said the captain. “You will make a
good pilot in due time.”
“Thank you, sir,” replied Oscar, who certainly appeared to have been
greatly humanized by his experience on board.
The Sylph went along on her new course very well. The second pilot
had learned the art of steering small, and the steamer hardly wabbled
at all. He kept his eyes fixed steadily on the compass, and the danger
was that he would see nothing else. A small steamer was directly
ahead, bound up the lake. Oscar did not appear to see her. Presently
she blew one whistle. Dory waited for the second pilot to respond to
the signal, but he did not appear to understand it. He had been shut
up in the ice-house the night before when these signals were
explained. Bates had had no occasion to instruct him in the manner of
passing other steamers.
Dory pulled the line, and gave the required signal. Oscar looked at
him with a scowl on his face, but neither of the pilots spoke. The
little steamer sheered off, but hardly enough to pass the Sylph in
safety. Dory did not like to interfere, lest he should give offence to
the waspish associate in the pilot-house.
“Excuse me, Oscar Chester, but you must port the helm a little in
order to pass that steamer,” said Dory, when he found that his
companion was likely to shave a hair off the approaching vessel.
“You are the first pilot, and I will obey whatever order you give me,”
replied Oscar in snappish tones, as he put the wheel to port.
“When a steamer blows one whistle, it is a signal that she intends to
go to the starboard of us; and we have to reply with the one whistle,”
added Dory, glad to find that the second pilot could speak to him even
in waspish tones.
“All right,” growled Oscar.
At this moment one of the hands struck eight strokes, in couples, on
the bell on the bitts. Bates had been explaining the bells to the
crew.
“All the starboard watch will go to dinner now!” shouted Captain
Gildrock.
The first officer and the second pilot were in the starboard watch.
The engineer had arranged the watches to suit himself.
“I will relieve you while you are at dinner, Oscar Chester,” said
Dory, taking hold of the wheel.
“Thank you,” replied Oscar gruffly, as he left the pilot-house.
Dinner was on the table in the forward cabin. The three stewards stood
behind the chairs. The table looked as neat as that of a first-class
hotel. The linen was clean and white, the articles were arranged with
good taste, and the dishes were neatly disposed in their proper
places.
Captain Gildrock took his place at the head of the table, with the
chief steward behind his chair. The first officer was directed to take
the seat at the opposite end of the table. Mr. Jepson and Mr.
Brookbine sat on the right and left of the captain, and the rest took
such places as they chose.
The dinner was not an elaborate one, and both of the cooks were equal
to such a meal every day in the week. In front of the captain was a
dish of beefsteak, and before the first officer a platter of
veal-cutlets. There were several kinds of vegetables, besides boiled
potatoes and chips.
Every thing was well cooked; and the occupants of the galley declared
that it ought to be, for both of them had done this thing times enough
to learn how. The captain declared that Pemberton Millweed was good
for something; and, if he would devote himself to the art of cooking,
he could make more money in one year than he could in six as a
counter-jumper. The captain said as much as this to him after dinner.
“But it is not quite so genteel,” replied Pemberton with a smile.
“Genteel!” exclaimed the captain in a most contemptuous tone. “I will
venture to say, that the cook of a first-class hotel in New York, not
to mention many private families, is more genteel than any
counter-jumper in Burlington. The most genteel man I ever saw was a
journeyman barber. The bartenders cut the biggest swell in some
cities. I can’t see why a cook should not be as genteel as a
counter-jumper, if he is so disposed. Male cooks get anywhere from six
hundred to three thousand dollars a year, and they can better afford
to be genteel than clerks on five to ten dollars a week.”
The captain was rather curious to know what had happened at the house
of Farmer Millweed after the poor man went home that morning, but he
was not willing to ask either of the boys about it. The sons had both
joined the school, and both were discharging their duties manfully.
Doubtless there had been a stormy scene at the house of the farmer,
and Mr. Millweed had risen somewhat in the estimation of the
shipmaster.
The tables were set a second time at half-past twelve; and the port
watch fared as well as the starboard, for, as far as practicable, a
fresh meal had been cooked for its members. Mr. Jepson reported
Bolingbroke as both willing and intelligent. He knew all about a
steam-engine, and not a little about chemistry and the mathematics;
for which the captain was willing to give the credit to the Genverres
high-school.
Obeying the instructions of the captain, Dory had come about, and the
steamer was headed up the lake. At Cumberland Head she changed her
course again, and ran for Plattsburgh. At the north beacon on the
breakwater, he rang to stop her. The second officer, prompted by the
captain, had the anchor all ready to let go. The pilot gave the order
when he was ready.
“Let go the anchor!” shouted Will Orwell.
Splash it went into the water: the Sylph swung around, and all hands
were called. Captain Gildrock made a little speech to the boys,
praised them for what they had done during the forenoon, and then gave
them two hours’ liberty to go on shore. He expected them to behave
like gentlemen, and not disgrace the uniform they wore. They were to
be on the wharf at three o’clock, in readiness to return to the
steamer.
The dummy exercise of lowering the boats was made real; and, with the
exception of Jepson and Bates, all hands went on shore. No restraint
was put upon them as to where they should go. Dory thought he would
call upon some of his old friends in the place; and he started for the
town, which is about three-quarters of a mile from the lake-shore.
After he had passed the railroad-station, Oscar Chester suddenly
presented himself before him. He had evidently been lying in wait for
him.
“Dory Dornwood, we meet now on an equal footing; and I think I can
keep my feet on the solid land as well as you can,” said the second
pilot savagely. “I promised to get even with you, and my time has
come.”
“If your time has come, Oscar Chester, my time has not gone,” replied
Dory calmly; and therein he had the advantage of the rebel. “I don’t
want to quarrel with you, and I won’t if I can help it. I should like
to talk the matter over with you, for I think you will be fair when
you look on both sides of the question.”
“I don’t want to talk it over. You insulted me last night, and then
you caused me to be tumbled into the lake. I am going to have
satisfaction; for I never forgive an insult,” added Oscar, waxing
fierce as his anger boiled within him.
“I did not intend to insult you; and I only did what any skipper would
have done under the same circumstances,” continued Dory.
“No more talk. I intend to thrash you here and now, till you say you
have had enough of it, and are willing to beg my pardon,” stormed
Oscar, as he threw off his uniform sack, and tossed his badged cap
upon the grass at the side of the road.
By this time a party of the ship’s company came up. The second officer
was in it; and, as soon as he understood what was going on, he
hastened to the scene. He spoke to Oscar, and tried to induce him not
to meddle with Dory. The others were not disposed to interfere with
such a fellow as the second pilot. Will Orwell was his crony; and he
persisted, taking his friend by the arm, and trying to lead him away.
“Don’t talk to me, Will Orwell! You are half a traitor to me,” said
Oscar, shaking off his crony.
Without waiting for another word, the rebel leaped upon Dory. An
instant later Oscar went over backwards, with the blood spurting from
his nose. He sprang to his feet, and renewed the attack. In two
minutes more he lay upon the ground, unable to rise.