CHAPTER XVII STORM-BOUND AT PROVINCETOWN

The entrance to Little Harbor at Portsmouth, between Great Island and the breakwater, was so narrow that it would have been impossible to get out to sea against the tide unless a westerly wind had been blowing. As it was, the wind was light and easterly, so that the _Bright Wing_ was obliged to adapt herself to the tide, which began to run out as early as three in the morning. At four o’clock, therefore, all hands were called to the windlass, and, as soon as she was free, the ship slipped out past the breakwater and the fort, toward the rising sun, with her sails slightly shaking in the breeze.

The course was about south by east as far as Thatcher’s Island; and, from there, about south-half-east for Race Point on the tip end of the Cape,--the whole distance being roughly seventy miles. So long as the wind held easterly, or at least did not veer around in a southerly direction, it would be possible for them to sail the first thirty miles or so on one long leg, fairly close hauled; but, from Thatcher’s Island on, they would be able to slack off their sheets.

The plan of the cruise included a short stay at Provincetown, to give Mr. Jackson a chance to get ashore, and from there around the Cape to Martha’s Vineyard; then through the Cape Cod Canal to home waters at Hull.

As the _Bright Wing_ slipped along through the water at a moderate speed, everything on board was going like clockwork. There was no seasickness to interfere with the routine instruction, and the light easterly breeze made it cool and pleasant, although it was very hot ashore. At quarters it was announced that Randall Turner, “B. M.” of the second division, first section, had left the ship at Portsmouth the night before, in response to a telegram announcing his mother’s serious illness, and that Ronald Jones, the coxswain of the same section, had been appointed “B. M.” in Turner’s place. At dinner time they were just about opposite the twin lights on Thatcher’s Island; and, when the new watch came on deck after dinner, they noticed that the wind had shifted to the north of east, and that the sky was beginning to be overcast. The breeze, also, was freshening, and, as the sheets were let out to catch more of the wind, the _Bright Wing_ began running rather faster, with the breeze on her port quarter. The mate and Mr. Wentworth were walking up and down, sniffing the air.

“Guess we’ll make Provincetown in short order, if this wind holds,” said the mate; then, looking up at the clouds, he added, “I shouldn’t wonder if it thickened a little before to-morrow morning, and I notice the glass has gone down since we left Portsmouth.”

This was the first time some of the younger boys had sailed in a strong fair wind. The motion, of course, seemed far less than if they had been obliged to beat up against it, and there was little or no discomfort, in spite of the fact that the wind was gradually increasing and the weather thickening.

At about four o’clock in the afternoon, it began to rain, and all hands on deck got into their oilskins and rubber boots. Fortunately, however, there was no fog, and Cape Race light soon loomed up clearly across the port bow. Once passed, it became necessary to beat to the northward against the wind, so that they did not drop anchor in Provincetown Harbor until after dark.

In the meantime the weather had developed into a storm, and the _Bright Wing_, along with a number of fishing schooners that were moored in the harbor, dropped extra anchors as a matter of precaution.

It was not possible to send the launch ashore that night for the mail, and it seemed a strange thing to the younger boys to feel the motion of the ship, and to hear the sound of the wind blowing through the rigging, while at the same time they knew that they were at anchor.

Dick Gray had been getting more and more into his work since the crisis he had passed through some days before. He felt as if he had thrown off a great load that used to weigh him down while he was working, and had taken more than half the fun out of his play. He had a new sense of freedom which he had never felt before; and, at the same time, a tremendous desire to make good in whatever he was called upon to do. Dick “Number 1” was not only in command, but using all his force and intelligence to make a good and obedient servant of Dick “Number 2.” He began to feel a new sense of enjoyment in his life which he, himself, did not quite understand; but the truth was very simple: he was becoming a man, and learning to appreciate a man’s responsibilities.

Ronald Jones, the new “B. M.” who had succeeded Turner, was a boy who had got ahead in his tests for ratings and merit badges rather by book learning than from actual experience. Of course all the senior officers as well as the “B. M.’s” were interested to see whether he had in him the right stuff for a petty officer; and Mr. Wentworth, as Officer of the Day, watched with even greater care than usual to see whether Jones gave his commands on time, and also whether they were properly carried out. The boy, of course, did not realize how carefully he was being observed, and seemed rather pleased with himself than otherwise, until Mr. Wentworth asked him why the order for the first instruction period of the afternoon was three minutes late. Jones mumbled out an excuse of some sort; but, as a matter of fact, it had really never occurred to him that three minutes would make any difference one way or the other.

“You remember, Jones, I explained to you when I gave you your watch billet that every routine order must be given and carried out _on the dot_ by the deck clock. If you have not remembered to give the order within sixty seconds of the right time, you are clearly at fault, and no excuse will be accepted. Until you have had some practice, you will not find this an easy thing to do, and it may be that you will never be able to accomplish it. All men cannot be officers, for they haven’t got it in them, and yet they may be very good privates. It is the same with boys, and now you have your chance of proving whether you can make good or whether you can’t.”

Jones might have understood from Mr. Wentworth’s serious tone that there was need for mending his ways; but he seemed to take his new authority more as a feather in his cap than as a serious responsibility. This was not the first time he had been “called down” since noon, when he and his section had been put in charge of the watch. His “life buoy” (whose duty it is to stand on the leeward side, prepared to throw the buoy at any moment) was lolling most of the time on the cabin house instead of being alert on his two feet. There were four or five more routine orders on Jones’s watch bill to be given before he was relieved at four o’clock; and, of those, only two were punctually and properly carried out.

At the officers’ conference that evening, Mr. Wentworth reported, among other things, on Jones’s first watch that afternoon, and it was decided to give him another forty-eight hours to see whether he could make good as a petty officer.

The next morning Mr. Jackson, who was anxious to take the train to Boston, found to his surprise that it was impossible to get ashore, for the storm had risen to unusual violence. The Captain and the mate kept a close watch on the anchor cables, for they feared the anchors might drag at any moment. On account of the rain, quarters, setting up exercises, and instruction were all held on the berth deck; but toward noon there came a break in the clouds, and, with the first gleams of sunshine, the wind began to abate.

It was not until after dinner, however, that the launch was sent ashore with Mr. Jackson, the yeoman, and Billy Brown, who accompanied his uncle to the train; and, as soon as they had landed, the yeoman started for the post office, while Mr. Jackson and Billy walked to the railway station.

“Say, uncle,” said Billy, “seems a long time since you and I came aboard at Portsmouth, doesn’t it? You can tell the folks I’m having the time of my life; but just find out, will you, whether Roger has remembered the calf.”

Mr. Jackson promised. Bill watched the train roll out of the station, and then found his way back to the wharf where Bob Brackett was waiting for him, and they both returned to the ship just in time for the afternoon swim.

The weather had cleared by three o’clock, the sun was shining brightly, and all together the conditions were just right for a good dip, although there was more motion in the water than usual, even inside the harbor. Jack Perkins was in charge of the swimming party, and was particularly interested in teaching Billy Brown, who seemed to have great difficulty in getting over a natural aversion for the water. Brown knew the stroke well enough, but would tighten up from lack of confidence, and Jack was trying hard to teach him to swim in a quiet and leisurely way instead of working in spasms.

They were all swimming off the ship’s side to leeward, as the Captain and mate were preparing to row ashore, and Jack suddenly remembered a letter which he had forgotten to give to the yeoman to mail.

“Captain,” he called from the water, “are you going near the post office?” and, as the Captain nodded, he said, “I forgot to give the yeoman a letter I wrote home,--would you mind mailing it for me, sir?”

At the Captain’s cordial assent, Jack scrambled up the side-ladder and disappeared down the berth deck companionway.

Meantime, Brown had been swimming pretty well--for him--and struck out from the ship’s side, followed by Chippie Smith, who knew Billy’s peculiarities as a swimmer and was keeping a friendly eye on him. But the tide happened to be bearing away from the vessel, and suddenly Chippie noticed that Billy was sputtering and struggling ahead of him in a kind of panic.

“It’s all right, Bill--take your time and swim back here to me,” called out Smith in a reassuring tone.

Little Billy felt the force of the current against him, and finally scrambled through about six feet of water to where Smith was; but, having completely lost his presence of mind, frantically grabbed him round the neck from behind and began weighing him down into the water. One of the boys near the ship noticed what was going on and gave a loud call for help which reached Dick’s ears while he was writing a letter home on the day bunk. He had no sooner heard the cry than he bounded to the ship’s side and took in the situation at a glance. Without thinking of the side-ladder, he dove off the rail, clothes and all, and came up again about four feet from where the two boys were struggling. Approaching close to Chippie, he said quietly:

“Knock the back of your head against his nose, Chip; that will break his hold, and then I’ll pick him up.”

Smith had been careful to keep his mouth closed while his head was under water, and took in a deep breath whenever he could manage to wriggle to the surface. Now Dick’s voice gave him just the support he needed, and he quietly bumped against Billy’s face with the back of his head. He purposely did not do it hard the first time; but the second time he knocked just hard enough, and Bill relaxed his grasp. Dick then turned over on his back; and, catching Billy under the arms, quietly swam back to the side of the ship.

It did not take long to lift Billy to the deck, and it was found that he was really more frightened than anything else. The Chairman, the Captain, and almost the whole ship’s company had formed a ring around him as he lay there on his back. Mr. Miller knelt beside him for a few minutes; and, when he had reported his pulse fairly good and their anxiety had been allayed, one of the boys cried out: “Look at Dick Gray!” and burst out laughing.

All eyes followed those of the laughing boy, and the merriment became general and hearty as Dick--dripping from head to foot--gazed with an earnest look upon the little figure lying on the deck, his fountain pen sticking up at a sharp angle from his mouth, in the same position it had occupied when he first started from his writing on the day bunk and jumped off the rail into the water!

“What’s the matter with me?” he blurted out.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full!” shouted Chippie, and only then did Dick become conscious of his pen.

“How about your letter, Gray?” asked the Chairman, with a twinkle in his eye.

“I guess I’d better change my clothes before I finish it, sir,” said Dick, with a grin.

Meantime Billy Brown had got up on to his feet, and was ordered to report to the Chairman as soon as he had changed his clothes.