CHAPTER VII.

THE SUMMER CRUISE.

Esdaile was a third-class man, of course, and he was almost the first person that Brydell ran across. Bearing in mind what the admiral had said about Esdaile being ashamed of his father, it was not without a wish to make Esdaile ashamed of himself that Brydell, the first time they met alone, said carelessly:—

“By the way, Esdaile, I believe you are the son of one of the best friends I have in the world—Private Grubb, of the marines. I nearly killed him once, when I was a kid, and after that we came to be tremendously fond of one another.”

Esdaile’s face turned crimson.

“I’d—I’d rather you wouldn’t mention about my father,” answered Esdaile. “You know my mother’s people, the Esdailes, were altogether different from my father’s. My grandfather Esdaile was an ambitious man—the Esdailes are a good family—and left me some money on condition I changed my name, and it would be awkward for me when I’m an officer to have it known that my father is a private of marines.”

“Very awkward for Grubb,” said Brydell coolly; “I should think your father would be awfully ashamed of you. Grubb, you know, is a fine man; every officer he ever served under thinks highly of him; and you are evidently a cad of the most pronounced description. No, I won’t mention the relationship, for Grubb’s sake.”

Now this was highly insubordinate talk from a plebe to a third-class man. Esdaile straightened himself up.

“Do you know that you are speaking to your superior, sir?”

“Oh, come off!” answered Brydell carelessly. “This isn’t any class question; it’s a mere private matter between us two. I say your father, if he _is_ an uneducated man, is twice as much of a gentleman at heart as you are, for all your education and your money and your fine name, because Grubb respects himself, and that’s the first thing about a gentleman, so I’ve been told.”

Esdaile walked off in silent fury. He did not care to undertake to discipline Brydell on such a matter, as it would only be proclaiming what he earnestly desired to conceal, so he swallowed his chagrin and determined to get even with Brydell some other way.

Although hazing is strictly prohibited by act of Congress, the milder form of it, known as “running,” is not wholly unpractised, and Brydell had his experience of singing the clothes list to the tune of “Hail Columbia,” chewing soap, standing on his head, for the amusement of the Third Class, and various other of the boyish tricks that seem to afford such intense satisfaction to the third-class men. Brydell, being a very good-tempered fellow, took it all in good part.

Esdaile had no share in it, but avoided Brydell as much as possible. Brydell soon found out that Esdaile’s reputation for straightforwardness was none of the best. The code of truth-telling is absolutely rigid at the Naval Academy, and a fellow caught in a lie would undoubtedly be forced to leave, whether the wrongdoing came to the ear of the authorities or not.

Now, Esdaile had not actually been caught in a falsehood by any of his classmates, but there was a general sinister impression that he would just as soon lie as tell the truth, provided he was not caught. His recitations had been admirable, and he had very few demerits and stood well with the instructors, but he did not stand so well with his own class. Apparently no one knew of his relationship to the marine, and Brydell was quite above the meanness of telling it.

Early in June the graduating exercises were held, and Lieutenant Brydell’s ship having got to San Francisco a few weeks before, Brydell was delighted one day to get a dispatch from his father, saying he would be at Annapolis before the cadets sailed on their summer cruise.

Oh, the happiness that Brydell felt one June day when he once more hugged his “dear old dad”! Brydell himself had grown and improved so much, and the brief “setting up” process he had gone through with had made him look so much more mature, that he and his father looked more like two brothers than ever.

The lieutenant felt perfectly happy in his boy. He had all along been conscious of the weak points in the boy’s training, and when young Brydell had of his own accord cast aside all indulgence and worked manfully in the face of heart-breaking disappointments, his father’s joy in him knew no bounds. Brydell showed his hands, which were rough and sunburned, to his father, with pride.

“Just look at ’em, dad!” he cried with a natural boyish conceit; “got that by holding the plow and tossing hay and feeding the cattle and chopping wood. You ought to have heard the admiral laugh when he saw me trying to drive the ox-team through the gate. I’m not exactly a first-class farm hand,—I wasn’t worth more than ten dollars a month,—but I didn’t shirk, I can tell you. And you don’t know how much better it was working in the fresh air, with a plenty of wholesome country food to eat, than drudging in an office; and the horses and cows were excellent company. I pity the poor fellows that have to work in city offices. Give me the country every time.”

The lieutenant gazed at him while a mist gathered in his eyes. He could only say: “My brave boy! My brave boy!”

Brydell told his father that he must go out to see the Laurisons, and the lieutenant, nothing loth, went and spent the day. He came home delighted with the kind people, for whom he felt sincere gratitude, and he brought back a large nosegay from little Minna and a childish letter written in a big, round hand to young Brydell.

Before the Constellation sailed, Brydell sent her a cap ribbon with “U. S. S. Constellation” on it in gold letters and a set of cadet buttons for her jacket. Of course every cadet had his “best girl” and perhaps half a dozen other “girls,” generally young ladies older than themselves. But Brydell maintained a mysterious silence about his “best girl,” only admitting that her name was Minna and she had long light hair.

One lovely morning in June the Constellation, that had been lying at anchor in Annapolis Roads for several days, set her white sails and with a fair wind took her majestic way to the open sea. She has never had steam in her, and, except for being frequently repaired and even rebuilt, she is very much the same as in the times when she was one of the crack frigates of the nation and when she made her glorious record as a fighting ship. From the days when she had come off victorious in two fights against ships that were her superiors, and had remained uncaptured, although blockaded by a great fleet for years, in 1812-15, she had been always classed as a lucky ship, and lucky she proved.

To Brydell every moment at sea was happiness. He took to seamanship and navigation as a duck takes to water, much to Admiral Beaumont’s delight, who was not wholly reconciled to the new-fashioned ships, where, as he disgustedly declared, “The chief engineer is captain, and the ship is no better than an iron kettle with an engine inside of her.”

They made their way along the coast leisurely. Every morning the cadets were made to go aloft and over all the rigging for exercise, and they did it like cats. Brydell excelled at this from the first with the utmost smartness. Esdaile, on the contrary, although his class rank was high, did not do at all well in the practical exercises of seamanship. He was growing more unpopular every day with his class, and among the sailors he was hated.

The blue jackets who worked side by side with the cadets on the summer’s cruise were generally fine seamen and honest fellows, and a pleasant feeling existed between them and the cadets, although the distance between an embryo officer and a sailor was necessarily strictly preserved. Brydell enjoyed nothing more than his turn at the wheel, when, with a foremast man, he had his watch.

All sailors can tell plenty of interesting things, and as they all liked Brydell they made the watch pass quickly enough. Not so was it with Esdaile. He treated the sailors with a superciliousness and selfish indifference that made them hate him, and they sometimes took a sly revenge on him by letting things go wrong, for which he was responsible, without telling him.

When he was sharply called to account by the officer of the deck or the executive, there was a universal grin in the fok’sle. With the other cadets the sailors were only anxious to shield them, if anything did go awry. Brydell and Esdaile were upon the most distant terms, and neither showed any disposition to change them.

After a leisurely cruise along the coast they reached Portsmouth, New Hampshire. It was a soft July evening, and the wind was fair for them to enter the difficult harbor. Brydell, with Atkins, a very smart sailor, was at the wheel when they were weathering the Point.

It requires skilful seamanship for a sailing vessel to weather this dangerous point, where the slightest mistake in the moment to put the helm up or down will place a ship on the rocks. The captain trusted nobody but himself to bring the frigate in. The ship, with all her light canvas set, floated lightly on almost like a phantom ship.

The Piscataqua is one of the most beautiful rivers on the Atlantic coast, and in the pale sunset glow the water shimmered like a sea of opal. The white-winged Constellation came on and on, without tacking, and seemed literally rushing upon her doom as the rocky point reared itself menacingly in her way. But when so near that her bowsprit almost touched the rock, the captain, who stood at the steersman’s side, gave the word, and the ship, answering her helm beautifully, came about like magic and rounded the dangerous point.

In a little while she reached her anchorage, and came to anchor in true man-of-war style, her sails being furled and her anchors dropped in an inconceivably short time.

Brydell was at that happy age when every change seems delightful, and he was just as glad to get ashore at Portsmouth as if he had not enjoyed every moment when he was actually cruising.

He looked forward with the greatest pleasure to seeing his old friend Grubb, and only regretted the forms which must be observed between an officer and a private. Grubb was such a sensible, self-respecting fellow that he was not at all likely to let Brydell’s natural generosity lead him beyond the right point with a subordinate.

Brydell made up his mind that Grubb would keep off the ship if possible, and determined the first time he got leave to go ashore to hunt up his humble friend. But the very next morning, happening to go on deck, he ran across Grubb delivering a message to the officer of the deck.

Grubb touched his cap respectfully to Brydell, but his pleasure was evident in his handsome sunburned face. The officer was just handing him a note. Brydell could not help shaking hands with the marine, saying to the officer, “Private Grubb and I are old friends. I have known him ever since I was a little lad. He got me the very worst wigging I ever had, for almost killing him with my parlor rifle.”

The officer smiled and said:—

“Private Grubb must be a good man to have remained in the service so long.”

“I dunno about that, sir,” answered Grubb, blushing. “I’ve been in the sarvice twenty-four years, now going on twenty-five. I ain’t never asked for promotion, because I ain’t a eddicated man, and I’m very well satisfied with my increased pay, but I reckon I’ll stay Private Grubb as long as the government’ll let me.”

Just then Esdaile appeared, strolling along the deck. The instant Grubb caught sight of him the marine’s face changed and hardened. The officer detained him a moment to add something to the note he had written, and Brydell stood talking with the marine. Esdaile’s face did not show the slightest recognition.

No one on the ship except Brydell knew of the relationship, and as he had not thought fit to mention it, Esdaile in his selfish soul hoped that it would not be suspected. Certainly it would not be from the manner of either father or son.

The officer had come back then, and giving his note to Grubb, and civilly returning his salute, the marine went over the side and was soon being pulled away in the boat.

Brydell remained talking with the officer, who was very friendly to him, and telling the story of the parlor rifle which came so near being a tragedy instead of a comedy.

“And my father and Admiral Beaumont both say that Grubb is one of the most deserving men they ever knew, and he could have had promotion lots of times, except that he is a timid sort of an old fellow about some things, although as brave as a lion in others.”

“Those men are very valuable,” answered the officer, “and you youngsters ought to treat them with the highest consideration.”

“Indeed, Grubb and I have always been the greatest chums in the world,” said Brydell, showing his boyish dimples in a smile. “The only thing I regret in being a cadet is that I can’t go and spend the day with Grubb at his quarters as I used to when I was ten years old, and eat salt pork and boiled onions; how good it tasted then.”

Brydell had despised Esdaile before, but after that utter ignoring of his father, Esdaile became even more contemptible than ever in his eyes. Nor did he ever see the slightest recognition afterward between the two. They constantly met on shore, but never exchanged a word or a sign, except the conventional salute.

Brydell indeed could not go to Grubb’s quarters as he had done as a little boy, but when he had leave, he would sometimes get a boat and he and Grubb would go fishing as in the old days, and be very happy together. Everybody on the ship knew of the old association between them, and the fondness of the smart young cadet for the grizzled marine was perfectly understood.