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diff --git a/77795-0.txt b/77795-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b4b92f3 --- /dev/null +++ b/77795-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6354 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77795 *** +[Illustration] + + + + + _The_ VOYAGE + _of the_ NORMAN D. + + + + + BY + + _Barbara Newhall Follett_ + + + THE HOUSE + WITHOUT WINDOWS + + AND EEPERSIP’S LIFE THERE + + 1927 + + + + + _The_ VOYAGE + _of the_ NORMAN D. + _as told + by the cabin-boy_ + + BARBARA + NEWHALL FOLLETT + + MCMXXVIII + + NEW YORK · ALFRED·A·KNOPF · LONDON + + + + + _Copyright 1928 by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc._ + + _Manufactured in the United States + of America_ + + + + +_Note by the Publisher_ + + +_The manuscript from which this book is set is the carbon copy of a +letter which the author wrote, during the weeks just following her +return from the voyage recorded, to a distant friend with whom (as +appears in the context) she had long had some piratical understandings. +She mailed it in eight-page typewritten installments as they were +produced. The book is identical with the letter except in the following +particulars: (1) Many purely personal passages are omitted. (2) Much +repetition due to the haste of first composition has been weeded out. +(3) The name of the actual schooner and the names of some of the crew +have been disguised. (4) The division into sections is an afterthought. +(5) The end-papers consist of a document in code with which the author +amused herself during one interval in the composition of the letter._ + +_The narrative represents chiefly two obvious traits of its author. +The first is a circumstantial memory. (Her jottings made day by day +throughout the voyage, four pages all told, served but to recall +changes of weather and stages of progress.) The second is that same +intense natural love of natural beauty which found its first public +expression in_ The House Without Windows and Eepersip’s Life There +(_1927_). _In_ The House Without Windows _this passion clothed itself +in fantasy which incorporated here and there some details of actual +experience. In this record of an actual experience, it clothes itself +in a shimmering veil of fantasy, so transparent that the actuality of +the basic experience is rather heightened than obscured._ + +_The voyage was taken three months after the author’s thirteenth +birthday. The book comes to publication a little before her fourteenth. +It is, then, the spontaneous output of a very young writer who, as it +happens, has never as yet had a day of formal schooling, and who learns +her craft by that simplest of all processes, enjoying with abandon +whatever comes into her life, reading with absorption whatever comes +into her hands, and writing with demoniacal energy whatever comes into +her head. To the publisher, it seems that this one exhibit justifies +her obvious contentment with the schooling which, for part of an +ecstatic month, was got out of the_ Norman D., _her rigging and sails +and crosstrees, the men of her cabin and her forecastle; and out of the +various magic of the waters beneath her keel_. + + + + +_The_ VOYAGE _of the_ NORMAN D. + + + + + _The Cottage in the Woods + Lake Sunapee, New Hampshire + July 23, 1927_ + + +Dear Alan: + +Thank you a lot for your very mysterious letter from Honolulu. I wish I +could have been with you. But the Congressmen and their families must +have been a bore. I could have helped you concoct a regular mutiny, +and, with me aboard, you may be sure it would have been done in a +piratical way. I should have accosted the desperate-looking sailor and +become acquainted with him. That would have been the first step. + +Well, I feel tempted to sail full force into my own adventures, even if +they are not so exciting and mysterious as your own. For the adventures +that have befallen me since you set sail for Sulu are wilder and rasher +than anything you ever heard me tell you before. + +You know very well (better than anyone, I think) my profound devotion +to pirates and things piratical. And you know, too, about the pirate +tales which I started a little while before you went away--very +bloody, exciting, villainous, profane stories, were they not? I had +such a great many ideas for pirate stories (and more and more ideas +kept showing their faces), I finally decided that my pirates would make +a much greater showing if I blended all the short tales I had written, +and a great many more that I had in my mind, into one moderately long +story. No sooner said than I started to work. + +I found, in the course of the very first few pages, that I was getting +involved in considerable difficulties. There had to be ships, that was +certain; but I found that I knew almost nothing about ships. So I laid +the story aside a little while, turned to Webster, and buried my face +in the dictionary. I looked up every nautical term that I could think +of, whether I knew it or not. I looked up nautical words found in books +I had read. I studied the list of nautical words and their meanings at +the end of _The Dauber_. Then the sails bothered me. I needed to know +something about sails, and about different kinds of rigs, and about the +fastenings of the sails and the names of them all. So I turned to the +word _sail_, and--lo and behold! exactly what I wanted. Accompanying +the word _sail_ were two pictures, one of the schooner or fore-and-aft +rig, and the other of the beautiful square-rig, each sail numbered and +named below. I fell to work with great zeal, and learned topsails, +topgallants, royals, skysails, jibs, staysails, and all the rest of +them; I can reel them off now like second nature. + +♦ _Rudimentary Nautics_ ♦ + +Then I realized that I didn’t know much about rigging and ropes--the +uses, the names of them. I found just what I wanted under the word +_ship_. It was a picture of a ship in diagram, showing all the +principal ropes, spars, and yards. There were close to two hundred +figures in all, but I settled right down to business and learned just +about everything: lifts, braces, clews, stays, backstays, sheets, +ratlines, tops, caps--the whole works. I don’t know how many exciting +hours I spent at my dictionary, digging into a perfect treasure-trove +of nautical words. I never in my life before realized how many nautical +terms there are. And I was getting very gay indeed. I was really +learning something, and I was not slow to make use of my knowledge. I +danced around the house, shouting out ship words and phrases which I +had found in _Treasure Island_ and other books, but which now had a new +meaning for me. The first result was that my pirate story gradually +began to improve a great deal. The second result was far more important. + +I found myself going about to various people to find out still more +about ships. But I based most upon the dictionary; I was sure that +was correct, at any rate. I found myself getting crazy and crazier +about ships (whether pirate ships or not--though of course they were +preferable) and about the sea. I found that _my own writing_ was +getting me into a wild state. My own writing was making me want to +sail. Now, if somebody else’s writing (the writing of somebody who had +really sailed) had been making me crazy about it, I should not have +been so surprised. But when I had never sailed, and knew nothing about +ships except what I had learned from Webster’s Dictionary--that seemed +strange indeed. Whether from one source or another, _something_ made me +want to sail, and so badly that my blood fairly itched within me, and +I went after the dictionary harder than ever, in case an opportunity +should suddenly come up; for I wanted to be well prepared. + +♦ _A Real Authority_ ♦ + +This was the second result (or, at least, the beginning of it), and I +presume it was making me a bit hard to live with. One day Mother took +me over to see old Mr. Rasmussen. Mr. Rasmussen is the chief carpenter +of the house they are putting up behind ours, and, so Mother had +discovered some time before, he had been a sailor all his life. I had +told her very savagely that I had determined to sail. Even a schooner +“would do,” thought I, though of course a square-rigged ship would do +better. Mother tried at first to dissuade me. She told me that the +only schooners in existence now, as far as she knew, were the fishing +schooners that came into Boston, and they were so soaked with fish and +fish oil that they were really quite unbearable. But I was not to be +dissuaded so easily, though I did begin to wish that I had been alive +in the days of the great old clipper ships, dashing across the Atlantic +from England to America. I was furious with myself for living at a +time when the beauty and stateliness and romance of sailing ships had +dwindled down to a few stenching schooners in Boston Harbor. + + * * * * * + +Well, then, I went over to see Mr. Rasmussen. You would love talking +with him, Alan. He is full of tales of his old sailing days, and +rattles them off even while he is sawing lumber or driving nails. And +as for knowledge, why, ships are second nature to him. The sea is in +every line of his face, too. He has a mass of wrinkles radiating from +the corners of his eyes, from squinting in the sun and looking off into +the dazzling sea. He is brawny, firmly muscled, and tattooed on the +inside of his left forearm. He is delightfully disgusted with things on +land. I remarked to him, as he was up on the scaffolding: “Well, that +kind of rigging isn’t so much fun, is it?” He replied instantly: “No, +too steady. Hasn’t got give enough.” (He said “gib.”) He has a quaint +power of description, too. He tells about typhoons off the China +coast--says “you would think a pack of demons was loose on the sea.” +Mr. Rasmussen, by the way, has a forty-foot sloop of his own, and about +every two weeks he goes off in it for the week-end, going over to Block +Island to fish. He has promised me that I shall go with him on one of +those trips sometime. + +But, to go on with the story, Mother said to him: “I’ve got a daughter +here who’s gone crazy about boats. We thought you ought to know about +all the sailing ships there are, and we wondered if you knew where +there is a schooner or square-rigger that is working now.” + +Says he: “Why, yes, indeed. There’s a nice little schooner come in New +Haven now; she come in right ahead of me last Monday. She come down +with lumber from Nova Scotia. Pretty boat, too--all white. I think her +name is _Norman D._” + +“Do you think there’s any chance we could go aboard of her, mate?” I +asked. (I liked to pretend that he had been a shipmate of mine.) + +“Go aboard of her? Oh my, yes--they’d be tickled to death to have a +chance to show somebody the boat. The crew are all home boys, and I +guess they’re mighty lonely down here where they don’t know anyone.” + +♦ _Topmasts against the Sky_ ♦ + +He gave us full instructions as to how to get to the schooner, and we +resolved to go the next day. I stayed and had a little talk with the +old sailor. He says: “I usually go out o’ port on Friday. Now, ’tain’t +commonly supposed to be lucky to leave port on a Friday, but I don’t +take no stock in superstition. I once sailed along of a captain that +wouldn’t leave port on a Friday, even when there was good wind, good +tide, good weather--everything just right.” + + * * * * * + +Mate, you can believe that I hardly slept a wink all that night. I was +going down to see a real schooner. I was going aboard of her. I should +see the crew, and be friendly with them. I should climb up in the +rigging, if allowed. (That was a secret hope of mine, and I was almost +more excited about that than anything.) I would show the family, and +the crew, too, that if I got a chance to go up in those ratlines, I +would go! + +We must have made quite a sight, the whole Follett family going down +the street under royals and skysails, headed straight for the schooner +_Norman D._ It seemed an infinitely long way, but we saw the masts of +her as soon as we got out of the trolley car, and I know I was like a +bucking wild horse all the way down Brewery Street. When I saw those +noble topmasts against the blue sky ahead of me, I wanted to run and +get there; but Sabra was with us, and we couldn’t hurry. I ran a few +steps, excitedly snapping my fingers; then I would buck and wait. So we +proceeded down towards the old broken-down wharf. As we came nearer and +nearer, though not yet near enough to see the white hull of her, the +beautiful, stately topmasts and lower masts became clearer and clearer, +and at last I could see the rope ladder--the shrouds and ratlines +that I might be going up in. And, at the idea of climbing into those +spider webs, I was so thrilled that I was almost dizzy, and knew hardly +anything. + +We came up and up alongside her, till we were right beneath her +bulwarks, and saw over us her stately bowsprit, with the jibboom and +flying jibboom. I was thrilled to realize that I had already begun to +recognize things. I recognized that small vertical spar projecting +downward from the jibboom which is called the “dolphin striker.” This +was one of the many things I had learned from that diagram under the +word _ship_. + +They were busy discharging her cargo of lumber; the deck load was +making good progress. There were three carts on the wharf alongside +her, on to which they were loading it. The captain was sitting on the +edge of the deckhouse superintending the work, which was going on very +briskly. We hailed him: “May we come aboard?” + +♦ _Initiation_ ♦ + +“Why, I gesso,” he replied. “What you want?” + +“Oh, we’re just landlubbers who want to see your ship.” + +“Well, come ahead,” he said. + +So we scrambled over the lumber carts, the whole Follett family, +still under full sail and laughing heartily. I was the first upon the +bulwarks amidships, and I jumped down and landed with a thump upon the +deck load. (Quite a long jump it seemed to me then, but before long I +jumped from the bulwarks on to the empty deck without thinking anything +of it.) + +I spoke to the captain first of all, but very vaguely and dreamily, +gazing about me--fascinated, enraptured, all the time. I looked at the +long, huge booms, with the sails frapped closely round them; at the +great, splendid masts; at the many ropes descending over blocks and +made fast on belaying pins along the side of the boat; at the double +and triple sheet-blocks; and, above all, at the ratlines and shrouds, +into which I longed to go up. The next minute I had jumped upon the +spanker boom and crawled along to the very end, hanging slightly over +the water, where I supported myself by one of the wire lifts. + +“Oh,” said the captain, “I see you’re a girl as likes to climb around.” + +And that was true: for really I liked to climb around even better +than I dared admit at first. I climbed many times upon the top of +the deckhouse and on to the spanker boom, I walked stealthily and +cautiously along the bulwarks, I talked a bit with two of the sailors +who were waiting for one of the carts before they began loading again; +I laid my hand longingly upon the shrouds. But, though I had plenty of +courage, and a lot left over, to climb, I had not quite the courage +to ask permission, since I felt sure that I should not be allowed. At +last, after I had explored around a bit, after I had taken hold of the +vast, hand-worn spokes of the wheel, after I had examined the compass +in the binnacle--I went up to the captain and said: “I don’t suppose +you would let me go up into the rigging, would you?” + +“Sure!” he replied, “only stick to the ladder, see? Don’t go off the +rope ladder--and hold on tight.” + +“Oh, don’t worry,” I answered. “I most likely shan’t get up very far.” +And I ran to the starboard mizzen rigging. + +♦ _From the Crosstrees_ ♦ + +There Mother accosted me: “Oh, don’t go up there! You scare me +to death.” I overlooked her entirely, and laid my hand upon the +shrouds. Upon the shrouds! I felt a little thrill go through my hand. +Next minute I was over the taffrail. “You don’t dare, do you?” she +continued. “Watch me and see,” I replied. Then I pulled up on to the +ratlines. The emotions and sensations of that moment are indescribable. +I was starting my career as a sailor. I was already in the rigging, +and I hadn’t been on the ship for more than twenty minutes! And only +yesterday, before that talk with my old sailor friend, it was a +far-away dream, pretty nearly impossible to accomplish. Things had +shaken about strangely. I was in the rigging! Up and up I went, hand +over hand. I could have gone much faster without a quiver, but I was +so taken by it that I went slowly. I felt the rigging sway beneath +my weight. Fascinating! The shrouds were getting closer and closer +together, and the ratlines, therefore, shorter and shorter. I was a +few steps below the crosstrees, I never believed, never in this world, +that I should be able to go more than halfway up. Yet up I went, and +the ratlines were so very short that I could just wedge my feet between +them. Next moment I had reached out an arm, put it over the crosstrees, +braced my foot on the iron futtock shrouds, and pulled myself up. There +I was, _sitting on the crosstrees_, one foot braced upon the futtock +shrouds, the other foot dangling in mid-air, sixty-five feet above the +deck. + +The deck down there looked about six inches long, and the busy crew +about the size of ants, yet very clear and sharp. I had never dreamed +of being so close to the truck. There was the slender tip of the +mizzen-mast hardly twenty feet above me. There I was, sitting on the +crosstrees. I thought of many and curious things. It was here that Jim +Hawkins had sat, in his terrified flight from Israel Hands. Here I was, +and I could imagine an Israel, wounded, dirk in teeth, climbing after +me. I stood up on the crosstrees, and, looking out to sea, I found +that I could see very far and clearly. A few little harbor boats were +cruising about. Yes, the deck was certainly not more than six inches +long. But I found, to my intense delight, that I could look down upon +it without a tremor. My head is built for height. I have a sailor +heart, and a sailor head, thought I. Now, if only I were sure that I +had a sailor stomach, everything would be perfect. + +It is very alarming to get from the crosstrees on to the ratlines +again. It is necessary to hang over space for a moment, until you can +get your feet on the rigging. But it did not bother me. I lowered +myself by the strength of my forearms, took the futtocks with my hands, +and dropped my feet on to the ratlines. Then I came down, feeling, +Alan, a good deal more like a real pirate than I had ever felt before. + +The captain complimented me gravely, saying: “I couldn’t go up as far +as that,” and telling me that I had a good head. + + * * * * * + +♦ _The Ancient Mariner_ ♦ + +That was about the end of the first day’s climbing. Right now I +forget whether I went up again or not, but the first time was the +most thrilling, anyway. I talked for a while with two of the sailors; +then the captain took us about the ship, showing us the galley, the +fo’c’sle, the engine-room, the after cabin. The latter is a very ample, +seemingly luxurious place: two moderately large rooms, one used for +dining room, which has a massive table hooked up to the wall to prevent +its rolling about; the rest of it divided into five small compartments, +each containing a bunk. Of these the captain, mate, bo’s’n, and cook +had four, and the other was a spare bunk. In the fo’c’sle there +are bunks for four, but there were only three men there, then. On +asking one of the men if that wasn’t quite a small crew to handle the +schooner, they answered very definitely in the negative. + +The captain is a most delightful old fellow, a true sea captain. He +will talk for hours at a time. I think he can say as many words in an +hour as another man in a day. He told us about various experiences of +his in his many schooners--storms, losing deck loads, and so on. He +says: + +“I’m not boasting, but, folks, I’ve never lost a ship in my life, and +only one deck load. Now, that’s a good record for a man that’s been at +sea forty year. An’ I’ll tell you, folks, how I lost that deck load. It +was in that gale we had last October--on a Friday, I think ’twas--an’ +part of the port taffrail got carried away--see there, folks, where you +can see that new paint? Well, that’s the piece as got carried away, and +I see we had to lose that load. So we give it a little start, and, I +tell you, folks, it wasn’t very hard. All we had to do was give it a +little start, and off it went. I had it all insured, folks, and I guess +the boys would have been glad enough to have the whole lot go, hold and +all! Ha! Ha! Ha!” (It was the same gale that carried down one of the +oak trees in the woods near us.) + +He evidently liked to boast about his early days at sea. One tale he +told which particularly took my fancy: “When I was a greenhorn, I got +the hang of a sailor’s job pretty quick. I was a smart lad at the +helm. The cap’n was particklarly pleased with me. I was proud, I tell +you, folks, one time when we was havin’ some rough weather. Another +greenhorn that put out to sea with me went up aft to take his trick, +but he couldn’t manage it at all--the waves come breaking over the +ship, and the cap’n saw he didn’t know the ropes at all. Well, I’d jist +had my two hours; I was all through and gone up forrard, but when the +cap’n see this lad didn’t know nothing, he called me aft agin, and gave +me the helm fer another trick. Well, I was proud, I tell you!” + +♦ _Heard and Seen on Deck_ ♦ + +So he rattled on, tale after tale. He was telling us about the schooner +he was in command of before the _Norman D._ “She was a sweet schooner, +folks,” he said; “she would do anything but talk, and she tried hard +enough to do that.” + +For the matter of that, I have said little enough about the _Norman D._ +herself. She is a 390-ton schooner. The captain said she used to be +425, but she was cut down, because on a schooner of more than 400 tons, +there has to be a certified mate--a mate who has passed examinations +and has a license or something of the kind to indicate that he is a +competent officer. Nowadays there is so little sailing, and the terms +of enlistment are so short, and the men are so unsteady, sailing a few +months and then going off ashore somewhere, that they don’t get enough +training to become certified mates. Therefore mates are very hard to +get. So the schooner was cut down. (An ordinary man would have told all +that in about three minutes and three quarters, but not so the captain. +He told it inside and out, backwards and forwards, two or three times, +and we never heard the last of that certified mate.) She has masts of +about ninety feet; very fine trees they were once. Her booms are huge, +especially the spanker, which is almost as large around as the part +of the mast just below the crosstrees. Her jibboom is very long and +straight, for she carries an outer jib--jib, flying jib, and outer jib. +She is all painted white, with a narrow stripe of red about three feet +below the bulwarks, and a little red painted ornament on the top of +the cutwater. Her hull seemed to me to be of a beautiful shape--but it +was beautiful enough to see a wooden hull at all, these days. + +The captain explained to me a great many things about a sailing vessel, +and I went home with a much clearer idea of things. He told me all +the names of the sails, showed me the gaffs, which I had never quite +understood, and told me which sails were usually taken in first in a +wind, and which were first hoisted. Like Jim Hawkins when he found Long +John Silver, I began to realize that _here_ was a _shipmate_! If I +could live with Captain Avery for a while, I did not doubt but that I +should really know something. + + * * * * * + +♦ _Sunday Obstacles_ ♦ + +There could be only three or four different results to all this. So +far, the result was that we invited the captain out to dinner the next +Sunday, and arranged to have the Bryans come over “to meet a real old +sea captain.” Accordingly, Sunday morning about half-past ten (five +bells), I set out alone for the schooner. Again I had the pleasure of +seeing her proud and noble topmasts against the sky, but this time +I could go tearing at full speed down Brewery Street. Yet I was not +so hasty but that I stopped to think a minute. It was Sunday. Very +likely the crew would be ashore: suppose there were no one aboard the +schooner--no one to let me aboard? Then I should have to go prowling +about alone, without permission, sneaking down into the cabin to search +out the captain, and I might be suddenly challenged and questioned +by one of the sailors. Also it would look rather curious, to anyone +ashore, to see me going over the ship’s side without permission. I +might be in some embarrassing situations before the end of the morning! +I confess that I was a little worried, and I stopped tearing along, and +walked quietly and decently down the street. + +The gate to the wharf was closed, and at that time I didn’t know about +a certain little side gate, always possible to open by hand. Here was +my first barrier. I determined, however, to get to the ship anyway; and +I pulled lightly over the fence and dropped down upon a heap of coal. +Then I started around it. But I was looking down, walking rather fast, +and before I saw what I was doing I had brought up short against the +bow hawser of the schooner. I was a bit stunned, for the rope was heavy +and very taut. I ducked under it and found my way to the side of the +schooner. + +At first it looked as though the worst of my suspicions were too true. +There was not a sign of a soul upon the decks. The whole ship was +as still as night. I didn’t even hear any voices from the cabin or +fo’c’sle. But I determined to stick it out until I knew. The silence +was positively terrifying. I could only judge that the captain had gone +off to Boston (as he had warned us he might), and that all the rest of +the crew were ashore. Yet, I thought, someone ought to be aboard; the +ship wouldn’t be likely to be left all alone. With this in my mind, I +raised a small hail--“Yoo-hoo!”--and, to my delight, someone appeared +in the door of the fo’c’sle. Two or three others were behind him, +looking curious and rather startled. + +I put a very bold and saucy face upon the matter. “Look here,” said I, +“I’m the kid who was here a couple o’ days ago, and the captain was +coming out to lunch with us today, so I came down to get him. Is he +aboard?” + +There were many answers to this question. “The captain’s ashore.” “I +think he’s gone to Boston.” “No, no,” from the cook, “the captain’s +aft. He ain’t gone to Boston.” + +I thought I had better cover up the toploftiness with which I had +started, and I was very pleasant and friendly for a bit. Then I said: +“May I go aft and find the captain?” “Yes, indeed,” they returned. +Meanwhile I had slipped rather sure-footedly from the edge of the wharf +to the top of the bulwarks, and leaped down upon the deck. (By this +time the deck load of lumber was gone.) I found my way down into the +cabin. + +♦ _Forty Winks_ ♦ + +Then came the most exciting thing of all, my hunt for Captain Avery. +He was not in the dining room or in the other part of the after cabin, +where there were a desk and a barometer, a couch and a few chairs. +Then I began ransacking the various sleeping compartments--for I did +not remember which the captain had said was his. I found him in the +second, lying down, fast asleep, his white hair falling over his face, +his cheeks rosy, and part of his Sunday clothes on. I waited ten full +minutes, I am sure, to see if he wouldn’t wake up of his own accord; +for if there is anything I detest, it is waking up sleeping persons. +At last I said very softly: “Captain Avery!” No answer. Then I tapped +gently on the open door, and said again: “Captain Avery!” He woke as +though eight bells had struck, or as though the bo’s’n had suddenly +called “All hands on deck!” And, believe me, there was no yawning or +coughing or blinking or rubbing. He was wide awake in a flash--which +shows what a sailor he is. He recognized me immediately with a smile. +“Well, I guess I dozed off all right. I took it into my head to read, +’n’ so I got out my Bible and read a chapter or two. ’N’ then I began +to feel sleepy, ’n’ I jist dozed off.” Then he was up and putting the +finishing touches to his Sunday dress. I was rather sorry, though, to +see the old fellow dressed up. It didn’t look right to see him in a +stiff collar and a clean white shirt. + +He fell to talking immediately, about this and that and the other and +why he didn’t go to Boston and what the crew was doing and what they +wanted to do and what they usually did on Sunday and how they went +cruising around and how soon he thought the cargo would be discharged +and how long he thought the schooner would be in port--everything all +in a jumble, with no commas, just as I have written it. Then he told +about his home town, Moncton, Nova Scotia, and the various railway +routes and harbors. Also he began to tell what he had done in New +Haven, and what a pretty town it was, and how glad he was to have a +chance to see more of it, and was I sure about the trolley car routes? +and did I have plenty of car-fare? and how far out did we live? and +what building was this, and that, and the other? and so on, and so +forth, and so following. Then he fell to about ships and schooners; +and that I was really glad of, and began to pay more attention. And he +began yarning about storms and gales, and furling the sails hastily, +and coming through dangerous shoals and shallows under bare poles, +until I thought that I had never met such an interesting old codger. + +♦ _Monological_ ♦ + +By this time we were in the Whitney Avenue trolley car. The captain was +much impressed by the stately elms. They led to a general discussion +of all the various trees in all the various parts of the world, +especially Nova Scotia. But really the business part of the town was +the most interesting to him, and, as I said, he kept asking me about +this building and that one till I thought I had never had such a drill +on my own home town. All the way up Armory Street he ran on, in a +monotone which it often became difficult for me to understand. When we +got home I dumped him into a rocking-chair, feeling quite stunned with +all the talk I had heard. I was willing to have the air more silent +around me, and so I was rather glad when he picked up a newspaper and +began to scan it. I never heard anyone so entertaining when reading +to himself. He would read the headlines aloud, then the articles to +himself, making audible or inaudible comments now and then. And after +he had finished he would say: “Hm! And a hard enough time they’ll have +of it, too!” or the like incomprehensible ejaculation. + +All day Sunday he talked in the same way, pouring forth streams of +conversation concerning everything under the sun. Of course I liked his +ship talk the best, but, since that was second nature to him, he seemed +to prefer talking of other things. Late in the afternoon we all went +down to take him back to the schooner, and to show her to the Bryans. + + * * * * * + +I have never managed to go down there without having thrills run +through and through me at the sight of the _Norman D._--her long and +graceful jibboom, the sharpness of her white cutwater, her mazes of +rigging, ratlines, blocks; even the very idea of her--of a schooner, +a real schooner, a large vessel under sails--thrilled me. The bo’s’n +brought a ladder when he saw the captain coming, and aboard we all +went. By this time I had got to feel very much at home on the ship. I +wanted to feel at home on her; I loved to, because I felt more than +ever like a sailor. I grew, of course, steadily more daring, and now +I walked right along the bulwarks without a quiver. The first thing I +did when I got aboard was to scramble up the rigging again. Oh, how +I loved that rigging! How I loved to grip the shrouds tight, to feel +myself going up hand over hand over hand! How I loved the quivering, +the shaking, which my weight gave to it! And how I was thrilled, how I +was always thrilled, to find myself sitting on the crosstrees! + +♦ _A New Acquaintance_ ♦ + +One thing, however, I had not hitherto dared to venture upon--the +topsail ratlines. Just above the crosstrees are five or six more frail +rope steps, not nearly so steady and strong as the main part of the +rigging. These steps are used when the sailors are aloft working at +the topsails. Somehow they looked too frail and shaky for me. I didn’t +quite dare begin climbing _them_, especially when I was starting more +than sixty feet above the deck. But I stood out on the crosstrees, and +I put my hand to my forehead, and I looked out to sea--feeling a good +deal like the lookout man on the fo’c’sle deck. + +By this time they had entirely moved the deck load and were working on +the hold (though, of course, not on that day), and so the boom of the +mainsail had been belayed to the port side of the schooner, to make +room for hoisting out the cargo. Now it was loose, and I had a lot of +fun pushing it back and forth. Then I scrambled up on to it--and quite +a job that was, too--and Daddy pushed it back and forth, until it swung +almost out over the water, bringing up hard on the sheet. Afterwards I +learned to get up on the boom in one pull of my arms, by means of the +downhaul, but of course the sails weren’t hoisted then. + +That evening we became acquainted with the mate. He is a very nice +fellow. Evidently he had been ashore, for he had on his shore togs. +We went up forward on the fo’c’sle deck and had a long talk with +him. I happened to hint something about the jibboom. I longed to +go out on it, but I didn’t quite dare to. I hadn’t quite got my +sailor-familiarity-with-the-ropes on yet. But the mate immediately +started to go out on the bowsprit. “See,” said he, “this is a nice, +easy little walk out here”--as he went along a shelf of the bowsprit +no more than three inches wide, holding on by a wire rope. “See, you +just be careful to hold on to this rope--you must be careful to not +grab anything that’ll let you down.” Then he reached the jibboom, and +stepped down on to the footropes. “But these footropes are a good long +stretch for a youngster,” said he. “I tell you, this is a nasty place +in bad weather; it certainly is. Imagine how it would be with waves +running high, and washing up over you when you are out on there!” Then +he told us how once he had managed to fall off the jibboom when a high +sea was running, but, happily, had caught by his armpits among the +bowsprit rigging and climbed up on again. I surely believed him: I had +never known anything, even the topsail ratlines, look more insecure +than those footropes. They jerked back and forth, and at every step +they sagged ’way down. But I determined to be sailorly, and, though I +didn’t go out that evening, I secretly resolved that some day I should +surprise everyone by going out on those frail, jogging footropes, +where, if I should fall off, I should probably stick fast in nice, oozy +harbor mud. + + * * * * * + +♦ _Wanting the Moon_ ♦ + +How that schooner haunted me! I was like a caged lion all day, and at +night I dreamed that I was sailing off, back to Nova Scotia, with +her. The days were drawing on. She would be going in about two weeks. +I should see her no more. Perhaps I should _never_ see her again, for +Captain Avery has no regular schedule, and he goes into New Haven very +rarely. Yes, perhaps I should never see her again. And there would +end my brilliantly begun sailor career. Again I should have to resort +to the stenching fishing schooners around Boston. The best I could +possibly hope for, thought I, would be to go out on the tug which would +tow her out of the harbor. Then I could at least see her hoist her +sails and sail and roll away. How lonely I should be! I was afraid of +the thought. In my imagination I could see her casting her towrope, +her sails filling with a fresh breeze, already her cutwater making +wings of foam reach out along her sides. I should see her dwindle to a +snow-sailed fairy ship in the distance; then she would be a microscopic +speck on the horizon. Oh, but that was to die by inches, thought I. I +think I could never have borne it. + +“Oh! don’t you wish we could go with her when she sails?” said I to +Daddy, who was fascinated by her, as I was. + +“Why yes, of course I do,” said he. “But we can’t--so there’s no use in +talking about it.” + +No, there was certainly no use in talking about it. The impossible +cannot be accomplished. But the schooner continued to haunt me. + +And so Mother and I escaped from the house and went down to see the +schooner again. This proved to be one of the most thrilling visits of +all. When we got aboard, the mate was sitting on top of the deckhouse +piecing the great outer jib. That sail had been ripped in a gale, and +they had taken it off the jibboom to mend it. The mate had a huge +rope-needle, and he wore a regular sailmaker’s thimble, which is a +small metal disk set in a leather strap worn around the wrist. He was +putting in a strip of new canvas, which looked very clean and white in +contrast to the other. We had a little talk; then I played about the +ship as usual, climbing along her bulwarks--in fact, literally skipping +and running along her bulwarks, to Mother’s terror. Then, after I had +climbed up to the crosstrees two or three times, always looking rather +longingly at the topsail ratlines, Captain Avery asked us if we would +like to eat supper with him, aft, at four bells (six o’clock). Mother +called me down from some high perch and asked me. Would I eat a meal on +a real ship? Would I indeed! + +♦ _Nautical Fare_ ♦ + +So down we went, into the room where the massive table was hooked up +to the wall. Before that I had become well acquainted with the cook, a +delightful old man who told us he was up in the seventies somewhere. +(You may believe it or not, but his name was Oscar Follett.) He was, +or at least had been, the best sailor aboard; he had served in real +square-riggers, and knew a great deal about them. I called him +“matey,” and we had a grand time together. Once I had asked him if +he wouldn’t like me to go with him back to Nova Scotia. I told him +I would wash dishes for him. He replied: “Yes, you could help me a +lot.” For the matter of that, I had even asked the captain--in joke, +of course--if _he_ wouldn’t like me to sail back with him, and I had +told him too that I was willing to wash dishes to earn my passage. +Said he: “You wouldn’t have to wash dishes to go with me!” The cook +is very amusing. Right off, then, I had a feeling--a doubtful, vague +feeling--that all was not quite right between the cook and the skipper. +For the cook, seeing company arrive, was in the process of changing the +tablecloth, which was rather begrimed. The captain said: “Oh, don’t +bother about that, steward--that’s all right.” Then said the cook very +violently: “’Tain’t neither! ’s dirty!” And he yanked it off with one +good snatch. + +Down we sat, the three of us, to a delightful meal of cold fat ham, +boiled potatoes mixed up with corned beef and a kind of greasy gravy, +very tough ship’s bread, canned pears, and very strong black tea. It +was coarse grub--there is no denying it--yet, in the excitement of the +moment, it seemed to make everything more romantic and adventurous. I +tackled the bread with the determination of one possessed; I hardly +heard the cook spinning us a yarn. This is something to the effect of +the way he talked: + +“The only disadvantage of your comin’ along of us when we sail is ’at +ye’re powerful likely to be seasick. ‘Most everyone is seasick for a +few days. Me, when I first went to sea, I was seasick ten days, and +I lay there in me bunk, and ate nuthin’ at all--nuthin’ ’cepting a +little cold water, an’ I’d chuck that right up again. Now, the cap’n I +was sailin’ with, he was always nice to me, ’n’ he didn’t see me for +ten days, so after a while he come forrard and asked me what was the +matter. ‘What’s the matter with you, Si?’ says he. ‘Well, sir,’ says I, +‘I’m seasick. I’ve been here ten days.’ ‘Have you eaten anything, Si?’ +says he. ‘No, sir,’ says I. ‘Well, but, Si, you must eat something, or +you’ll die. You must eat something, Si. Now come, get out of your bunk, +and walk around a bit.’ So I got out of my bunk, and I was so weak that +he had to put his arm around me, or I should have fallen over. ‘Now, +Si, ain’t there anything you’d like to eat?’ ‘No, sir, nothing,’ says +I. ‘But, Si, you must eat something, or you’ll die.’ ‘No, sir, I can’t +eat anything.’ ‘Now, Si, you jist take it easy, and think if there +ain’t something I can get you to eat.’ ‘No, sir, there ain’t nuthing.’ +‘Now, Si, you jist think a minute, and see if there ain’t anything.’ +‘Well, sir,’ says I, ‘I believe I’d like a little strong cold tea, +without any sweetening in it.’ So he got up and went and fetched me my +quart mug full of tea, and I drank the last drop of it, and it stayed +down, too. ’N’ I was niver seasick again after that.” + +♦ _Strained Relations_ ♦ + +(I managed to hear that three times before seeing the last of the +steward, and each time it was longer and more complicated, with more +details.) All the time, the little old man was leaning up against +a projecting panel of the wall, with his arms crossed, glaring and +glowering and staring and scowling at the captain. He would arch up his +bald forehead, making the high wrinkles show, and his eyes would look +most keen and piercing--his old blue eyes--beneath his high forehead. +I never saw such expressions of hatred in my life; and I confess +that I was amused very much indeed. And when Captain Avery looked at +the steward to ask him for something, he, too, looked frowningly and +hatefully. But the cook was fond of me, partly because I listened to +his talk with a long ear, and partly because I had helped him, to my +own delight, setting the table and getting the supper ready. + + * * * * * + +We were through before very long, and the mate and bo’s’n came down to +take our places at the table. The most exciting part of the evening +was still to come; it was indeed. No sooner was I out on deck than I +scurried again up into the rigging. I never got so used to climbing the +rigging that I could treat it as a commonplace matter. It was always +thrilling to me, and I felt myself growing more and more a sailor. By +this time the whole crew knew that I liked to climb around and that I +was daring about it, and usually I could see one or two, especially the +old cook, looking out of the galley or the fo’c’sle, grinning up at me. +I was no longer in their world: I was at the level of the sea gulls. + +But on this trip up to the crosstrees I had a new idea in my +head--those quivery, frail topsail ratlines. They tempted me hugely. I +felt that my climbing in the rigging was very imperfect until I could +say that I had been on the topmost of those additional rope steps. +This time, when I reached the crosstrees, I didn’t pause at all. I was +afraid my idea might not work. I gripped for those shrouds right off, +and I went right up those shaky ropes. They were hard to climb, too, +because I didn’t quite dare do them from the outside, where, of course, +they would have been a great deal easier. Instead, I went up from the +inside of the rigging, so that I was climbing at a very awkward angle. +But I went on up, until I stood, quivering and shaking, on the topmost +rope. I felt as if I were adding more and more steps to my brilliant +sailor record. So I was quite proud and delighted when I came down +from the ratlines. I went and talked a moment to the cook, who had been +sitting on the starboard bulwarks amidships, watching. He immediately +said to me: “Why didn’t you go right on up to the truck?” “I see no +footropes,” said I. “Well,” said he, “you might have shinned right up.” +“Oh, I imagine I’ll come to that in time,” I answered. + +♦ _Invasion of a New Province_ ♦ + +But now I had an even more exciting idea in my mind. I went back to the +mate and told him I was going out on the bowsprit. “I’m going out as +far as I can,” I said. “I don’t know whether I’ll get any farther than +the jibboom, but I’ll get out to those footropes anyway.” + +“Well,” said he, “just be careful to hold on to that wire rope, and +you’ll be all right.” + +So I started. I crawled, step by step, out along that three-inch shelf +on the side of the bowsprit, holding fast to the indicated rope. Once +the furled jib, which was loosely a-swing amid its tackle, lumbered +outwards toward me and nearly pushed me off the bowsprit; but, happily, +I ducked under it and went on. As I walked along that shelf, I felt +that I could not possibly keep on climbing out so successfully; it was +incredible that I should be able to walk so far without any mishap. Yet +I reached the frail footropes of the jibboom in safety. Cautiously I +stepped down upon them, and they sagged deeply beneath me. From knot +to knot I edged, bracing my feet upon the cross-ropes. Without them I +could never have made my way out, because the jibboom was tipped uphill +so steeply. And at each step I felt new surprises. Why didn’t something +happen to stop me? Why didn’t I go suddenly hurtling down into the sea +so far below? Was I actually going to be allowed to reach the very end? +After a little breathless manœuvring, I did reach it--the very white +painted tip of the jibboom, which is one of the most romantic inches of +wood in the world. Holding on to the forestay, I stood up and smiled a +smile of triumph. + +Then I had one of the strangest surprises of my life. It was time for +the factory workers to be getting out, and, when I stood up and looked +over to the road, there was an audience of at least fifty people, of +all ages and sexes, leaning over the bridge and looking at me. Some of +them waved and grinned. How like a sailor I felt! Then, cautiously, +but not quite so slowly, I edged down the jibboom again, always being +careful to brace my feet on the footrope knots so that I shouldn’t +slip. When I got back I will not deny that I skipped, danced, ran, +flew, all the way down the bulwarks until I reached the taffrail, where +I leaped down. + +♦ _Breaking in a Green Hand_ ♦ + +Gradually my reputation was increasing. I was climbing rung after +rung of the ladder of sailor fame. I was so gay that I skipped about +among mate, cook, and captain, asking the names of ropes and things. +I learned quite a lot that evening. But I had more delights coming +to me: I still had great duties to perform about the deck. The mate +was running about, getting everything ready for the night. The main +gaff was hoisted, having been used to swing the main cargo up from +the hold and over the side of the ship, where the men working in the +lumber trucks had unfastened it. So the gaff had to be lowered. That +was where the main part of my work came in. I held the peak halyards; +the mate, on the other side of the ship, held something else--I could +not see what, but in all probability the throat halyards. The mate +came over and said to me: “You want to be a sailor man? See, now, hold +this rope, and let it out very slowly.” So I took the rope, and I let +it out slowly, hand over hand. Slowly the gaff came down, and I felt +an enormous weight pulling at the rope, so that sometimes it pulled +itself more quickly than I wished through my hands, burning them. Once +it almost got free from me, and I saw it whizzing along. I heard a cry +from the mate, and with a little strength I managed to stop it. There +was a small bang and the gaff came to rest. + +Then a rope had to be uncoiled from the mainsail boom, which the mate +wanted to use to make the gaff fast. We uncoiled it together, one on +each side of the boom, and pulling the rope across hand over hand--I +pulling, the mate loosening the coils. Several times I got the rope’s +end in my face with a smart little _smack!_ but that was sailorly, and +I minded it no more than the dirt. + +After that I helped the mate by carrying coils of rope which he wanted +moved, and doing other small jobs. By this time Mother was saying that +it was time to go home; so after the mate had finished his work I said +to him: “Oh, how I wish I could go along back to Nova Scotia!” and left +the schooner. + + * * * * * + +♦ _Sea Fever_ ♦ + +I don’t remember whether or not we visited the schooner any more +before a certain memorable day, only a few days before she sailed. It +was on a Saturday. I had been talking steadily about the schooner to +everyone; I had described in full detail my various accomplishments +to my old friend Mr. Rasmussen; I had thought more about the beauty +and the adventures of the _Norman D._ than I had ever thought about +anything before. And this Saturday morning, more than two weeks after +the schooner had come in, the fever which was in me for sailing +became intolerable. I shall never forget--never, though I live to be +a thousand--how I felt that morning. I strode up and down the porch, +feeling, ranting, and looking a good deal like a lion just brought in +from the jungle, caged. I was frantic--wild--unpersuadable. I said: +“You can’t keep me from it--you can’t, you can’t--I’m going to sail +with the _Norman D._ And I’m going up to the dictionary _now_ to learn +the thirty-two points of the compass by heart, so that I shall be well +prepared, and so that I shall be allowed to steer. Yes, I’m going with +the schooner!” + +“But you can’t go alone.” + +“I can! I can! I must! I shalt die if I don’t. Of course I can. Of +course! I know the captain well, and the mate, and the cook, and the +bo’s’n, too, for that matter. Oh, don’t talk to me--I’m going; I must +go!” + +“But how can you get back?” + +“Oh, Lord! I am wild, and I am crazy, but I’m not so wild that I +can’t think that out. You know the _Norman D._ is going to load up at +Bridgewater; then she sails for New York; and Daddy can meet her at New +York when she comes in. Oh, don’t try to talk to me, or keep me from +it, because you can’t. You can’t do it. No! I’m going to sail.” + +What a wretched, cruel thing _reality_ is--one of those hideous +monsters which ill-fated Pandora let out of her magic chest! + +“Now, Bar, be reasonable. You know you can’t go without someone else +to go along too, and look out for you--someone we know.” + +“But we do know the captain, and the mate, and the cook.” + +“Yes, but not intimately. Now, listen a minute, and I’ll tell you +something.” + +“Not a word, unless you give me permission to go. And if you don’t +give me permission, I’ll go without. I’ll run away, I will, and be a +stowaway aboard the _Norman D._ And, if that’s the case, what’s more, +I shan’t return home at all. I shan’t come back to New York. I’ll stay +aboard her all the time. Indeed I will! And I’ll live the life I’m made +to live.--Oh, if I were only sure I had a sailor stomach!” + +“That’s right, too: you’ll certainly be seasick.” + +“What do I care? Do you think you can break me of my desire to sail +just by telling me I’ll get seasick? To be sure I’ll be seasick. And, +what’s more, I’ll get over it, too. Now, may I go, or must I go without +leave?” + +“Now, listen again. You can go if you get someone to go with you. And +if you can’t get someone to go with you, you just cannot go with the +schooner, that’s all. That’s definite--you cannot sail with her unless +someone goes with you. But you can go out on the tug to see her set +sail--” + +“Oh! I could never stand to see her sail away without me.” + +♦ _Argumentative_ ♦ + +“And you can go with her some other trip--perhaps on her next trip--” + +“But she has no schedule, and she only comes into New Haven very +rarely.” + +“No matter. Perhaps you can sail with her from New York the next time +she comes in there.” + +“But by that time I may not want to sail any more.” + +“Well, that’s absolutely the best that can be done. If you can get +someone to go with you, you may sail; if not, no.” + +“And so now I’m going to learn the points of the compass.” + +“But wait! Not so fast! Supposing you can’t get anyone to go?” + +“Why, then I’ll go alone, and heaven help me!” + +“No, you won’t go alone.” + +“Well, I’m going to learn the points of the compass, anyway, because it +may take me a long time to learn them all--and I shan’t mind knowing +them anyway, whether I go or not. But I’m going! I’m sure of it. +Something tells me so.” + + * * * * * + +So I fled upstairs to the dictionary and looked up the points of +the compass. After about fifteen minutes of hard studying, I could +stand off from the dictionary and repeat them all, slowly and +rather hesitatingly, from north clean round to north again. In five +more minutes I could say them off quite smoothly, and before I got +downstairs I could run them off pretty fast--though I still had to +think hard about them. Now I can reel them off as fast as the names +of the sails of a square-rigger. They are nothing but second nature +to me. All the morning ran through my head: “North, north by east, +north-northeast, northeast by north, northeast, northeast by east, +east-northeast, east by north, east. ...” (You have no idea how much +harder that is to write than it is to say.) + +When I appeared downstairs, the family stared at me as though I had +gone absolutely cuckoo. In fact, by this time I had not the slightest +doubt that I had. I immediately confronted them with “North, north by +east,” and the rest of it. Then I said: “Now whom do you suggest?” + +“For what? To go with you?” + +“Ay, ay! What else should I mean? For what else can anyone possibly +serve?” + +“Bar, are you serious? Is it true that you really want to go so badly +as all this, or is it just one of your jokes?” + +♦ _Free Fantasia_ ♦ + +“Lord! Do I joke? Can’t you tell that I am serious? What? Have you +never seen me serious before? Or possibly you haven’t. Anyhow, don’t +you know when I’m serious, and when I’m not?” + +And through me flowed a stream of the most marvellous sea dreams I +have ever known. I thought of having the high white sails puffing with +wind over my head. I thought of a great ship leaning over, I thought +of pirates, buried treasure, mystic isles. I thought of the delight +of sailing, not to New York or Boston, but to Nova Scotia--a strange +country, new to me. I thought of the companionship I might develop +with the crew. I thought of the storms, gales, perhaps even typhoons, +I might encounter. I thought of the stories I should have to tell +when I came back, swinging to and fro in my sailor walk, sunburned, +brawny, knowing everything about the ropes which looked as numerous to +my inexperienced eyes as sea shells on the seashore. I thought of how +strange it was that, only two weeks ago, I had considered the whole +thing well-nigh an impossible dream, and of how, now, here I was on the +point--perhaps--of sailing myself. + + * * * * * + +To be reasonably brief with the matter, there was a whole lot more +talk, but eventually it was decided that, if I could get G. S. Bryan +to go as my shipmate on this adventure, the chances were all in +favor of my going--that is, if Captain Avery assented. Otherwise the +chances were distinctly unfavorable. And so, after a lot of complicated +long-distance telephoning, I communicated the idea to the Bryans and +got them to come over Sunday (the next day) to talk it over with us and +with Captain Avery. + +Of course, I spent most of my time skipping wildly around the house, +shouting out “North, north by east ...” and other ship words. Also, +I spent a good deal of time with my face buried in the dictionary, +learning new words and names, so that I should not be landlubberly +when I went off sailing in that schooner. Off sailing--think of it! My +dreams realized so soon--so soon! + +♦ _The Art of Digression_ ♦ + +Well--and this is leaving out a great, great many details--the Bryans +did come over on Sunday, and we all went down to assault Captain Avery. +The old skipper was most entertaining that day. He spread out all his +charts on the dining room table and showed us his various passages, +and by which way he would go up to Nova Scotia, and which way he had +come on _all_ of his previous trips; and, of course, that involved +us in listening to a great many tales of all kinds, I really thought +the man was powerless to stop talking. He spread out chart after +chart, and explained them all to us--all the various things which the +mysterious little signs indicate. This was a whistling buoy, that +a bell buoy--and so on, absolutely endlessly. (Charts are certainly +fascinating. They show the stretches of sea all marked and written +up, even more than a land map shows the land. They show soundings +everywhere, marks for buoys, lighthouses, and the rest, and also +signs which indicate what kind of bottom you are sailing over. As for +the land, it is simply blank, just as the sea is in land maps--blank +except for a few of the important shore towns.) Then, after they had +been rolled up and put away, he fell to telling tales once more. He +came into a description of rough weather; and that evidently reminded +him to show off his trick furniture, for he immediately put his hand +beneath the table and pushed a shutter of some kind, and instantly +little racks, crisscrossing each other and running all around the edge, +shot up two or three inches above the rest of the table. “It’s a very +primitive arrangement, folks, but it certainly does come in handy in +rough weather.” + +He pointed to a hook on the wall of the cabin just beside his desk, +to which was attached a long string with an empty ink-bottle hanging +at the end of it. “Now, folks,” said he, “do ye knaow why I hung that +up there? Well, I’ll tell you. You look very carefully and see ’f you +can tell which way the schooner is listing.” We all studied the empty +ink-bottle for some time in silence. At last Daddy said: “It strikes +me she lists to port a little.” “That’s right, folks; she lists just +a leetle bit to port. Yes, I allus did have an idea that she listed a +little.” + +He described everything in absolute detail. He would tell us exactly +what sails he took in or let out during such and such a trip; also +exactly how many reefs he took in this sail or that during this or that +kind of weather. And some of his pronunciations were delightful. He +was continually saying: “Ye knaow, folks ...” and he always pronounced +“route” as “rout.” + +♦ _The Reward of Persistence_ ♦ + +We fell to giving little hints about our going on the trip back with +him. But he was rather obstinate, and persisted in his own material. +Some of the hints he would take, and then slyly pass them over, +with “Oh, yes, I guess that girl would like to go along with us! I +wouldn’t mind taking her either, if she had another girl friend to go +along with her.” This seemed to suggest something like accordance, +and we redoubled our efforts. But he persisted gently in his “girl +friend” idea, and wouldn’t take the most obvious hints. At last we all +withdrew from the schooner, except Daddy, who stayed behind, talking. +We considered ourselves vanquished in our hopes, and there were some +pretty gloomy moments. But Daddy shortly afterwards came tearing out on +to the wharf, looking very excited about something or other. “Now you,” +he said, “you’re going to go down to the schooner on Tuesday morning, +to find out when she sails. And then you telephone your shipmate here, +and tell him when; and then the two of you pile aboard and away to Nova +Scotia. And I think I make out that it would relieve Captain Avery of +considerable embarrassment if you would take along some blankets.” + +My head was in a whirl, being mixed up with the captain’s indifference +to hints and Daddy’s explosion of the welcome which the captain had +apparently given to the situation when it had been placed before him +directly. But the delight that possessed me! I was really going to +sail! Yes, in spite of all obstacles, I was going to sail. And not long +before that I had thought of sailing only as a vague dream far off in +the future; and not long before that I was only beginning to know a few +of the simplest things about ships, which were all vague and romantic +and fairy-like to me; and not very long before that I didn’t know the +slightest thing about sails of any kind, and, not knowing, had not +cared. But now! Something had suddenly started to open up to me, like a +great window overlooking ships and the sea. + +And I could not help a few doubts crossing my mind. It was really a bit +too good to be true, and I was inclined to disbelieve it a little. For +my superstition warned me that something would turn up to keep me from +sailing--that an accident might occur aboard, or an accident at home, +or an accident that would prevent my shipmate from accompanying me. +And, after all, it _was_ too good to be true. + + * * * * * + +♦ _Anticipatory_ ♦ + +Yet nothing did occur. The few days flowed on smoothly. On Tuesday +morning, as had been previously arranged, Mother and I went down to see +Captain Avery and find out when he “calculated on” sailing. We walked +down Brewery Street in a drizzling rain, and just before reaching +the wharf we encountered the skipper himself, walking up the street +to town, with a huge umbrella over his head. We consulted with him, +standing there in the rain, for a few minutes. He told us to be aboard +the schooner by four bells (six o’clock) that afternoon; he told us +to bring blankets, and also any small snacks, such as crackers or +fruits, which we might want for luxuries, in case we were seasick. It +seemed almost certain that I should go. I didn’t see anything standing +in the way. Again the romance, the adventure, the piraticalness of +it overwhelmed me, and I could not believe my senses. We walked down +close to the wharf gate and stood there for a short time, watching them +discharge the lath from the bottom of the hold. They were using the +main gaff as a crane. They would swing it over the hold, tie several +bundles of the lath on to a rope from the end of it, and then swing +it out over the lumber carts, where the teamsters would unfasten the +bundles. They were working the gaff, of course, by the machinery in +the engine-room. I was thinking about the next day, and of being towed +out into the open sea; I hardly saw the crew toiling away in the rain, +hardly heard the steady drone of the engine. + +To my delight, who should be riding back in the same trolley but my old +friend Mr. Rasmussen? I fell immediately to telling him all about it. +“Well,” said I, “the captain says for all hands to be aboard by four +bells this afternoon.” + +“So!” said he. “And you--are you all ready? Have you got your oilskins, +sea boots, sou’wester?” + +“Well, no. You see, I haven’t had very much time to get ready. I only +decided a few days ago that I would sail with the schooner.” + +“Why, what kind of a sailor are you?” said he. + +“You see, mate,” I replied, “I haven’t yet decided whether I shall +enlist as a regular member of the crew. I’m still only a passenger.” + +We talked some more, about his own sloop, and what the chances were of +my having a sail in her sometime. He told us all about her--how he had +bought her, and how he had taken her all apart to find out what she +was made of and whether she were really seaworthy, and how he repaired +her here and there until she was as snug and tight as he could wish, +and how now he was not afraid of any weather for her, knowing her to be +as strongly made and ship-shape as a sailor’s heart could desire. + +We telephoned, and the Bryans agreed to be over at two bells, so as to +have a good margin left over. The day seemed horribly long, I was so +wild and excited. After lunch I went to the most tipsy rocking-chair in +the house and rocked, and rocked, and rocked--so that I should be ready +for a little rolling after meals. I didn’t honestly think I should be +seasick--but I am a very suggestible sort of person. + +There was something darksome and fearful in the air--and, in spite of +my common sense, I could not help a vague misgiving. I found myself +repeating hotly: “I’m going! Of course I’m going! There is nothing to +prevent it.” + + * * * * * + +♦ _Anxious Moments_ ♦ + +In the early part of the afternoon the telephone rang. I jumped like +a madman for it. It was Captain Avery’s familiar croaking voice, and +I was so startled that my heart sank down into the toes of my boots. +He was pleasant, even though he didn’t sound as if he were accustomed +to telephoning. All he wanted was to know my address and that of my +shipmate; evidently he had to register us. + +I was indescribably relieved. But the telephone rang again a very +few minutes afterward. Again I sprang for it, and again I could feel +my heart running downstairs. Again it was Captain Avery. But this +time his voice seemed to denote trouble. “Barbara,” he said, “do you +realize that you will have to have some identification to go into +Canada--something to show that you’re an American citizen? You’re +likely to be held up at Boston, coming back, as an immigrant.” + +“But--but--what sort of identification must I have, Captain Avery?” + +“Just a minute.” (Pause.) “I think a letter from your father would do, +Barbara.” + +“Hold the line, please, Captain Avery.” I was absolutely terrified, +now, and I was about to call for help, when another person took up the +line and said, in a pleasant, expressionless voice, “Is your father or +mother there?” + +“Just a minute,” I said again--and, at the same time, I heard the +voice of Mother answering on the telephone downstairs. For that I +was grateful--so grateful! My heart was still going like a perfect +sledge hammer, but I had to pick up the upstairs receiver and +listen. This is what I heard (or something to this effect, for my +brain had gone absolutely crazy, and my senses had forsaken me. I +found myself saying: “You fool! Didn’t you know all the time that you +couldn’t--couldn’t--couldn’t go on this trip? Didn’t you know that +something would come up? You mean to say you didn’t know that it was +far too good for yourself?”). + +“Do you realize,” said the pleasant, expressionless voice, “that an +adult male is taking a minor female into a foreign country?” + +“Well,” said Mother, characteristically, “I hadn’t thought of it in +just that way, but, now you speak of it, those do seem to be the facts.” + +But I could listen no more. I couldn’t listen--it was like hearkening +to my own doom, and I put down the receiver. I afterwards found out +that the rest of the talk was simply on the necessity of identification +of some kind, and what kind, and the need of going to a lawyer about +it, and so on. And here it was, the afternoon I was supposed to sail; +undoubtedly the Bryans were now on their way; and it looked pretty +black and desperate. + +Mother came dashing upstairs and assaulted me: “This is very serious, +Bar. It looks as if you mightn’t be able to go, after all. We have to +go down-town to see a lawyer, and we may not be able to get through in +time.” + +♦ _Calamity Threatens_ ♦ + +We bustled into good clothes and bustled at full speed down-town, +through the same sort of drizzling, melancholy rain that we had +had earlier in the day. Even the rain and the dull greyness of the +day seemed to predict no good. Yes, everything was going wrong +now--everything which, up to half an hour ago, had been going +right. What a difference a telephone call may make! It might make, +in this case, the difference between a week of the most piratical, +adventuresome, glorious days that I had ever known, and a week of +gloomy days at home, lamenting the marvellous chance which I had lost +through carelessness, and through not having a wider margin of time +left over. I was prepared for the blackest. But my piratical fancies +did not forsake me altogether, and I dreamed of how delightful it +would be if I could leave home suddenly--snooping out, and flying down +the street; down to the _Norman D._ Then I should tell my friend the +mate all the trouble, and I was sure he would sympathize, and allow +me to stay aboard until she sailed back to New York. There he would +smuggle me ashore as a bundle of old clothes, and Daddy would pick me +up. Everything would go in a mysterious, piratical fashion. It seems +strange, but none of us had ever thought of Canada as a foreign country. + + * * * * * + +♦ _Subscribed and Sworn to_ ♦ + +And now I was to be put to the trial of facing one of those formidable +persons called lawyers. But the hope of going even now put courage into +my heart, and I strode eagerly. We went into Mr. Holbrook’s high office +feeling very queer indeed. In that place I looked for no surprise; but +one exciting thing did happen. When I went desperately over to the +window to get a little light, if not air, while Mother was stating, in +her most pitiful tones, the entire case, I saw, over tier after tier +of roofs and high buildings, the blue water of the bay, and, looking +like a child’s toy dock, the old, broken wharf, and, lying alongside +it, like a child’s toy ship, the _Norman D._, mirrored in the calm +water, white, noble, with her beautiful tall masts towering up against +the sky. While Mr. Holbrook was in some of his most solemn moments +of discussion, I shrieked out: “Oh, look! There’s the schooner now! +See, down there by that tiny little wharf. That’s the _Norman D._ See? +Isn’t she beautiful?” At the same time Mr. Holbrook was dictating the +necessary affidavit to his secretary. It had to be signed by each of +us; and it had to be certified and sealed by the Clerk of the Superior +Court; and arrangements had to be made for my birth-certificate to be +mailed to Nova Scotia for us on the return trip. While Mother took +care of these grave matters, I was dashing furiously homeward in the +first trolley, to arrive before the Bryans, if possible, and explain +the whole complicated mess to them. And again I fell into my dreams of +adventure. It happened that the Bryans had not arrived when I got home, +but they had called up from Derby, and been told as much as the house +knew about it, and that had put them into confusion, and I was very +much afraid that they had gathered from the report that they weren’t to +come at all. What a grand mess that would be! But they did come, soon +after Mother, and again the mess was gone through, and pored over, and +thought about. We felt truly safe and sound, having such a ponderous +affidavit with us; we did indeed! “... By and with the full consent of +the deponent ...”! + +We drove down to the schooner to find out for sure whether she was +to sail that afternoon or the next morning. We hoped it would be in +the morning, because we were very much crowded and confused, and +rather giddy with so many accidents and telephone calls and lawyers +and affidavits, and we wanted time to get settled down a little and +to think things over, and to buy crackers and fruit as Captain Avery +had suggested. But I, secretly and against my common sense, hoped to +sail right then. I was furiously eager to get away from New Haven +and all its traps and snares. Also, I feared that, if I had to spend +another night at home, I should be so excited that I shouldn’t sleep. I +should be so full of ideas about the sea, and ships, and pirates, and +adventures--and the trip, the actual trip that I was going on--that I +_knew_ I shouldn’t sleep a wink. + +We drove down in the same sort of rain we had been having all day. We +told everything to Captain Avery; also Mother, following one of Mr. +Holbrook’s numerous advices, asked him if he would please write a note +to certify that we really were his passengers, on board his schooner, +from New Haven to Bridgewater. This note we should present to the +officials at Boston if challenged. + +But we found, to everybody else’s joy and my dismay, that the +schooner was not to sail until Wednesday morning. Tired and confused +and a little dizzy, I ran about among the various members of the +crew--especially the cook and mate--and told them, with huge glee, that +I should be sailing with them. The cook, good old soul, seemed very +much delighted, and at once retold his favorite yarn about the cold +tea. The mate said he was sure I should make a splendid sailor. + +♦ _The Day of Days_ ♦ + +Glorious! But I need not repeat my new dives into even more wonderful +sea dreams. Now, for the first time, I could really shake off the +misgiving; now I really knew that I was to do what I had, though for +so short a time, longed to do. We ate supper down-town. When I got +home to bed, instead of lying awake and tossing, and becoming feverish +from excitement, I dropped like a stone into a deep, dreamless sleep. +I never slept more soundly in my life--except, perhaps, afterwards, +when--but wait a page or two. + + * * * * * + +The day dawned fair, and there seemed to be a breeze where we were, for +white fair-weather clouds were scudding across the sky. I woke rather +early; I was wide awake in a flash, and I leaped out of bed, clapping +on my old clothes as hastily as I could. My hair I braided up tightly, +as I always do when I go on any wild enterprise. Mother fussed a little +over the braids, and said I looked like a hobgoblin. I said that braids +were nautical, and befitted the schooner and the sea. + +We took three jars of our own homemade orange marmalade, some of +which was to go to the men in the fo’c’sle, the rest aft. We thought +this would please Captain Avery. Then, with my sailor rags fluttering +about me like a proud banner of triumph, Mother and I marched down +Armory Street to the trolley. Mother left me down-town to wait for the +Bryans and to buy those everlasting crackers and fruits, but I simply +_couldn’t_ wait, and I transferred into another trolley and sailed +down Chapel Street. I was so absorbed in my own dreams that I almost +went past Brewery Street. But I saw the topmasts of the schooner +just in time, and got out. I couldn’t resist saying to myself: “Oh, +thank heaven! She is still there.” You see, my superstition tried its +hardest to make me believe that I still might possibly be hindered from +going. It was still trying to make me see imaginary obstacles. But I +didn’t see any, and I wouldn’t see any, and I went tearing down Brewery +Street, vaulted lightly through the little gate, and reached the side +of the ship, with my suitcase and the three jars of marmalade. + +But--what is this? Is my superstition right after all? Are there still +more difficulties? It seemed so, for not a soul stirred on deck. I +stood there, gazing at the ship, with my suitcase in one hand, and my +heart again sinking into my boots. I was just about to raise a hail, as +I had done once before, when a sailor-like man, in a blue cotton shirt +with the sleeves cut off at the shoulders--he was very brown, almost +coppery, with terrific muscles--strode up to me and asked if I wanted +to go aboard. He hopped aboard, brought a ladder instantly, and lowered +it over the side. + +♦ _Wager on a Delicate Subject_ ♦ + +In no time I was having delicious conversations with the cook, who was +telling me he was sure I should be seasick, while the mate sat on the +bulwarks on the other side of me, telling me he thought I shouldn’t be. +The mate and the cook fell into a sort of playful arguing, and finally +they laid a wager on me--the mate wagering a quarter that I shouldn’t +be seasick, and the cook wagering his quarter that I should. + +The delight of it! Already, this intense familiarity with the crew--and +two of them wagering about my seasickness! I could contain myself +no longer. I slipped down off the bulwarks and ran to the foremast +shrouds; then up on to the bulwarks again and up the ratlines, quick +as a squirrel, hand over hand. There I sat on the crosstrees, in the +blazing morning sun, watching three or four of the crew who were out on +the jibboom replacing the repaired outer jib. + +When I came down, the mate and the cook were still talking where I had +left them. The mate began to compliment me again on my daring aloft. He +told me about one of the crew, Richardson, who had never been much good +as a sailor, and who couldn’t climb nearly so well as I. We watched +that same Richardson, a foolish-looking lad, going up the port main +rigging on some little task, and he seemed, indeed, very timid and +scared. He turned almost white when he was ordered up, and he went very +slowly and cautiously. It was perfectly true that he couldn’t climb so +well as I. Then the mate came back to my seasickness. The cook had gone +back into the galley, and evidently the mate wanted very much to argue +in favor of his wager, and strengthen his side a little. So he said +to me: “Now, ’tain’t likely as you’ll be seasick. And, if you are, +you’ll certainly get over it in a couple o’ days. As long as you’ve a +good head, that makes all the difference in the world. Now, Richardson +here, he hasn’t got a head--he can’t stand the height, and he gets +seasick every trip. But you--look at the way you go scrambling up to +the crosstrees. Them as can climb like that never get sick.” + +We talked about the trip, and what time the captain thought he should +be getting out. The captain was then ashore, collecting the last +provisions, and they were all anxiously awaiting him and the tug which +was to tow us out of the harbor. It was, of course, dead calm in there, +but there was a line of vivid blue out beyond, and it looked like a +breeze. I asked the mate, in order to air my knowledge a bit, if four +bells had yet struck. But the mate evidently saw my trap and thought +that I was talking about what I knew nothing of, and he queried in a +tone of obvious scorn: “What is four bells?” And I was proud to reply +without the slightest hesitation: “Ten o’clock, mate.” + + * * * * * + +♦ _A Purchase on Suspicion_ ♦ + +But now, in spite of the pleasure of sitting and yarning with my matey, +I began to think over again the delight, the impossibly delightful +idea, of the voyage. And I fairly squirmed and itched all over. Of +course I was impatient for the return of the captain. Shortly he +appeared, with a large and mysterious-looking bundle under his arm. +Said he to Mother, who was standing on the wharf: “I bet you can’t +guess what I’ve got here!” and he chuckled mysteriously. + +“No; what is it?” + +He chuckled some more. “Well, I’ll tell you! I’ve got two brand-new +_pails_, in case they get seasick!” + +To myself I was thinking: “Supposing we fool you? Then your new pails +would go to waste, wouldn’t they?” For I was secretly pretty sure I +should be steady. I talked a little to the captain, asking him what +time he thought we should be under way, and how soon he expected the +tug; for now everything was ready, and we were to slide out to sea as +soon as the tug appeared. The mate got up instantly when the captain +drew near--not to be caught idling, I suppose--and began to busy +himself about the deck. That man has a marvellous knack of finding +things to do. When he feels like working, he can always find a thousand +little jobs to do here and there. + +Mother came aboard, too, and talked with the captain and the mate. +The mate was extraordinarily pleasant, telling her all about what +a fine climber I was and what a good head I had, and saying that he +didn’t think I would be sick. A man had come from town along on to the +wharf--seemingly a very nice person, dressed in city clothes. He leaned +over the bulwarks, talking to Mother, and telling her how he loved to +see the schooners that still came into New Haven now and then, and how +rare they were now, and how lucky I was to be sailing with the _Norman +D._, and how soon he’d go if he had the chance. + +And, amid all these happenings, the tug which was to tow us out to sea +had chugged up slowly, and now lay alongside the schooner to port. +There was shouting and _yoho_-ing among the two crews, and through +the confusion could be heard the hoarse, loud voice of Captain Avery, +rapidly giving his orders. He seemed to me to have a clear idea of what +he wanted done, but, if a moment were lost in the execution of his +orders, he immediately became nervous and hectic. Towropes were got out +and thrust through the cable-holes. Now our mate had skipped ashore and +loosened the ropes which held the ship to the posts on the wharf; then +he called out to me to untangle the rope where it was snarled around +the capstan. Shortly afterwards I was sent to coil it up in a snug, +neat coil. + +♦ _Outward Bound_ ♦ + +Now everything was astir. The schooner was securely made fast to the +tug by a long, stout towrope. This was let out, and the schooner began +slowly, slowly to move from the wharf. Now she was quietly turning +upon her heel, and soon she was headed out for the open sound, past +the breakwaters, past the lighthouses. I felt her sliding on beneath +me. There were several little yachts and small sailboats in the bay: +they turned and stared at us as we went gliding past. Beautiful indeed +we must have looked--but of that I was hardly thinking; indeed, I was +thinking of few things, my head was in such a whirl with the delight of +the moment. + +The wharf grew more and more distant, and the smoking town, too. I was +glad to realize that, at length, we were leaving it behind and were +bound for the open, free sea and the wild winds and waves. Now we saw +East Rock and West Rock as small nubbins of hills in the distance. +The tug was to stay with us until we had rounded the tip of a long +green peninsula which jutted out into the bay. Beyond this I could +still see the bright blue which seemed to denote wind. Now the tug +had reached full momentum, and the great schooner was gliding pretty +swiftly through the water. More and more distant grew the land behind +us--nearer and nearer the open sea. + +I was called back to myself by the sudden sound of an engine running. +The bo’s’n had started our engine, and now the sails were to be run +up. Oh, was it true? Could it possibly be true that we were going to +run up sails? that there really were a few sails left in this modern +world? I heard the voice of Captain Avery giving orders. “Mainsail +up first--then foresail, forestaysail, and jibs--put up the spanker +and topsails last. Lively there, boys!” And--it was so glorious that +I had to pinch myself and rub my eyes hard--the peak halyards were +wound around the winch on one side of the engine-room, and the throat +halyards around the other, and now, amid the roaring of the engine and +the quivering of the great tackles, up went the gaff slowly, quivering +and shaking; up went the sail, spreading out gracefully, as white hoop +after white hoop ran up the tall mainmast. Up and up and up! Then the +mainsail was stretched to its full length, and the gaff came to rest +just below the crosstrees. Never had I realized what a vast expanse the +sails have. The halyards were made fast. And now the foresail, too, +shivering and groaning, began to reach up. It, too, was soon made fast. +And then the beautiful jibs, two at a time, went rolling up, their +long points seeming to reach into the sky itself. The first two were +the forestaysail and jib, the last the flying jib and outer jib. The +schooner shuddered. The engine had awakened her; the sea had called, +and she was answering. + +♦ _Under Sail at Last_ ♦ + +We were now almost out of the bay. A gentle puff of wind rose, and I +saw the great white sails lifting and filling. Then, when the wind +died down, they collapsed. And now we had cast the towrope. The tug +fell away. We felt like a queen on the ocean, dominating the little +boat proudly. Now the tug circled, wheeled about, and started for the +wharf again. The _Norman D._ ran up her spanker, the largest sail of +all, headed her nose for the open, and began to sail gently on with a +steady little breeze puffing out the sails. We were off! We were headed +for who knows what strange and mysterious adventures? + + * * * * * + +About the first thing we did was to have dinner. We went below aft, +and fed on the same sort of sailor grub that Mother and I had had the +night we ate supper there. I was sorry that I had to break up the +delight by having dinner, and I finished hastily, and went back on +deck as soon as possible. Yes, we were sailing. The bo’s’n was at the +wheel. I talked to him a while. The wind seemed to be rising just a +little bit. I tried my best to make the schooner seem to be rolling, +but all I could see was a slight waving of the horizon up and down; I +couldn’t feel it at all. But the sails were full and steady, and oh! +so beautiful they seemed to me. I could see myself entering into the +spirit of sailing right off. I had the most curious sensations I have +ever experienced--of mystery, of adventure; I can’t describe it at +all. But I could think myself a sailor. The crew were now unfurling +the topsails. When they were all loosened, the topsail halyards +were hauled, and up went the topsails, one at each topmast, sharp +mountain-peaks on the lower sails. + +♦ _Amenities in the Galley_ ♦ + +But, thought I, I mustn’t neglect my duty through sheer delight. I ran +up to the galley, had a talk with the cook about almost everything +under the sun, and dried his dishes and helped clean up the galley +for him. He thanked me cordially and very touchingly, and I resolved +to help him a great deal. He seemed like such a sad little old man! +I never knew quite what to make of him. The arched wrinkles upon his +high, bald forehead, his smallness and robustness, all combined to make +him a very curious-looking specimen. He wore, too, a sort of butcher’s +apron arrangement, and somehow the strings dangling behind always +seemed comical to me. But he knew more about ships than anyone there, +and he seemed rather disgusted at the greenness of this young crew. +“Oh, Lordy, Lordy,” he would say, “that crew--they give me a pain. Why, +in old days, when the sails were much harder to hoist up, and when all +the work was a cursed sight harder--why, we poor sailors would get +flogged and fired fer bein’ so slow as on this schooner. And here, they +have an engine and everything made to suit them, yit they dawdle and +lazy around and don’t seem to know how to do nothing.” + +There seemed now to be quite a breeze outside. I could somehow feel the +deck sliding from beneath me, and I staggered around in the galley, +much to the amusement of the cook, who put his hands on his hips, and +roared aloud, and told me I hadn’t got my “sea legs on yit.” I stepped +out of the galley to see what the weather was doing. It was sparklingly +clear. The sun made mazes of color on the blue sea. The wind _was_ +coming up, and I could see the waves sloshing against the side of the +schooner. We were slipping down along the coast of Rhode Island, a low +green bar far off. The ship was leaning gently and quietly before the +rising wind. The sails looked fuller and puffier than ever, and the +breeze was very fresh and delightful. I returned to the galley and +said: “Well, there seems to be quite a breeze out, cook.” But the cook +was not to be fooled with a landsman’s idea of a breeze. And he replied +in a truly pathetic tone of voice: “Oh! Oh! There’s such a terrible +wind out--I’m seasick!” and he laughed and laughed. + +The dishes were finished very shortly. I went on deck and sat and +watched the sea. I had such a marvellous sense of remoteness! In +spite of the long green coast, I could not help feeling that we were +out in mid-ocean--and when I turned my back to that edge of land +I was sure of it. The sea seemed to stretch away boundlessly. The +sky was of a marvellous color, but away off on the horizon there +were banks of clouds, casting weird and lovely shadows down on the +far skyline--maroons, wine-colors, green, and dark, dark blue. Very +strange! And the sails seemed white--oh! so white--in spite of the fact +that they were somewhat dirty with rough handling. + +The wind was steadily rising all the time, and the schooner keeled over +gently and quietly, more and more, on her starboard side. When I ran +to the starboard bulwarks to look down into the waves, all I saw was +the raging white bone which the schooner carried proudly in her white +teeth--a mass of foam, white, whiter than fresh-blown snow, curling +into gorgeously weird and beautiful shapes, with a rushing noise as +its small bubbles went out, thousands at a time. How angry the sea was +becoming! The waves rose high and high--ten times higher than in any +gale I had ever fought in the canoe. The waves roared, the wind moaned, +the whitecaps rose up mysteriously like snow-palaces and then subsided +again. All this time the sea was becoming overcast with clouds, and now +the waves were shadowed and strange. And to see them, in their dark +green and blue, with those castles of foam surmounting each wave like +proud ivory--oh, this was sailing! And yet it was nothing to what was +to come. + +♦ _Waves and Foam_ ♦ + +The schooner was keeled away over now, but she didn’t roll a bit. +She was absolutely steady, and kept on her course without varying a +quarter point, straight as an arrow. I shall never forget the delight +with which I went to the fo’c’sle deck, where I sat as far as I could +squeeze into the peak of the bow and looked down on the port side, +where the raging sea seemed far, far below; and then down on the +starboard side, where it was near, and angry, and lapping furiously at +the ship, and reaching hungrily for it. And from there I could look +down straight ahead and see the foam, I could see where the sharp +cutwater divided the seas in half, and I could see one long chain of +foam reaching down the port side and another down the starboard--each +of them like a range of towering snow-capped mountains. And three or +four white-winged gulls swooped and darted about, looking, as they flew +low over the waves, like whitecaps themselves. + + * * * * * + +For a good part of the afternoon this kept up. But, alas, towards +night I could feel the breeze going down, and the schooner slowly and +gradually righted herself, and the sails were close-hauled a little to +catch every bit of breeze that was coming to us. And then I began to +feel the roll. I could see the horizon ahead of us waving up and down. +It was a delightful sensation, like that of a seesaw, for the schooner +was not pitching, but only rolling head-on. All the same, I was sorry +to find the sails flapping. First they would puff out suddenly at a +little spurt of wind, then slowly empty again and hang idly flapping. +Calmer and calmer it grew, and then the tackle began to rattle and +groan: and what a racket it did make! + +♦ _Sunset at Sea_ ♦ + +I believe there is no other din aboard a sailing vessel that is +anywhere nearly so loud, tiresome, or monotonous as that which the +tackle makes in a calm. First the sails would swing out to the full +stretch of their sheets, either when the schooner rolled forward or +when a tiny spurt of wind suddenly rose; then they would bring up +short against the sheet with a terrific groaning as the ropes became +taut with a jerk; then, on the return, the booms would swing back in +again and every bit of breeze would go out of the sails. They would +flap, and billow and roll uncannily, with the reef points jigging +about like live creatures. This would go on while the schooner rolled +back, and then, as she dived forward again, the sails jerked back on +the full reach of the sheet. The sails would fill for a brief moment, +and during that moment each reef point would tap its tip upon the taut +canvas, each at a slightly different time, so that there was a sort +of _purr-r-r-r-r-r-r-r!_ and almost at the same time the sails would +relax. Again they would billow and flap, and again swing back inwards. +And a terrible creaking and groaning was going on all the time, until, +if you listened to it, it would almost drive you crazy. + +The schooner was now rolling deeply. Below in the cabin, everything was +banging about. The inside of it was so much more like a house than the +deck was, that I could scarcely persuade myself I was on a ship; and it +seemed strange to feel a house rolling and swinging. + +The air, in spite of the calm, remained clear and sharp, and there +was a glorious sunset. Long fingers of fire reached out in fan-like +shapes from the horizon, and the sky was all flushed with rose. To +see a sunset from a schooner! We were so enchanted with our new kind +of life that we stayed up very late that night. It grew dark quickly; +night came down upon us like a sudden black cloud, and it grew cold. A +breeze came up--just enough to hold the beautiful great sails steady as +though they had been carved of marble, and to make a glimmering pair of +foamwings along the sides of the ship. + +It was then, standing by the wheel in the dark, that I had my first +real talk with the mate. It was also the first time I thought of him +as piratical-looking. He was, when I stopped to think about it, the +most piratical-looking person I ever laid eyes upon. He is very dark +and swarthy, with luxuriant black hair and eyes the most wicked-looking +on earth; wicked, yet strangely playful at the same time, and with +a curious twinkle which shows when anything amuses him. And he is a +silent, mysterious, soft-footed person, who looks as though he were +brooding dark and treacherous things--perhaps concocting a mutiny. And, +standing there in the dark, his pirate face sharply silhouetted against +the brightness of the starry sky, he made me feel as though I were +cabin-boy on a pirate ship. But this is looking at him from only one +side. In the morning, and on sunny days, one wouldn’t suspect that he +was piratical. There is only a hidden suggestion of it--a faint smile +of treachery in his eyes, and something that is evil in his chuckle. It +is on foggy days, and in the late of the afternoon when it begins to +grow dark, that the pirate in him shows. He is the one for us to sail +with, Alan, if we ever start off on a treasure-expedition! + + * * * * * + +♦ _A Rolling Sky_ ♦ + +When I saw the stars, I had a strange experience. In spite of the small +breeze which kept the sails from making their infernal racket, there +was quite a roll and swing and swoop to the ship; she dipped her prow +like the wings of a sea gull. But when, looking up at the high stars, +I picked out one bright one above the truck of the mizzen-mast, and +was just beginning to try to identify it, I saw it swinging about the +mast in bewildering and beautiful curves and flashes of gold; and, +to my puzzled eyes, it seemed to leave a burning track behind it. I +have seen shooting stars; I saw one two years ago which glided very +slowly and softly across the northern half of the sky--so slowly that +I could watch every motion of it. And my first thought was that this +revolving star was a specially magical shooting star. But I never saw +a shooting star make bewildering curves and circles. I looked at the +other stars, and they all seemed to be gyrating crazily about the sky, +sometimes fast, sometimes slowly. And then I could feel the mighty +ocean throbbing beneath me, and again I looked at the mast, and it +seemed stock-still against the wheeling sky; yet I could feel the +schooner rolling and pitching in the swell. Of course, the sky was just +as it ought to be: it was the mast, the schooner, that rolled as the +sea heaved. + +The moon had not yet risen, and everything was pitch dark except for +magical sparks of starlight. All the afternoon we had been continually +passing small steamers and barges, and I had never thought they were +beautiful until now. I was too devoted to my original idea of vessels +with sails to pay much attention to little “chuggers,” as the crew +often called them. But now, at night, they suddenly became fairy-like. +A small steamer would click slowly by across our bow, with a swash of +foam, and she looked like an enchanted ship out of some mysterious land +of stars. Then a long string of barges passed us far ahead, all towed +by a small power boat, and each one gleaming with red and green and +yellow lights. One after another they passed, at even intervals, until +we had begun to think that there would never be an end to them. And +when they had gone, we were again alone in the darkness, except for the +far-away lights on shore. + +I ran up forward as soon as it was dark, to watch Roy set our side +lights. These are large, strong lanterns, one red, one green, which are +set in cases a few steps up the rigging. The green one is to starboard, +the red to port. They cast mysterious color-shadows on to the sea by +our sides. + +♦ _Moon-magic_ ♦ + +Then the captain began to tell us about the small power boats known as +“rum-chasers.” You are likely to see them at any time, cruising about +and keeping an eye on all the sea traffic. Sometimes, he said, they +board a schooner and examine her cabins and cargo. We had seen several +of these boats ploughing at terrific speed through the waves, piling +up mountains of foam. One of them now speeded up to us through the +darkness and cast a powerful search-light upon our stern, apparently +to read our name. And those long rays shone out strangely in the +darkness. Then the boat wheeled about and tore off, diving and rearing +and plunging. + +And now I began to see a strange, soft light over in the east. I +watched and watched, and then I began to see the top of the full moon’s +circle. Up and up she came, huge in the darkness, and shining like +sunlight on snow. I had often dreamed of sailing by moonlight. And +now my dreams were realized. Now the breeze held everything quiet, +and, except for the swing and roll of the ship and the rushing of the +foam divided by her cutwater, everything was silent--oh, so silent and +beautiful! + +We were on a long run with the wind on our port beam, so that the +sails were blown mysteriously over to starboard. They were so still, +so soft and still and rounded, that I could scarcely believe they were +full of wind. Of course the binnacle lamp was now lighted; and strange +it seemed to be steering by that faint glimmer. And now the moon was +rising higher--higher. I looked forward at the front part of the ship, +and saw the moonlight full on those taut sails, making the moon’s side +of them shine like newfallen snow, while the inside was dark, gray, +and shadowed. How lovely it was to see them gleaming with that strange +light, while on and on they bore us without a sound! + +I ran up forward on the fo’c’sle deck. The lookout was sitting there, +whistling faintly. It gave me a curious feeling to find him there. +Ships had lately become so mysterious that I had actually begun to +think such things as two-hour tricks, lookouts, and the like were +slightly too romantic to be true--though, in the nature of the case, +they _must_ be true. And, though I knew that there must be a lookout at +night, yet, when I found the man sitting there, alone, on the fo’c’sle +deck, I was surprised. This was growing more like the old sailing days +with every minute! + +I had gone up forward for the simple purpose of looking at those +moonlit sails from all parts of the ship. Now I saw the jibs once more +from close up; and beautiful they were, rounded with wind, running up +their slender points into the sky, and flooded with the snowy moonlight +like all the other great, majestic sails. Sometimes their rounded outer +sides were huge, dome-like mountains with crowns of snow--mountains +whose flanks were shadowed, but whose summits loomed out into the +full moonlight. Then I looked over the bow, and saw the foam down +there, looking more than ever like two white wings. With the moonlight +shining on it, it was ghostly white and curling--moonlight on newfallen +mountain snow! The sea itself, very dark green, mysteriously heaving +and throbbing, was shadowy except on the eastern side, where the +moonlight changed it to a delicate mass of quivering, shifting silver. + +♦ _A Sailor on Seafaring_ ♦ + + * * * * * + +When I returned aft, after I had sat there on the fo’c’sle deck in +the moonlight for a long time, the mate was standing just where I had +left him. Evidently it was his watch on deck. He began talking to me +immediately--telling me about what a miserable business sailor life +was. “It’s all right in summer,” he said; “yes, it’s real fun in summer +when there’s no rough weather, but, I tell you, it’s a rotten, beastly +business in winter. Imagine how it would be to get down the sails in a +blizzard, when there’s snow and hail and sleet flyin’ around so thick +you can’t see, and when your hands freeze up, and you can’t keep warm +no matter how many clothes you have on--and when you _have_ to stand +your four hours, whether you want to or not, no matter in what kind +of weather, and when you _have_ to be ready for a call, whether it’s +your watch or not. I tell you, it’s no fun. You know, Barbara, I could +get plenty of good jobs ashore, with just as good pay as I get here. +But--there’s somethin’ about it, in spite of the hard work, and so on; +and I just stay and stay, and I don’t seem to leave the sea. So I +guess I’m a sailor for life, now!” + +I had discovered that Bill was his name, and for fun I always used to +call him Mate Bill, because of Billy Bones in _Treasure Island_. I +told Bill my opinion of sailing, and how I had always wanted to sail, +and how glad I was to see that there still were sailing vessels in the +world besides fishing schooners. Also we discussed the weather for +tomorrow. I told Bill that I wished we could have a real gale of wind, +because I had never been at sea, and had never seen anything in the way +of rough weather except some of the breezes we used to have on inland +lakes. I told him there would be whitecaps, and good white foam, and +black squalls, but that they were nothing compared with even the little +wind I had seen that afternoon. + +Soon Bill strode over to the port bulwarks and looked down into the +water. I looked down, too, and to my surprise there were mysterious +sparkles in the sea, close to the side of the ship. They were much like +firefly sparkles, except that they stayed longer and faded slowly. +Bill didn’t know what caused them, but he said that they were always a +sign of a strong northeast wind. I expressed my delight and said that +I hoped for a terrific gale. Bill thought he would tease a little; he +said: “Oh, you want to get there too fast! I guess you’re eager to be +leavin’ us.” + +♦ _Words on the Weather_ ♦ + +“No, it isn’t that, mate. I should just like to see some rough weather, +never having seen any on the sea.” + +“And right you are. I should like you to see some weather out here, +except that I know you’d be seasick--and then I should lose my +quarter!” he added, chuckling slyly. That man has an irresistible +chuckle--very piratical and treacherous indeed. “But,” he went on, “I +don’t believe we’ll have any really rough weather out here--’cause it’s +June, and it’s summer, and you almost never get much wind then. But I +guess it wouldn’t take much to have you call it a gale!” + +“No, I guess not.” + +“You know,” he said, “I don’t like the idea one bit of a northeaster, +’cause that is exactly the way we’re trying to sail--northeast--and it +will slow us up a lot.” + +“Well, that won’t be so bad,” said I. “Because then I’ll have my rough +weather, and yet I shan’t have to leave you so soon! And I should like +very much to see how a big sailing vessel tacks, too.” + +“Well,” said Bill, “you’ll see some tacking, all right, if we have a +northeast gale.” + +He talked about the whales which he had seen. He said we were always +likely to see one, and that they had seen one seventy-five feet long +on the trip down from Nova Scotia. (But I didn’t ask whether he had +measured it with a tape measure.) He said that there were also a great +number of blackfish in the sea, which swam and blew just like whales, +but were ever so much smaller. + +At last he went back to the life at sea. “I’ve sailed as cook quite a +lot, Barbara, too.” + +“Which do you like better, being mate or cook?” I asked. + +“Well, ’t’s hard to tell. There’s good things to say for both. I +kinda think I like bein’ mate. The cook’s job is a mighty pleasant +one, though. He don’t have to stand no watch, or git wet ’n’ cold in +bad weather--he jist sits tight in a warm galley and cooks the meals. +You may want t’ be mate, but there are some times, I tell you, when +you’d like bein’ cook. ’t’s no fun taking in the sails in winter, in +a blizzard; ’n’ ’t’s no fun standin’ four hours’ watch in freezin’ +weather.” + +It was getting on to ten o’clock--four bells--and we turned in, +leaving the mate alone with his watch. I think I have never--even on +mountain-tops--slept more soundly. The roll was like that of a cradle, +and it wasn’t enough to be uncomfortable, as it grew to be later--only +a gentle, easy motion that put me off to sleep in a flash. + + * * * * * + +♦ _Teasing a Landsman_ ♦ + +I woke up bright and early, and went on deck. The day started off with +just enough breeze to feel fresh and cool and to keep the sails steady. +We were passing Martha’s Vineyard, and the big island looked very green +over on the horizon--a long, rather high green bar, in sudden contrast +to the bright sea-blue. + +We were now getting into the shoals which Captain Avery had showed +us two or three times on the charts. There were buoys, lightships, +and lobster-trap buoys everywhere. Every now and then we would pass a +lightship with, painted on it, the name of the shoal at which it was +stationed. There were odd names--Handkerchief, Half Moon, Stone Horse. + +Going down to breakfast with a very good appetite, I couldn’t help +counting off on my fingers the number of meals I had had without the +slightest seasick feeling. The crew were very teasing and bothersome +all day about it. They kept asking me, every time I was silent and +stood gazing down into the water, whether I were seasick. I laughed--I +couldn’t become angered with those people whom I had always wanted for +companions--took their teasing as a matter of course, and determined +to make them respect me later on. I had already won the esteem of the +cook. I dried dishes for him again after breakfast. Then I saw that +the mate had a broom out and was sweeping the deck. Wishing to be of +service, I said: “Don’t you want me to help?” + +“Do you like to sweep?” said he. + +“Sure!” I replied. + +He gave a curious, pleased grin and left the broom where he had been +working. I picked it up and began, rather deftly, I thought, to sweep +in narrow corners of the deck and under coils of rope. I started +working down from the port bow; the mate went to fetch another broom +and swept down from the starboard bow; and together we made quite +brisk work of it. Then the mate fetched a shovel, dumped the débris +overboard, and thanked me. Yes, I would show that crew that I was no +more afraid of work than any of them. + +♦ _Steward on Skipper_ ♦ + +I rather liked Bob, the bo’s’n. The youngest aboard, except possibly +Richardson, he had been at sea only two years, but already he had risen +in rank. He was a most amusing lad. He told me all about his family, +and about himself, and about Bill; and, when I asked him if he didn’t +like having Bill for a mate (I believe I forgot to say that Bill +and Bob are brothers), he replied that it didn’t make the slightest +difference to him, except that perhaps he didn’t get so much blame for +things. He is remarkably careless when he is steering. If the captain +orders the spanker to be close-hauled, Bob leaves the wheel in mid-air, +as it were, and fixes the sail. He told me that all the other boys +made a mess of steering--that they were always turning the wheel this +way or that way; but that he found the right position and then let it +take care of itself, as it would for some time. + + * * * * * + +The day turned out remarkably exciting. To begin with, my shipmate and +I went forward, in the middle of the morning, to talk with the cook, +who was sitting sedately in the galley doorway, looking very curious +and sad. He seemed mighty glad to have someone to talk to. He rattled +on for a while in a delightful way, about this and that and the other +thing; really he was much more entertaining than Captain Avery, and he +stuck to one subject longer. But I was watching the sea and the sky +and the sails, and I didn’t pay much attention to him until I heard +something that made me prick up my ears. + +♦ _Oral Portrait of the Skipper_ ♦ + +“As for Captain Avery,” he was saying, “I never knew an uglier, more +nasty, more contemptible man. I never knew a man that could do one +half the mean things he does. Why, he’s famed all along the coast of +Nova Scotia for being a rascal! I tell you, he’s never paid a bill in +his life without making a row over it. Why, even the men who came to +buy the lumber we brought down--he tried to cheat them out of the few +dollars they earned. Now, here, I get sixty dollars a month for cookin’ +for this schooner. I can’t even get that much without some kind of a +bally row. And every man of this crew is dissatisfied. If you don’t +believe me, go ask some of them. They’ll tell you what they think of +him! You know, I’ve been cook of this vessel before, and, when the +owner enlisted me agin, I didn’t want to go. Says I: ‘Now I just can’t +get along with Captain Avery, and I refuse to sail on this vessel while +he’s skipper.’ But the owner says: ‘Now, Si, you’re all wrong about the +captain.’ ‘He hates me,’ says I. ‘now, Si,’ says he, ‘he told me with +his own lips that he thought you was a fine cook, and that he thought +very highly of you.’ ‘Oh, nonsense,’ says I, ‘I’ve sailed with Captain +Avery before, and I know what I know--he hates me!’ Well, the owner +coaxed and coaxed, and finally I said I would go, for sixty dollars a +month. But Captain Avery don’t play fair with me. He tells me to my +face he dislikes my cooking. How can I help that, when he won’t give a +fellow anything to cook with? You wouldn’t believe it when I tell you, +but I haven’t got a drop of flavoring extract of any kind on board this +vessel. And he always buys provisions of the very poorest kind--the +poorest, cheapest, dirtiest brands of coffee and tea they make. Why, +I asked him if he didn’t think he ought to get some fancy biscuits or +cookies of some kind, for you folks--and do you know what he got? By +the Lord, do you know what he got? Uneeda Biscuits! Do you want me to +tell you why he never plays the graphophone? ’cause he almost never +does. Do you want me to tell you? He’s too stingy to use the needles! +Once that man was made captain of a Chinese vessel, with a Chinese crew +and cook. Before he had been on the ship ten minutes the cook chased +him ashore with a drawn cutlass. Do you know why? ’cause he come nosing +around and poking his blasted head into the cook’s galley. Now, the +galley belongs to the cook, and no one else is supposed to interfere +with the cook’s work, and it made the Chinese cook mad to see him come +interfering. So he just drew his cutlass and chased the man ashore.” +(I had an idea that it would be untactful to inquire how Captain Avery +happened to be in China.) + +“Why, I’m very surprised to hear all this about Captain Avery,” said +I. “When he came up to lunch we thought he was very entertaining and +delightful. He strikes me as a very nice old sailor.” + +It must have taken the cook fifteen or twenty minutes to get the +captain denounced to his satisfaction. His voice had been growing +louder and more vehement, with more and more small oaths intermingled, +and when I interrupted him he was talking with a force that almost +shook the galley, so that I felt that it was going to rise up and blow +away any minute. I think he would have gone on until supper if I +hadn’t interrupted. + +He soon began again. “So you thought he was a nice old fellow, did you? +Well, I’m surprised. Couldn’t you see by the look in the face of him +what he was like?” + +“Why, no. It struck me he was a very good-looking old fellow--very kind +and quiet.” + +“Well, if you had lived as long as I have, you would know,” he went on +savagely. “And, I tell you, I seen a fellow that the owner wanted to +enlist for a voyage some time back, with Captain Avery for skipper, +and the fellow had it all arranged; but when he seen the look in the +face of that man, he backed out right off, and said: ‘Not me, thanks! +Why, to look at that man, I wouldn’t sail along of him for a hundred +dollars!’ and he didn’t, neither.” + +♦ _Consequences of Deafness_ ♦ + +So here was the key to that hatred in the face of the cook whenever he +looked at the captain! And immediately we began to see Captain Avery in +a new light. We didn’t really believe all that had been said about him, +but we began to open our ears and eyes and look about us more sharply. +We began to hear things which the crew said about him; and we noticed +a small, shrill cry, like the peep of a bird, which the bo’s’n uttered +now and then. At first we had supposed this to be the bo’s’n’s giggle, +but we soon discovered that he was mocking the captain. And, listening +closely, we could make out the words of this mockery. Whenever the +captain gave an order, the mate, usually in the forward part of the +vessel, would repeat it, and then would come this shrill, small, +mocking voice of the bo’s’n, croaking out the order--echoing word for +word everything the skipper had said. + +Captain Avery would stand on deck, with his head thrust forward, his +back hunched up, and his mouth open. And his voice seemed uglier and +harsher than ever to us. Also, he was slightly deaf, and he had an +annoying habit of saying “Hey?” every time anyone spoke to him, whether +he had really heard or not. This used to amuse us, because when he said +that word “Hey?” he would drawl it out into space, squeezing the last +drop out of it; but now it began to annoy us a great deal. We formed a +habit of waiting when he said “Hey?” until sure whether he had really +heard us or not. Often after “Hey?” he would answer what had been asked +him. + + * * * * * + +Sad to relate, the wind died down soon before dinner. The sails went +through the same noisy tactics as during the afternoon of the first +day. I couldn’t believe that anything could be noisier than the way +they had banged about at that time, but it was nothing to this. We +could hardly hear ourselves think, and the inside of the cabin was +pandemonium. The doors were banging, dishes were jingling, the whole +cabin was swinging back and forth crazily. Through it all the cook +was standing very firmly on his two legs, getting dinner ready. If I +wanted to stand up for a moment, I had to brace my feet far apart; +but the cook was standing at ease, his body yielding gracefully to +every motion, while pots and pans were swinging about on the walls, +and the tea slopping every which way. As the cook said, I hadn’t got +my “sea legs on yit.” I didn’t feel one speck seasick, though the crew +redoubled their efforts to irritate me by teasing; and I went dancing +down to dinner. But--something about the hotness and stuffiness down +below, and the unsteady way in which the chairs were tipping about, +and the way the table rose and fell, and the smell--the greasy, fat +gravy smell which always saturated the cook’s cooking--turned me +almost inside out; and, though I ate dinner, I found, just as I was +almost through, that I must get out into the open air--there was not +a moment to lose! I grabbed the piece of bread and butter which I had +been eating, and raced up the stairs without one word of apology or +explanation. + +♦ _Acquiring Sea Legs_ ♦ + +The fresh air braced me right up. I didn’t get over my weak and dizzy +feeling for two or three days, and I ate nothing but oranges and +crackers, and those out on deck; but I was never actually sick. I +hardened myself during those two or three days; and when the real +weather came I minded it no more than dirt. What I did when I began to +feel qualmy was to lie down cautiously on top of the deckhouse, in the +cool shadow of the sails, and sleep it off. Then I would feel myself +for two or three hours; then do the same thing again. In this way I +found some very delightful places for naps. My favorite was on the +spanker boom--right on the broad saddle of the boom, of course on the +windward side of the sail. But this was impossible except in weather +when there was enough breeze to hold the sail steady. In calm weather +I was often jerked and flapped right off by the sudden reverse motion +of the sail, or by the endless tugging and pulling of the boom, or by +the way it lifted whenever the sail filled, and then let down with a +jerk when the sail emptied. It was fun enough for a short time; but it +quickly grew tiring, and I would find a more comfortable place to sleep. + +My dizziness gradually wore off, even during the course of that day, +and, especially when I did something about the decks, I forgot all +about it. The only trouble was that I couldn’t go into the galley +to dry the dishes for my friend the old cook. As soon as I sniffed +the smell of greasy gravy--So I sat in the doorway, poking my head +in now and then to talk, and then breathing out into the fresh air +again. I have forgotten to say that early that morning the captain had +complimented us on our endurance, saying that he had thought we should +both be turning our toes up by morning, because of the rolling we had +had on the first afternoon. + + * * * * * + +Just after dinner, as I emerged from the cabin in that mad dash of +mine, we saw far off on the horizon a beautiful four-masted schooner +coming down from the northeast. What small wind there was was behind +us, and it was a head wind for her. She was on the starboard tack. Now, +I hadn’t realized that at sea there is a definite system of traffic +laws among ships. Being on the starboard tack, she had right of way of +us, and she crossed our bows very near us, but not so near that we had +to heave to. She managed it very neatly, shaving right across clean as +an arrow. I was surprised at the progress we were making, in spite of +what seemed like the total absence of wind; we approached each other +quite fast, and had passed before long. It struck me that the breeze +might be coming up a little. Yes, evidently it was, for the sails +weren’t making so much racket, and the surface of the murmuring ocean +seemed bluer and more restless. + +♦ _Weather Prophecy_ ♦ + +The lofty four-master passed us, and we could see that her sails were +rippling and banging about like our own. I watched and watched her +until she disappeared. If we looked as lovely as she did to us, we must +have been a beautiful sight. I noticed that both her helmsman and ours +turned their heads and looked at each other. + +Bill and I got to talking again about the weather. It struck me that +this was a pretty poor apology for the northeast gale which he had +promised, and I told him so. He only chuckled, shrugged his shoulders +meaningly, and said: “You wait! We’ll have a little breeze-o’-wind +yet.” That phrase, “breeze-o’-wind,” somehow always delighted me. Then +he added, as a tiny bluish squall, a kitten’s-paw, swept over the quiet +silver sea: “See! There comes that breeze-o’-wind now!” + +The breeze, what there was, swung around gradually into the northeast; +but it was light and variable, and it was really hard to tell where +it was coming from. We beat and floundered about all the afternoon, +making attempts at tacking, though we hardly moved. We kept seeing +the same shore line, only it changed its location in a very puzzling +way. Sometimes it would be on our larboard bow, sometimes on our +starboard, while the ship appeared to be standing still. Sometime +during the afternoon a two-topmaster hove in sight and beat about +for an interminable length of time, doing as puzzling things as the +land--appearing here, and then rising up mysteriously in the other +hemisphere, showing now her beam and now her slender bow. + +We gave up in despair and dropped anchor. At this I was rather nervous, +for the mate had told me how many a sailor who had never been seasick +before in his life was likely to succumb when anchor was dropped in +a swell. Afterwards the mate told me that he was very sorry for me +when he heard that we were going to drop anchor. We rolled about like +a bottle. But it didn’t bother me. Already I was remarkably on the +improve. + +♦ _Man the Capstan!_ ♦ + +Then it struck the captain that the wind seemed to be coming up +and swinging around to its former position. After a few hours of +lying there we started the engine and hauled up the mudhook. I was +interested to see how this was done, and I went forward to watch. The +mate leaned far over the side, watching the cable like a cat--giving +orders, and stopping the winch every time the chain managed to get +fouled, or when anything else went wrong. The head of the anchor slowly +appeared through the sea, as that huge rusty chain inched up slowly, +disappearing into the cable-hole. Then the head of the anchor lifted +its uncanny, sea-ghostlike arms out of the water, dripping, and looking +like the risen skeleton of a drowned pirate. Then the whole great +mudhook rose up, accompanied by the roaring of the engine, until the +head of it reached the mysterious cable-hole. At that the mate gave a +signal and stopped the winch. Then a very interesting thing happened: +They dragged the great cat block (a block and tackle attached near +the crosstrees of the foremast) over to the side of the ship, slipped +around the tail of the anchor a great hook with a link in the end of +it, and caught the hook of the cat block into that link. The tackle was +wound around the winch, which was again started, and thus the tail of +the anchor was lifted up until the upper fluke slid into place in the +anchor plate. There it was made fast, and that operation was over. + + * * * * * + +When we had dropped anchor we had not taken down the sails--they could +hardly be any trouble in such a calm--and we got under way again +easily and quickly. Now, for the first time, on looking down into the +water beside the ship, I noticed huge herds of what the crew called +“sunfish”--really a kind of jellyfish. I can give no better description +of them than that they looked a good deal like exceptionally juicy and +delicious fried eggs, each with a round orange or yellow lump in the +center, surrounded by a fancy frill of whitish. But they had what +fried eggs have not: long and very elegant _tails_, bunches of long, +long streamers, waving behind them, whitish in color, very narrow and +very numerous--perhaps fifteen or twenty trailing behind one fried egg. +These streamers are waved about in a curious way, and the white of the +egg, also, is expanded and then contracted like a mysterious umbrella +opening and shutting. + +♦ _The Fried-egg Tribe_ ♦ + +They drifted along in great shoals and herds, seemingly unable to move +except by the motion of the waves and tides. I had a great deal of +pleasure in watching them. I leaned over the side of the ship and gazed +and gazed at them. I so far forgot my dizziness that I almost began +to hanker for some nice, juicy, delicious fried eggs. Those jellyfish +made my mouth actually water. Every single one of them was slightly +different from every other. At first they seemed all alike, but after +you had watched them closely for a while you could see the differences +right off. To begin with, there was a great variation in size. Some +were as much as eight inches in diameter when spread out, others no +more than three. Some looked as though they had been off to war, and +appeared rather ragged and shabby. And then there was a great variation +in color, in brilliance. The white part was just about the same in all +of them, except that some seemed to be much more elegantly and fancily +frilled. But the yolk of the egg varied from pale yellow to a fiery +scarlet. Some had small and insignificant yolks and very fine whites; +others seemed nothing but yolk with a tiny edging, a frilled collar. +The ones with both large yolks and fancy whites were, of course, the +finest. + +And these curious creatures certainly had expression in their faces. +Some looked as though they were in a great hurry--as though they were +gathering up their robes of state around them and hastening on; others +were small, dainty, modest, and very scornful of the more splendid +ones; some went sailing by, looking, for all the world, as though they +were lost in a remote dream. These had far-away, vacant expressions. +Others went by with an extremely haughty, self-conscious air; and +some, usually the most gorgeous, drifted past with a bland smile of +self-satisfaction. These fried-egg creatures certainly are a race by +themselves, different from anything else on land or sea, and with their +own characters and personalities. I am sure they have characters and +personalities! + +The wind was coming up slightly, and, though the roll was increasing +steadily as we drew nearer to the open sea, we thought the sails +didn’t flap or the booms swing and groan quite so much as before. We +had high hopes of getting out of the shoals by dark. We passed more +and more lightships, and buoys of all kinds; and since we were now, on +account of the changing tide and the high swell from the open sea, +making leeway very fast, it was often quite tricky work to dodge them. +Captain Avery took the wheel a good deal, and was constantly changing +the sails, especially the important spanker, in order to get every +bit of breeze--to get more steerageway on and diminish the leeway. +This constant changing of the great spanker was quite a joke among the +crew. I would say: “Why, it’s a long time since you’ve done anything +to the spanker!” and they would laugh. But I didn’t want to appear as +though I didn’t know why they did this and that to the sails--as a +matter of fact, I quite surprised myself with my comprehension of their +tactics--and I hope I didn’t overdo the matter. + + * * * * * + +♦ _Too Much Leeway_ ♦ + +When it was almost dark we could see, not far ahead, the exit from +the dreaded shoals, and beyond that the wild, free ocean, a gleam of +gray-blue. When I looked off across our part of it, I could see how +it heaved and throbbed. It was like watching a human heart beating. +It seemed strange to look away over it, and, instead of seeing it +steady, firm, fretted with ripples, to find it rising high and then +mysteriously subsiding again--sinking back down. One could not +distinguish between the swells, or even detect their summits or their +valleys. Only, when I saw the sea rise near the side of the schooner, +I would know that the schooner, too, would rise in an instant, and +instinctively I learned to prepare myself for the rise, and then +for the sinking into the hollow. In that way I began, gradually and +painfully, to get my sea legs on, and with a little practice (which +I took walking about the ship) I learned to walk in the midst of it +without staggering and stumbling and clutching the taffrail too much. I +would win the respect of the cook, yet! I didn’t blame him in the least +for being amused at the antics of a landlubber. + +Our exit from the shoals was exciting. It was a difficult bit of +navigation, especially in such a slight breeze, with so much swell and +tide and leeway. Here the captain, in spite of his nervousness and his +habit of becoming hectic if anything went the least wrong, showed his +real skill. But we had a narrow escape if ever there was one. We looked +ahead at the narrow opening, beyond which rose and fell the sea. What +a sense of isolation and solitude! I know nothing comparable to it, +except possibly being mist-bound, alone, on a mountain-top. It gives +you just about the same spellbound feeling. And we weren’t really out +in the open sea yet: we could only see it, stretching away, boundless, +ahead. Yet we were already beginning to feel the edges of that solitary +spell, fanning our cheeks, as it were, and wrapping the little +schooner in its fringes. + +The exit was dotted with buoys and lightships. Whistling buoys droned +and roared. Somehow the uncanny sound of them is like a knell bidding +drowned mariners rise from the sea; and in the midst of that spell +and that quiet I half expected to see ghosts rising, folded in their +shrouds. The bell buoys are strange, too. Some of the bells are harsh +and realistic, but others have a soft, mellow ring, like an unearthly +deep church bell. Immediately they recalled to me the far-away church +bells sounding through the sea from the above-world in Arnold’s +“Forsaken Merman.” + +The captain knows the passage of the shoals very thoroughly, and on +which side to sail of every single buoy. He guided the _Norman D._ +among them very deftly and surely, in spite of the adverse weather +conditions. + +Flocks of foam-white gulls swooped, uttering their uncanny cries. In +spite of the amount which I wrote about sea gulls in _The House Without +Windows_, I had never until now realized what their call is like. It +is a shrill, shrill _mew_, like that of a cat when it cries faintly--a +forlorn note to hear from a swift bird in flight. + +♦ _Encounter with a Dragon_ ♦ + +Now we could see the huge surf booming on the sand bars at the exit, +where the high swells would come pounding in, wholly different from +the quiet, even monsters they are farther out. We could see the long +crests of surf where the waves broke, then, champing, galloped up the +bar and settled back once more. We were near enough to hear their +roaring. + +There was a large bell buoy just before the exit. We were to go to +starboard of it. We headed as far to starboard as we could without +sailing on the wrong side of other buoys. But not quite enough room +was allowed for leeway. With the tide sweeping us down, we were washed +toward that buoy alarmingly fast. The nearer we came, the huger and +more sinister it looked, while the boom of its swinging bell became +more and more like howling. Now it loomed like some dark red dragon +from the midst of those mysterious swells. Every billow carried us +toward it; the breeze failed us when we needed it most; we could see +with half an eye that it was unlikely we should clear. Happily, the +constant swinging and banging of the sails helped; at every roll, and +every time they filled with a spurt, the schooner was carried on a +little. But still we simply went skidding across the sea sideways. +I believe we could have sailed to Nova Scotia quicker side-on than +head-on! Faster and faster we glided toward the buoy, which became +more and more uncanny as the high, round swells half buried it and +then uncovered it again. Finally we were within six feet of it--and, +on a forward roll, we cleared it, _just_; it slid mysteriously beneath +our davits. A close shave! Probably, if we had hit it, it would have +done us more damage than we did it. Those buoys are made to stand the +wildest weather. They are strong, though rather unsteady monsters. + +A few moments afterward we had slid neatly out the exit, and were now +in the open sea. There was no appreciable difference except that the +roll was steadily increasing; the sea gave it more room to increase. +Now that the hot sun of midday had set, the roll seemed only pleasant +to me. + +We turned in a good deal earlier that night; there was nothing in +particular to stay up for. The roll was fairly heavy, and when I lay +down in my hard bunk it was like sleeping in a treetop all night during +a high wind, or in a cradle; but it was more delightful than a cradle, +because we were riding upon the heart of the sea. It was strange to +feel the roll so heavy that there was a strain on first one side and +then the other, and if I relaxed entirely my head rocked from side to +side. + +♦ _Infinity_ ♦ + +In the morning I had to be waked up; the roll had made me sleep more +soundly than I ever slept in my life. When I went on to the throbbing +deck there was nothing but blue, blue ocean around me, stretching +out to the thirty-two horizons; stretching away, a vast, boundless +space--stretching away--away--forever. What isolation, what terrible +isolation! + +The weather conditions were monotonous all day. There was no wind--no +wind at all--and one could not have told that we were moving. We +were in the midst of space; we might have been marooned on the cold, +desolate moon. Of course the sails flapped, the booms creaked; and +somehow I felt myself trying to hold back that sound. It was as if I +hardly dared breathe or speak myself; as though _nothing_ should make +a sound in the midst of the silence and the space that surrounded us. +Oh! then was the sea like a living creature--cold, but with a mighty, +throbbing heart. I was walking on the heart of the sea; I was sleeping +on it; and I could always, night and day, feel it beating beneath my +feet, or beneath my back. Or perhaps it was the life, the heart, of the +ship that I felt. For now I knew that our schooner was superbly alive. +She carried, amid the snow of her sails, a living heart and soul. + + * * * * * + +My shipmate was returning from a visit to the galley. I accosted him: +“Well, how does the cook seem this morning?” + +“Oh, the cook is getting wonderfully rabid! He talks about busting the +captain’s jaw--and not only his jaw, but his blankety-blank jaw. And +holds he could do it, and would if a chance offered!” + +Exciting! It looked as though a real mutiny might start at any moment +now, with the cook as ringleader. I did so wish there would be a +mutiny--a little of the piratical on this seemingly peaceful schooner! +I went forward to have a yarn or two with him, hoping that I should +get the edges of this sudden burst of violence. I was not in the least +disappointed. Evidently the cook made no difference between ladies and +anyone else; he went swearing right along. And I never could get over +my surprise at the way he swore, his whole character seemed so very, +very inconsistent. In appearance he was a delightful little old man, +gentle and kind as a lamb, not hurting a fly. Yet, when you knew him, +there was the most wonderful spark of temper, of pride, of malice. He +had the sad face of an old monkey, and his apron strings flopped behind +him, and he wore suspenders--but _how he could swear_! I used to think +that I could feel the galley shake around me, and I felt that at any +moment the ship might blow up or burst into flames. + +“Well, mate,” said I, when I approached him, “good morning to you!” + +♦ _Disrespectful_ ♦ + +“Good morning.” A deep sigh; profound silence. He was sitting in the +galley door, as usual, with his back against the starboard side of +the doorway. He was smoking, and looking altogether so harmless and +peaceful! + +“Well,” said I, “and how’s life treating you, mate?” + +“Oh, Lordy, Lordy,” said he. “Captain Avery--I’d like to bust his +mildewed old jaw for him--and I could do it, too!” + +Apparently he was repeating exactly what he had said before. How +delightful to get this explosion from that embodiment of all +peacefulness! + +“Why, what’s the matter, steward? What’s the skipper done to you now?” + +“Well, he says he don’t like my grub. How kin he expect any man to cook +when there’s nothing to cook with? Now, look a’ this old stove, and +this rotten old oven. Why, when I bake my bread, I’ve got to keep it in +hours longer than it ought to be in, in order to get it done at all. +I haven’t a drop of flavoring extract on board this ship; I haven’t a +bit of anything to make nice things out of; I can’t make cakes, I can’t +make good pastry with what I’ve got here; I have no jams or jellies of +any kind--how can he expect me to do any cooking for him? That’s what +I’d like to know!” + +And again this sad little old man seemed to sink down into himself. + + * * * * * + +All day long I walked around the decks, talking to the sailors, +spinning yarns with Bill and Bob, and even with Captain Avery. We felt, +to be sure, a little distant from the skipper. His attitude suggested +that he was getting tired of his passengers. He always seemed to draw +off by himself in a corner of the deck; or he would study his charts, +down in the dark of the cabin, spreading them out flat on the floor, +and getting down on top of them on his knees and elbows; or else he +would come around and interfere in other persons’ conversation, by +saying “Hey?” in the middle of sentences not addressed to him at all. +Sometimes he would come around where we were talking and “jine in” very +freely, without asking permission. Then, of course, the conversation +would be entirely transferred to his side; for when he got going there +was no hope for anyone else to talk unless, by mistake, the old man +asked a question. On and on he would go, taking up the talk just where +we had left off, and continuing it in his own way, strangely distorting +it. Moreover, we began to see truth as well as exaggeration in the +cook’s statements. We had begun, too, to become more interested in +the crew than in the skipper. But, in spite of all this, the captain +was the captain; and he was very amusing and entertaining as well as +boring, if you looked at him in the right light. + +♦ _All as it Should Be_ ♦ + +Somehow, in spite of the calm and the tides, we were making headway. I +didn’t understand it at all--especially as the sails did nothing but +flap and apparently carried us backwards as much as forwards. But the +captain said we were off Cape Cod, though we didn’t go in sight of +it. There were a few jellyfish about; not nearly so many as there had +been during our passage through the shoals, for apparently those queer +creatures stick to the shallower water. I couldn’t help wishing for a +wind. But I was on a ship; and, after all, that was enough. Moreover, +at this rate I had the prospect of being on a ship for several days to +come. Here I was, leading the life I had madly wanted, living with the +sailors, forming a companionship with them, gazing upon the expanse +of the shuddering, boundless sea, watching the sails shaking above +me--studying the tactics and the working of a _sailing_ vessel. + +And here I was, chinning in an extremely familiar way with my friend +Mate Bill, who had somehow or other become quite intimate with me. +I mocked him considerably about his “breeze-o’-wind.” “Where’s that +‘breeze-o’-wind’ you promised us, mate?” “Coming! You wait and +see.” The length of time which we could spend talking about that +“breeze-o’-wind” was extraordinary. The mate maintained, more in +joke than seriously, that there was going to be a northeast gale. +And I laughed, not because I disagreed with him, for I believed him +perfectly, but because it did seem so fantastic that this silence, +this terrible calmness, could change into a ripping northeaster. The +mate understood this feeling of mine perfectly. He chuckled his sly, +mysterious, piratical chuckle and said that the wind was coming; he +wouldn’t be at all surprised if it came the next day, and he was sure +it would come the day after that, at latest. + + * * * * * + +♦ _Economy in Paint_ ♦ + +A trifle more about our skipper. By this time we were winning the great +favor of the crew, and especially of the mate, with whom both of us +talked for hours at a stretch. The _Norman D._ badly needed a coat or +two of paint. The skipper was most desirous to have the painting done +during the voyage, and this very calm, lazy weather seemed the ideal +time. Two or three of the crew were usually at work; also, my shipmate +made the time go by painting. The captain’s desire was to have the +whole inside of the ship painted by the time we reached Bridgewater, +but he seemed doubtful that it would be possible to do this. “You +wait,” said he to us--“you’ll see how much painting there’ll be done!” +But Mate Bill would come over and say to me: “It’s his own fault if we +don’t get the vessel painted by the time we get down to Nova Scotia. +’Cause we could do it perfectly well; a three-years’ child could do it +if only he could be let alone! But here’s the old man bothering us and +looking over our shoulders at every stroke. What does he know about +painting? Lord! He paints worse than any of us. I tell you, if he had +the chance he’d make one can of paint go for the whole vessel! He takes +a brush, and dips it, and then daubs--a daub here, a daub there, and +not enough anywheres. Look a’ that bit of the taffrail he painted. A +cat could do it better! Then, after he’s done three inches of that, he +goes forrard, daubing all the time, till he gits to the fo’c’sle; and +then he puts a daub on that, and a daub on this!” + +“I think, mate, it makes the cook mad to see him come forward at all.” + +“Certainly it does! It makes any sailor mad! What’s he got to do +forrard? That ain’t his place. His place is aft, and I wish to +brimstone he’d stay there. He ain’t supposed to come off that poop +deck. He ain’t supposed to come no further ’n them steps. Forrard’s +_my_ place--there’s no sense in both of us there. ’N’ if he comes +forrard, I go aft. Forrard’s my place. I’m supposed to do the work +there, and see that the work gets done. The old man’s supposed to tell +me anything he wants done, and then I’m to see that it gets done. But +I can’t, and I lay ’tain’t my fault. Why, anyone comin’ aboard this +vessel--if the owner come aboard and saw a little paint here, ’n’ a +little there, he’d ask the captain: ‘Who’s your mate aboard here?’ ’n’ +the old man’d say: ‘Bill McLeod.’ ‘Well, he’s a shockin’ poor mate!’ +There, you see! all the blame gets round on to me again. If he’d only +let us alone, we’d get the whole ship done. We’d get it done within +three days, if this calm weather keeps up.” + +Bill was right. He had described the tactics of the “old man” +perfectly. (He used to make a great to-do, Bill did, about that phrase, +“old man.” “I dunno why it is,” he would say, “but I allus called any +cap’n I ever had ‘old man’; whether he’s young or old, it’s all the +same--he’s allus the ‘old man.’”) + +“I don’t think the cook cares much about Captain Avery.” + +“Oh, the cook hates him!” Again Bill chuckled, and his wicked black +eyes twinkled. “He hates ’im like bitter p’ison!” + +“I think it’s very funny, the way Bob mocks at him so much.” + +♦ _High Words in a Crisis_ ♦ + +“Yes, it’s funny. But you get tired of it. Now, Bob is young, and he’s +awful fresh and careless; everythin’s a game to him. He has a lot of +fun mocking the old fellow that way. But I wouldn’t do it; not me! +One thing I was always taught, ’n’ that was to respect people older’n +myself. Now Cap’n Avery’s old, and he’s a meddlin’ old cat, but I niver +sass him; not me! I’ve niver sassed him but once in me life, ’n’ I’ve +sailed with him a lot, too. I’ve sailed with him a lot, ’n’ he’s got to +know me good, so he sometimes calls me Bill.” + +“When was it that you sassed him, mate?” + +“Oh, that was a couple o’ years ago, on another voyage I took with him.” + +“And what did Captain Avery do that made you sass him?” + +“Well, it was in the evenin’, and a terrible squall come up, and we +had to get down the sails in a hurry. He orders us to take down the +jibs first, and we was just gettin’ the jibs down when somethin’ went +wrong with the tackle. The old man see what was the matter, and he come +runnin’ up forrard, giving orders and shouting. He was awful nervous. +He allus was a nervous old cat. Well, somehow I didn’t stop to think, +and it made me kind of mad to see him come runnin’ up forrard, shouting +that way, and I sassed him back, ’n’ I said: ‘I wish to Beelzebub you’d +get aft to your own place!’ Well, the old man went. But a’terwards I +see the tears runnin’ down the poor old fellow’s cheeks, he was so +excited. Well, I niver, niver sassed him back again. But sometimes it +riles me, the things he does. I think that’s why he likes me, ’cause I +am respec’ful to him. So it sometimes does rile me, the way Bob mocks +him, and I talk to Bob a lot. But it niver does no good.” + +“And is Captain Avery a good man, supposing you get into a gale?” + +“Oh, yes, he’s a skillful old fellow. But anyone that’s been to sea +as long as he has _ought_ to be skillful. He is clever and quick, but +awful nervous, and he shouts and calls a lot. One good thing about +Captain Avery is this: he has a good loud voice. You never have to come +aft to ask what he says!” And Bill’s eyes sparkled again. + +“Do you think he ever has happened to hear when Bob mocks at him?” + +“Well, I dunno. Bob does sometimes mock awful loud--but then, the old +man is good and deef. But I wouldn’t be at all surprised.” + +♦ _Halcyon Days_ ♦ + +Indeed, Bob seemed to be growing steadily more daring. He used often to +mock, even when the old man hadn’t given an order, just for the sake +of amusing the rest of the crew. It _was_ amusing to hear the captain +call the crew “boys.” If he wanted anything done, it was always “Here, +boys! Here, boys!” until someone came to execute his orders. (It rather +disappointed me that he didn’t call them “mates,” or “my hearties,” +or “my bullies,” in true piratical fashion. But one can’t expect too +much!) And Bob would stretch out his neck, and lift up his head like +a bird about to sing, and screech, quite as loudly as the skipper +himself: “Here, boys! Here, boys!” You could see his bronze throat +quivering when he called, just like that of a bird. And then he would +lower his head into himself and chuckle. + +Bob was especially good-looking in a bright red sweater. He used to +wear this sweater whenever it was the least bit chilly, and then he was +usually so busy, or perhaps so lazy, that he never seemed to have a +chance to take it off, even when it grew warm. Of him, more later. + +During those calm days there was a great deal of warm weather. I went +about, in my old blue shirt with a sailor collar and my old black +pants, very gaily indeed, feeling sailorly and wanting to show the +crew that I didn’t put on airs or try to be superior to them. In fact, +I admitted my inferiority by asking them questions about ropes, their +names and uses. The ropes on a schooner are surely the most complicated +things on earth, except those of a square-rigger, which both Mr. +Rasmussen and our cook told me were a thousand times more complicated. +As for the schooner, there was only about one rope which I could always +be sure of--the fore-topsail clew line. That particular rope had +broken, and the mate had run in a brand-new one--a bright rope, white +among the dark, weather-beaten, dirty ones. I could always tell it by a +glance--until it began to get dirty, too. + +Again we turned in early. We had discovered that it was really much +simpler to do so, because we had neglected bringing a flashlight. There +were no lights on the ship except lamps, and there was no lamp in the +“bathroom,” and consequently no way to find the water bucket without +lighting a match. (I had overturned it two or three times in the +rolling.) The ship’s lamps, by the way, were arranged in little rings +of brass which projected on arms from the wall, and as the ship rolled +crazily the lamps, too, would swing about, but keeping themselves +upright in the gimbals. + + * * * * * + +♦ _Suspended Weather_ ♦ + +The next day the weather conditions were annoyingly the same. There was +no wind; there was nothing but that steady roll, which I now began to +enjoy quite a lot, though it did wear on one. I would look up at the +horizon as the bow of the ship plunged down, and I would see it away up +in the sky above me somewhere. Then, as the bow swung back, the horizon +would vanish beneath the forefoot of the schooner. When the bow swung +down, how far above it we, on the poop deck, seemed! and then how +formidably the bow would loom above us on the return roll! + +I joked more than ever with Bill about his “breeze-o’-wind.” But he +only chuckled and told me that I wanted to get there too fast, and that +we should have the wind yet, and plenty of it, too. I would look out +over the restless ocean and see where a tiny breath of air made blue +ripples on the silver-gray, and I would nudge Bill and say: “Well, the +breeze seems to be coming up a little now!” And Bill would reply: “Yes, +we’ll have that wind in no time now!” And the breath of air would die +down, and again there would be nothing to break the monotony of the sea. + +But, aside from the weather, the day turned out to be a remarkably +exciting one for me. For one thing, I had been forbidden by my strict +family to do anything whatsoever without the consent of Captain Avery. +“Just because you’re not told _not_ to do anything,” they said, “you’re +not to assume that you can do it. You have to _ask_ first.” “Oh, that’s +easily managed,” I replied. I must ask every time I wanted to go up in +the rigging (though, on account of my dizziness, I had not as yet gone +up); I should certainly have to ask before going out on the jibboom; I +should not be allowed to steer, even though I knew the points of the +compass. The most I could do was to ask the names and uses of things. +For this I usually sought out Mate Bill. When he was off duty, the two +of us would sit together in some concealed corner behind the fo’c’sle, +or on the fo’c’sle deck, or on the other side of the after deckhouse +from where Captain Avery was at that time; and then we would have “a go +of it.” I would ask him questions, and he would take them seriously. +He didn’t joke over it, and he didn’t laugh because I didn’t know. He +would say: “Now, I approve of answering questions that anyone asks me, +if so I can. The steward here, he’d fool you half the time.” + +♦ “_Take the Wheel!_” ♦ + +But I wanted my privileges! I decided that I would begin to acquire +them again. I climbed up on the spanker boom often; I had been told +that that was all right. I used to walk out on it, leaning against the +sail and walking on the windward side of it, until I came almost to +where the boom overhung the water. Then, feeling a slight disgust at +the strictness of everything, I would stop. Of course I could do this +only when the breeze held the sails steady. (Two or three times during +that day this happened.) Otherwise I should be flapped off the boom. +I used to go by myself on the fo’c’sle deck a good deal, and I would +climb around and sit on the forward capstan or on the staysail boom or +on the very forward part of the bow, as near the tip as I could. Then +I would have a longing upon me to go out on the jibboom. But when I +saw those frail footropes, overhanging the open sea itself, and the +whole jibboom waving up and down, I decided that, even if I were given +permission, it was a little precarious for me. But I said I should come +around to it sooner or later--and, after all, it was only my first +voyage--and, after all, I could climb better than Richardson--and, +after all, I was really doing very well for such an amateur! + +I did long to steer, though. How I wished someone would give me a hint +or two! I was a little worried about asking anyone save my friend the +mate. I resolved that, sometime when he had the wheel, I would ask him. +But I found that the mate, because of his rank, hardly ever took the +wheel. Sometimes he would take it for a while, during Bob’s trick, so +that Bob could go down to dinner; that would be after he had had his +own. But I had an itch on me to steer that day. It was after dinner +when I felt the itch; they were constantly tampering with the sails, +and it was, as usual, Bob’s trick (it seemed to me as though it were +almost always Bob’s trick), and Bob had just left the wheel to help +close-haul the spanker. I came walking slowly aft at that moment, and +Bob called out to me: “Here, take the wheel while I fix this bally +sail.” + +To be requested to steer! + +“Do you know the points?” he shouted. + +“Yes!” + +“East by north.” + +“East by north, bo’s’n!” + +A moment afterwards I had picked out the point, and, with the feeling +of those hand-worn wooden spokes in my palms, I guided the lubber line +about and kept the schooner at east by north. I found it was not so +hard; I could really do it! The only thing about it that puzzled me +was that, when the ship swung off her course by a tiny eighth of a +point, it took a very generous motion of the tiller to bring her back. +But oh, how like a sailor I felt! And when Bob left close-hauling the +sail, with Roy to help him, and came back to his trick, and saw that +the lubber line was still on the dot of east by north, he certainly +was pleased. He said: “I’ll have to stand with you, ’cause if I don’t +the old man won’t like it. But you’ll get to steer good before long. +Now I’m going to do something up forrard. If the old man asks you why +you’re steerin’, you tell him I said you could.” + +“Can you trust me with her all right?” + +“Oh, sure! You’re gettin’ to steer good!” + +♦ “_East by North, Bo’s’n!_” ♦ + +Well, the old man didn’t happen to pass by at that particular +moment--perhaps he was down in the cabin--but I certainly did feel a +huge sense of responsibility. There I stood, holding the ship to her +course very neatly. And, though it took all my concentration at first +to keep that tiny black line on that tiny black point, I grew more and +more used to it, and before long I got so that I didn’t mind it at all. +The bo’s’n came back after a little and looked anxiously at the compass +in the binnacle. But it was still all right, and he grinned. Presently +the old man really did come by, and he saw that I had the wheel all to +myself, and that Bob was standing doing nothing behind me, but watching +like a cat. He, too, looked at the compass, and then at me, and then +at the compass again. I grinned at him. He looked rather anxiously +at Bob, and I heard him whisper: “Don’t let her keep it too long. +Do look out for her!” And then I heard Bob’s careless voice reply: +“Oh, sure! _She’s_ all right. She steers better than Richardson now.” +But, evidently to please the captain, he took the wheel, too. It was +companionable to steer with another; yet I liked the feeling of having +it alone. I steered more and more accurately all the time, and I got so +that I could see when the schooner was about to slide off her point, +and would head her off with the wheel. + +I had the wheel for the second half of Bob’s trick, and for the first +half of Roy’s. That made a whole trick; and the time went like foam. +But toward the end of that time my eyes, unused to the strain, grew +rather blurred. I could no longer see the line or the point very well, +and, afraid of mistakes, I stopped. But I was becoming a sailor! My +first voyage, and here I was “jining in” with the crew and the work +like anything! + + * * * * * + +♦ _Tussle with the Spanker_ ♦ + +That morning, before the steering, I had had a rather amusing and +exciting experience. The breeze seemed to be coming up a little, but it +was just a whim. The sails were steady for a moment, and the captain +wanted the spanker close-hauled. They were always doing something or +other with that spanker; I never knew anything like it. Well, the +captain decided, there was such a very light breeze, that he could do +it himself. He loosed the sheet from the belaying pin on the starboard +side of the schooner, leaving only one turn of the rope around the +pin, and began to haul, letting all the strain go on to the pin--the +true nautical way of close-hauling a sail when you want to do it +alone. But the captain, as Bill often said, was “weaker’n a cat,” and +to see him leaning back on the rope, clasping his horny hands around +it desperately, and yet with the strength of that mighty sail all the +time pulling him back toward the belaying pin, was comical. He raised +his head, and I could see that at any moment he would begin his call +of “Here, boys! Here, boys! Here, boys!” I wanted to be helpful as a +sailor, and I immediately took hold of the sheet above the belaying pin +and hauled and hauled, with the desperate strength which I always had +when I wanted to be sailor-like, or wanted to show the crew and the +skipper that I _was_ sailor-like. I hauled while Captain Avery took up +the slack which I made, by hauling it taut around the belaying pin. +The two of us could just hold the sail and close-haul it half-inch by +half-inch; but we weren’t making very rapid progress, and the skipper +was getting tired of it. And, after all and after all, he began to sing +out: “Here, boys! Here, boys! Here, boys!” + +The bo’s’n came aft in a bound or two, and, with a look of disgust at +me to show that he was sick of that infernal “Here, boys!” he, too, +began to haul. He took the sheet close under the block, I took it a +little farther down, and the captain still stood on the other side of +the belaying pin, making frantic gestures and taking up the slack. But +evidently the sheet had been working towards the top of the belaying +pin, for in a little spurt of wind it crept up to the top and over. +The captain started shouting. The boom was too much for Bob and me +without that extra turn around the pin, and both Bob and I were dragged +rapidly, roughly, and resistingly across the deck. We went fast, +because of the savage pull of the boom, but I had time to think quite a +lot. I thought that it would pull me overboard; I thought of letting +go; then I thought that I _mustn’t_ let go, I must just hang on like +grim death and show them that I was sailorly. I felt myself come into a +bit too sudden contact with the after capstan, and heard the bo’s’n say +“Let go, quick!” Then I saw that he had let go. And, next, everything +was a blurred whirling. At last, as I neared the port taffrail, I +let go, and the boom went wandering gently out until it was at right +angles to the rail. I fell on my knees just against the rail; then, in +spite of my jarring encounter with that capstan, I got up briskly and +laughed. With Roy helping, all of us hauled the boom in again and made +it fast. + + * * * * * + +In the afternoon the crew, having less than nothing to do, all gathered +on deck, sitting on hatches between the poop and the fo’c’sle, in the +sun of the mid-afternoon, to talk. They all came out with the exception +of Richardson and another Bill--an Irish Bill. There were the mate, the +bo’s’n, Roy, the cook, and I. It was the first time the crew had really +shown signs of being friendly with one another. Not that they had +quarrelled, but they never seemed to have anything much to say; they +were gloomy and silent. + +♦ _In Conference_ ♦ + +We carried a spare gaff on the starboard side, under the bulwarks ’way +forrard. It seemed to be a favorite place to sit. The mate and I sat +down on this gaff, side by side, while the bo’s’n and Roy, who seemed +to be great pals, sat on a forward hatch-cover, facing us. I began +joking Bill about his “breeze-o’-wind.” “When _is_ it coming, mate?” +said I. “Oh, sometime next month!” “We’ll have to publish that,” said +I--“‘Bill predicts a breeze-o’-wind for next month.’” “But you wait,” +says Bill. “It’s a-comin’ yet, sometime tomorrow!” “That’s far better,” +said I. + +Then I subsided entirely and let the crew rattle on in their own way. +Richardson had now come out of the fo’c’sle and was very feebly and +painstakingly splitting up pieces of wood with the steward’s little +hatchet. He was doing it slowly, though neatly, and it looked as though +he were not accustomed to it. The mate saw him, and I could tell at +once, by the way his black eyes began to sparkle so maliciously, +that he was going to say something to Richardson. And he said, in +that solemn way of his, yet with a downward twist to the corners of +his mouth: “Hey, Dick, don’t hurry too much over that!” Richardson +is very pleasant, no matter what is said to him, and he replied only +with chuckles--rather gloomy ones. Then he fell to work sawing up some +boards which had been left over from the lumber cargo; he brought out a +small sawhorse and a saw and fell to work. But it went no better. Every +stroke seemed to be painful, and he made very slow progress. Again the +mate struck in, and said: “Don’t kill yourself over that, Dick!” + +The mate began to tell about various incidents of his career, which +seems, on the whole, to have been a fairly interesting one. He has +stuck to the sea for fifteen years, with hankerings now and then to do +landsman’s work, but always sooner or later returning to sailor life. +He said: “Once they wanted me to go as mate on a schooner, fer seventy +a month. I was workin’ ashore then, an’ I didn’t want to go. But I was +wanted badly enough--somehow, it seems I never had no trouble gettin’ a +berth as mate--” + +“Well, no wonder,” interposed Richardson from his sawhorse. “If you +resigned up there at Bridgewater, I would too, by heaven! I wouldn’t +stand bein’ hazed by the old man; not I! Why, Bill, it’s you as keeps +this crew together at all.” + +♦ _In the Old Days_ ♦ + +“Well,” continued Bill (it seems customary for them to begin everything +with a “well”; even I do it, more or less), “the owner of that vessel +offered me seventy-five. But ’twas no better. I didn’t want to go. I +said I wouldn’t, no matter how much he give me. ‘Not for eighty?’ says +he. ‘No, sir!’ says I. ‘Eighty-five?’ ‘No,’ says I, ‘’N’ you might as +well make up your mind to it, sir! I’m not goin’ to do a sailor’s work +no more.’ ‘Wouldn’t you go fer ninety, Bill?’ ‘No. Don’t you coax no +more. I’m not goin’!’ But he kep’ on arguin’, and he riz five dollars +every time he opened his mouth, and, by thunder, I went, fer a hundred +and ten. That’s how bad I’m wanted! And here I am with Cap’n Avery, fer +sixty flat, and a row over that, too!” + +The cook had now come out of his galley, and he stood listening, his +apron tied behind him, and a curious expression of scorn and disdain +on his face. Said he: “You think ye’re so badly off, don’t you? Why, +when I used to sail in the old square-riggers, we used to get thirteen +dollars a month, flat--no more. And the mate--he didn’t get no more +than seventeen. You think the work is so awful hard here, don’t you? +Why, listen to me! Every single morning all hands was called on deck at +four o’clock; some ships had it half-past three. Then we had to wash, +and scrub, and sooge,[1] and sand, and holystone, and squeegee the +decks, forrard and aft. ’N’ when that was done we had to go aloft and +polish up all the brass work, ’n’ the brass along the bulwarks, and the +cook had to polish his kids and pans, and put them in the front of the +galley for the old man to examine when he come forrard in the morning. +It took till breakfast t’ get all that done. Why, you sluggards would +take all day over the work that we used t’ do in an hour! And do you +know what? Listen to me--” + +But here an interruption came in the shape of an incident which made +the crew laugh a great deal. The cook decided that he would come and +mingle with us; he would sit on the gaff and swing his legs around, +and be chummy. So he walked robustly over to the spare gaff, his hands +up under his apron in front. But somehow or other, nimble though the +little man is, he missed his aim, as it were, and, instead of sitting +_on_ the gaff, he sat down _behind_ it, with his knees over it. By that +small miscue the dignity of the little old cook was suddenly spilled, +turned upside down. But he pulled himself together again, hitched +forward on to the gaff, blinking in the sun, and rocked himself back +and forth. Then he began again where he had left off: + +“Listen to me a minute. You talked about being hazed by the old man: +you listen, and if you call this hazin’, what you’re havin’, I eat rats +fer dinner! When our old man used to come on deck, at eight bells, +after everythin’ aboard was all fixed up tidy as tidy, ’n’ the deck +holystoned ’ntil it was white as chalk all over, he used to bring his +glass and come forrard and look away up at the riggin’, t’ see ’f the +brass work was shining enough. And if we hadn’t polished it to suit +him, he would make us go up aloft and do it all over agin.” + +♦ _Peppery Suggestion_ ♦ + +All this time the cook had an imaginary glass in his hand, and was +peering aloft through it, to see if the brass work were polished. He +would peer and peer up at the mizzen-mast, and peer and peer at the +mainmast, and then peer and peer indefinitely at the foremast. And very +queer he looked, peering and peering that way through his imaginary +glass. + +“’N’ then,” he went on, “after he had looked at that a while, he would +come to the door of the galley and look at all the cook’s tin pans and +kids, that was spread out in the sun. ’N’ if _they_ wasn’t polished to +suit him, they would have t’ be done over, ’n’ the cook would get a +good callin’ down, too.--Fer the love o’ Mike, what you laughin’ at, +bo’s’n?” + +The bo’s’n had been chuckling and giggling, and now he was absolutely +bursting with restrained merriment. “I was thinkin’,” said he, “someone +ought to have put pepper in the old man’s eyeglass. Then, when he come +along and tipped it ’way back to look up, he’d go around howlin’ and +howlin’ and stampin’ and swearin’, and be a fine show--and then, if the +fust mate ast him what was the matter, he wouldn’t dare say, ’n’ he’d +say that the brass was polished so poor it made him curse!” The bo’s’n +delivered this strange harangue in the craziest voice you ever heard in +your life, all the time chuckling as though about to burst. + +“Well,” returned the cook, vehemently, yet very solemnly--“I guess you +nor no one else, neither, would dare to do anythin’ like that. He’d +regret it all his life, let me tell you! And you wouldn’t do anything +about the grub, neither. I suppose all you fellows think you’re in a +awful bad way with food. Do you want me to tell you what _we_ used +to have to live on? We had salt pork ’n’ hard tack. ’N’ that’s about +all. We used to have what we called ‘duff’ on Sundays, but that wasn’t +so good as the grub you have all the time. And they didn’t even have +potaters! Now, you shrimps git potaters all the time. Then, they on’y +had ’em aft! Once we had a great hunk o’ salt beef. It got all soaked +up with salt water, but the cook made us eat it. It was hard as a rock, +’n’ it lasted fer days and days, ’cause no one would eat it. ’n’ it +kept cropping up, and cropping up, and we couldn’t get rid of it nohow. +But we had to keep on chewin’ it (’n’ it was jist like leather), ’ntil +every bit of it was gone. Why, we used to have food that cats and dogs +wouldn’t ’a’ touched, ’n’ that turkey-buzzards wouldn’t ’a’ picked up.” + +“Well!” said the bo’s’n, in a voice of careless scorn, “blamed if I’d +eat it, if ’twas as bad as all that.” + +“Now, my young man,” said the cook, very severely, “you’d do exactly +what everyone else did, you would.” + +♦ _Dietetic Argument_ ♦ + +“Wither me if I would! I’d fire it overboard. Why didn’t you fire it +overboard?” + +“It was different then,” said the cook--“very different. Sailors +couldn’t get fresh and flip then, by thunder. Why, every man of them +would be fired and flogged, if they did that.” + +“Well,” said the bo’s’n, “why didn’t they come aft and complain? +Strikes me it ain’t up to them to eat what’s fit for hounds.” + +“Of course it wasn’t up to them!” said the cook, “but they had to do ’t +all the same. I tell you, sailors weren’t treated as men at all, then; +they weren’t so good as dogs! You think ye’re so hard off, don’t you? +I’d like to have seen you in them times. Yes, by thunder, I would!” + +“Well, but,” said the bo’s’n, whose careless brain was still working +on the meat, “I’d take it out of the fo’c’sle with me, a little piece +at a time, every time it come round--and then, when the old man or the +steward wasn’t around, I’d fire it over. That’s what I’d do.” + +“No you wouldn’t. You’d do what everyone else did--eat it ’ntil it was +gone!” + +“Well now,” I interposed, “I think the bo’s’n made an intelligent +remark then. It would have been simple enough to do that--a little +piece at a time.” + +“Sure it would!” said the bo’s’n, evidently glad to have someone agree +with him. “’Twould be the easiest thing in the world. I’m surprised +none o’ you thought of it.” + +“Huh!” said the cook--and that was all of that subject. + +“Speakin’ o’ dogs and cats,” said the mate, evidently deciding that +it was about his turn--“once I was second mate in a schooner, ’n’ the +old man had a cat. He was fond o’ that animal, I tell you! But the +boys, they got kind o’ mischievous ’bout it ’n’ decided they’d play a +trick on the skipper and get rid o’ that cat. So, one time when we was +gettin’ a tug out o’ the harbor, one o’ the boys picked up the cat by +the tail and threw him down into the tug. Gee! I’ll niver ferget how +surprised the boys in the tug looked, to see a cat come flyin’ down. +An’ I’ll niver ferget the skipper. He didn’t know what had happened to +the beast; he niver did know. ’Cause he’d ’a’ been powerful mad if he’d +found out--but he niver did find out what happened to his cat.” + +♦ _Analysis of a Lubber_ ♦ + +There was a silence, as the old man emerged from the cabin door, walked +over to the port taffrail, and peered over at us, with a strange look +of meddlesome curiosity on his visage, and an ugly, trembling glare. +Everyone looked at him, and the bo’s’n said: “Here, boys! Here, boys! +Here, boys!” in his mocking voice. “You wait!” he added. “He’ll be +hollering in a minute.” As a matter of fact, the skipper didn’t start +calling; he only looked forrard as though he would like to eat us. I +suppose it enraged him to see me preferring the crew’s company to his; +and perhaps it also enraged him to see the crew lying all over the +deck, so “’xcruciating idle.” Then he went to see about the steering. + +“Well,” began the mate, “last night I tried again to beat the points of +the compass into Richardson’s head.” This was to me, the crew having +dispersed momentarily. “But he can’t learn, and he won’t learn. I never +seen a dumber lad.” + +“He can’t box the compass, mate?” + +“Indeed he can’t! He can’t remember them points for a minute. And he +does make the dumbest mistakes, too. Why, early this mornin’, when +’twas his trick, he almost steered us right into a small fisherman +crossin’ our bow. The boat got swept towards us, on account o’ leeway, +and Richardson held us right to our course ’n’ didn’t know enough to +heave to. And the lad was goin’ t’ keep right on goin’ ’ntil we hit the +fisherman, but I see what was happenin’, and I come aft and took the +wheel out of his hands and hove us to. But he’s dumb!” + +“I’m getting so I can steer pretty easily, mate.” + +“Oh, you can steer good. A few more tries at it, and you’ll be steerin’ +as good as anybody. You steer a good sight better ’n Dick, now.” + +How I did love the mate’s flattery of my seamanship! + +At this point something occurred which sent a mighty roar of laughter +from the crew and gathered them together again for more yarns. +Richardson had been steering for a long time. Most of his trick was +over, and he was listening impatiently for the welcome sound of eight +bells from the ship’s clock below. The clock struck after a few +seconds--seven bells. But Richardson was so elated with the idea that +his trick was over, and that the watch would now be changed, that he +never stopped to wait until the bells had finished striking; he took it +for granted that it was eight, and pulled the cord of the after bell +(on the deckhouse just over the binnacle, within reach of the helmsman) +eight times. First the crew looked puzzled, and then, amid shouts +of laughter, Bob yelled out: “Hey there, Dick! What you strikin’?” +Richardson looked foolish for a moment. But he quickly recovered his +good nature, and said, blushing: “Wasn’t that eight bells?” This time +the crew was too convulsed to reply. Only the cook remained solemn. +He gave one disgusted look from the galley door. He felt that it was +altogether beneath his dignity to laugh. _He_ wouldn’t condescend even +to smile. + +♦ _Interlude on a Grisly Theme_ ♦ + +The boys were now back again, sprawled over the hatchways and the deck. +But the cook, evidently rather disgusted, as always, with the freshness +and the greenness of our crew, went back into his galley, muttering: +“Oh, Lordy, Lordy!” and we didn’t see him again that afternoon. + +The conversation of the crew changed to an extraordinary subject: +teeth. (I won’t repeat all the gory, gory details.) The mate began by +saying: “Well, I think when I get to Bridgewater, I’ll have all my +teeth pulled out, and get me a set of false ones.” + +“Well,” said the bo’s’n, “I imagine that would be a good plan. Does it +hurt?” + +“What do you want to know for?” + +“Well, I think some day I’ll do the same. Is’t ’xpensive?” + +“Some is and some isn’t. A couple o’ years ago I wanted to have a tooth +pulled out, and I see in the paper where a dentist pulled teeth fer +twenty-five cents apiece. So I says: ‘That’s the place fer you, Bill,’ +’n’ off I went. Well, when I got there, I had a tooth pulled. ‘How much +is it?’ says I. ‘Fifty cents,’ says he. ‘But I see in the paper where +you pull teeth fer a quarter!’ ’so I do,’ says he, ’when you have more +than one pulled. Fifty cents fer one. A quarter fer each tooth, if you +have more than one pulled.’ ‘All right,’ says I, ‘go ahead!’ And he +went on pullin’ and pullin’, and he took out nine teeth. I’ve only got +seven in my upper jaw now.” + +“But,” said the bo’s’n, “does it hoit?” + +“No.” + +“Well, I’ve got a couple o’ teeth that I’ll have pulled. What do you +say we go somewheres in Bridgewater?” + +“All right with me,” said mate. + +“You have yours pulled first, and see if it hoits, and then I’ll have +mine pulled.” + +“Agreed.” + +“And say, Roy,” went on the bo’s’n, “if you’ll pay fer mine I’ll have +three pulled.” + +“Agreed,” replied Roy, and that was the end of that. I was rather glad. +Enough is enough. + + * * * * * + +Through the rest of that day the weather was monotonous, but very +beautiful. The sea heaved and throbbed endlessly--dappled waves +of silver-gray, constantly shifting shadows, pools of dark blue. +The sky was clear all day, and the weather was very warm--in fact, +uncomfortably so during the early afternoon. The sails stayed white +with sunlight, and there were always sun-sparkles on the sea. Of course +I had to have my little joke with Bill about the “breeze-o’-wind.” +He said that if it didn’t come tomorrow he would never attempt a +weather-prophecy again, but that he was almost sure it would come. + +♦ _Mate and Bo’s’n_ ♦ + +And that leads me to say more of Bill. He is the best of mates; at +least, in these modern times. In the days of the old clippers he +would have needed a great deal of hardening down before he would be +acceptable as an officer. But now he is just about as perfect as +the mate of a lumber schooner could be. He is unutterably patient, +and more willing to work than the men before the mast. In fact, +he has a paintbrush in his hand as much as anyone. Of course this +attitude--especially his willingness to do small jobs about the +deck--wins the crew to him. You remember what Richardson said about +his holding the crew together? Well, that’s a fact; he does. They were +all dissatisfied with Captain Avery; if it weren’t for Mate Bill, they +would certainly resign. And his willingness to work keeps them at work. +None of his orders are slighted--except possibly by Bob, the bo’s’n, +who, being his brother, is naturally very careless. + +I asked Bill if he didn’t like to have Bob for his bo’s’n. He replied +that it was nice in some ways to sail with part of the family, but that +at the same time he wished that Bob weren’t the bo’s’n, but only a man +before the mast, because, being his brother, he was often careless +about important orders. And the mate said that Bob often used to sass +him back. “Once,” he said, “just the other day, I ast Bob to get to +work painting the bulwarks, and I give him the can and the paintbrush +and everything. Then Bob says: ‘Aw, drop yerself overboard! I’ve done +enough paintin’ t’day!’ Well, I didn’t say nothing; I jist turned +around and left him. If I’d done what I ought to have done, I would +have heaved him overboard. But I’m not made that way--I have a tender +heart. And that’s the trouble with me as a mate: I’m not hard enough.” + +Bill had pronounced his one fault--tender-heartedness. But when I +looked at him, so brawny, and strong, and brown, and piratical, +it seemed rather ridiculous to define him of all persons as +tender-hearted. I should rather have liked to see him heave Bob +overboard--and then hoist him on deck again by the throat halyards! I +imagine that the mate really did have hard times getting things done, +with Bob as bo’s’n. Bill used to say that any of the rest of the crew, +even Richardson, would probably have made a better bo’s’n than Bob; +though Bob was all right, he said, when he didn’t have Bill for mate. + + * * * * * + +♦ _Steerageway at Last_ ♦ + +Bill’s weather-prophecies, however belated their fulfillment may be, +certainly are _true_, and no joke. When I went on deck the next (and +fifth) morning, after a hard sleep and another waking-up by force, +the sea was agitated, the sails were full and steady, and the proud +_Norman D._ was leaning a very little. The man at the helm seemed to +have an easier time of it, now that steerageway was on her. And the +whole atmosphere of everything had changed somewhat. Instead of the +gloomy, drowsy atmosphere, everything was gay, alert, alive. And yet +the sea was not really boisterous, either--only playful and laughing. +The sun was out brilliantly, and the whitecapped waves danced. I could +feel the wind all through me, and the sails could feel it, and the +schooner loved it--loved it. It was not yet so strong as it had been +for that short time on the afternoon of the first day; but as it came +up, I could feel the schooner leaning more and more, and, though still +it was only a playful breeze, there was something ominous in the sound +of it. The waves pounded the side of the ship, breaking and breaking; +the wings of foam rushed and roared, louder and louder. And then--what +did I hear aloft? It was a gentle, high, shrill singing--an unearthly, +indescribable sound which for a moment I could not identify. Then I +knew: it was the song of the wind through the sails. + +For long I have read and heard about that magic sound; but I was +beginning to think that it was just part of the poet’s imagination, +and that he really meant the dashing of the foam or other sea noises. +But no, it is quite true: the wind seeps out between the threads of +the sailcloth and sings and sings, and the sound grows louder and more +magical as the wind rises. This was sailing, as I had always dreamed of +it. + +Early in the morning we passed the loveliest small schooner I have +ever seen, a small fisherman. She could not have been more than half +our size, but in every detail she was as perfect as we. She carried +foresail, mainsail, staysail, jib, and flying jib, and those long, +pointed sails stretched out in front, full of wind, looked like the +white wings of sea gulls. Keeled over on the port tack, she passed +close under our stern. We could see the white bone she had in her small +white teeth, and we could see that beautiful roundness of full sails. A +sea gull--a white albatross sailing by--or, simply, a whitecap upon the +waves! + +We were off Cape Sable, the most southerly point of Nova Scotia. All +day long the breeze rose, keeling us over more and more. The sails +were watched as a cat watches a bird, in case a sudden squall should +necessitate letting them out, or even reefing them. How I wished that +we might have to reef! + +♦ _Table Racks_ ♦ + +The sea rose and rose in all its foaming greenness, until it had +reached the point where it had been on the first day; but it did +not stop there. It kept on coming up until, to me, it began to look +actually raging. When night shut down, the sea was in a tumult; +and the effect of the darkness on that raging water seemed to me to +intensify its anger. When, for the first time, we ate with table racks, +it was marvellously exciting. On previous days there had been enough +roll to slop the tea about considerably; but the cook seemed to think +that this long, steady, deep cant needed the racks more than a crazy +rolling. + +Bill thought the worst wasn’t over yet; and since the seas were still +becoming angrier and angrier, I believed him, and hoped that it was +true. That night I went to sleep in a crazily tilted bunk. I slept as +soundly as ever, and had to have another waking in the morning. + +I consider that fifth day, the first of wind, as the beginning of the +second half of the trip. Somehow, things changed on that day, and we +began to see everything in a brighter, even a more piratical light. + +I forgot to say that on that day we had seen our first blackfish. Bob +was at the wheel, and his keen sailor’s eyes had made out the fountain +which, like whales, they blow up. This fish was near the schooner, +and playing leisurely about, always blowing. Every now and then we +would see its black, shiny back looming up out of the sea like a dark +boulder, or the forked, Y-shaped tail. The water which it spouted was +so like a whitecap, or a wave throwing up foam, that I didn’t see it +nearly so many times as the trained eyes of Bob. + + * * * * * + +In the way of weather, the next day was without doubt the most exciting +of the whole glorious trip. There was not so much talk with the crew, +but the weather quite made up for that, and it, after all, was the +greatest thing. When I woke up I had a sudden fancy that the ship had +turned over, and was sailing upside down. Indeed, when I put my feet +on the floor, it slid out from under me, as it were, and I had to be +thoroughly awake before I could stand up, even dizzily. The leeward +rail was almost buried, and later I discovered the sea spraying in +through the scuppers. + +♦ _The “Gale-o’-Wind”_ ♦ + +When I thrust my head out of the cabin door, I was immediately blinded +by the force of the wind, and I couldn’t hear my own thoughts for the +howling and rushing. A marvellous summer gale, dead from the northeast. +Then I thought of Bill. It was just as he had said. I would never +doubt or make light of his prophecies again. The sea was a raging wild +whirlpool. The great green waves burst up and up, crested with roaring +foam, breaking and breaking against the side of the ship, throwing +their foam on to the deck. To me it seemed a typhoon. To them it was a +summer gale. + +I cannot describe the awesome howling and raging of it. The sea swirled +wildly, dark green, foaming. The sky was overcast, and that made +everything seem more sinister. The sails were close-hauled, but not yet +reefed; we were on the starboard tack, and making ten knots--a very +satisfactory speed. And I heard again that singing sound aloft in the +sails, still more loud and unearthly than the day before. + +The sea was nothing but a mad rush of flying foam. Everything seemed +one with it--even the wind, even the _Norman D._ herself. Two storm +petrels--Mother Carey’s chickens--were blown like clots of dark foam +across the sea; they had long, slender, dark wings, and they held them +motionless and were scudded across. How I should have loved to see an +albatross! Or a whale! + +I could barely turn my face to the wind, and this fact helped to create +my awed impression of it. When I wanted to walk forward I had to lower +my head and hand myself step by step along the deckhouse, staggering +even then. I saw some of the crew floundering. But the cook--not he! He +walked in a straight, sure, steady line from the galley aft, with his +heavy basket of food. When I asked Mate Bill whether this was a breeze, +or a wind, or a gale, he said that it was “blowin’ real hard. Yes, it +sure is. Any more than this would be uncomfortable--we might have to +reef.” And the captain didn’t scorn this either. At breakfast-time, +when the table racks were up, the table set, and the bell rung, he +came down into the cabin, his white hair blown with the wind, his +cheeks fresh and rosy, and said: “Say, folks, it’s blowin’ quite a +few up there!” It was. The only one who scorned that wind was--you +couldn’t guess. No, not with a hundred guesses! It was Richardson. +_Richardson!_ I asked him, just to compare a sailor’s notion of this +with a landsman’s, whether he thought it was breeze, wind, or gale. And +Richardson said: “Oh, I’d call this a little breeze.” And it was not a +joke! He was in dead earnest. He just wanted terribly to impress me. + +When again I stuck my head out into that howling, again I was awed +speechless. The schooner now had her cutwater buried in foam. The +roaring mountains of it which we piled up left her traces for miles +upon the sea. I wish we could have seen her from farther off, as she +leaned there, like a sea gull flying, or a wisp of foam. Now the sails +were no longer so gently, evenly full of wind: they were stretched and +puffed out furiously, distorted by the strain into unnatural shapes. I +could see, looking at the canvas, how they were tugging at every squall. + +♦ Wild Weather ♦ + +The only place I could think of to sit down on was the canted leeward +side of the deckhouse. I sat on the very edge of it, with my feet +braced firmly against the taffrail. If that part of the rail had gone, +I should have gone with it. But the old man came along, found me +sitting there, and decided that I shouldn’t be allowed to do _that_ any +longer. He told me that it was dangerous, and that I must get down. +Down I got. Then I decided that I would go up on the fo’c’sle deck, and +I asked Bill if that were all right. Bill replied that I oughtn’t to +do that, because the jib sheets were rather old and frayed, and with +that strain on them might give way at any moment, sending the blocks +banging about. He told me that he knew a man who had gone forrard on a +job in the middle of a gale, and a jib sheet had given way, and he had +been killed by a blow of the loose block. So I promised I wouldn’t go +there. Then all I could think of to keep myself warm was to run back +and forth on deck, and since I couldn’t do that aft, I went cautiously +down the poop deck steps and started tearing like a race horse back and +forth between the poop and the fo’c’sle, every now and then looking out +the scupper holes or over the bulwarks at the foam. The waves were no +longer great green hills crowned with their ivory castles: they were +furious volcanoes. The sea was hurling aloft thousands of mountains, +carving deep and terrifying valleys, and then ruthlessly destroying +them again. + +It was a curious and difficult experience to run upon the deck. +Besides the deep cant to leeward, the ship was rolling head-on, not +on the waves of the gale, but simply on the tidal swell; and this +roll seemed so much part of the cant that you didn’t notice it until +you began to have trouble managing your feet. It _seemed_ as though +the schooner were steady and firm. Yet, when you ran to the fo’c’sle, +you were running first up a very steep hill which tired your legs +dreadfully, then down so steep a hill that you almost fell on your +face. Sometimes when I would put my foot down, the deck had slid out +from beneath me and was ’way down at the bottom of the sea somewhere, +and at the next step the deck was there long before I was, so that I +would stumble over it, as it were. + +When the cook saw me dashing so madly up and down the deck, he was +amused, and shouted from the galley door: “What you doin’? Practisin’ +for a relay team?” + +“Oh, just keeping warm,” I replied. + +“What do you think of the breeze?” + +“Breeze!” said I. “I should rather call it a gale.” + +“Oh, yes,” said he, “it’s a pretty little wind for this time o’ year. I +didn’t expect nothin’ like this.” + +♦ _Beating to Windward_ ♦ + +Again I was so awed by the sinister look of it that I could not speak. +It was that way with me every time I looked at the overcast, gloomy +sky, the raging sea, the strangely gleaming foam, the howling wind, +the singing sails, the mountains of foam which we pushed up in great +billows. + + * * * * * + +How the day went, I never did know; it went like the wind. Most of the +time I was either running up and down the deck or standing on the poop +deck, just gazing and gazing out to sea; or else I was watching the +tactics of the _Norman D._ Of course, since the wind was coming from +northeast, we had to tack. It was just as I had hoped, for I had always +rather wanted to see how the schooner would tack in a good gale. I was +disappointed, however, in the way she didn’t lie close to the wind. She +would run no nearer it than four points. The captain said that this was +partly because she was light. “She’s light-headed,” he explained; “that +means she won’t tack. She lay within three p’ints coming down, loaded.” + +We would sail for some two hours on one tack; then the old man would +take the wheel, in order to have all hands free for the sails. He would +steer “by the wind”--that is, not taking any particular compass-line, +but keeping an eye on the sails and sailing as near the wind as +possible--and when everything was ready forward, he would roar out +in his croaking, harsh old voice; “Ha-a-a-ard a-lee-e-e-ee!” And then +the mate, usually on the fo’c’sle deck, would answer out in his more +hearty voice: “Hard alee, sir!” And then you would be sure to hear the +bo’s’n, from some nook or cranny of the vessel, echoing: “Hard alee, +sir!” The ship would swing over until she lay on the other side of the +wind--though it always seemed as if the wind, not she, had changed. +They tacked neatly, though a little frantically. But the cook disdained +their performance, and spent a long time telling me how lazy and slow +and ignorant they were, and how much more complicated it was to tack a +square-rigged ship, when there were more than ten times as many sails +and ropes, each one to be adjusted. + +♦ _Darkness_ ♦ + +As I said, the day went very fast. There was nothing but the gale, +the foam, the waves--now and then penetrated by one of the skipper’s +terrible whoops. (His voice seemed always on the point of cracking in +two; he used to yell out that “Hard alee!” so loudly that his voice +would vanish entirely into the air.) I shall never forget the strange, +wild, melancholy feeling which that overcast and howling day gave me. +I would sit for hours on the corner of the deckhouse, and watch it, +and face up into it, and yield to it, and cower before it. It was even +more sinister than mountain-tops with the wind droning about them; +more so even than the night in which Daddy and I were on the top of +Moosilauke--that night of the great gale, with the biting mist and the +stinging sleet. We went out together that night, wrapped in blankets, +braving it. I remember the mountain feeling which spellbound us, and +the loneliness of it--and the way IT glowered at us out of the fog. +This was like it. Every trace of that gay, piratical feeling left me. +There was nothing but the gale. And, though it was all piratical and +sailor-like, it crowded all feelings out of you except the feeling of +its awesome self. + +But the darkness, when it began to shut down, was the most overwhelming +of all. To see the storm growing dark, and the foam still gleaming +ghostlike, and to feel the wind howling in a way which it has at +night--we almost trembled. The sailors didn’t like it so well as we. +They wished that it weren’t from the northeast; anywhere but northeast! +said they. The captain was heard to say something about anchoring, +and the mate to say something about sailing a hundred miles that day +without making an inch of progress to the northeast. While everything +was vague rumor, and no one seemed to know much about anything, Bill +came aft and was heard to say to the old man: “Are you going to anchor, +sir?” + +“Yes, I’m goin’ t’ get that mudhook down, Bill, if I can,” said he. We +made our way in pretty close to land somewhere off Cape Sable. Down +with the sails, and down with the mudhook. And then, through the midst +of the gale, with the howling above us all night, and the tossing of +the ship, and the noise and confusion down in the cabin, we slept and +rolled. + + * * * * * + +Here I must say a little something about the captain’s curious method +of sleeping. We took two bunks aft, of course, and one of them had been +the captain’s. The skipper himself slept in the chartroom on an old +couch, and he was always so sleepy when he went to bed for a snooze +that he would tumble asleep with everything in the world piled on top +of him. The afternoon of the first day, taking advantage of a chance +to sleep a bit, he tumbled on to that couch, where we, innocently +enough, had put a great deal of our luggage. We saw him sleeping there +with bags of oranges, suitcases, and everything you ever heard of +piled on top of him, as well as a tangle of blankets. Since then he +had complained more or less about that couch, and how difficult it was +to sleep on. It seemed to account for part of his decided nonchalance +towards his passengers. + +♦ _The Square-rigged Cook_ ♦ + +Our crude meals were getting to be terribly awkward now. There was +a decided withdrawal from the captain, shared by everybody. The +meals had their amusing aspects, though, and sometimes I would come +near laughing aloud. The captain immediately started talking in his +long-winded way about something which he didn’t know the first thing +about. The cook stood there, arms folded, glowering with solemn +dignity, and the mate and I sat silently, now and then winking at each +other. The only trouble was that we couldn’t laugh aloud as we always +wanted to. + +Then there was the cook’s feeling of superiority to the crew, in +addition to his hatred of the skipper. There was a little sliding door +which opened from the galley into the fo’c’sle--a door which the cook +would open for a few seconds while he passed the crew’s food through. +He would pass the food through scornfully, as if throwing it to dogs. +And then the way he would slam that little sliding door! a slam of pure +disgust. Once, when a dish of mixed grub was sent through, our friend +Richardson ventured to say mockingly: “What’s that?” But it wouldn’t +pass with the cook; no indeed! He said, with a mild oath: “You’d better +shut your jaw, or you won’t get no more”; and _slam!_ went the sliding +door. + +The cook showed in many ways what a real sailor he had been, and in +what real sailing days he had lived. Sometimes, when three or four of +the crew were struggling with some difficult job, clewing a topsail, +close-hauling a sail in a breeze, or unfurling the topsails, he would +come out, with his apron tucked up before him in a business-like way, +and with the strings always flopping behind, and he would stand by +and watch their efforts a little disdainfully. Then he would begin to +shout and encourage them, in the true square-rigged style. And every +time they brought their weight down upon the rope, he would sing +out a different phrase: “_Haul_ away! _Now_, boys! _All_ together! +_Well_, then! _Heave_ away! _Heave_ ’n’ raise the dead!” It really did +encourage them, too. I used to feel that he would break into a chantey, +next. + +♦ _Fo’c’sle Entertainment_ ♦ + +For two or three days I was mightily teased by the crew. They had +discovered, much to my relief, that I wasn’t seasick, and in all +probability shouldn’t be. So they had let up on that subject. But there +was another possibility, which they noticed in a flash. It was the +thought that I might be irritated if they accused me of being homesick. +In vain I turned upon them. Even the mate, even the cook himself, +shared the fun. If I were discovered looking down into the water, or up +at the constantly swinging reef points; even if I sat on the saddle of +the spanker boom and looked out over the sea, one of them would come +along and tap me meaningly on the shoulder, saying: “Well, Barbara, +gettin’ homesick?” Once the cook made me almost furious. I was sitting +on his galley doorstep, silent for a moment, and suddenly he launched +this remark at me: “Ye’re gettin’ terrible homesick, ain’t you?” I had +discovered the futility of trying to prevent these taunts. I simply +said: “I never get homesick, and I’m not now.” But when, after a little +talk, I started to walk aft, the cook said: “You don’t need t’ go away +mad!” “Mad?” said I. “What under the sun should I be mad about?” And +then: “It’s just a saying,” said he. + +It was the same if I expressed a desire for a little more wind, like +what we had had before. Then I was accused of “wantin’ to get there too +quick.” And even when, as we approached the entrance to the harbor a +few days afterwards, I said something about how beautiful it was, they +immediately asserted that I was eager “to be gettin’ ashore.” But I +refused to be more than secretly irritated at the teasing of the crew I +had so longed to sail with. + +Roy had a harmonica. There was a great deal of merrymaking in the +fo’c’sle with it. Oftentimes the bo’s’n, whose place is aft, and who +is not supposed to join in with the crew too freely, would go into +the fo’c’sle and ask Roy to play this tune or that. I used to ask Roy +what were some of the things which he played--such things as “Oh, +Katherina!” “’Twas three o’clock in the morning,” and “The Rosewood +Casket.” He really managed his little harmonica very well, using a +cup for a sounding-post. Sometimes Richardson played it; he was even +more brilliant, but not so careful. Oftentimes Roy would play it out on +deck, sitting on the covers of the hatchways; or he would play it from +within the fo’c’sle. + +Once when I was in the galley with the cook I heard music from the +fo’c’sle, and on opening the little sliding door I beheld Roy, with his +harmonica, playing a brisk waltz and waltzing gaily around the fo’c’sle +to his own music[2]-- + +[Music] + +all in a space about the size of an ordinary dining-table. He was +turning round and round, taking tiny steps. This was one of the most +amusing things I saw among the crew. + +♦ _Dismal Weather_ ♦ + +He grinned rather sheepishly when he saw that I was watching him, and +there followed quite a parley about dancing of one kind and another. +This led to a gathering of the crew, and everyone got to talking about +it. I happened, though somewhat in jest, to ask Bill if he could dance +a sailor’s hornpipe. But Bill rather sadly shook his head, and Bob +struck in scornfully, and said: “Oh, him! He couldn’t dance a cow’s +hornpipe.” + +“No,” said Bill, “none o’ the family are much good as dancers!” + +“Dick’s a good dancer.” + +“Yes, and a good waltzer, too.” + +The difference between a dancer and a waltzer I never did find out. But +I have always wished that Bill _could_ dance the sailor’s hornpipe. + + * * * * * + +The next day (the seventh out) the breeze was dying down. There was +none of the whitecapped fierceness of the day before; nothing but a +gentle, easy wash--a pretty good sailing breeze if only it had been +from a different direction. But it was holding to northeast like grim +death. It was a dull, sad day. Early, there was a curtain, a thick +veil, of white sea fog over the coast, so that we couldn’t see it and +didn’t know how near it was. This rather disturbed the old man, and +he was afraid to pick up anchor. It was slightly warmer than the day +before, because there was so much less wind. Later, the fog lifted, +and we saw the long, low, very black and dismal shore line of Cape +Sable, farther off than we had suspected, lying under the fog. There +were large islands about, and the captain was kept at work for some +time with his charts, finding out exactly where we were. He finally +discovered that we were in what is called Pubnico Harbor. I didn’t feel +that it was much of a harbor: we were exposed to the full force of +nearly all weathers. + +Dinner that day started out to be as awkward and uncomfortable as ever, +what with the cook’s hatred and the mate’s and my embarrassment. The +ship was still at anchor; indeed, the captain had definitely agreed +with the mate that we should not get under way without the wind’s +changing. But the captain seemed to be blissfully unconscious of +all the awkwardness, and he sat there smiling away and rattling on +endlessly. He was just saying: “When I came back from Florida--” and +then he suddenly decided that he should like a cigarette to go with his +strong black tea. He left us abruptly to get one. While he was gone, +the cook had an opportunity of which he was not slow to take advantage. +He leaned ’way over toward us from his sentinel’s post and said in a +hoarse whisper: “Come back from Floridy, did he? Hm! It’s a wonder the +turkey buzzards didn’t get him.” He said this in such a deep, ominous +voice that I felt myself almost shivering. What a piratical little old +man! + +♦ “_But I Gest it will be Talk_” ♦ + +That was not the last of it. The captain returned, and we fell to +talking about wolves. I don’t know what he knew about them, but +he seemed to find plenty to say about anything at all, and a lot +left over. The meal was shortly over, and again the cook bent down +and whispered to us: “Hm! I guess the wolves wouldn’t want _him_ +much--nothin’ there but bones.” Mutiny! + +I’m sure that a mutiny would really have risen if we had had a crew of +any spirit at all. I can readily imagine the cook standing up on top +of a keg of rum, addressing the crew as ringleader, and I can imagine +his carrying them with him--oh, how he would carry them!--and I can +see them all drawing their cutlasses, flashing them aloft, and crying +out: “All hail to the steward!” But it was a dull crew--a gloomy, sad, +dejected, rather too good-natured crew, usually. Such things would not +go with them. They were quite content to _talk_ about the old man, to +criticize him in every way that they could think of. + + * * * * * + +I had a good talk with the mate that afternoon--or, rather, a good +listening to the mate. The bo’s’n had been painting up the engine-room; +he had painted the machinery red, black, and green. Very gay it looked, +and he was rather proud of his work, and took me in to see it. I told +him it was a fine job, and we had a minute of conversation, Bob +telling me something about the machinery, with a sprinkling of talk +concerning the old man. Then I went to see Bill, who was off duty at +that moment. I asked him if he didn’t think Bob had done a good job in +the engine-room. And this was his reply: + +“Oh, yes, pretty good for Bob. But it’s nothin’ compared to the job +I done once, when I was bo’s’n on a four-masted schooner. I allus +did have a craze for neatness, everythin’ in _order_. Well, that +engine-room o’ theirs was a _mess_ when they enlisted me as bo’s’n. I +niver seen a worse mess. ’N’ I went right to work, ’n’ I scraped the +floor, ’n’ the walls, ’n’ the ceiling, ’n’ I painted all the wheels and +the engine all over agin, ’n’ I varnished the floor, ’n’ I scrubbed it +all up spick and span as could be. Well, the skipper knowed that I was +forrard, workin’ there, ’n’ one day he come forrard to see about it. +Well, I had that place so clean that you could go in there in a clean +white shirt ’n’ run the engine ’n’ niver get a speck of dirt or grease +on it. Well, the skipper was awful pleased, ’n’ he said: ‘Bo’s’n, I’m +proud o’ that job--I niver had a engine-room lookin’ so good as that.’ +Well, I was a young man then, and I was proud, I tell you!” + +♦ _A Fantasy in Fog_ ♦ + +That day proved, except for the wonderful remarks of the cook, to be +quite monotonous. If we had been sailing, with the mudhook lifted, it +really wouldn’t have made much difference, in that gloom and fog. The +sea was very mysterious. The wild gale had vanished, but there was +quite a swash left over. We stayed there all day, and rolled. + +And we rolled in our bunks all night, to a jingling of bottles in the +medicine-cabinet, the banging of doors, and the yelling of Bill as he +strove to wake up Bob every four hours. The next day, waking up to find +the schooner still rolling crazily about, we went out on deck, very +curious to find out what the weather was doing. It gave us a cold, cold +reception. The first thing I saw was the crazy motion of the deck, +and next I saw the sea where the sky ought to be, and then the sky +where the sea ought to be. The fog had gathered around us thickly and +menacingly, saturating the air with brine, dismal and wet to breathe. +It curled around us in weird and fantastic shapes, like mountain mist, +but not so white and beautiful. + +We could just see the bow of the vessel from where we were, aft, and we +could clearly see that thick fog wafting across through the jibs, above +the bowsprit. The schooner was in a mysterious little world of her +own--a world of about a hundred feet on all sides; beyond it, blankness +and silence. It was tangible space; you could see nothing--the +nothingness--so clearly. The ghostly ocean had turned to a silver-gray, +and it slipped away beneath us and fell back, then rose and rose +again, slidingly, mingling with the sky. We could not distinguish +between the swells even so much as when it was clear. I would be +looking steadfastly at what used to be the sky: then, suddenly, I would +see nothing but those shifting waters there, and then they would fall +back, and down, and again there was a wheeling sky of fog. + + * * * * * + +While I was still down in the cabin, early that morning, a strange +sound had startled me--a roaring drone, very sinister and terrible. +At first, alarmed, I had wondered in vain what it was. But when I +went on deck and saw that fog I knew immediately: the ship’s foghorn. +Do you know what I thought of when I first recognized it? I thought +of Billy Bones, who used to blow through his nose “like a foghorn.” +I was curious to see how it was worked, but there wasn’t time before +breakfast. I went down with a hearty appetite, encouraged by that +strong briny smell. + +♦ _The Skipper’s Pet Month_ ♦ + +I don’t know when I had been amused by the old captain so much as I +was just after the meal, when, as we all started to go out on deck +together, he began to explain. We went up the steep, small steps before +him, but he followed us. He began down in the cabin to ejaculate: +“Well, folks, this is a mull! A regular mull. It’s a June mull! A +regular June mull.” And then, following us out on to the deck, he kept +on in a low monotone: “Yes, folks, it certainly is a mull--a regular +mull--a June mull--a regular June mull! We have these regular mulls +every June. Yes, folks, it’s just what I expected. A mull! That’s what +it is! A regular June mull!” (When I got home, after adventures yet to +be reported, I immediately went to my dictionary to look up the word +“mull.” It seems to have all meanings except that of a spell of foggy +weather. And I don’t at all know what was meant, if not that. Possibly +it was Captain Avery’s own invention--that word; and possibly that was +why he enjoyed saying it so much.) + +Captain Avery had about ten thousand calendars in that after cabin; +calendars, apparently, from all parts of the world. They lined the +walls of every bunk compartment. (Actually, I think there were about +nineteen, or some odd number like that.) Of them all, there were a +very few of 1927, from which they reached back as far as 1922. I went +exploring among them, on the suggestion of my shipmate, to see in what +months they left off. And, strange to relate, I found only three which +got as far as December. A few left off in April, May, July; a large +majority stopped short in various _Junes_. + +“I believe the old man’s been keeping count of June mulls!” said my +shipmate. + +“It certainly looks so,” said I. + +This was about the wettest day we had; certainly the wettest so far. +The sheets were dripping, and when, later, we got under way we found +them cold, stiff, and very hard to handle. As for the sails, it was +quite impossible to sit under or near them: they kept shedding icy +drops of concentrated sea fog down the back of one’s neck. + +Two or three times we went into the galley to get warm. Its stove was +always roaring during this cold weather, and the door was kept shut, +seemingly to keep the gravy smell in as well as the heat. Always our +visits were made exciting by piratical remarks. Once I was sitting +on the galley doorstep with my head out in the fog; my shipmate was +farther back inside; and the cook was standing by the cupboards, making +dough. The remark was not intended for my ears, but I overheard it. He +had begun by saying, in all probability, profane things about Captain +Avery, crowning his talk with this: “’F you folks wasn’t aboard, I’d be +tempted to p’ison the food!” I was so stunned by this that I couldn’t +believe I had heard aright, and I turned upon the steward, saying: +“What was that, cook?” Then he felt abashed, I think; anyway, he said: +“Hm! I guess it’s as well you didn’t hear.” + +♦ _Up with the Mudhook_ ♦ + + * * * * * + +The old man sat still at anchor for a great part of the day. Then he +had an idea the wind was shifting slightly to the south. Really it was +just a little whim of the breeze, but the old man was evidently eager +to arrive at Bridgewater, and, without any _yoho_-ing from that gloomy +crew, the engine was started, and the mudhook came up through the +intense fog, looking more than ever like a ghostly skeleton. + +Shortly after that the mate and I had a marvellous talk behind the +fo’c’sle, sitting side by side on the roof of it. The mate began by +saying what a blankety-blank fool he thought the old man was: + +“Here we was, sitting comfortable at anchor, knowin’ where we was, in +Pubnico Harbor. Now here the breeze swings off a quarter point to sou’. +Well, the old man takes that too serious, specially when there ain’t no +wind nohow. So up with the mudhook, and up with the sails into the fog, +and off we starts. _Now_ look at us! There are the sails flappin’ and +flappin’, and here is we rollin’ and beatin’ around. The fool! He’ll +lose his reck’nin’, sure. I know he will! Well, if _I_ had anything to +say about it, I wouldn’t ’a’ tried it! + +“Well, Barbara, how you feeling now?” + +“Oh, I’m first-rate, mate!” + +“Well, you’ve done fine. I thought sure you’d be sick.” + +“Yes, and you acted kind of as though it would have been a grand joke +if I had been, too.” + +“Oh, but I was just teasin’ you. I niver had a young sister to play +with, and now one comes along quite handy, and I can’t help it.” + +“Yes, you were teasing, all right! But as for the cook, I think he’d +have been awfully glad if I had been moderately sick.” + +“The steward? Sure, he’d ’a’ been glad enough to see you sick. But as +for me, I hoped you wouldn’t be--’cos, I’ll tell it to you before your +face or behind your back, you’re the smartest li’l girl I ever seen +aboard of a vessel yit. Ye’re not afraid t’ ask questions, an’ ye’re +not afraid t’ work, neither.” + +“Well, mate, I’ve always wanted to go sailing, and now that I’m doing +it I might as well chip in and help, and learn.” + +“Sure! Well, not everyone would.” + +And then, after that gallant remark, the mate fell to telling me about +the state of affairs at home. + +♦ _Bill in Private Life_ ♦ + +“You know, Barbara, when I got married, I was married on a Monday, +and I went off t’ sea agin Tuesday. I didn’t come back home fer six +months. ’n’ then I stayed home all day Monday, ’n’ went off t’ sea agin +Tuesday. Well, it did seem kind of tough at the time, but now I’m glad +I don’t see m’ wife very often. Y’ see, it keeps us from gettin’ tired +of each other. Now, when I go home, we have more fun! We’re just like a +couple o’ kids. We sit together and bicker and bicker all th’ time. + +“Well, my wife does a great deal in the line of fancy ’mbroidery. She +can do all kinds of work of that kind, and she does love to do it. So +she sits at one end of the table, evenings, with some work of that +kind, and I sit at the other end, whittlin’ or carving with wood, and +we do have a good time.” + +“Do you do much whittling and wood-carving, mate?” + +“Yes, I do quite a bit. And I have a lot of fun doing it, too. I like +nothin’ better than to take a block of good wood, and a good knife +(only I never have one), and sit by the fire in the stove, to carve +something. I did a full-rigged ship model once--oh! I wish you could +’a’ seen her, Barbara; she was a beauty! It took me about two weeks +around Christmas-time to make her. Well, a friend of mine, a sea +captain, came t’ see me, ’n’ he asked if he could have her. ‘What’ll +you give for her?’ I says. ‘Well, shipmate, what do you ask?’ ‘Oh, you +can have her fer five dollars,’ I says. So he give me five dollars fer +her. Then, later, he told me that he had been offered sixty dollars for +that ship of mine, ’n’ that he had refused to sell her fer that! + +“Yes, I seem to be gifted in that line. I did a violin once, from +a model of an old one that a friend o’ mine had. I worked on it all +summer, ’n’ another friend played on it fer a long time. I had a lot of +fun making it. But the hardest part was making the holes fer the pegs. +Y’ see, they are so much narrower on the inside than on the outside +that it’s very hard to get at them. Well, I strung her up, ’n’ she made +a good little violin. + +“’N’ I do quite a little in the painting line, too. I used t’ do +water-color sketches of full-rigged ships, with the sky ’n’ the sea +all painted in, and painted good, too. I used t’ sell ’em fer a dollar +apiece. Yes, I had considerable thought of bein’ an artist. But there +wasn’t enough money, ’n’ I had t’ get out and earn, so I went t’ sea. +’N’ at sea I stayed, ’n’ I guess I always will. Y’ see, I can carve, +and I can paint, but here I am wasting my life with Cap’n Avery--sixty +per month. It seems hard. I think I’ll resign at Bridgewater. But, ye +see, I don’t want t’ do the old man any harm. I wouldn’t harm him fer +worlds; not me. ’N’ if I did resign, then the hull crew would. Didn’t +ye hear what Richardson said about me holdin’ the crew together? Well, +that’s a fact.” + +“How many are there in your family?” + +♦ _Souvenir_ ♦ + +“Well, there was twenty births in the family, but there are only eight +now. Some o’ them died in the war, some o’ them died of sickness. I +have one little brother that I haven’t seen since he was five months +old. An’ when Mother died, there I was, th’ oldest of the family, with +a little sister ten years old, and another one only eight--an’ I tell +you, I felt powerful lonely. Well, I went right off to sea, and left +the young children with an aunt. Now they’s almost all married, and has +children of their own. As fer myself, I have three children--two sons +and a daughter.” + +He picked up a little sliver from a board which was left over from +the lumber cargo, opened his knife, and carved away at it. (It is +funny about Bill’s knives. He told me he had about four around on the +schooner somewhere, and that they kept cropping up here and there and +then disappearing, and that Bob had two or three of them. Almost every +one is broken. It seems that Bill isn’t wealthy enough to buy real +knives, so he buys a thousand cheap tin affairs which last about five +minutes. I told him, partly in joke, that I should certainly buy him a +jackknife the first thing when I got back to New Haven, and send it up +to Bridgewater before the schooner sailed.) He carved that sliver, with +amazing speed, into a delightful little rowboat with a very accurate +keel and lovely lines along the gunwales. He tossed it over to me +immediately. I have that little boat now--just about my only tangible +remembrance of Mate Bill and the _Norman D._ + +It was Bill’s watch above, but he didn’t seem to have anything in +particular to do, and he was evidently glad to have someone to talk +to. The silence and gloom, with blasts from the foghorn every now and +then, struck home upon everyone’s senses. I began to ask Bill the +names of various things aboard. I learned, on that day, a lot of ropes +and blocks; he answered every question carefully and clearly. He was +probably glad to air his knowledge a little. + +“By the way, mate,” said I, “I thought that when the booms and sails +are to starboard, then you’re on the port tack, and that when the booms +and sails are to port, then you’re on the starboard tack. Is that so?” + +“Yes, that’s right.” + +“Well, when I asked the cook this morning about the foghorn, he said +that there is one blast when you’re on the port tack, two when you’re +on the starboard tack, and three when you’re running. We’re on the port +tack now, according to you, but they are giving the horn two blasts.” + +“No, the steward’s got you all twisted round. It’s one on the starboard +tack, two on the port, and three running.” + +“Well, I wondered who was wrong.” + +♦ _Deep Sea Clay_ ♦ + +“Now, I don’t like that at all,” said Bill. “That’s just like the +steward, to fool you that way. Now, I like to answer questions that are +asked me, as well as I know how. But him! No, you can never tell with +him. And, you see, he makes you disbelieve me, and then I get in wrong +there.” + +“No, I didn’t disbelieve you, mate. I thought that, ten to one, the +cook was wrong.” + +“Yes, he’s wrong. That is, I was always learned the way I told you. +That may not be right, but it’s the way I was learned.” + +So we sat there in that ghostly fog, and discussed multitudinous little +subjects--about sailing vessels, mostly--and I began to think that I +had never known anyone more entertaining than Mate Bill. He was my idea +of a real sailor. + +When we dropped anchor during that wild night, it had evidently been +over a clayey bottom; the anchor had three or four good-sized lumps of +sticky gray clay on it. I fell to scraping it off, and Bill scraped +some off, too. I started molding it in my hands until I had got it to +the right texture; then I showed Bill how I had been taught to make +pottery out of it, first making a smooth round of clay for the bottom, +then rolling out long slender coils of it, and coiling it on to that +bottom round, coil after coil, and in that way building up a jar or +bowl. I loved that clay, because it was full of little shells and +pebbles which had become stuck into it; I found some delightful ones. +Then I started making two blocks, absolutely smooth, and with sharp +corners. I put them down on the bulwarks beside the cathead to dry. +It was a secret between Bill and me that they were to heave at the old +man, when they dried and became hard, if he came forward interfering in +what was none of his business. + + * * * * * + +♦ _High Hopes_ ♦ + +Bill and I must have been talking and playing there on the fo’c’sle +well over an hour, when suddenly there came a whoop from aft. +Immediately everyone was excited. It was that infernal “Here, boys! +Here, boys! Here, boys!” Since it was the mate’s watch, or supposed +to be, and since it was probably growing upon Bill’s conscience that +he had been idling for longer than he should have, he left me with a +bound, crossed the rolling deck in three more leaps, and was beside the +skipper. As for me, I was eager to find out what the disturbance was, +and I started to climb down from the roof of the fo’c’sle to see for +myself. But I was unable to cross the deck with the speed and agility +of the mate; I walked slowly, though steadily, and climbed with some +difficulty up the poop deck stairs. I beheld a very amazing sight. The +captain had a boat hook down over the port side of the schooner, with +something hooked on to the end of it--a crate or box of some kind, as +it looked. Evidently, when he had once got it hooked, it had been too +heavy for him, and he had been unable to hold it, but, unwilling to +let go, on the chance that it might be something worth having, he had +started whooping for help. Now the whole crew had gathered there, and +they all had boat hooks down, and were hauling it up. It was a large, +heavy, mysterious box, and it rattled meaningly from within. _What_ +could it be? Was it gold? Mightn’t it be treasure? Supposing it were! +Oh, how marvellously piratical! My imagination reigned supreme over my +common sense then. + +But things were becoming confused now. There were so many of the crew +there, and so many boat hooks all struggling for a grasp on that one +box, that everyone was getting in everyone else’s way, and the captain, +as was his custom, was becoming terribly excited. The red spot was +glowing on his cheek, and his eyes were flustered and wild. The mate +was trying desperately to shove him out of the way, but he held on +to his boat hook stubbornly, and held the boat hook around the rope +with which the thing was tied, and, in resistance to the mate, he +was yelling out in a horrible voice: “Let go! Let go! Let go! Let me +go! Let go!”--followed by a furious cascade of oaths. But the mate +gently ushered the old man out of the way, where he sank back upon the +deckhouse, exhausted, still grasping the boat hook. + +That helped a lot; there was much less confusion. And, although the +captain still gurgled out delicious oaths now and then, the crew kept +their heads pretty well, and brought the great box slowly over the +taffrail. What was within? I could hardly contain myself. By the wicked +glint in the old man’s eyes--a glint like that of an eagle’s or a +hawk’s--I knew that he had some avaricious hopes that it was a box of +gold. + +The crew slid off the rope, and opened the crate. Was it gold? What +was it? Everyone peered over everyone else’s shoulders. _Was_ it +gold--gleaming gold? It was-- + +It was-- + +I can hardly bear to say. Not that it was disappointing to me +particularly, because my sense had begun to come back and take revenge +on my piratical imagination. Of course, thought I, in this modern time +it couldn’t be gold; if this had happened in the days of Blackbeard or +John Flint, it might have been. Besides, a box of gold would sink, not +float serenely past. It was--No shrinking, now; I have got to tell. One +more effort! + +♦ _Questionable Spoil_ ♦ + +It was--a box of clams! hundreds and hundreds of clams. At first we +thought that they were good, and this rather tickled the cook, who, as +usual when anything was going on, had come out of the galley, his apron +strings flopping behind him. But after they had broken open five or +six and tasted them-- + +The old man had pretty well recovered by this time, and in exasperated +tones he ordered the bo’s’n to heave the box overboard. But they had +already dumped about half of the clams out upon the deck in sorting +them over, and there was an oily mess there. The bo’s’n picked up the +box, staggered under it, and almost had it over the taffrail, when the +weight overwhelmed him, and again he staggered backwards under it, +spilling out most of the clams. A mighty oath followed from the enraged +bo’s’n; then he shouted out to the mate: “Here, give a hand with the +cursed thing!” Together they got it over; whereupon the bo’s’n fetched +a shovel and scooped the rest of the mess over. + +That was done, and it certainly did leave the crew in a sullen, +mutinous condition. “The idea,” they cursed “--to put us to that +trouble over an old box of rotten clams!” The skipper, his greediness +disappointed, was shamefacedly pacing the deck, while the cook retired +into the galley, muttering: “Oh, Lordy! Lordy!” + + * * * * * + +The sea still heaved and pulsated strangely, rose and slid back into +its own deep hollows. All day the fog scudded across, with its briny +smell. It seemed to be clutching you in its cold, wet arms, and it +saturated you. All you could breathe was that damp, salt wetness. There +were times when we could barely see the tip of the flying jibboom from +aft, and there were other times when the sun tried its best to shine +through, and we could see up there the feeble yellow splotch of it. And +it was bitter cold--a wet, miserable cold, not the fresh cold of the +former breeze. + +♦ _A Buoy in Fog_ ♦ + +There is nothing more uncanny than passing a bell buoy or a whistling +buoy in such weather. All sense of direction is lost. To tell which way +we were heading, or from which way the wind was coming, I saw even the +crew go up aft to look at the compass. Everything was a moving space, +swirling slowly around and around us. Approaching a buoy, you hear +first a loud whistling and droning somewhere far off in the future; +and, because you can’t see it, it makes you shudder. Sometimes you +think it’s to starboard, and sometimes you are sure it’s to port, and +then you have the strangest feeling that it’s dead astern. But how can +it be astern, you ask yourself, when you haven’t yet passed it? You +can’t definitely tell where it is until you come within sight of it, or +unless you have sea ears trained for such things. You become haunted +with the strange music of that whistler, and you listen and listen for +it, to find out _where_ it is. But it mocks you, and dodges you, and +plays hide and seek with you, knowing itself quite safe beneath the +curtain of fog. + +Yes, you feel that it is a mournful and mocking sound, that calling. +And then, perhaps the fog breaks for an instant, and you see the thing +which has been playing with you. You see it looming vaguely, strangely, +from sea and fog all mixed together--a great red monster lifting up its +head to howl, a haunted brick-red castle, rocking there amid the swell. +And then it roars or tolls its bell again, and you feel that it has +lifted its voice in despair at being discovered. + +Watching a buoy, we could see very clearly how slowly the ship was +making headway, and how fast she was making leeway. We felt, seeing a +thing like that looming at us from the depths of the sea, more alone +and queer, more desolate than ever. Again that sense of solitude +overwhelmed us. + +This happened once or twice that day. But the captain had lost his +reckoning--absolutely lost it! His instruments depended upon the sun, +and there was none of that. Dead reckoning was of no use, because of +the leeway, and the no wind, and the swell. When we passed a buoy which +the captain didn’t understand, he and the mate got together on the +cabin floor, on their knees and elbows, over the chart, one on each +side of it, to work out the position. Neither could come to a definite +solution of that buoy, and the captain appeared nervous and worried. +He would come on deck, saying: “If there’s anything I hate, it’s these +June mulls!” And then the mate would say, very confidentially, to +me: “It’s his own fault, the withered old fool. If he’d done what he +oughter have done, stayed right there where he knew where he was, we +wouldn’t have got into this trouble. Sometimes I think the old fellow’s +got no more sense than a baby.” + +There was nothing much to be done; at least, if there were anything the +captain certainly showed his ignorance of it. Some of the crew thought +that he ought to drop anchor now, before they got into a hole somewhere +alongshore. But the old man kept a-going, and we beat about, blowing +that infernal horn, all day. What with the gloom, the silence, the fog, +the wetness and coldness, and that horn at regular intervals, we were +pretty tired by evening, and ready enough to drop into our bunks. I had +tried pumping the horn a little, and found that I enjoyed the sound +somewhat more when I helped to make it. + +♦ _Impudence from the Foghorn_ ♦ + +There is one amusing detail connected with that horn which I mustn’t +forget. It was a rather rickety old affair, and if you pumped it too +furiously it would stop its long, steady drone and go off into croaking +falsetto whoops. It was a commonly agreed fact among the crew that, +when it did this, it was exactly like the old man’s voice. When the +old man pumped his voice too hard, it, too, would go off into the same +sort of croaking whoops. And the crew--especially, of course, Bob, who, +when it was his trick at the horn, always, after pumping it correctly +for a few seconds, let it go off into those whoops--thought it a great +joke to make the horn echo the old man’s excitement. It all disgusted +the old cook very much. He would sit in the galley door, with a roaring +fire in the galley stove (to which we would come in at frequent +intervals for a warming-up), muttering his favorite mutter of “Oh, +Lordy! Lordy!” and saying that it was all nonsense, that business. But +it seemed rather to tickle the mate, who, with his customary malicious +chuckles, would pretend to be rather disgusted, but whose eyes would +twinkle in that piratical way which made me think that he really +enjoyed the joke. + + * * * * * + +We beat about, hard-aleeing, all the afternoon. That awful “Hard alee!” +whoop of the skipper sounded inexpressibly dismal, echoing through +the fog, and echoed by the foghorn. After a diverting yarn from the +steward, which I shall soon repeat, we slept in the midst of the roll, +and were grateful for the privilege. + +The cook, returning after supper from the cabin with his basket of food +and dirty dishes, saw the two of us promenading the decks in the fog, +apparently doing just about nothing, and he decided that it was a bully +good chance for talking. He stood there securely, holding his basket, +and rattled on and on and on until I felt pretty sure there would be no +finish, ever. I missed, unfortunately, the beginning of the tale; not +realizing what we were in for, I had started walking forward, looking +over the bulwarks. When I returned, the yarn was _in medias res_. The +cook, it seemed, was in a three-masted schooner which was going to race +a four-masted schooner from somewhere to somewhere else, to find out +which was the better vessel. As I missed the beginning, I don’t know +any more about it. The cook was just saying, with the most dramatic +gesticulation I had ever seen: + +♦ _A Sporting Event_ ♦ + +“--Well, it was a fine day, that day we was goin’ to race; good sailin’ +breeze, everythin’ just dandy. But luck seemed to be agin us. We manned +the capstan at the same time as the crew of t’ other vessel, an’ we was +workin’ away good and brisk, but it didn’t seem t’ work right. Well, we +had t’ stop heavin’ and see what was the matter. It took a good long +time t’ get it fixed, ’n’ then ’twarn’t fixed right, so we had a bully +hard time gettin’ the anchor up. By this time, the four-master was out +o’ the harbor, gettin’ a good breeze, ’n’ a’most out o’ sight. Then +we started t’ get our centerboard down. But that didn’t work right, +neither, and try as we might, we couldn’t get her down. We got grease +’n’ poured it down, and I brought soap from the galley, ’n’ we worked +away ’n’ worked away at it. Well, finally we got her down, ’n’ then we +got our sails up ’n’ were off. + +“I thought we was niver goin’ out o’ that harbor. There wasn’t much +wind there, ’n’ we went so _slow_! Well, we got a good breeze after +a time, ’n’ then we did tear along. But the _Edward Coles_ was ’way +out o’ sight, ’n’ we was pretty sure we was niver goin’ to catch up +with her. The next mornin’ there was quite a argyment in the after +cabin as t’ where she was. Some held she was t’ windward of us, some +held to leeward, and some says she was straight astern. The cap’n said +she was t’ windward. But I knowed better. Says I: ‘No, sir, she ain’t +t’ windward, she’s astern of us,’ ‘Oh, Si, it’s impossible. I know +she’s t’ windward.’ ‘I’ll wager with you she’s astern,’ says I. ‘I +won’t wager with you, Si, ’cause you’ll on’y lose yer money. She’s t’ +windward.’ ‘what do you think, mate?’ says I t’ the chief mate. ‘Oh, I +think she’s t’ windward.’ ‘Sir,’ says I, ‘I ’nsist I’ll wager with you. +Now I’ll put up ten dollars agin your ten cents, ’n’ we’ll see ’bout +it.’ ‘No, Si,’ says he, ‘I won’t make a wager like that.’ ‘Oh, sir,’ +says I, ’y’ ain’t got no sportin’ blood in you. Come on, now, wager ten +cents aginst my ten dollars! We’ll see who’s right this time!’ + +“‘Now, Si,’ says he, ‘y’ must know where th’ schooner is, t’ make a +wager like that. Otherwise ye’d niver put up ten dollars aginst ten +cents.’ ‘Oh, go on, sir, wager with me!’ says I. ‘Well, Si, but you +must know something t’ make a wager like that.’ Well, I coaxed, ’n’ I +coaxed, ’n’ I coaxed, but fer the life of me I couldn’t make him put up +ten cents. Then says I: ‘Sir, y’ ain’t got no sportin’ blood in you, +’n’ I’m goin’ t’ tell you what I know. You go up halfway in th’ mizzen +riggin’, ’n’ you’ll see the _Edward Coles_ astern of us.’ Well, the +skipper banged his fist down on th’ cabin table, ’n’ jumped up ’n’ ran +on deck. He went right up halfway into the mizzen rigging, ’n’ then +he slapped his leg ’n’ hollers out: ‘By Godfrey almighty, there’s the +_Edward Coles_! You’re right, Si, there she be.’ How’d I know? Well, o’ +course I’d a been up in the mizzen riggin’ early that mornin’, ’n’ I +seen her astern of us. + +“Well, we won that race by a good long shot, I’ll say, now!” + +And then I saw the apron strings dangling, as the old man walked +sedately back into the galley with his basket of dishes, leaving us +alone in the cold, wet fog. + +♦ _Ghostly Weather_ ♦ + + * * * * * + +The fog swept about the little ship all night. The first thing I saw +when I thrust myself out of the cabin was Richardson, at the helm. He +was bunched up in a massive overcoat, and his shoulders were shrugged +up the way they always were in cold weather. He was dripping wet, +and standing in the center of a cloud of fog, which swept around him +menacingly, like the white, floating shroud of a ghost. However, it +was not so thick, and the sun made on it a kind of shimmering rainbow, +which the crew called a “fog eater.” It was very mysterious and lovely +to see that path of faint iridescence, glimmering in a ghostly way +through the monotonous whiteness. There was no more wind than the day +before, perhaps not even so much, and I think there was more of a roll +than I had known on any of the previous days. I had a great deal of fun +practising walking about on the decks. If there had been much more of a +roll, the crew said, she would have been rolling water on her decks. As +it was, I saw none of that. + +Of course the sails, the booms, the rigging, the tackle were all making +their infernal racket--a racket which wears on your sense even more +than the silence of the fog. Here the mate gave me a very quaint +descriptive sentence. Said he: “I hate to sit here and listen to her +flap her wings and shake her feathers.” How like flapping wings and +shaking feathers it sounded! + +We went in pretty close to some land or other, but as the captain had +not yet got his bearings, we didn’t know what it was. We had an idea +that we were somewhere near the mouth of the Lahave River, where we +wanted to go. There was nothing much to be done except drive on until +the weather cleared off. The captain said that there was no earthly use +in trying to keep a-going without any wind. “We’ve got t’ have a breeze +t’ sail, ’n’ that’s all there is to it.” So he decided to drop anchor, +before we should be carried ashore by our leeway. “Get down the outer +jib, boys!” he bellowed out, “flyin’ jib, ’n’ jib!” Then the mate, on +the fo’c’sle deck: “Get down the outer jib, sir!” Then the bo’s’n, from +the jib halyards: “Get down the outer jib, sir!” in his usual mocking +voice. But then, just as they were about to get down the forestaysail +also, the captain’s voice rang out again: “Hold on the forestaysail a +minute!” And the mate: “Hold on the forestaysail a minute, sir!” And +the bo’s’n: “Hold on the forestaysail a minute, sir!” The captain had +noticed a tiny breath of air rising, and now he commanded the jibs to +be hauled up again. Once more we set sail--or set jibs, rather--and +started off. We were going a little bit faster, but still the schooner +was flapping her wings and shaking her feathers. + +♦ _Lost Bearings_ ♦ + +I went forrard to have a small talk with the mate. “Quite a little +trouble to no purpose, wasn’t it?” said I. + +“Well, ’s long ’s it pleases him, all right,” replied Mate Bill. + +“Well, mate, are we still off Cape Sable?” (This was a great joke among +the crew, because of waking up so many mornings in succession to be +told that we were off Cape Sable.) + +“Hanged if _I_ know where we are! The old man doesn’t know, neither, +’n’ we can’t find out ’ntil this pesky fog clears away. But I wish th’ +skipper would get some sense in ’s head ’n’ let us stay at anchor, +afore we gets into any worse scrape ’n this. We’ll be aground, next.” + +Indeed, the old man did appear to be extremely nervous. “If there’s +anything I hate, it’s these June mulls!” he would say, over and over. +He always appeared to be shivering and shaking, and he had acquired a +terrific cold in his head. When he came down for meals, I noticed that +he could barely eat and drink, his hands were quivering and shaking so. +Yes, the old man was certainly alarmed over something--over losing his +bearings, and being shut in by fog. But he didn’t anchor. While there +was a breath of air stirring, he kept the schooner to her course, and +we went sailing very, very slowly up the coast of Nova Scotia. + +About the only happening that afternoon that was in the least piratical +occurred when I went forward to have a chin with the crew, and found no +one there. The galley and the fo’c’sle were both quite deserted. The +captain strode by once as I was talking to Bob at the wheel, and said: +“Don’t talk to the helmsman, Barbara--it distracts him.” So I hadn’t +talked again with anyone at the wheel. Yes, the helmsman was at his +trick, the lookout was at the foghorn, and--there was no one else in +evidence. How strange! I went exploring. I happened to look into the +engine-room--and, lo! there they all were. The cook was there, leaning +against the wall with one elbow, the other hand on his hip, his legs +crossed, looking very important. The mate was there, and his dark, +piratical eyes were full of the light of mutiny. The bo’s’n was there, +with his customary careless, fresh look. Irish Bill was there, and his +rather wicked Irish eyes were gleaming. _What were they doing?_ I asked +myself. + +“What’s going on?” said I. “You look as mischievous as though you were +concocting a mutiny. _Are_ you?” + +“Oh, we’re just talkin’,” explained Bill. + +“’N’ plannin’ some deviltry,” said the cook. + +♦ _Brewings of Mutiny_ ♦ + +“I see,” said I. + +I really had an idea that they weren’t so innocent as they pretended. +They probably wouldn’t have let me into their secrets anyhow. But I +knew the man to go to--a special friend of the cook’s, to whom the cook +confided everything in fullest detail: my shipmate. + +From him I discovered startling things. I didn’t inquire too closely, +but I imagine they came from the cook. It seems that the crew had +gathered in the engine-room for the purpose of a conference on writing +a _letter of complaint against Captain Avery_. They were agreeing to +stand by each other in this mutiny like brothers--_and to sign their +names to this letter_! I’d wager all the pirate treasure ever buried +that it was the cook who suggested it. + +“I guess the cook would sign _his_ name, all right!” said I. + +“Oh, he’d sign his name all over the letter,” said my shipmate. + +That set me thinking, I tell you. I really wished that the cook or Mate +Bill would confide in me enough to tell me the story. But evidently +they would go up to a certain point with me, such as jesting about the +old man, but not far enough to reveal to me such deep and dangerous +secrets. They didn’t need to worry: for the world I wouldn’t have +betrayed them! + + * * * * * + +As usual, we turned in early. That night I was so unfortunate as to +sleep soundly through a happening which I was very sorry to miss. +Perhaps it was owing to the fact that Mate Bill had been having a +long conference with the two of us that night. We had been sitting on +the after hatchway, all in a row, and Mate Bill was showing us how +to tie different knots. I really believe there isn’t a knot in the +world that he couldn’t tie. He went on and on, showing us more and +more complicated ones, even splicing. Every now and then he would say +assuringly: “There! now you’ll know how to tie that when you go home.” +But I confess that I was so dazzled with the multitude of twists and +turns that I couldn’t remember any of them until, later, I looked them +all up in my dictionary. Perhaps it was with all these knots dancing in +my head that I went to sleep so early and slept so soundly. Or perhaps +it was because my hard, uncomfortable bunk was very snug and warm +compared with the sea and the fog. + +♦ _Professors of Knots_ ♦ + +Or perhaps it was the delight of a certain thing which happened just +before we turned in. It was this way: At first, during this knot-tying +lesson, Mate Bill and I had been sitting there alone, but presently +my shipmate emerged from the cabin doorway and joined us. Then the +bo’s’n, too, came strolling along from the direction of the fo’c’sle +and began to contend against Mate Bill, wagering that Bill couldn’t +tie this knot or that, and Bill wagering that he could. Bob was very +clever, too. Bill’s challenging assertion that he couldn’t braid nine +strands he answered by promptly selecting the nine from a pile of old +frayed rope, tying them to a backstay, and braiding them up. We had +quite a little joke about the common square knot. After Bill had asked +me many times if I could tie this, or if I could tie that, I replied by +saying that the only good knot I could tie was the square knot. But Bob +spoke up sneeringly and said that I couldn’t tie a square knot. I said +that I could, and was just about to select a strand and tie it, when +Bill interposed and said: “Oh! I know what you mean, Bob. Your square +knot ain’t no good. ’Tain’t a reg’lar square knot.” + +“Bet you can’t tie it,” said Bob. + +“Well, what good is it when you have it tied?” + +Bob now went to work and invented a very pretty, but useless, knot +which, as Bill said, was the start for a square braid. But, after all, +I was really right, and I had Bill to back me, and I selected my strand +and tied my square knot. Bill took it and examined it very carefully; +then he said that it was all right, and passed it on to Bob. Bob, too, +looked at it, said in his turn that it was all right, and tossed it +back to me. I doubt if there was ever such a fuss over a simple square +knot. + +As I said before, my shipmate had now come out from the warm depths +of the cabin; and he was watching all this, standing over us on the +poop deck. Now he called me, saying: “Come up here a minute, and see +what you see!” And he went down and took my place beside Mate Bill. I +looked down at the two of them; and truly it was a marvellous sight. It +had now grown almost pitch dark, and I could just see the silhouettes +of two forms, sitting there, their heads together, very still--still +except for Mate Bill’s fingers, which were busily at work in the +tangles of some new knot. Behind them was the pile of old rope, like +sacks of spoil in a heap--and they looked, those hunched figures, +like two whispering spooks, sitting out there in the rain, “plannin’ +deviltry,” as the cook would have said, and counting over their coins. + +♦ _Squalls at Sea_ ♦ + +And I mustn’t forget a rather piratical incident which happened just +before we turned in. We had gone below, and were sitting together, +talking about June mulls, when suddenly Mate Bill came down and went +in to his bunk. It had started raining, and it was very dark. He had +come down, in his wet-weather costume, to get a lantern. I didn’t see +him when he came down, but as soon as he had gone in to his bunk my +shipmate nudged my arm and said in a whisper: “Watch the mate, now, +when he comes out with the lantern. See if he doesn’t look piratical!” +I kept an eye on the small room of the mate, and presently we saw him +come out, in his oilskins, sou’wester, and sea boots, all dripping wet, +and lighted uncannily by the light of the lantern. Piratical! Never, +in all the time before, had I seen him look so much so. He nodded +good-night and clomped up the steps again, in his heavy boots. + +Perhaps, as I said, all this had made my mind swirl with tangles of +ropes and imaginings of pirates. Whatever the cause, I slept through +the worst racket of the whole trip. The rest is hearsay--what I was +told the next morning by the crew and my shipmate, who were amazed that +I hadn’t waked up. + +The mate had told me on several occasions that in the month of June +we were likely to have “squalls.” At first I had got the idea that +squalls were simply the cat’s-paws which we see on inland lakes, only +more violent. Later I decided, from what Bill said, that it only meant +wind coming in spurts and then dying down. But at last I understood +that squalls were raging thunderstorms which pass over the sea quickly, +quickly, and are gone. Bill told me of several times, during his sailor +career, when they had seen squalls coming from far off, sweeping +wildly across the sea, blackening the sky, and had barely time to take +the sails down before they were swamped in it. Squalls were very +dangerous, the mate said, and whenever they were at all violent the +sails would have to come down. + +Well, we had one in the middle of that night. There were thunder, +lightning, rain by the bucketful, and much stronger wind than any we +had had. They described how the whole crew--even the cook, roused up +out of his bunk--had scurried back and forth right over my head, to +get down the sails at full speed. They wondered how on earth I could +possibly have slept through that, let alone the howling of the wind, +the rolling of the thunder, the brilliance of the lightning, and the +tossing and plunging of the schooner. They crowned it by describing how +the spanker gaff had been let down, one man at the peak halyards, the +other at the throat halyards, and how the gaff had been let go in the +tumult and come rattling down with a terrific crash on the deck house +right over me. The old man, at this little mishap, had jumped with +terror, and shrieked out a curse in so loud a voice that they wondered +why that alone hadn’t waked me. + +♦ _Blue and Gold_ ♦ + +The cook, of course, had his little word on this episode. He took me +aside to the galley and told me in scornful terms how the old man had +got excited and hectic, after his custom, and what a ridiculous crew +we had, who didn’t know how to do anything right, and did nothing but +rush frantically around from here to there and back again, and how +such foolishness wouldn’t have been allowed in _his_ day, when sailors +were sailors, not landlubbers! Also, I was told how Bob, who, during +all this, had been at the foghorn, had seen a good-sized steamer near +by, and, very much afraid of running into her, had blown the foghorn so +long, loud, and furiously that at length Mate Bill had to go forward +and stop him. We had evidently been on the starboard tack, because +Bob had intended to blow the horn once; but he had made it one such +prodigiously long blast (the Mate said he must have blown it for a full +ten minutes) that Bill was afraid the steamer wouldn’t understand what +on earth we _were_ trying to do. + + * * * * * + +When I first went on deck the next morning, I had a suspicion that all +this might be a joke, or, at least, greatly exaggerated. But when I saw +how every last wisp of the fog had blown away, leaving the air crystal +clear, though still almost calm, I knew that it must have taken some +violence to banish it all so quickly and completely. What a heavenly +blue the sky was! It was one of those deep, quivering blues which I +have so often seen at Sunapee. The sails shone sparklingly white, +instead of their usual gray; the trucks of the masts were shining +and clear-cut against that sky. We were quite near the shore, sailing +before a steady breeze--just enough to keep the sails rounded, and to +make the schooner yield and cant a little, yet not enough to make more +than a delicate dash of foam along our sides. + +During the whole trip I had not seen a lovelier shore. Even the shore +of New Haven as we had left it on that memorable first day, with +West Rock jutting up strangely; and the long green line of Martha’s +Vineyard as we had passed it; and the coast line of Rhode Island, on +the afternoon of the first day--none of these was nearly so lovely as +what now confronted us. It was a shore of low green hills, brighter +than emerald in the sunlight and against the sky. They were high +hills, yet with so gradual a slope that they presented an aspect of +luxuriance and verdure, like a very mossy forest. Somber shadows were +constantly passing over them like dark ghosts, reminding me of how the +valleys had looked down at the foot of Moosilauke, with the shadows of +slowly moving clouds on the radiance of the autumn trees. My first real +glimpse of Nova Scotia! A beautiful land. + +♦ _Gibes at the Lubber_ ♦ + +But the captain was no better off as to his bearings. He was sailing +on with a rather doubtful air, looking again and again at his charts. +It was the cook’s opinion that he had passed Lahave River and was +now on his way up to Lunenberg; but he added: “’Tain’t up t’ me t’ +say anything.” All of us were much relieved to find the fog cleared +away, and everyone was much happier. Richardson, however, incurred two +gibes that day from the mate. He had been set to work scrubbing off +the deckhouse, while Mate Bill and I sat together discussing knots and +watching him. Richardson, as was his custom, was doing the job very +feebly and slowly, as though bored to death with it. At last the mate +raised his head and said, with that wicked twinkle in his black eyes +that I have described so many times: “Oh, hurry up, Dick, do! You’re +slower ’n an old woman with her washin’.” Later in the day almost the +same thing happened, when Richardson was scrubbing the highest part of +the starboard fo’c’sle wall. “Don’t be all day over it, Dick,” said the +mate. “Put some elbow-grease into it!” Whereat Richardson smiled feebly +and tried to scrub a trifle harder. + +As for me, the forbidden rigging looked more and more enticing now that +the sails gleamed so white, and I was determined to have a climb. I +had, to be sure, climbed about a little on one of the foggy days, when +it had broken for a moment on our port bow, revealing a dark mass of +land. The mate had gone up into the rigging to see if he could identify +anything, and I had gone with him. But, though it was impressive to +have seen the land lying over there like a mass of black fog, it +wasn’t really fun, and I had longed for a good day. Now, accordingly, I +went aft and asked Captain Avery if I might run up to the crosstrees. +“Oh, sure,” he replied, “go ahead up, ’n’ hold hard.” So I started +for the port mizzen rigging. But that was our leeward side, and the +captain called me: “Don’t go up on that side, Barbara. Allus go on the +wind’ard.” + +“Why, Captain?” + +“Well, y’ see, when the schooner” (he always pronounced this _skewner_) +“is heelin’ over to loo’ard, the loo’ard riggin’ gets slack, ’n’ the +wind’ard riggin’ is taut all the while. ’N’ then, too, the loo’ard +riggin’ ’s much straighter, ’n’ harder t’ climb. That don’t make no +partic’lar difference to a sailor, ’coz ’f anything lets go, he kin +always stop hisself, but with a greenhorn ’t’s different.” + +♦ _’Twixt Sea and Sky_ ♦ + +It was quite insulting to the pride of my sailor career to be called +a greenhorn, but then, it was all right with me whatever they called +me. I went to the starboard mizzen rigging, and up I climbed, with the +same delightful sensations which I always had. But today there were +other sensations, too. The schooner was rolling quite a little, and +I had now, in the rigging, the same curious feelings that I had had +running about the deck in our big gale. First the rigging seemed to +slide away beneath my feet, and then it would be there before me. All +the time I held very “hard” with my hands and went up steadily, though +somewhat more slowly than usual. The mate called out to me to hold the +shrouds, not the ratlines: because then, if a ratline happened to let +go, I should still have something to hold to. I followed this advice, +and very carefully kept one hand upon the rigging while I was low down, +and both when I was high enough so that the ratlines were comfortably +short and the shrouds near enough together. Still, the sway was very +puzzling, and it increased as I mounted. I stuck to it, and when +finally I sat down, rather breathless, on the crosstrees, I felt more +as if I were on a seesaw than I have ever felt, even on a real seesaw. +The crosstrees made graceful swoops and slow half circles through the +air, and I saw the sea beneath me, first on one side, then on the +other. It was very beautiful, but very alarming, too; and I felt more +than ever like a sailor. That breath-taking instant when one gets from +the crosstrees on to the ratlines and hangs for a moment over the sea +was more breath-taking than ever. I thought of this, one of the sailor +chanteys in _Iron Men and Wooden Ships_: + +“When the foaming waves run mountains high, And the landsmen cry, +‘All’s gone,’ sir, The sailor hangs ’twixt sea and sky, And he jokes +with Davy Jones, sir!” + +For that instant I certainly felt the danger of joking with Davy. But +the moment of peril was passed without mishap, and, after looking again +at those beautiful hills, of which from up here I could see much more, +I came down. + + * * * * * + +♦ _Phantasmal_ ♦ + +Now a speck was descried by the hawk’s eyes of the old man, on the +starboard horizon (or, as he always pronounced it, _orison_ with an +_h_ in front). Nearer and nearer it came, and finally it turned out +to be just what I had hoped: a sail. Eagerly we watched, and as it +skimmed slowly down along the skyline toward us we saw that it was +another lofty four-masted schooner. But how insignificant it was away +off there, how like a child’s toy ship! We could see her masts, like +matches, and her tiny gaffs and booms. The jibs were no more than +slivers of silver thread, pointing away into the sky like fingers of +moonlight; the topsails were four little snow-capped peaks along the +edge of the sky. But as she drew nearer, she looked more and more like +a crowned princess of the seas. No ship could have seemed more proud, +except one of those square-riggers which used to go flying like white +clouds across the ocean. She passed us so near on our starboard beam +that she loomed almost over us, and we gazed silently up into her +sails. At almost the same time we tacked, swung across the wind, and +fell away to port. And now she showed us her stern, and we could see +how her sails were set. They were “wing and wing” or, as the mate used +to say, “wung out”: that is, with the spanker to starboard, mainsail +to port, and foresail and jibs hardly drawing, because of being cut +off from the wind by the other sails. Even our own sails, when we had +had them set that way, had not seemed so much like wings. She reminded +me of a gull spreading out its wings to fly up from the water. The +very lines and curves of the sails interlaced with each other, and the +farther away she sailed, the more like some huge sea bird she became. + +The sun made a vast stretch of gold. Soon after she had passed us, she +dipped into that burning sea. First her sails grew bright with the +sunlight, and then, as she sailed farther and farther into the heart of +the blaze, they melted away into the sun. When we looked, there seemed +to be not a vestige of sail upon her. Her handsome hull we could see +perfectly, black in the mirror of gold. Even her masts were clearly +outlined, her very crosstrees. But she was stripped of canvas; the sun +had stolen it. She was no more than a skeleton, a weird phantom ship. + +As we watched, we saw her draw out of that enchanted part of the sea. +Slowly she became real again; slowly her sails appeared. First they +were bright gold with reflected light, then only flushed with it; +and then they were snowy once more. By this time she was tiny in the +distance. At last she disappeared--into Lunenberg, the skipper thought. + +This was the most perfect weather of the whole trip. The alluring hills +grew brighter as the sun mounted, until they were like precious jewels +in a setting of incredibly blue sky. The sea sparkled with the sun, +and it, too, was bluer than on any day before. Again I was dazzled by +the hugeness and the wideness of the sun-path here on the sea. The +brilliant splotch of gold seems to spread out boundlessly. It is much +brighter, too, than I have ever seen it on an inland lake, as though +each tiny salt-crystal were reflecting the rays a thousand times. +Millions, millions of sparks, leaping up from that blueness, breaking +into showers of fire! + +♦ _Nearing the Lahave_ ♦ + +Where the sky was clear, it was a very deep blue. There were banks of +massive white clouds on the horizon, although the zenith was entirely +free of them. These cast down deep shadows which cooled the green fire +of the hills here and there, gliding over them slowly. We were running +nearer and nearer now. The skipper had located us and determined where +Lahave was. We had passed it, as the cook had said, and were wheeling +about to find it; running back the way we had come, but much nearer +to the coast than before, so that it seemed different, and much more +beautiful. All the time, though we were running down the coast, we were +drawing closer and closer to it, and the hills looked more and more +verdurous. What a contrast to the vacancy of boundless ocean which we +had had before us a few days back! + +There seemed to be a great many small fishermen hereabout. We didn’t +actually pass any close, but we counted seven or eight off on the +horizon. We would be looking at one sail, a tiny peak fretting the +skyline, when someone would catch sight of another. But they were all +so far away and so hard to see that our eyes went crazy after a while, +so that all we could see was miniature sails. + +There was hardly time for staring at them, for we were now nearing +Lahave. We could see a deep, narrow indentation in the shore line, +bounded on each side by hills sloping down into the sea--no more than +two arms of green land, clasping the bay within. It looked like a +very narrow opening for a schooner of our size to sail through, and I +wondered what could be done, supposing there were an adverse wind. I +climbed up in the rigging two or three times more before we reached the +opening, feeling extremely glad, deep down, to have retrieved that +privilege. The hills and the stretch of blue harbor within looked, +of course, lovelier than ever from so high, and I stayed up at the +crosstrees, watching our progress toward it, for quite a long time. +Although we seemed to be so near, we were as yet easily two miles +away, the mate said. Suddenly we heard the booming of surf on a small +rock-bound islet to the starboard of the entrance. We could see the +great white crests rise up and up, toweringly, like foam-castles, then +dash furiously up the bar a way, then subside into themselves with a +crash and a dull roar. And all this two miles away! + +The mate and I fell to talking. We leaned over the starboard bulwarks +watching the surf, and talked mainly about swimming. The mate said: +“Well, kin you swim, Barbara?” + +“Oh yes, mate,” said I, “I swim a lot. I believe I could swim from here +over to that island.” + +“Two miles?” He looked at me incredulously. + +“Well, perhaps not quite,” I yielded. “But almost. How are you on +swimming?” + +“I can’t swim a stroke,” said Bill. “Y’ see, I hain’t never had no +chance.” + +“But it strikes me,” said I, “that anyone who’s a sailor _ought_ to be +able to.” + +♦ _Another Professor of Knots_ ♦ + +“Well, ye’re right, I reckon,” said he. “But I never been shipwrecked +yit. ’N’ I’m goin’ t’ resign afore long, too!” And his eyes sparkled, +as usual, at his joke. + +He began telling about his working abilities. “You know, I do twice as +much work ’s any other man aboard here. They all act ’s though they was +skeered to death t’ get their hands dirty. Why, ’f I didn’t work with +’em--’f I didn’t sooge the deck ’n’ paint the bulwarks--there’d not +be a stroke o’ work done here. There’s a thousand little jobs that no +one’ll ever do ’ceptin’ myself. Remember that day when you come down t’ +the schooner ’n’ I was sewin’ that outer jib? Well, the boys got the +afternoon off, and I could ’ave, too, if I’d ast; but w’at did I do? I +stayed aboard, like a blinkin’ fool, and worked all afternoon on that +jib. Well, ’t would have never got done ’f I hadn’t done it.” + +Evidently the mate’s head was still running strong on knots, for, after +a little, he got himself a strand of rope, and fell to tying it up in +all the ways he could think of. I asked him how Richardson was at tying +knots. Bill replied about as I expected: “Oh, Dick! he can’t tie two +half-hitches and git ’em right.” + +I was eager to show him _something_ about string that he didn’t know, +but I felt that this was impossible. At last I had an idea: “Do you +know cat’s-cradle, mate?” “Cat’s-cradle? No.” I ran down into the cabin +and hunted up a bit of string. For as much as a half-hour we were +taking it off each other’s hands. I succeeded in amusing the mate by +it; and to me it seemed a more interesting game than ever before. It is +perfect to play on shipboard, between watches. + +Then we fell to talking about boats--small ones, such as canoes and +rowboats. Said he: “Well, I tell you, I niver was very strong on +canoes. I’m skeered of ’em. Too tipsy for me! I tell you, I wouldn’t go +out in one in rough weather ’f you paid me.” And I told him what fun +Daddy and I used to have on Sunapee and Ossipee, battling in the white +canoe the strongest gales that came. + +“But, of course,” said I, “there you never have any weather that’s +dangerous. You never have weather anything like what we had a few days +ago.” + +♦ _A Jewelled Seascape_ ♦ + +The talk somewhat broke up as we neared the harbor. Mate Bill had never +been to Bridgewater, and it struck him, no less than me, as very lovely +country. The bright green of the hills rose up, dominating everything, +and reaching down those two almost human arms to clasp the blue waters +of the bay. I shall never, never forget the loveliness of the entrance +to that river as we came directly outside it and began to swing in. The +breeze seemed to reach quite a distance up into the bay, and we sailed +easily before it, the sails full and steady. At every inch of our +progress the landscape changed. Now we would look up the river, where +it disappeared around a bend; then back out at the sea, where there +seemed to be two horizons--first the edge of our own bay, clasped with +those hill-arms, then the horizon of the sea itself, stretching away +outside, blue and boundless. + +Perhaps you have seen pictures of the Mediterranean Sea, or of harbors +in Italy, and wondered at the incredible greenness of the hills, +the blueness of the water. Here it was the same: the hills were so +gorgeously bright, and shone in such crystal contrast to the brilliant +sea and bay, that you just couldn’t believe it was real. Such color +could not exist! Green and blue flames, mingling together, yet sharply +outlined and distinguished. Those hills were like an emerald crown for +the sea. At one place where we looked back at the sea which we were +leaving so fast, that boundless mass of color shone bravely between two +islands--small islands, just out at the edge of the bay. Being shadowed +by higher hills, they looked dark, almost as though spruce-forested. In +contrast, that glowing stretch of sea looked brighter, bluer, than ever. + + * * * * * + +There was quite a breeze in here; there were even whitecaps glistening +now and then. The skipper was in high hopes that the breeze would +reach clear up the river to the anchoring ground, so that we shouldn’t +have to be towed. He wanted to progress as far up the river that +night as possible. But when we hailed some men who were working on an +anchored three-master, they said that the wind didn’t reach up far, and +that the tide was running out “agin” us. The skipper decided to stick +to it as long as he could. I went up in the rigging again. I looked +down upon a sea of billowing green hills, inset with the sapphires of +the various pools which formed parts of the great bay; also, upon more +wind and waves than I had realized there were. Then I saw a little +power boat, looking like no more than a very large canoe with an +engine and a great dark red sail, scudding rapidly out toward us. The +man who was running it hailed the skipper, who had been looking down +over the starboard bulwarks, ever and again taking the wheel himself. +“Want a pilot up the river?” “No, I guess not,” shouted our skipper in +return. As for me, I felt more than ever elated in my high station on +the crosstrees, especially since I was looking down over nothing but +beautiful country. The little power boat with its dark red sail looked +so much like a child’s toy from up there that I couldn’t resist waving +to the man in its stern. But either he didn’t see me or else he had his +hands full running the boat, for I got no return. + +♦ _Cap’n and Cap_ ♦ + +A little farther on a small launch sped up to our side and asked the +same question, promptly receiving the same answer from the captain. But +still farther on, when the hills and small emerald islands began to cut +off the wind, and the sails began to flap, and we found that the tide +was sweeping us down, the captain replied differently to the skipper of +a tug who shouted over “Want a tug up?” “Yes, sure!” + +The tug came close to the side of the _Norman D._ The skipper, a very +curious-looking Dutchman, leaped aboard and shook Captain Avery warmly +by the hand, after first looking him over incredulously from head to +heel. “Why! If this ain’t Cap’n Avery!” said he. + +“True for you,” said our skipper. “Glad I am t’ see you, Joe.” + +“’T’s a bully long time since you’ve been up Bridgewater way--eh, Cap?” + +“Hey-y-y-y-y?” + +“You hain’t been up this way fer a long time, Cap!” + +“No, I haven’t.” + +And the like friendly remarks went on monotonously, with extreme +cheerfulness, for a long time. Nothing I could ever say would +adequately describe the Dutchman. He was a huge, broad-shouldered man +with a huge face and small, glistening blue eyes. He looked wild, +but nevertheless kindly. He had a crazy manner of friendliness and +nonchalance, and he swanked about the schooner as if he were her +captain. I felt that he was extremely amiable at heart, and I was very +much interested and amused by him. Incidentally, he was a lively and +vigorous tobacco-chewer. + +♦ _Excitement for Dick_ ♦ + +And now Richardson was to have his moment of excitement. It was this +way: The towrope was attached to the tug, and Richardson was called aft +by “Here, boys! Here, boys! Here, boys!” to make it fast around our +two starboard mooring-posts. If he had been wise, he would have let +someone else answer that call. He did it, as I thought, quite briskly +and cleverly, winding the rope in a figure-of-eight formation around +the two posts. But the Dutchman, who had leaped briskly back into the +tug to superintend things in his swaggering way there, decided that +it wasn’t short enough, and he bellowed back his opinion to Captain +Avery. “Take up the slack!” whooped Captain Avery. But this was not +such an easy matter for Richardson. To begin with, all those fancy +figure-of-eight loops which he had cast around the mooring-posts had +to be untangled. He didn’t seem to have a very successful time of +it getting them off. I must here remark that, whenever anything was +found carelessly done, it was always Richardson who was to blame. +For instance, one morning when we had tacked, the bo’s’n had sprung +to the main sheet where it was belayed. If there had been any wind, +Richardson’s belaying (for, presumably, it _was_ Richardson’s) wouldn’t +have lasted long. It was very loosely tangled around the pin. In a +flash the bo’s’n had exclaimed: “That looks like Richardson’s work! +He must ’a’ done that.” Yes, Richardson did betray a kind of mixed-up +sloppiness in his work. He had just got the figures-of-eight off the +mooring-posts and begun to haul up the slack in the towrope, when +Captain Avery, irritated beyond endurance by his slowness, thundered +out: “Hurry up there, Richardson! Hurry up! Hurry! Quick! Quick! Blast +you, Richardson! Quick!” in such an appalling voice that Richardson +worked desperately, getting in the slack. I never saw a man cast +figures-of-eight with such rapidity, and he did not stop until there +was enough rope on the posts to have held the entire Presidential Range +a mile above ground. Then he went forward, the skipper glowering at him. + + * * * * * + +Now the captain of the tug had come aboard again, along with one of +the tug’s crew--a wild, glaring-eyed youth, slender as a nail and very +dark. The two skippers began talking in a very friendly way, calling +each other--apparently after the Dutch or Nova Scotian fashion--“Cap.” +The glaring youth hung around for a while, but, finding that the two +had nothing in particular to communicate to him, he returned, after one +inquisitive glance, to his work aboard the tug. + +♦ _In the Harbor_ ♦ + +We were now gliding smoothly and rather briskly up into the harbor. The +river widened out gradually, with ever and again beautiful glimpses +back at the emerald islets and the sea, or up ahead into the hills, +down among which the water flowed, looking bright sapphire blue. +After what seemed a very short time, the tug left us in the loveliest +landlocked harbor imaginable. The green hills dipped away in a wide +sweep and circle to right and left, clasping the blue bay, whose +waters seemed to murmur with the rush of the tide. On each side, and +lying down beneath the hills, were towns, very small and elfin from +this distance. The masses of close-set white and gray houses, with +now and then a large red barn looming in the greenness of fields and +hills, completed one’s idea of a landlocked Italian harbor. The fields +were bright sunny green, by contrast with the more vivid emerald of +the hills. Two small islands over on the west side of the bay looked +mysterious and uninhabited, as though they sheltered pirate treasure. +One of them seemed to have a fairly good landing-beach on our side +of it; but this beach, though smooth and gradual, appeared to be +covered with some mysterious dark substance which I could by no means +understand. + +We were far from being the only schooner there. Indeed, it seemed like +quite a busy little country seaport. A small three-master was lying +close in at one of the wharves belonging to the western town; a shapely +little schooner with a black hull. Others lay scattered at anchor +around the edges of the harbor--some of them being used, and others +(among them a dismantled two-master, one of whose topmasts was gone) in +a disused state. The _Norman D._ was, however, by far the largest and +loveliest of the schooners there, and we entered that enchanted circle +of water feeling as proud and lovely as a white-robed queen. The tug +left us near the middle of the bay, but slightly nearer the western +edge. Down went our mudhook, with a magical and melancholy splash. + +Here I must confess a great weakness of mine, in a moment of which I +submitted ingloriously to human nature. I felt, in the presence of +the queer, domineering Dutch skipper, as if I should rather like to +show that I wasn’t an “ornery street gal,” and that I had some small +ability as a sailor. I began to be just as helpful as I could possibly +manage. I bustled and ran around after Mate Bill, who was getting the +sail-stops out. He got those coils of rope, each about ten feet long, +out of one of the small after hatchways, and each of us took an armful +and went forward, distributing them. He would leave a certain number +by the spanker boom, ready for use, and then another bundle by the +mainsail boom; the first bundle went to the foresail. The sails were +still up, having been left in order to help our progress up the river; +and the mate simply tossed the sail-stops over the boom so that they +lay across it, each end trailing on the deck, ready to receive the +sails when they should be let down. Together we fitted out the foresail +and mainsail booms; then the mate, having something else to do, left me +to finish the spanker. I did so, at least as far as I could reach, and +then he came aft and placed the stops across the overhanging end. + + * * * * * + +♦ _Bill’s Morals_ ♦ + +All the time the mate was talking in earnest, agitated tones about +the skipper of the tug. He certainly was a character worth some small +consideration. The mate didn’t approve of him at all. He struck Bill as +a snob, somehow, much too proud to talk to a common sailor; indeed, he +hadn’t said a word to the mate in all the time he was on the schooner. +And, as Richard H. Dana, Jr., says: “When the voyage is at an end, you +do as you please; but so long as you belong to the same vessel, you +must be a shipmate to him on shore, or he will not be a shipmate to you +on board.” And Bill had a delicate streak of sensitiveness. + +The mate thought that the skipper of the tug was very vulgar because +he chewed tobacco so much and so heartily--he thought the same, as a +matter of fact, about Captain Avery himself--and he went on somewhat in +this way: + +“Now, here’s how it is with me. I don’t approve o’ such things ’s +chewin’ tobacker, drinkin’, ’n’ so on. I don’t approve of ’em, ’n’ I +never can. I used t’ chew a little when I was a young lad and first +went t’ sea, ’cause I didn’t know better. But I give it up afore long. +’N’ as fer smokin’--well, I smoke a cigarette now and then, but not as +a stiddy thing. ’n’ drinkin’? Well, I’m not a boasting man, but I’ll +tell you that I was never drunk once in all my life. Now, that’s a +pretty good record fer a man that’s lived as rough as I have, and been +t’ sea fifteen year. And I’ve never, in all my born days, bought more +than one bottle o’ whisky. + +“But Bob, m’ brother, him’d get drunk ivery day if he had th’ chance. +As it is, he gets drunk every time he goes ashore. I talk and talk and +argue ’bout it with him, but it never does no good. Y’ can’t drum any +reason into that lad. He beats all!” + +So we talked together--or, at least, I listened and the mate +talked--until we dropped anchor in the midst of that peaceful bay. It +was now getting toward sunset, and the old man wanted to go ashore +to the little sleeping town in order to telephone for a tug to pull +us up to Bridgewater in the morning. The mate lowered a small, light +flat-bottomed skiff which had been hoisted just beneath the larger +dory on the davits, and concealed by it. (In fact, I had not noticed +it before.) It was lowered, brought around to the port side of the +schooner, and tied just beneath the taffrail. Then a stout ladder was +brought, put down the side of the ship, and made fast. I was eager to +watch the skipper descend this vertical ladder, as well as to see him +try to row the little skiff. The cook, probably eager to see him make +a miscue and get a wetting, came sedately out of the galley and stood +watching wickedly. + +“Are you going alone, sir?” queried the mate. + +“Yes, I gesso, Bill.” + +♦ _The Skipper’s Misstep_ ♦ + +Secretly I had hopes of being allowed to accompany him, not having had +my feet off the _Norman D._ for ten days; but the captain said nothing +about it, and I said nothing. The moment of excitement was arriving. I +imagine that the whole crew craned their necks from wherever they were, +to see the old man fall into the waters of the Lahave River. The cook +now had an I-wish-to-heaven-you’d-get-drowned look on his face. The +captain asked the mate if the oarlocks were all right, and the mate +descended himself, to see. They were, and the oars were put into place. +Everything was in readiness. Then down went the captain, grasping the +rungs desperately with his horny, trembling old hands. It looked as +if everything were going all right. The mate held the painter of the +skiff, ready to cast off as soon as the old man was ready, and he was +holding the boat cleverly just beneath the ladder. But the skipper had +not reckoned on the small, almost invisible heaves which are constantly +taking place in the mouth of that river, where the water is influenced +both by the tide and by the current of the river itself. Just as he +was about to step into the boat, one of those smooth waves came along, +sweeping the boat from beneath his feet. “Look out fer that swell, +sir!” shouted the mate. The old man paid not the slightest heed, but +went right on, stepping off into the boat just as that wave occurred. +It disturbed his balance: and he staggered, then sprawled down into +the boat just as one leg trailed in the water up to the knee. Then he +regained himself, got at the oars, caught the painter as the mate threw +it down, and pushed off. + +He was used to rowing, all right, but the tide and the current bothered +him considerably. He was swept downstream so fast that he had to head +much farther upstream than he wanted to. At last he landed on a sort +of beach. The mate made the remark, when he started, that he was +“weaker ’n a cat.” + + * * * * * + +So odd a thing now took place among the crew that I was glad I had +stayed aboard. The sails had been lowered and snugly furled, and now +the crew seemed to think that there was nothing under the sun to do. +They all came aft in a body, including the cook, and stood around on +the poop deck, sitting on the deckhouse, chinning and making merry. The +audacity of it was very amusing. When the old skipper was aboard no one +ever came aft except when called, or to take his trick at the helm. +But now all rules were off, and they seemed to take a defiant pleasure +in being where they weren’t supposed to be. Their talk ran mainly on +the skipper, and they said some tremendously insulting things. The +cook, through it all, pretended great authority, standing there in a +way which made me think he was trying very hard to look dignified, and +nodding his head grimly every now and then. + +“I wisht he had fallen in--really,” said the bo’s’n, in a mournful +voice. + +“We’d ’a’ been well rid o’ that rascal,” said the cook. + +♦ _On Forbidden Ground_ ♦ + +“’N’ say, Bob, didja see that guy from the tug?” said Roy. “So that’s +the kind o’ friends the old man has, is it?” + +“He’d ’a’ won the champeenship of spitting,” stated Bob. + +“I told you,” interposed the cook, “he’s known all over Nova Scotia fer +his low-down rascality.” + +“’N’ fer interferin’ in _your_ business, I suppose.” + +“Interferin’ ’s no word fer it. Say, you know--” And then came, for the +hundredth time, the tale of how the Chinese cook had chased Captain +Avery ashore with a drawn cutlass when he had come forward to see +the galley. This sort of talk went on for a long time, with the cook +interposing now and then to call Captain Avery “cussed old wretch,” and +“p’ison divil,” and so on, at a great rate; and with the mate standing +by the taffrail, looking wicked and piratical, with that suppressed +smile in his face and that black twinkle in his eyes. The bo’s’n, +too, was “full of it” that evening, and every now and then one of his +mocking calls would ring out over the waters of the Lahave, much louder +and bolder than ever before. + +Presently the mate and I drew more or less apart from the others. “Say, +Barbara,” said Bill, “how’d you like a row in that little skiff when +the old man comes back, if ’t ain’t too late?” + +“Oh, that would be splendid.” + +“Kin you row?” + +“Try me and see!” + +“Well, you can row, then, and, if ’t ain’t too dark, we’ll go out.” + +“All right. But say, mate, are the boys going ashore tonight?” + +“Yes, I reckon they are, if they can get the chance. We’ll give ’em the +skiff when we get back.” + +“Are you going ashore?” + +“No, I reckon not.” + +By this time the sun was nearing the horizon, spreading a gorgeous +russet glow over there, and looking like a great ball of scarlet fire. +Suddenly there was a loud hail from near where the old man had beached +the skiff. All of us thought it was he; it sounded unmistakably like +his harsh whoop. “Here, boys! Here, boys! Here, boys!” said the bo’s’n +shrilly. “Don’t you want us to swim over and git you?” + +♦ _The Skipper’s Return_ ♦ + +But the mate silenced him, with a mild oath, and answered the hail +with one loud “Hallo-o-o-o-o!” Then there was a dead silence. The crew +was staring. The cook was the first one to speak: “I would be glad if +that was the old man’s death-whoop,” said he. These words fell from +the mouth of the sinister little old man in an icy way, sounding like +a death-knell indeed. The bo’s’n was next, and he said: “What’s that? +Go buy a package o’ cigarettes!” And next the mate: “Oh, shame, to +mock the poor old fellow like that! I wouldn’t talk that way about him +for worlds; not me!” “Huh!” said the cook. “Cap’n Avery jaws me about +smokin’ a few decent little cigarettes, ’n’ then--w’at does he do? He +goes ’n’ chaws _tobacker_!” + +By this time we had all decided that it wasn’t the captain at all, and +we began talking again as merrily as ever. The mate was looking rather +stern now, or, at least, trying to, but something in his eye and the +corners of his mouth told me that he enjoyed the jokes of the crew. +Then a little speck was descried off through the dark, and, behold! it +was the skipper returning, rowing back in the same feeble way. He was +welcomed with quite a burst of subdued mocks from the bo’s’n, and then +the crew slunk away forward and disappeared in a very business-like +way. Even the haughty little cook went forward to the galley pretty +fast. + + * * * * * + +“Don’t you think it’s too late for us to go out in the skiff?” I asked +the mate. It was now almost dark, and the glow in the west had faded to +a deep russet. + +“Oh, there’s no reason why we can’t go out a little,” said Bill, who +was evidently quite eager about the idea. + +A few moments afterward the old man had come in close, the mate had +caught the thrown painter, and the captain had scrambled out of the +skiff and up the ladder. “Now, Barbara!” said the mate, with a cunning +wink at me. Instantly I had started down the ladder. “Won’t you be cold +with nothing but that jumper on?” + +“No, I think not,” said I. I climbed down the ladder and got +successfully into the boat. + +“Do you want to row, Barbara?” + +“Surely, mate, unless you do.” + +“All right, then--you row.” + +♦ _A Harbor Excursion_ ♦ + +He cast the painter down to me. I caught it, holding the ladder with +the other hand. Down came the mate, and we pushed off. It gave me very +delightful sensations to come down that ladder. It struck home upon my +piratical senses that it must be very much like the sort of ladder by +which buccaneers would board other ships. Even going down instead of +up, I had the feeling of boarding the ship of an enemy. But my ideas +changed when I felt the oars securely in my hands, and I decided to +show the mate a little brisk rowing. Feeling quite in my own element, I +struck out. The little skiff was so much lighter and happier than the +heavy old tubs I am accustomed to rowing that, under my tremendous +strokes, we shot along amazingly, in spite of the powerful river +current which had seemed to trouble the old man. I can’t explain to +you the delight I had in being in a small boat again and having oars +grasped firmly in my hands. It seemed strange, too, to see the little +waves so very near me. I leaned back with all my weight upon the oars, +bringing them down together in strong, quick rhythm. How lightly the +skiff danced on! I knew that progress at this rate would draw comment +from Bill sooner or later, and, indeed, I didn’t have long to wait: +“Say, you sure can row good, Barbara!” + +“Well, yes--I’m pretty well used to it. I’ve rowed quite a lot before.” + +We agreed to go over towards the place where the captain had landed, +but farther upstream, so that we should have a good chance to see the +small three-masted schooner which was lying close in to the wharf +there. There was quite a wind added to the current; I felt a pleasant +resistance, and heard the whispering chuckle of waves beneath the bow. +I had been rowing some minutes very briskly, not thinking of anything +in particular, and more or less watching the water. Suddenly the mate +said: “The schooner looks pretty from here, don’t she, Barbara?” I +raised my head and looked back. The _Norman D._ lay there, in the midst +of those unstill waters, like a dream--a thought. Ten times lovelier +she seemed than ever before. She raised her head quietly from that +small round bay, and shone, in her whiteness, like a beautiful ghost. +At one moment she dominated the entire ring of hills like a snow-capped +mountain looming from a sea of dark foothills and spruce forests; +at another she only blended softly and quietly with the water, like +a wraith of the sea; again, she was a drifting sea gull, or a snowy +albatross with dark wings. By the magical influence of the dusk, she +was quivering and unsteady, like a mirage. And soon she was no more +than a lovely white shadow--a flicker--a whim of the twilight. Whatever +she was or might be, all images of piracy left me at the sight of her, +lying calm and innocent in the dusk. + +Not until all these thoughts had passed through me did I answer the +mate. “Pretty? I should say she is!” + + * * * * * + +But now we had almost reached the other schooner. I hadn’t ceased +my vigorous rowing, though, in wonder of the _Norman D._, it had +considerably abated. + +“Are you getting tired, Barbara?” + +♦ _The Mysterious Isle_ ♦ + +I nearly smiled. If he had known the way I had rowed around and about +Lake Sunapee, in a boat which took twice as much strength as this one +merely to keep under way--! “Me? No, mate. I don’t get tired so easily +as that!” And I gradually speeded up again. The other schooner, the +small three-master, seemed, in the soft darkness, much more like a +pirate craft than that snow-lily of a _Norman D._ She had a slender, +graceful black hull with a band of yellow around it below the bulwarks, +and her name in yellow letters. Alas! I have forgotten what it was. She +was a dainty little vessel; the mate, too, said so. + +“Well, where would you like to go now, Barbara?” + +“What do you say about going over to the island on the other side of +the bay?” + +“Are you sure you can row that far?” + +“Oh, certainly, certainly.” + +“You don’t want me to take her?” + +“Not unless you want to.” + +Here, you see, I made use of this pleasure excursion to get a glimpse +of that mysterious little island about which I had become so curious. +I wanted to see what that dark beach really was. We crossed the bow of +the _Norman D._ at a slashing rate. (Both of us raised our eyes and saw +her huge, high jibboom looming about us, seeming to point at the sky +itself.) We neared the island; closer and closer we drew in, until we +could hear the breeze whispering in its trees. It loomed darksomely. It +is one of my lasting regrets that I didn’t have the chance to land and +do some true exploration there, in the approved piratical fashion. I am +sure that considerable treasure might have been found. But by this time +it was getting pretty dark, and we couldn’t see where we were going. +The mate was afraid to let me land, because we didn’t know the place, +and we couldn’t see where rocks were. But closer and closer I drew in, +rowing very slowly now. I could see jagged rocks thrusting up from the +water close to the shore. Now we could almost _feel_ that uncanny dark +island, like the breath of a ghost upon our cheeks. + +Ahead was that mass of darkness which I once thought had been a beach. +Now I still thought that it was a beach, covered with seaweeds. But +when I saw what it really was, I was so surprised that I forgot where I +was going. It was nothing but a huge, long shelf of dark rock, sloping +down gradually from the woods to the sea, almost at the grade of a +beach, and almost as smooth as a paved street. It was covered thickly +with massive seaweeds, some of them, I could see in the half-light, +as much as six feet long; a dense, dark shroud of them, spread like a +mermaid carpet over that great rock, with the waves gently lifting and +stirring those which overhung into the sea. + +♦ _The Place of Treasure_ ♦ + +This was the final impression of the island. And it served to implant +that little place very firmly in my memory. I made a deep resolve that, +if I should ever chance to go up Lahave way again, I would at any +cost visit that island. We ought to go together there, Alan, with our +shovels and picks over our shoulders, in the search for treasure. Can’t +you see us doing it? Fifty-fifty! Only we _must_ pick out a sailing +vessel to go in. Don’t you think so? Can you conceive of any earthly +pleasure in going on a pirate expedition in a steamer? I can’t. In +such a case you always want to go in the way you suppose the pirates +themselves went. The nearer you can do it to the way they did it, the +nearer success you will be. That is a secret which few treasure-hunters +know, and you had better keep it fairly close. Such secrets must not be +revealed to the world. + +Mate Bill and I talked little during this cruise. What we did say was +mostly about Bridgewater, and schooners, and the sea, and the old man, +and the steward; and I said some things about Lake Sunapee, canoes, +rowboats, sailboats, swimming, fishing, and so on. It was very quiet, +almost whispered talk, for we were somehow under the influence of the +night, and of the beauty of the little landlocked harbor. Also, we were +awed by the queenliness of the _Norman D._, towering there so white +that you fancied she was in full moonlight while the rest of the world +wasn’t. The water beneath her heel and forefoot was black, very black; +yet we could somehow detect brighter shadows moving about and blending +into it. + +“Isn’t she a very good-looking schooner, mate, for one of her size?” + +“Yes, I think she is. She’s one o’ the best-looking three-masters I’ve +ever seen. But she’s too high forrard. Now, ’f she was just a little +lower forrard, or a bit higher aft, she’d be just right. The stern of +any ship ought to be higher than the forrard part, to look right.” + +Bill was, in all probability, right about that. But she was so +beautiful and quiet there that it seemed almost profane to disturb +her by such minute criticism. No more was said until we had got very +near her. Because she was at anchor, the side lights (which, by the +way, I had so faithfully watched being lit every night while we were +under way) were not lit, but three or four very small, bright riding +lights were gleaming, up fairly high in the rigging, at bow and stern, +mysterious in the darkness, hovering like fireflies with perpetual +lights above the vast white hulk. + +Again the mate broke the silence: “When you go back to the schooner, +Barbara, go close under her stern, will you? There’s a spot there I +want to look at.” + +“All right, mate.” + +♦ _A Spectral Moment_ ♦ + +“But you’ll have to be careful to allow fer the current.” + +“I guess I can manage it.” + +Quickly and, I think, rather skillfully, I guided the little skiff +under the counter of the _Norman D._ Not until then could we really see +how fast the current was running. It was sweeping past the schooner +at a tremendous rate. The shadow of the overhanging stern made the +water uncanny and green there. And the gigantic rudder hung there, +motionless, dark and awful in its immense curves. I liked to think how +often that same rudder had guided the _Norman D._ through tempestuous +waters. + +The mate looked at a place on the bottom where the wood seemed to be +worn and frayed. Then we pushed on and drew up at the foot of the +ladder. There was another boat dancing there, tied by its painter. +What could it mean? We made our own skiff fast and climbed up. I felt +more than ever like a pirate boarding a ship, as I climbed up that +crude vertical ladder with the mate following me. I could almost feel a +cutlass between my teeth. But when I remembered the loveliness of the +lonely white schooner as she had looked from a little way off in the +bay, this feeling vanished entirely. + + * * * * * + +The next thing was to see who were our guests. The bo’s’n greeted us, +and said in a playful whisper: “The old man’s got callers.” Next we +heard harsh, racking, scraping sounds from below. “What on earth--?” +said I. “The old man’s playing his gramophone.” Well, thought I, there +goes one of the cook’s statements! He evidently _isn’t_ too stingy +to use the needles, after all. He was playing some horrible talking +record, and he seemed quite to be enjoying himself, for I heard loud +bursts of whooping laughter every now and then, followed by the happy +giggles of some female voice. I could resist no longer, and I stomped +heavily down the after doorway of the cabin, striding briskly through, +glancing curiously to right and left as I passed, and then stomping out +the forward door. I beheld very strange things. The captain was sitting +beside the gramophone, laughing and beaming all over, and in the two +rooms of the cabin was quite an audience of old and young, with two or +three giggling girls and children. I must confess that I resented such +an intrusion into the _Norman D._ I felt that these people could not +belong to the adventures that had surrounded me for the past several +days. No; they were landsmen--they had no business here. + +♦ _Confabulation_ ♦ + +I fled forrard, in company with Mate Bill and my shipmate. The cook +was in the galley, and we gathered there, a jolly company, and had +a regular “go” of it. The boys--Richardson, Irish Bill, Roy, and +Bob--had taken possession of the skiff and started briskly ashore. +Trust them to take the first opportunity! The cook was disgusted with +them, as he always was. He said it was ridiculous that four full-grown +men should try to jam themselves into that skiff, built for not more +than two. In _his_ day such foolishness wouldn’t have been allowed. +This deserting all duty and running ashore at the first chance made +him sick, he said. Then he fell to arguing with the mate as to which +could do the worse things to the old man, and which could strike the +harder blow. The mate insisted that the steward couldn’t make him feel +anything, and the cook said he had made many a better man feel a great +deal. This talk continued for a long time. Among other things, we heard +once more the tale of how the Chinese cook had chased Captain Avery +ashore with a drawn cutlass, and the tale of how the cook was seasick +in his bunk for ten days, and how the quart of cold tea cured him. +Those two were his favorites. After that discussion was ended, and the +landlubbers had gone back to land, the three of us went aft, leaving +the cook to shut up the galley for the night. There was a little more +friendly but insignificant talk with the mate, out in the frosty +starlight; then we turned in. + +For about the first time during that whole trip, we slept steady--that +is, with no rolling. Although at first I missed that cradling motion, I +slept as soundly as ever. + + * * * * * + +In the morning I got out on deck early. The harbor and the hills around +it looked, by broad day-light, twice as lovely as before. How blue that +water, and how like ancient towns the two little villages, lying there +amid those green, green hills! + +A little way up the stream was a sort of thing which looked like a +large, fat bell buoy. I was sure I hadn’t seen it in the evening. I +asked the mate about it, and “Blamed if I know” was all I got. Captain +Avery didn’t understand it, either. All of a sudden the top of it +threw forth a glorious shower of red sparks, accompanied by a long +_fiz-z-z-z-z-z-z!_ and the thing, whatever it was, started slowly +churning down the river, lifting its head high like some monstrous +ancient dragon or a crocodile of some extinct and forgotten species. +As it came closer and closer, with a curious gliding motion, we saw +that it was a sort of raft with an engine, laden with mud and clay. A +mud-scow! + +♦ _Painting under Difficulties_ ♦ + +Two small tugs came churning downstream. The old man hailed them both +through his long speaking-trumpet, and asked each if it were the tug +that was to tow him up. Both replied that others were coming down +shortly. Meanwhile the mate had started mixing up a dark green paint +for the waterways, and the captain was standing over his shoulder, +pestering the life out of him, and telling him that the color wasn’t +dark enough, or that it wasn’t bright enough, and that it needed a +touch of this, and that, and the other. The mate was mighty glad +when he got the bucket prepared to the satisfaction of the old man. +(Incidentally, he insisted that there was altogether too much of the +color mixed for the waterways, and the mate obstinately persisted +that there wasn’t too much. When the old man got out of the way for +a moment, he repeated slyly to me his former statement that if the +old fellow could have his way “he’d make one can o’ paint go for the +hull ship.”) He took the can down by the port waterways and started +painting, but the old man came up and said something critical about it. +This was the last straw. The mate deliberately laid down his brush, +left the paint-can, and strode over to where I was sitting, without +so much as another look at the captain. Then said he: “P’isonous old +wretch! Always interferin’, as usual! Well, all I can say is, if he +wants me to take it easy, I sure will.” And he did. + +But now the crew were gathering up forward to tell their adventures to +the mate and the cook. I wanted to be in on that, and I went skipping +up forward, too. Bob was the chosen orator of the party, and he began, +with strange chuckles and squeaks and scrapes and rasps, to tell the +tale. + +“How many new wimmenfolks did you pick up?” asked the cook. + +“I dunno why,” replied the bo’s’n, “but all the wimmenfolk seemed t’ +be mighty feared of us. We was goin’ along, when we come up behind a +woman with a big basket, ’n’ she took one good look behind her, ’n’ +then ducked into the first doorway. When we passed, we looked back, ’n’ +there she was agin, walkin’ behind us. Well, a little further on we +come up to two girls walkin’ along. ’N’ they did jist the same thing. +They ducked right into the first doorway, ’n’ waited awhile, till we +went by. ’N’ then, when we looked back agin, there they was, comin’ +along behind.” + +“Pshaw!” said the mate, “you’ll get all the gals in Bridgewater so +skeered of us that when I go ashore they won’t come anywhere near me. +I don’t go ashore like that, skeering all the wimmenfolk out o’ their +wits. I go ashore like a gen’leman, I do. W’at do you ’xpect, goin’ +ashore lookin’ like bums, you?” + +“Say, Bill,” interposed Bob, again, “you’re no more a gen’leman when y’ +go ashore ’n I am. I got a new suit, I have, ’n’ new shoes, too.” + +♦ _Resurrection of the Mudhook_ ♦ + +“So have I,” said Roy, “and a brand-new four-in-hand tie.” + +“Me, too,” said Richardson, “’n’ a tie-pin, too.” + +“Who give it to you?” said Roy. + +“M’ best girl.” + +“Humph!” said Bill, emphatically. “I can take the shine out o’ you all, +when I make up m’ mind to ’t.” + + * * * * * + +But now events were occurring aft, and I scampered back again. A third +tug was chugging its way slowly down the river, and the old man had his +speaking-trumpet all ready and was mustering up his whoops to hail it. +It proved to be the right tug; and the skipper shouted to the mate, up +forrard, to get the mudhook up. + +“Get up the mudhook, boys!” trilled out the bo’s’n, in such a voice +that I wonder the skipper didn’t hear him. I ran forward again, at +this, to see the anchor come up--something I always loved. Somehow it +wasn’t, this time, so ghostlike and awesome as on the day when, out +of sight of land, we had hauled it up through the fog. But there is +always one moment, just before the arms reach out of the water, when it +reminds one of a skeleton. + +The tug was now rapidly making fast on our port side. (Richardson, +I noticed, stuck most carefully to his painting of the bulwarks.) +When the skipper of this tug jumped aboard, I fairly caught my breath +with amazement. He was exactly the same sort of man as the other tug +master--wild, kindly, huge, Dutch, and another “champeen” spitter; +and with the same swaggering, swanky, bossy, familiar way. He also +recognized Captain Avery, and greeted him in almost the same way as +the other, calling him, also, “Cap.” Captain Avery recognized him, +too, and again we watched the two sitting there in a most friendly +way, asking each other how this person was, and that was, and whether +they remembered how they once changed watchchains, and saying how glad +they were to see each other again, and one asking how the voyage down +was, and the other replying that “we got caught i’ the fog fer a few +days--wet, nasty fog, ye knaow, with a sloppy, nasty roll going.” + +♦ _Up the Lahave_ ♦ + +The new arrival was even more of a champeen spitter than the other. +While he was steering the schooner (for Captain Avery was so obliging +as to let him steer, which the other appreciated), he would simply turn +his head and spit clean and clear over the bulwarks. It was Homeric. +Again the mate filled my ears with his non-approval, and he talked +considerably about what a mess the fellow was making all over the +deck. “He seems t’ be pretty good at it, though,” said Bill. “Poor old +Cap’n Avery has t’ go clean t’ the side o’ the schooner when he wants +t’ spit.” + +I was glad to be starting on this little run up the river, though I had +secretly hoped to explore that mysterious island early in the morning. +We went around bend after bend of the stream, always seeing new bends +ahead. Sometimes we passed pine and spruce woods; sometimes there was +nothing but hills; sometimes there were fields and orchards of apple +trees, or country villages, or yellow and gray beaches. Once we passed +a place where a small schooner was under construction. I longed to stay +and examine her closely. She was a very deep-bottomed boat, not more +than a hundred feet long, yet apparently destined to be a three-master. +I should have loved to see her finished. A three-master of that size +must look quite like a fairy ship. + +It seemed no time at all before we rounded the last great curve of the +river, and saw, ahead of us, Bridgewater spread out, one dense mass of +houses and higher buildings, crowded together like an army. I hated to +see the proud and strong _Norman D._, her sails down and furled, being +towed, pushed, dragged, hauled, up the river by such s puny, dirty tug, +like a prisoner or a wrecked ship, as if she were incapable of taking +care of herself; she who took care of herself so nobly when there was +wind, and she had sea room! + +Well, here we were at the end of the interesting part of our journey. +Our piratical adventure had ended. A month before, I had had not the +slightest idea that it could even begin. Three weeks before, I had only +the faintest hopes; it was then like a dream somewhere in the future. +Two weeks before, I had longed for it and clamored for it. And then +it had suddenly become real and tangible, almost clutchable. Eleven +days before, I was wild because I couldn’t believe it. Ten days ago, I +had started; it _was_ real, after all! All this went through my mind +quickly and silently. How mysterious is Time, and how strange in its +doings--the same thing ahead of you one day, behind you the next! Here +we were in Bridgewater. + +The tug took us in to the wharf on the eastern side of the town, just +ahead of a schooner very much like the _Norman D._ She was another +three-master, with a black painted hull and ornaments, and her name in +yellow letters, very fancily decorated with yellow curves and scrolls. +Her name was _Hazel L. Myra_. + +♦ _The Lure of the Crosstrees_ ♦ + +By the wharf were sky-high piles of lath, bound up in great bundles +like shocks of corn. It was the next cargo of the _Norman D._, all +ready for New York. The wharf was dirty and disused, as was this part +of the town. Three boys, street urchins in rags, came strolling by to +look at the new schooner. A couple of laughing, robust farmers passed +and spoke to the Captain. The day was unmercifully hot, and I felt +rather weary and depressed, and longed to be out at sea again, in a +good brisk sailing breeze, with the whitecaps roaring and looking like +wild white warhorses. + + * * * * * + +Suddenly there came a faint, warm breath of wind upon my port cheek. +The tug left us and chugged away, muddying the water with her +propeller. Then an impulse came over me--an irresistible impulse to +climb, and climb, and climb; up on to the crosstrees, up to the sky. +I could no more tell you why than I could say why I knew I wanted +to climb the mainmast rigging rather than any other. And this was +not, strangely enough, for the sake of “showing off” to the boys and +farmers. Many times I have climbed for that reason--to show that I was +not a landlubber--but this was for no earthly reason at all; I simply +wanted to climb. And climb I did! I went up like a cat, a squirrel. +I never stopped until I reached my well-beloved crosstrees. Then I +sat down, and thought and thought, looking down all the time upon the +people so far below me. And I thought of them, and of how small and +insignificant they were, like grains of pepper in the pepper-caster. I +laughed at them proudly. And yet I was no less insignificant myself, +from down there! I was only a chipmunk frisking up into the branches. + +When one is sitting on the crosstrees, one is in an entirely separate +world. Perhaps you feel that you’re in Heaven--that is, as to position; +perhaps you are a god on Olympus, looking down upon the world. However +you feel, I think there is always an idea that someone ought to be on +the crosstrees of the mast next to you. I don’t know quite why, but I +always had that sense. Then it would be entirely like a separate world: +two would make a vast population. You would look across to each other, +and nod, and smile, as if to say some secret that no one else knew +anything about; and it would be so strange to be friendly over such +a chasm! That was how the ancient Greek gods and goddesses must have +felt, alone with each other on Olympus, looking down on a world so far +below, and yet having a world of their own right with them. You begin +to get a sense--a vague idea--of the immensity of space. It is strange +what a difference sixty feet can make. It is the same on a mountain-top. + + * * * * * + +♦ _Shore Leave_ ♦ + +I came down from the mainmast crosstrees, feeling sorry to be at +Bridgewater. My shipmate was in the act of scrambling over the side of +the schooner. Shortly afterward he disappeared upon the country road, +evidently going to find out about trains. Then the steward suggested +that the mate should go ashore to get the mail, if there were any. The +captain had gone ashore immediately upon touching the wharf, and the +mate was free to do whatever he liked. It was agreed that he should go +up to the post office, and I with him. + +The mate started to change his clothes, but the steward stopped him, +saying: “Oh, shucks, Bill! go as you are.” + +“Oh, I couldn’t.” + +“Sure! go ahead.” + +“I niver yet went ashore lookin’ this way. I’d be ashamed to.” + +“Oh, never mind, mate,” said I. “You go as you are, and I’ll go as I +am, and we’ll have a bully time of it.” + +Agreed. We scrambled over the side, and felt the ground beneath our +feet again. It was very strange. Even when the schooner was in port and +safe out of the wind, there was a feeling about her that the ground +doesn’t have; an air of unsteadiness. She feels like a ship always. +Which the ground doesn’t. At first I was puzzled. I walked slowly, +because it was so strange. Presently I picked up my pace and strode +on at a great rate--_but_ rolling from side to side with a real sailor +swagger as I walked. It wasn’t put on at all; it was real. I can’t +describe to you how queer that was. I had always, always dreamed in a +vague way about going to sea, and returning brawny, sunburned, and with +a sailor walk. And at last it was true, though like a dream. + +So we strode merrily along, Bill in his ragged sailor clothes, with +the same hat on his head that he had worn all through the trip (except +in the fog, when he had worn his sou’wester). His shirt-sleeves were +rolled up, as they always were, and his shirt was unbuttoned three +buttons at the neck, as it always was (except on extra hot days, when +it was open clear down to his belt). I was in my gay old sailor rags, +and I had on a sunburn that would have made a beach bonfire look pale. +And both of us were striding along the road, side by side, with such a +sailor roll, and such an I’ve-just-come-home-from-sea,-sir look, that +no one could have mistaken us for anything but sailors. I only wished +I had a bit of tattooing to display, as Mate Bill had. He had a very +elegant full-rigged ship on the inside of his left forearm, almost +buried in brawn and brownness. He told me, with an air of pride, that +it had cost him two dollars to have it put on. + +♦ _Shipmates Ashore_ ♦ + +If I had been walking, in silks and satins, beside the King of +England, I could not have felt prouder than I did then. It was the +supreme moment of my life. We pushed on, and everyone looked at us, as +I knew they would. And somehow I could forget most successfully who I +really was, and be neither more nor less than Mate Bill’s shipmate. +Lustily and rollingly we walked, and there were strange moments when, +as I looked ahead at the dusty road, curving into the woods, it seemed +to be waving gently up and down, just as the deck or the end of the +flying jibboom had waved in our rolling days. There were times when the +whole world waved up and down, making me feel quite dizzy--much more +so than at any time on the schooner herself. The strangeness of solid +ground! We walked, Mate Bill and I. + +We crossed a bridge into the main part of the town. Here were +fashionable folk everywhere. We walked steadily, looking neither to +left nor right, but rolling like two ships in a high cross swell. +Everyone stared. But I was not myself then at all. I didn’t come of +even a decent family. I was a common sailor, and Mate Bill’s shipmate. +I let them stare. I didn’t have the smallest apology to offer, to +myself or anyone else, for my appearance. I held my head high and felt +proud--oh, so proud!--of walking beside Mate Bill. A common sailor was +higher in rank than the King of England. I was higher in rank than the +Queen of it. So there we walked, the King and the Queen--Bill brown and +hearty and tattooed, I scarlet, ragged, and proud. + + * * * * * + +For a moment or two we paused on the bridge and leaned over the +railing, looking down into the water. Then we turned to look back at +the _Norman D._ where she lay on the other side of the river. That was +another of those supreme moments. Now we had changed from two merry, +laughing comrades, walking lustily along, looking neither to right nor +left, to two shipmates, two common sailors, stopping together on the +streets to spin a yarn and gossip a bit. A couple of girls passed by. +They nudged each other, and giggled. + +♦ _The Staring Lady_ ♦ + +We went on, with people staring and nudging each other on all sides +upon our approach. We neared the post office. It was jammed full of +school children, girls, jesting boys, older women. Here was the supreme +chance! We went up those small, long steps two by two, instead of one +at a time, and rolled our way into the place, still looking neither +to left nor right, but pushing on right lustily through the crowd. +We entered, the King, the Queen--he lusty and brown, and with the +heartiest, merriest, most piratical sailor face you ever saw; she +scarlet as fire, ragged, and very cheerful. It was “shipmate” this, +“shipmate” that, all the time; I took great pains that more than one +person should hear us call each other so. We elbowed, yarning merrily, +through the crowd, and it certainly did make them stare to see us +striding in that way, as free and easy as if we had been sailors and +shipmates all our born days. In a loud voice Bill asked if the mail had +come in. It hadn’t, and it wasn’t due for a quarter of an hour. + +While Bill was asking this, I was standing just behind him, my hands +on my hips, looking as full of the sea as I could. Suddenly I became +aware of a lady, tall, slender, and dressed in black from head to foot, +standing near me in a corner of the room. She had a curious, small, +kind face, and she smiled at me so hard that I had to give her a smile +in return. No doubt she, like all the rest, thought it strange to see +me with Mate Bill, who, from the exposed inside of his left forearm, +was certainly a sailor. People, looking at us, would feel us entirely +different from what we were. They would see a very sunburned, ragged +little girl in company with a hearty sailor. That was delightful, +too--especially as that same sunburned little girl was so free and gay +with the sailor, so shipmate-ish; but it was not nearly so delightful +as my own idea that I actually was Bill’s shipmate. Anyway, I didn’t +care; I just didn’t care. + +Somehow, after I had turned my head away from the woman, something +within me said that she was staring hard. I felt rather as if she +shouldn’t stare quite so hard. It was all right to have her look at me +in surprise and smile in a friendly way--that was just what I wanted; +but should she keep her eyes fixed and fixed and fixed on me like that? +I couldn’t resist looking again, out of the corner of my eye. She _was_ +staring. I dropped her another smile. Then I forced myself to forget +her, and looked away. + +Now Bill spoke up: “What’s the use of waitin’ in here fer fifteen +minutes? I know I’m eager enough to get out in the air. What do you say +we stroll by the river a bit, ’n’ then come back later?” + +“All right with me, shipmate,” said I. “A little fresh air wouldn’t +come amiss, now you speak of it. Let’s go.” + +♦ _The Point of View_ ♦ + +I spoke this quietly enough so that no one could hear--all except the +“shipmate.” Then, after one parting look at the woman, who was still +staring, I followed Mate Bill out through the crowd, and down the +little steps two by two, and down the street, and out by the river. +There we stopped and strolled back and forth, as he had suggested, and +talked, and went out on the bridge to look down into the water again. +Soon we went back. The woman was not there, and I felt considerably +relieved about that, because something in her small, quiet, kind eyes +made me feel uncomfortable. They were like winking glass beads. + + * * * * * + +Mate Bill asked, in a hearty voice: “Any mail fer th’ schooner _Norman +D._, the schooner that just come in here today?” + +The girl sorted out the various mail for different schooners. There +seemed to be a great deal for another one, but none for us. + +“That’s funny,” said Bill. “Huh! All that trouble fer nothin’! Well, +it’s been a nice walk.” + +It had. I didn’t feel in the least disappointed about the absence of +mail, but I wouldn’t have missed the walk for the world. + +Adventures were still to befall us. We walked along, and-- + +“Did you see that woman in the post office, Barbara?” said Bill. + +“You mean the one who was standing over in the corner and staring?” + +“Yes. That’s her. Wasn’t she staring, though!” + +“I reckon she thought we were a couple of rowdies.” + +“Well, we look it.” + +“We certainly do, shipmate! But we look like what we are--sailors.” + +“I never went to town lookin’ so in all m’ born days.” + +“No, but we were just like a couple of sailors, weren’t we, you and I?” + +“Yes--but I don’t like t’ go ashore with you, lookin’ so awful.” + +“But I like you to, shipmate. It wouldn’t have been fun if you and I +had dressed up. We wouldn’t have been sailors then at all.” + +“Ssh, Barbara! That’s her ahead!” + +It was--it was, unmistakably, the tall black woman. We strode along +until we caught up with her, which, at such a gait, we did very +shortly. I gave her a brief nod and a smile of recognition as we +passed; otherwise I looked neither to left nor right. The funny part of +all this was that, though I was amazingly conspicuous in my rags and +tatters, with my face a bonfire of sun and sea, and such a crazy sailor +roll, I still wasn’t in the least embarrassed. + +♦ _Rencontre_ ♦ + +So we rolled past until we had gone the whole length of the long bridge +and come back to the _Norman D.’s_ side of the river. We were stopped +by the railroad track, for a long, long freight train had started +across it, going very slowly. There was nothing to do but stop and +wait, and talk as best we could in the terrific din. It was a long +time that we stood there; and, just as we were beginning to think +that the train would never come to an end, we felt someone approaching +slowly and calmly behind us, and I felt a pair of beady eyes fixed on +me--someone staring. I looked around quickly, and there was “her.” Now +the meeting was inevitable. Someone had to say something. + +“How do you do?” said she, in a calm voice. + +“Hello!” said I, heartily, and “Hello!” said Bill. + +Then there was a rather awkward pause. + +“I thought you were a little boy,” said she, finally, “until I saw your +pigtails.” She had a curious accent which seemed to be universal among +the Nova Scotians. + +“Well, perhaps I do look it,” said I. “We came up on the schooner--just +got in this morning.” + +“Are ye from Yankeeland?” said she, looking at me curiously. + +“I am,” said I. “From Connecticut.” + +“And you say you came up on a schooner?” + +“Yes, the _Norman D._” + +“Hm! That must have been fun. Did you enjoy it?” + +“I’ll say!” + +“And you?” she said, turning to Bill. “Are you the captain?” + +“No, first mate,” said Bill, heartily enough. + +“Mate,” I echoed. + +Another pause. Then: “Were you the only girl aboard?” + +“Yes, I was, thank Heaven!” said I. + +“You were glad not to have anyone else with you?” + +“Indeed yes. But, say: don’t you want to walk down with us and see the +_Norman D_? She’s mighty pretty!” + +“No, I can’t now.” + +“Well, you’ll find her there for quite a long time, if you ever want to +see her.” + +“About three weeks,” said Bill. + +“Thank you,” said she. + +The train had now gone past, and we three stepped along in company. +Before many steps Bill and I passed her. She minced sedately along a +short way, and then, with a final glassy look and a friendly wave of +her hand, she disappeared into a little old house. Bill and I quietly +returned to the schooner and climbed aboard. + + * * * * * + +♦ _A Resignation_ ♦ + +There we found quite a state of excitement. The steward was hopping +up and down the deck on one leg and saying: “The old man wants t’ +see you, Barbara. You better go aft ’n’ see w’at he wants. I think +the custom-house man is here.” Aft I went, and I had to open up my +hand-baggage, and to show my birth-certificate. The old man, by the +way, had gone for the mail, and had evidently got it during the time +when Bill and I were waiting outside. My certificate was among it. + +Out on deck, everyone had letters, and they were reading them to each +other. The mate took his away in a corner and spent a very long time +over them. Then he told me that they were from his wife. “I got seven +letters from her when we was in New Haven,” said he. + +And now a sad event was happening in the crew: for Richardson was +resigning. He scrubbed up, put on shore clothes, and finally went aft +to the captain--probably to get his wages. He returned forrard with +beaming contentment. + +“I guess we weren’t good enough to you, Dick,” said Roy, mournfully. + +“Oh, you fellows were all mighty good to me,” said Richardson, almost +in tears. Then he hopped off and went ashore to catch a train. + +How many times I scrambled up and down the rigging, I couldn’t tell. +I didn’t know exactly why I did it, but something was telling me that +it was mighty near my parting with the _Norman D._, and, though I was +likely to climb to other crosstrees in my life, I shouldn’t have much +more chance to swing my legs on those of the schooner which had brought +me to Nova Scotia. + +It was Saturday. At last my shipmate returned aboard, and said that +we shouldn’t be able to get a train down until Monday. So we had the +prospect of another day in Bridgewater. We decided to stay at a hotel, +for we were tired of hearing the captain’s complaints about sleeping on +the couch; also, the charm of the schooner was lost when we were not +under way. For the first time during the whole trip, I put on ladylike +clothes, and appeared in the midst of the crew again. They stared like +so many fish. The mate said, in a voice which sounded a little wistful: +“But you didn’t dress up that way when you went ashore this mornin’!” + +I hoped his feelings weren’t hurt. I said: “No, I didn’t, because I +thought it would be more fun walking through the streets looking like +born sailors and shipmates.” + +“Well, I think I like you better in your good clothes,” said he. + +“Oh, NO!” I protested, in frank disappointment. + +“Well, perhaps not,” he yielded. “You were all right as a little sailor +boy, anyhow.” + +♦ _A Gift without Thanks_ ♦ + +So we went off ashore. I didn’t realize it at the time, but that was +my last glimpse of Mate Bill as he is and ought to be. The truly last +time I saw him, it was not Mate Bill at all. + +We found a good hotel and deposited our luggage. Then we went out for +a walk. We picked the back roads of Bridgewater and headed as much for +open country as we could. The Nova Scotian people are more friendly +than any I have ever seen. Everyone nodded and smiled and said “Good +day!” to us, as though we had lived there all our lives. As we came +out upon a long country road that led out toward a rather high hill, +we passed a house where an old, sweet-looking man was mowing the lawn. +We had been picking and examining the Nova Scotian wildflowers, and +as soon as the old man saw that, he left his lawn-mower where it was +and ran off into the back yard for a moment. When he came back he had +a great bunch of pansies of gorgeous velvety colors, brighter and +glossier than any I have ever seen. He gave them at once to me, saying: +“I see you were lookin’ fer flowers, so I brought you some. You don’t +need to thank me, ’cause I’m so deef I couldn’t hear, anyhow.” We were +touched. + +The flowers have an extraordinary brilliance there. Such pansies! And +the columbine! that is the most splendid of all. Almost everyone has +it--great double blossoms, almost as large as tiger lilies, of all the +colors of earth, ranging from dark blue to bright yellow, lavender, +pink. We stopped beside someone’s garden, where a man was down on his +hands and knees weeding a flower-bed. We spoke to him in a friendly way +about his garden. Immediately he got up and picked us a great bunch of +the exquisite columbine, with some pansies. It seems as if the Nova +Scotians make the very best of their short summers, cramming into their +gardens every flower that can possibly find an inch of soil to fasten +its roots in. + + * * * * * + +The next day, Sunday, we went down to say good-bye to those of the +_Norman D._ In our forgetfulness, we never thought about its being +Sunday until, as we drew very near the schooner and were walking along +on the railroad tracks, we met the crew face to face. We stepped back +amazed. Bill, Bob, Roy, and Irish Bill, all marching along in a body, +all with new dark blue suits, all with newly shined shoes, all in clean +white shirts and ties! Every atom of their charm, their character, +had vanished out of them. Before, they were sailors. Now they were +nothing--nothing at all. Even the mate was considerably less piratical +and delightful. + +♦ _Shore-going Togs_ ♦ + +It threatened rain, and the mate said he had decided not to go ashore +at all, but to return to the schooner with us. “I don’t want to get +my clothes wet,” said he. Care-free Mate Bill worrying about getting +his clothes wet! But the other three were determined to go on to town +to “show off.” We left them, and went to the schooner with the mate. +Even the steward was slightly dressed up. He had on a clean apron, +or a clean blue cotton shirt, or another pair of trousers; he looked +different, somehow. The captain was dressed up like a young boy; and he +looked like a monkey, a positive monkey, in _his_ shore clothes. + +It began to rain hard and furiously. We had just time to duck into +the cabin. The three of the crew who had persisted in heading towards +town came running back at full speed and leaped over the side of the +schooner. We had quite a party down there. The mate took our blankets +and rolled them into a beautiful roll, marline-hitching them with +stout cord, and tying them as only a sailor could. Even a professional +mountain-climber could do no better. Then I went with him in to his +bunk, and we had a farewell talk. There was a snapshot on the wall of +his little room--a snapshot of a girl. The mate indicated it, saying to +me: + +“You know, my wife, she’s awful funny, and she sends me all sorts o’ +things, just to tease me. She sent me that picture while we was down +there in New Haven.” + +“Who is she?” + +“Oh, she’s a girl I used to go with. I went with her three years. Yes, +I had pretty strong intentions of hookin’ up with that girl!” + +“What happened that you didn’t?” + +“Well, I met t’ other one. Her father had died, ’n’ she was livin’ +there all alone, ’n’ so I went to her instead.” + +“Have you seen the other girl since?” + +“Yes, a few times. She give me the dickens fer goin’ to the other, ’n’ +that was all there was to it.” + +Then he talked about his career. He gave a sigh and said: “If I had my +hull life t’ live over, I’d do it powerful diff’rent--that is, if I +knowed as much as I know now.” + +“Would you go to sea, mate?” + +“Not if I knowed as much as I know now.” + +“What do you think you would do?” + +“Well, I reckon I’d ’a’ been a barber. That’s a very pleasant little +job. But bein’ a sailor is good in some ways. I keep thinkin’ I’m goin’ +t’ resign at th’ next port, but somethin’ about it--I dunno, but I +seem t’ stick. It’s a good, healthy life, out in the open, ’n’ that’s +somethin’.” + + * * * * * + +♦ _Self-conscious_ ♦ + +We went back to our hotel for supper, with an agreement that the mate +was to run up that way later, when he went ashore, and that we should +be on the lookout for him about six o’clock. The captain was to come +up, too, to write that note which he had promised so long ago--a +note for identification, stating that we were his passengers on the +schooner, to be handed to any officials who might challenge us in +Boston. We were sitting in the hotel, talking, about six o’clock, and +watching for Bill. Sure enough, we saw him striding along, in company +with Irish Bill. As for the skipper, we didn’t see him. But the two +Bills went straight on, appearing not even to see the place. I darted +out the door like a flash and called out “Hi! Mate!” in a loud and +hearty voice. Several persons turned at the sound of that “Mate!” + +I asked him why he hadn’t stopped. He said he thought it was much +too grand a place for the likes of him (he was in his half-sailor, +half-shore clothes, which were at least better than his real shore +clothes). I said that was nonsense, and asked him if he didn’t want +to come in. He agreed briefly, though still feeling a little shy, and +Irish Bill went on walking up the street, alone. + +“Where’s Bill going?” I asked. + +“I dunno. Bill’s a queer lad, he is.” + +Then my shipmate appeared, and the three of us set out for a walk +together. We were discussing the old man and wondering where he was, +when suddenly we met him face to face. “I’ve just been up-town for a +little walk,” said he. We turned and went back toward the hotel. My +shipmate was extremely eager not to let the old man slip between his +fingers and once more dodge writing that note. We went in, and I sat +with Mate Bill while the old man wrote it. I saw him throw it away at +least twice as if dissatisfied. + +As for Mate Bill and me, our talk ran on to the jackknife which I had +promised him. + +“I’ll send it up to Bridgewater as soon as I get home, mate,” said I. + +“That will be fine, Barbara,” said he. “I’ll be awful glad to have +it. But listen, don’t send it to my home _ad_dress, will you?” (He +had given me his home address before.) “Be sure not to send it there, +Barbara,” he went on, very earnestly, “Because, you see, my wife ’d +get the package, ’n’ she’d open it, ’n’ w’at would she find but a +jackknife? ’n’ from ‘Barbara’! She wouldn’t rillize that you was jist a +little shipmate o’ mine. She’d think you was a girl that I’d been goin’ +with, ’n’ she’d be jealous, she would. I know how it is, ’cause I got +in trouble with her that way once before. I’d get in wrong with her, +you see, ’n’ I wouldn’t like to have that. So don’t, will you, Barbara?” + +♦ _Last Words with Bill_ ♦ + +“No, I promise you I won’t, mate,” said I, in the same earnest tone. +“I’ll send it right up to Bridgewater, and as soon as I get home, too, +so that it’ll get up here to you before the schooner sails.” + +The rest of our conversation was on the same theme--warning me against +sending the knife to his home address--until the end, when a strange +thing happened. + +“Was your mother worried ’bout havin’ you come on the schooner?” said +Bill. + +“No! Why should she be?” + +“Well, I thought, perhaps, you bein’ the on’y woman aboard, she might +git worried. But she didn’t need to, anyhow. I know one that wouldn’t +let you be imposed upon--and that one is--_me_!” + +By this time the captain had finished, and it was just when they were +going out the door that Bill said: “Good-bye, shipmate!” and I replied: +“Good-bye, shipmate!” + +And that was the last I saw of Bill. + + * * * * * + +As for the captain’s note, it ran like this: + + + June 25th/27 + + This is to certify that + Miss Barbara Follett and + Mr. Bryn were my guests + on board the sch Norman + D from New Haven conn + to Bridgewater N S and are + returning home via the + Yarmouth boat to Boston + + C. Avery Master + Schn. Norman D + + +But it wasn’t the Yarmouth boat that we took: it was the train. The +next morning early, we started off by train and rode until we came to +Digby. From Digby we took a little steamer across the Bay of Fundy to +St. John, New Brunswick. For about three hours of the afternoon we +steamed across the great bay. But there was no crew to talk to, no +rigging. I couldn’t have steered had I asked. Nothing was familiar. +The wind blew my skirts so that I could hardly take a step--for there +was a violent sailing breeze, though nothing like our gale. I wish we +could have gone across in the schooner, before a whitecapped sea like +this. It was glorious, except for the steadiness of the little ship, +and the stiffness and unfamiliarity of it. The exit to Digby Harbor was +heavenly--even lovelier than Lahave, if that were possible. It was very +much bigger, and just as you thought you had the open sea ahead of you, +you saw two great green arms of land--something like those at Lahave, +but longer and slenderer and even more like arms--reaching out from +the mainland and all but meeting. + +♦ _Neque Vela, neque Armamenta_ ♦ + +We steamed out between those two long arms, through the narrow opening. +For a long time afterward we could look back and back at the green +against the vivid sky; then we were out of sight of land, and alone in +the sea. We passed one little fisherman very much like the one which we +had seen on the fifth day of the voyage in the schooner--the day the +sailing breeze had just begun to come. I was delighted to see a sailing +vessel again. Almost as soon as we were out of sight of Digby we came +in sight of the hills and mountains in back of St. John--billowing dark +blue hills, reaching up and up above the horizon; and at last we saw +the city itself. A few minutes later the steamer chugged into St. John, +and we disembarked. + +There isn’t anything to say about the place. My mind was dwelling +wholly on the voyage just past; everything else was unimportant. +We took the train from there, staying on it all night, and in the +morning arrived in Boston. From Boston we took the train to New Haven, +and arrived there four hours later. The only interesting thing that +happened in the whole train ride was that, passing over the border +between New Brunswick and Maine, the custom-house official strode +through the train asking for identifications. He was very pleasant +about it. I showed Captain Avery’s amusing little note, and Mr. +Holbrook’s affidavit, useful at last. + +Mother was to meet us at New Haven. We came walking up through the +station with our luggage--including the roll of blankets tied by Bill, +which had stayed faithfully tied through thick and thin on the train. +Mother said afterward that she could see nothing but my glowing scarlet +face and two rows of great white teeth as I grinned. Sun, wind, and +salt sea had left their mark upon me! + +Everything I had once anticipated and dreamed of took place. I found +myself twice as strong and hearty as before. I swanked, and I still +rolled just a little, though that had pretty well worn off by this +time. I told my stories, in a gay manner and in a hearty sailor voice, +all the way home and for days afterward--all as I had often planned. + +When I ran up the steps at home, the first person I saw was my friend +Mr. Rasmussen. I ran to him at once with huge sailor leaps, and said, +shaking him warmly by the hand: “Thanks, Mr. Rasmussen, for sending +me to Nova Scotia! Weather? We had thick fog and calm most of the +time--but one good, ripping northeast gale.” + +“Well, you sure look husky enough to have been a sailor. Thick fog ’n’ +calm, did you have? And nor’east wind? Hm! I kinda reckoned that was +what you was getting.” + +♦ _Fidem non Fefelli_ ♦ + + * * * * * + +The next afternoon I kept my promise to Mate Bill by going in town to +buy him a bully stout jackknife. I wrote him a shipmate-ish letter at +the same time, asking him, among other things, to keep a lookout for +a poncho and some other things which I had managed to leave on the +schooner. I received a letter from him shortly in answer. I wrote to +him again, and received another letter. But when I wrote a third time, +asking him to keep on writing to me, because I didn’t want to lose +track of him, and because I _did_ want to sail with him again sometime, +I got no answer; nor have I heard from him since. But here, hoping +you will not ridicule them in spite of their imperfections, are his +letters. It is delightful to me to have them--the evidence that I have +at last made acquaintance with a true sailor. The first is as follows: + + + Bridgewater + July 4 1929 + + + Well shipmate + + I reicived your + letter was glad to hear that + you rive home saft again + well Barbara your things you + was speaking about they are + here the old man sed he + would send them to you + From new york + we leave here July 5 for + new york. I will soon Be + hearing the sail flap again + the old man is no better + the steward and him still + talk fit some times But I + gest it will be talk + I would like to see you here to + go Back with us + I no you like to go to sea + what king of a trip did you + have gone home + + So long from your shipmate + + Bill + + +And here is the second: + + + New york + July + th 30 1927 + + well Barbara + + I reicived the jack-knife + sent I came in hear I had left Bridgewater + befor the knife reach there so they sent it + to me here + + so now I am trying to think how I am + gone to return the gif + + we was 16 days comming over hear we had fight + fog all the way over and lots of head wind + I thought we was never gone to get here + Barbara I am sending your things to you I + spoke to the old man about them and he + made no after to send then so I thought + I would send them to you + + I hop you get them all right + + we will be here about a week longer yet for we + leave I don’t no where we are gone from hear + yet + + well So long Barbara from your shipmate + + W H m + + +♦ _Good-bye, Shipmates!_ ♦ + +There they are. W. H. M. is William Henry McLeod. There is my +shipmate. I’ve told you all about him that I know--and all that I know +about the trip. + +And so, Alan, with hearty, piratical good wishes for the best of +luck--good-bye! + + + Your shipmate, + Blackheart + [Illustration] + + + + +NOTES + +[1] The cook’s pronunciation; I have not found the word as yet. The +process is lowering buckets for sea water and washing down the deck. + +[2] The beginning of what Roy called “The Rosewood Casket,” as he +played and whistled it. + + + + + A NOTE ON THE TYPE + IN WHICH THIS BOOK IS SET + + + _The type in which this book has been set (on the Linotype) is + based on the design of William Caslon (1692–1766). It is a + modern adaptation rather then an exact copy of the original. + Caslon’s letters are noted for their extreme legibility._ + + [Illustration] + + SET UP, ELECTROTYPED, + PRINTED AND BOUND BY THE + PLIMPTON PRESS, NORWOOD, MASS. + PAPER MANUFACTURED BY + S. D. WARREN CO., + BOSTON + +[Illustration] + + + + +TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES + + + - Odd pages in the text have running headers which were changed + to sidenotes in this production. These are often in the middle of + paragraphs and were moved to between paragraphs in order to not + introduce unnecessary breaks. + + - Clear typos and wrong punctuation were corrected. + + - Footnotes have been renumbered and moved to the end of their + sections. + + - Text between _underscores_ represents italics. Text between + ♦ Diamonds ♦ represents a sidenote. + + - Towards the end of the text, there is a letter with several grammar + and spelling mistakes. The original text was maintained, since it is + an artistic decision by the author. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77795 *** |