The Project Gutenberg eBook, Boy Scouts at Sea, by Arthur Astor Carey, Illustrated by Harold James Cue

BOY SCOUTS AT SEA

Without thinking of the side-ladder, he dove off the rail.
Frontispiece. [See page 205.]

BOY SCOUTS AT SEA
OR
A CHRONICLE OF THE B. S. S.
BRIGHT WING

BY
ARTHUR A. CAREY

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
HAROLD JAMES CUE

BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
1918

Copyright, 1918,
By Little, Brown, and Company.

All rights reserved

Published, September, 1918

THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A.

TO
MY SHIPMATES
ON THE
BOY SCOUT SHIP
PIONEER

PREFACE

This is not a boys’ “book of adventure” but an imaginary chronicle based upon the setting of an actual cruise. It is believed that there are Sea Scouts who will recognize familiar surroundings and will recall the ideas which are associated with them; and it is hoped that Land Scouts will feel, on the Bright Wing, the same spirit that they associate with the inspiration of the camp fire.

A. A. C.

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

BOY SCOUTS AT SEA

CHAPTER I
“After You, Pilot”

“Say, George, won’t you come down to the island this afternoon and spin us a yarn? You know we’re going to Boston to-morrow to ship on board the Bright Wing, and we want to talk things over; perhaps you could give us some extra points.”

The speaker was Dick Gray, who had been an apprentice Sea Scout ever since the previous autumn, and was now about to take his first summer cruise on the Boy Scout ship with his two companions, Tom Sheffield and Chippie Smith. He was talking to his brother George, a midshipman just home from Annapolis for his vacation, and he naturally looked up to him as an authority in nautical matters. Besides, George had recently returned from a long trans-Atlantic cruise, and he had only just heard of Dick’s interest in the Sea Scouts. Much had happened since George’s last visit home, and Dick was eager to tell him all about it and to win his sympathy and approval.

The headquarters of the three boys was a little shack on Duck Island, which formed part of the home farm, where, for a couple of years past, they had kept their pets and hatched all the plans for their various adventures.

George was a good deal older than Dick, and had recently—within the last few days—heard a story which had impressed him so deeply that his idea of all his duties as an officer had been changed and heightened. When, therefore, Dick asked him to come down to the island and to spin a yarn to the boys, this story immediately jumped into his mind and he wondered whether he could tell it in such a way as to create in them the same feeling that it had aroused in him.

“I wish I knew more about your Boy Scout business, Dick. Can’t you tell me something about it?” he asked.

“Well, now,” answered Dick, “to pass for apprentice we have to know more knots than the Land Scouts do to pass for tenderfoot, and to swim twenty-five yards farther.”

“That isn’t exactly what I’m after,” replied George. “I understand that the Land Scouts learn more woodcraft and such things than the Sea Scouts, and that the Sea Scouts are supposed to be more at home in the water. What I would like to know is what the Boy Scouts are? I met some one the other day who explained to me that there were two branches of the service—corresponding to the Army and the Navy—but he did not tell me exactly what the service itself was. Now, in the Navy, it’s our duty to defend the country by sea, and all our education is intended to make us efficient in seamanship and the art of war. The object of the whole thing is just the same in the Navy as in the Army, except that the one fights by sea and the other by land. It’s the protection and service of our country in either case, and both branches take the oath of allegiance.”

“That’s it!” said Dick eagerly. “We have an oath, too, and it’s the same oath for the Sea Scouts as it is for the Land Scouts. I guess it’s the same for Boy Scouts all over the world; although, of course, they use different words and speak in different languages.”

George asked his brother to repeat the oath, and then he remarked:

“I’m glad to know that oath, Dick. It has helped me to understand more about the whole thing.”

“I’ll get you the manual,” said Dick, “and you can look that over and see for yourself what the law is.”

“The law? Oh, I suppose that’s a sort of Regulations. Run and get me the book and I’ll come down and spin you a yarn before supper time. When do you expect the other boys?”

“At four o’clock.”

Dick ran off delighted, and hastened over to the island to put everything straight for the meeting in the afternoon. Then he came back to the house and telephoned to Tom Sheffield in the town, for fear he might possibly make a mistake in the time or forget to come, and asked him not to forget to bring Chippie with him either.

They arrived on time, sure enough; and George and Dick were already on the island to receive them. After they had squatted down on the floor of the shack, George lost no time in beginning.

“Before I begin my yarn, fellows, I want to say that I have had a good talk with Dick about the Boy Scouts, and I have also been reading carefully the scout oath and law, and other things given in the manual. I understand more about it than I did before, especially about the first point of your oath, which is: ‘To serve God and my country, and to obey the Scout Law.’ In the Navy, we have to take an oath of allegiance, too, but are supposed to serve our country principally through fighting, while you are trained to serve your country in all sorts of different ways. In the Navy and the Army we have to fight with shot and shell and cold steel; but this is not the only kind of fighting a fellow may have to do in order to serve his country. He has got to fight the evil in himself in order to be trustworthy, helpful, brave, and all the other things that your scout law requires. These things that you have to learn are the very foundations of service; and, if you should engage in military work later on, your training in these things will make you far better soldiers or sailors than you otherwise would be. I can only say that I wish I had had such training before I went to Annapolis. The fact is, every man has to know how to fight, whether he is a soldier, or a sailor, or a civilian; and, unless you know how to fight against meanness, and falsehood, and cowardice beforehand, you won’t make so good a military man or so good a citizen when the time comes.”

“How about your story, George?” remarked Dick.

“All right,” replied George. “Here goes: I was staying with my chum, John Stimson, over the week-end a while ago, and, as we were going in to dinner with his father, Admiral Stimson, I stepped back at the door to let the old gentleman pass, but he held out his hand and signed for me to go first—I suppose because he was my host. As he did so, he said with a smile, ‘After you, pilot!’ Of course I walked in ahead of him, in obedience to his order, but I couldn’t make out what he meant by ‘pilot’, and the conversation was such that I could not butt in with a question about it. After dinner I got hold of John, who explained to me that it was a custom in the Navy, commemorating the act of Captain Craven of the U. S. S. Tecumseh at the battle of Mobile Bay.

“John said his father was never tired of telling the story, and was sure that he would be glad to tell it to me then and there. He asked me to wait a minute while he went to his father’s study to find out, and returned in a few minutes with this message: ‘By all means,—come in right away.’

“Well, boys, I wish I could tell it to you the way the old Admiral told it to John and me. But, as I can’t do that, I’ll just give you the facts: The Confederate fleet were up in the bay, protected below by strong coast fortifications on either side. The Tecumseh was the first ship in the line of Union vessels which were fighting their way up into the bay against the bombardment of the forts. Captain Craven was up in the turret with the pilot, who was pointing out the channel through the mine fields which had been carefully prepared by the enemy. But a mistake was made in the ship’s course which brought her into contact with a mine, striking her so that she went on her beam ends.

“You understand what this means?” said George, after a little pause, and he held up his two hands to indicate the angle to which the deck of the vessel would rise under the circumstances.

“Then she settled down with a kind of shivering motion and began to sink as the sea flowed in through the gash in her side.

“The inside of the turret was a small place and the two men shut up there were in close quarters. The only way out was the way they had come in, through an opening in the turret deck, like one of the manholes you see leading underground from the surface of the street. There was a little ladder in this manhole, and only room enough for one man to pass at a time. As the vessel settled and sank, it was inevitable that the water should rise in the manhole and ultimately fill the turret. There was no time to lose if either one was to make his escape from the death trap. It must have seemed a long wait to the two men as they stood facing one another and taking in their situation. But it probably wasn’t as long as it seemed before Captain Craven pointed to the manhole with the words that Admiral Stimson had quoted to me:

“‘After you, pilot.’

“You see, boys, Captain Craven had a law similar to your scout law; and, according to that, the captain of a sinking ship cannot think of saving himself until everyone else on board has been rescued. He obeyed this law of his calling without hesitation; and, when the pilot had made his escape down the manhole and been picked up and rescued, the water rose and filled the turret, and the captain went down with his ship. The whole thing could not have lasted more than a few minutes, although it must have seemed much longer; and, in that time, Captain Craven had maintained his honor and that of his country at the expense of his own life, while at the same time saving the life of another human being.”

George had realized the scene with so much vividness as he told the story, that all the three boys present felt as if they, too, had witnessed Captain Craven’s act of heroism. Dick felt, somehow, as if the opening of the manhole were right before them in the middle of the floor of the shack, and all three of them shared in his feeling. There was a long pause during which they visualized that scene in the turret of the Tecumseh.

George finally broke the silence:

“When the Admiral had finished, I sat back in my chair in a quiet kind of way, and after a while, the old gentleman spoke.

“‘You see, Gray,’ said he, ‘Craven only did his duty; but what enabled him to do his duty at that moment so nobly was the fact that he had done it hundreds of times before—again, and again, and again—in the ordinary affairs of his life and work. If he had been in the habit of shirking his studies, or of being mean to other fellows, or of yielding to fear in his ordinary life from day to day, he would have formed habits which would have made it difficult or impossible for him to be generous and manly when the supreme test came.’

“I couldn’t say very much,” continued George, “except to thank the old gentleman,—but I thought to myself, ‘You’re just such another one as Craven; and, if you were to ask me to cut off my finger, or my hand, I’ll be hanged if I wouldn’t do it.’

“Well, after that,” George went on, “I began to think about the Academy, and I seemed to see a thousand things that I might have done differently and better; and it seemed to me that I could hardly wait until vacation was over to get back to my work. Maybe, when you come back from your cruise, Dick will write me a letter and say how you got on, but I advise you to do the same thing that I’m going to do,—to think of that story every day and to put more push into doing the things that my oath requires.

“I suppose you fellows are going to have your meeting now, and I’ll go up to the house and unpack my trunk; I’ll see you again at supper.”

There was another pause after George had left the three boys, until finally Chippie remarked:

“I never thought of that before, fellows; but, when you do act in one way right straight along, you learn to do it better all the time. You remember a year ago I couldn’t knock up a ball decently; but I worked at it quite a lot, and the more I did it, the easier it came.”

“That’s so,” remarked Tom, “and you can knock up about as well as I can, now; but it seems kind of different with games and sports from what it does with other things that aren’t so much fun.”

“You bet it is,” chimed in Dick; “my mother gave me a letter to mail last week, and I found it in the pocket of my jacket three days after—a scout is trustworthy, eh? I tell you what it is,” continued Dick, “you know we have called ourselves a club and nobody knows it but ourselves, and we’ve been stickin’ up for each other at school and in the town when other fellows have tried to pitch into us, and that’s all right. But it seems to me that we could do more than that, and I’ll ask you two fellows to give me a dig in the ribs,—or if that doesn’t work—a punch in the nose, when you see me going to do a mean thing. I want to keep the scout law and my oath as much as I want anything, and I don’t see why you shouldn’t help me do that as well as to stick up for me when some other cove calls me names behind my back!”

Chippie and Tom looked at each other for a moment, and finally exclaimed together:

“Gee!”

“Then,” answered Tom, “why shouldn’t we all do the same thing? You know how hard it is to do things on time; and there’s no ‘being trustworthy’ unless you do. So Chippie, you and Dick just kick me out of bed when it’s time to get up, and I’ll be much obliged to you. Dad says I’m lazy, and I know he’s right, but I’ve got to learn to keep this scout law—or bust!”

All three assented cordially to the idea that they should join forces as brothers-in-arms against everything that stood in the way of their scout duty.

“I say,” cried Chippie, “this is what I call a club! And, see here, there are just three of us. Why not call it The Triangle Club?”

“And I vote,” said Tom, “we make this our motto:

“After you, Pilot!”

CHAPTER II
Getting Ready

Two weeks before the founding of the Triangle Club, referred to in the last chapter, Ship’s Company Number 1, of the Sea Scouting Branch of Northbridge Boy Scouts, were holding their last meeting in their regular assembly room before the beginning of the summer cruises.

The B. S. S. Bright Wing was to sail from the Boston Navy Yard in just two weeks, and some of the younger boys were already beginning to feel that they must get their sea legs on so as to “be prepared.”

Dick Gray showed keen interest and great enthusiasm for this new venture in scouting; and because he was a good swimmer and loved the water, he hoped to prevail upon his father to apply for a berth on the Bright Wing during her first cruise of the season. He was a painstaking boy, and had always been useful about the house since he was “knee-high to a grasshopper.” His mother, though not an invalid, was very far from being robust; and, as Mr. Gray could not afford many servants, her household duties might often have been too much for her if Dick had not been there to take hold and lend a hand. Though not tall for his age, he was strongly built, and, if it had not been for occasional dark and gloomy moods, he would have been almost indispensable both in the house and on the farm. Naturally, every one was glad when they heard that there was a chance for Dick to go on a real cruise, for they knew that the boy’s personal interests—however willing he always was to keep them in the background—all lay in the direction of seafaring.

“I do hope,” said old Robert, the farm hand, to Mr. Gray, “that boy will get his chance at the sea, this year! He does deserve it, if ever a boy did.”

“Yes,” replied Mr. Gray, much pleased with Robert’s approval of his son, “I think it will do him good. He’s a good home-body, we know, but we don’t know how he’ll turn out as a sailor among a lot of other boys; I can’t be sure how he’ll behave away from home when one of his ‘moods’ comes over him.”

While Mr. Gray liked Dick’s enthusiasm, he felt that he ought to find out as much as possible about the conditions of the life on board before making a decision, and that is what had brought him this evening to one of the regular Sea Scout meetings, to learn for himself, as much as he could, what the idea and the spirit of the undertaking really were. After he had been greeted by the scout master in charge—Mr. Howard Miller—while the boys all stood at attention—one of the older scouts, Jack Perkins, was detailed to stand by and give him all the information he possibly could.

Jack had been a boatswain’s mate for two summers running, and there was nothing he enjoyed more than explaining the details of the work to a new acquaintance; so he placed two chairs for himself and Mr. Gray on the low platform at the rear of the hall, where they could command a full view of all the proceedings, and then began talking to him in a low voice:

“You see, sir, the room here is arranged so as to be as much like the deck of a ship as possible. This broad platform that we are sitting on, with the colors hoisted in the center, is the ‘quarter-deck’ where only senior officers are allowed, with the exception of Sea Scouts on watch and of any seaman whose duty brings him here. That door over there, by which we came in, stands for the vessel’s bow, because it is just opposite the quarter-deck; but this is only so in a general way to indicate the direction of bow and stern, or ‘fore and aft,’ because it is also used as the gangway by which every one passes over the ship’s side either to come aboard or leave the vessel.”

“I understand,” said Mr. Gray. “I must confess that I did not know that I was stepping over a ship’s side when I passed through the door a few minutes ago!”

“Why!” exclaimed Jack, “didn’t you hear the boatswain’s call as you entered the room, sir?”

“Sure enough, sure enough,” said Mr. Gray. “I heard a whistle with a peculiar musical trill, but I did not know what it meant.”

“Well, sir,” said Jack, with a certain quiet dignity, “that is the salute that is always given to visiting officers when they come on board.”

Mr. Gray’s face lit up with a smile of intelligence. “Well, to tell the truth, I did feel something pleasant; and, now that I think of it, you boys were standing at attention at that very time when Mr. Miller came up and shook hands with me.”

“That’s right, sir,” said Jack. “We older Sea Scouts like these little bits of ceremony, especially because it’s just what happens when we are aboard the old Bright Wing, and brings back the taste of the salt water and the feel of the breeze on your face.”

“I see—I think I understand,” said the older man with a pleasant smile, and looking down the room, his smile broadened as he took in the bright and cheerful scene before him.

The Sea Scouts were all in their white jumpers and hats, for the idea of a ship’s deck of course included that of “out of doors”, and hats were only removed when something happened, like the arrival of a mother or sister.

The boys were grouped according to their sections (corresponding to patrols), in four little knots, each surrounding a table at which one of the boatswain’s mates, the scout master, or some other instructor, was presiding. They were sitting around their little tables like Land Scouts around a camp fire, listening and talking in low tones, so as not to interfere with what was going on in the other groups. One set of boys was tying knots and splicing bits of rope with a marlinspike made by themselves out of good hard wood. Dick had done so well with his knots that he had been put in charge of this group in the absence of the regular instructor. At another table a chart was spread out, and the parallel rules and dividers were traveling back and forth over the ocean amid contented murmurs and eager questions from the boys. In another corner the boatswain’s mate was putting his men through an informal examination in signalling. The whole scene, while very varied and animated, had the delightful atmosphere of combined activity and contentment.

Mr. Gray felt that every boy there was having a good time, and could not help catching the contagion of contented work. He made some further inquiries of Jack, and learned that each section rarely was kept on one subject more than twenty minutes or half an hour at a time, and that the instructors went from one group to another.

“You see, sir,” said Jack, “this is not intended to be like school, and we don’t want to keep a scout working at one thing until he gets tired of it. It is something like feeding your dog! He should have an appetite for more at the end of every meal.”

Mr. Gray sat musing quietly for a few minutes while his mind wandered back to his own boyhood. “I wonder,” thought he, “that there was nothing of this sort in existence when I was a boy!” Presently he turned to his companion with the question, “What is that green light in the right-hand corner and the red one on the opposite side?”

“Those are the starboard and port side-lights, sir, that are always run up at sunset when under way, and it is good for the new fellows to get used to their right position before they go to sea. I think you remember things by pictures in your mind better than you do by words. You see, sir, the boys have to light and lash these lamps in their proper places before every meeting; and then, when ‘Colors’ are over and the boatswain blows ‘stow away all gear’, the lamps and all other things have to be taken down and properly stowed away. That’s another thing, sir, I learnt from sea scouting that no one could ever pound into me on land. Before I went to sea I was the most disorderly lubber you ever set your eyes on; but on a ship there’s just so much space allowed to every man, and so every one is obliged to have a place for everything and everything in its place. Some fellows laugh at me now, but it makes me feel funny if I don’t find my shoe brush hanging on its own hook. If the fellows did not feel that way aboard ship, the whole place would be a mess and a litter in no time, and none of the gear would be in its place when needed; it would certainly cause delay and confusion, and might sometimes even be dangerous.

“These two groups on the right-hand side of the hall, where the green light is placed, are the two first sections of each division; and the other two, on the left-hand side as we face the door, are the two second sections of each division, on the same side as the red side-light. Of course, you understand, sir, that these are the four sections of a ship’s company as they stand on the deck of the Bright Wing,—each one being also the regular crew of one of the cutters or of the launch.”

Mr. Gray nodded assent, and then said with a laugh, “You mustn’t tell me anything more to-night, my boy, for I have taken in enough for one evening. You have given me a great deal to think about, and I am happy to believe that Dick—”

Just then the bugle rang through the hall, and, after a few sharp words of command from the scout master, the boys fell into formation for “trooping the colors.” Each section was represented by its color bearer and color guards, while the rest of the ship’s company were drawn up on either side fore and aft. At the word of command the section colors were marched up to the quarter-deck, two on each side of the national ensign, facing one another. Then the whole company present faced about towards the Stars and Stripes while the bugler sounded “Evening Colors.” At the final salute the section colors were smartly dipped, while every man’s hand was raised to his hat, and the color bearers marched down again to their places in formation.

All hands were then dismissed, and the formal activities came to a close. Only one thing remained to be done, and that was the stowing away of all gear. Mr. Miller stood with watch in hand while the boatswain piped the order, and Mr. Gray noticed Dick rushing across the hall to stow away the ship’s bell, while other boys were carrying the side-lights, the bill-boards, and all the other articles for which they were responsible. Presently Mr. Miller’s voice rang out: “One minute and fifty-two seconds! Record time!”

Just then Dick came running up to his father. “Well, Father, what do you say about the Bright Wing—don’t you think this is just about right?”

Mr. Gray assented smilingly and said: “I tell you what, Dick, if you will get this young man here to give you a little coaching before you go aboard,—well, I have nothing more to say.”

For about a second Dick seemed struck dumb with pleasure, while his eyes sparkled.

“Sure!” cried he, “won’t you, Jack? Say, when can I come around and see you? and may I bring Tom Sheffield and Chippie Smith along, too?”

Jack thought for a minute and then turned to Mr. Gray. “I will be glad to help them all I can, sir. Dick, you come around with the other fellows to-morrow after supper.”

“Gee!” Dick seemed to grow two inches taller in the next minute, and then rushed off to find Chippie and Tom.

CHAPTER III
Jack—Chief Boatswain’s Mate

The next evening Jack cleared the table for his mother after supper and got the dining room all snug and shipshape. His own room was very small and at the top of the house; and, as his mother had offered to bring in some refreshments for the boys later in the evening, Jack asked permission to hold his meeting in the dining room.

His father had gone out to his Lodge, and Mrs. Perkins was very much interested in Jack’s interview with the younger boys. Her father had been a sea captain, and there was a picture of one of his ships hanging over the mantelpiece in this very room. Some beautiful large shells which he had brought home from one of his voyages stood over the fireplace, under the picture of his vessel, the Sally Smart—an old-fashioned clipper ship—famous in her time for her speed and style. The whole room had a somewhat nautical flavor; and in one corner was a low long lounge with a broad shelf partially overhanging it, which gave the general appearance of a ship’s bunk.

When Jack had won the cup for the broad jump, representing the Northbridge High School, Mrs. Perkins, in her motherly pride, had put the pewter cup alongside of her father’s shells on the mantelpiece.

It was a warm, spring evening. The scent of the lilacs was wafted in through the open door, and Jack could hear the boys’ footsteps as they came through the dooryard up to the porch. He met them at the door and led them into the dining room.

“You come right in here, kiddies, and make yourselves at home. You might as well get into the bunk there in the corner, all of you, and be as comfortable as you can before I begin with you, for I hope to get you good and tired by the time I get through!”

The small chaps could not help feeling at ease under the influence of Jack’s cordiality. He was really glad to see them, and they knew it, and so they took him at his word, and all three—Dick, Tom, and Chippie—snuggled into the bunk together, half sprawling and half sitting, like a litter of young pups.

“Fire away now,” cried Dick, “we don’t care whether school keeps or not; and, whatever you’ve got to say, I guess we can stand it!”

“Well,” replied Jack, “joking apart, I’m feeling pretty well this evening myself, for I have just had news from Mr. Miller that I am appointed Chief Boatswain’s Mate of the Bright Wing for the first cruise. Now, you lazy lubbers, take notice that the Chief Boatswain’s Mate is the father of the crew, and you’ve got to mind what I tell you, or you will have to stand on the seam, or walk the plank, or do anything else that Dad says.”

All this was said so good-naturedly that even Chippie, the youngest, was encouraged to answer back; so he called up with his small voice out of the recesses of the bunk:

“Gee, boys, he talks as if he were the Captain and Mate and the Admiral of the fleet all at once; but I guess he means well enough!”

“Good luck to you, Boatswain’s Mate,” called out Tom, “it’s a good thing to get some of your ideas ahead of time, and then we’ll know what to expect.”

“Say,” said Dick, “aren’t there any officers above you, or are you and the crew the whole show?”

Jack sat listening to these flying remarks with quiet satisfaction. “No matter what I am,—you’ll find that out soon enough; but I’ve been thinking myself that there is nothing like ‘being prepared’ when you have a good job ahead of you. I shall have to see that you lubbers are licked into shape the first or second day on board, and I might as well begin now, and so have more time for the others later on!—See?

“But, before we begin, I’d like to find out whether you know what ‘standing at attention’ means; for if you get that right from the start, it will save you and your officers a lot of bother.”

The boys began getting up out of the bunk; and, before they had all stood up, Jack gave the command “Attention!”

All three were on their feet in an instant, and then Jack formed them in line and made his inspection.

Dick, in his eagerness, was stiff and leaning over backwards; Tom stood fairly erect with chest up, but his fists were clenched; and Chippie stood with one foot about six inches ahead of the other. None of them looked straight ahead with quiet eyes.

Jack corrected all these mistakes very carefully, impressing upon each one the necessity of practising by himself until he could stand with heels together, chest up, back erect, little fingers on the side seam of trousers, and eyes looking straight ahead, without thinking of the details, but, as it were, automatically. Then he gave the command “At Ease!” and explained that they could take any position they chose, provided that one foot remained in the same place.

“Now tumble into your bunk again, for we’ve lots more to talk about. When you get home, look up the subject of ‘Etiquette’ in the pamphlet, ‘The Organization of Sea Scouts’, and there you can find out when you are supposed to stand at attention, and how to salute, with a few other necessary things.” Jack then drew himself up with an air of great authority: “Ladies and Gentlemen, I will now proceed with my instructions to this pirate crew. The subject will be divided into three parts: The first, Officers and Petty Officers; second, the Plan of the Deck; third, Etiquette and ‘A Sailors’ Cheer.’

“Number one: I have been asked whether there are officers higher in rank than myself. It might have occurred to the intelligent inquirer that—the—Captain—is—in—charge—of—the—vessel. All orders come from or through him; but, just as on board a man-of-war, the Secretary of the Navy would be higher in rank than the Captain;—so, on board a Boy Scout ship, the Chairman of the Sea Scouting Committee outranks the Captain. Under the Captain are the Mate and Sea Scout Master of equal rank, the First Mate being the Captain’s assistant in sailing the vessel, and the Sea Scout Master being in command of the crew of boys. For the rest of the organization I refer my audience to the same interesting pamphlet, ‘The Organization of Sea Scouts.’ My own responsible office, upon which I will permit no reflections, is that of the first of the four Boatswain’s Mates, or the Chief Boatswain’s Mate, as I think I have before remarked. I am in command of the first section of the first (or forward) division in particular, and of all four sections in general. I am the chief Boy Officer; but, while occupying this exalted position, I recognize the authority of my superiors and the authority of the scout law. I am immediately responsible to the Sea Scout Master and his assistants, but may also receive orders from the Boatswain, the Mate, the Captain, and the Chairman of the Committee. If I were to get a ‘swelled head’ and refuse to obey orders (which is impossible, I trust), it would be the duty of the First Mate to deal with me in the traditional manner of first mates on all self-respecting vessels.

Sketch of Deck Plan of the Boy Scout Ship “Bright Wing”

1. Quarter-deck (aft of dotted line, in direction of arrows).
2. Cabin Companionway.
3. Crew’s Day Bunk.
4. Side Ladders.
5. Berth-deck Companionway.
6. Forecastle Companionway.
7. Jib Netting.
8. Mainmast.
9. Foremast.
10. Windlass.
a, b, c, d, regular positions of the four sections at quarters.

“Number two: [I have drawn up a diagram of the ship’s deck], showing the position of the quarter-deck (Number 1); the cabin companionway (Number 2); the crew’s day bunk (Number 3); the side ladders (Number 4); the berth deck companionway (Number 5); the fo’castle companionway (Number 6); and the jib netting (Number 7); the latter being an airy place suspended between sky and sea, where sleepy scouts off duty can take a nap after dinner.

“Gentlemen will please copy this diagram, so that, if necessary, they will be able to reproduce it in their sleep and find their way about the deck in the dark. There are many other things to learn about the ship, both inside and out, but this is just to give you a start. I shall be glad to answer any questions at the proper time.”

A confused mixture of voices came out of the bunk. The boys had become much interested in Jack’s lecture, and three pairs of eyes gazed out upon him from the dim light, one pair peering from under a shock of red hair belonging to Chippie Smith; one black pair that belonged to Dick; and a blue pair that shone out of the freckled face of Tom’s cropped towhead.

“Say, who’s the chairman?”

“What’s a companionway?”

“What are the side ladders for?” etc., etc., etc., etc., and right in the middle of the uproar, Jack rose and gave the command “Attention!” All sprang from the bunk and stood facing the door from the kitchen which had just swung open. Mrs. Perkins stood in the doorway with a tray in her hands, upon which were a pitcher of lemonade and some hot gingerbread, fresh from the oven.

All the boys stood as quiet as mice until she had deposited the tray on the table. When Jack had thanked his mother, he gave the command “At Ease!” and she turned to the boys, almost with anxiety, to find out whether Jack had made his talk pleasant and interesting.

She had a sailor’s blood in her veins, and she knew that a ship’s company must be a happy one if it was to do anybody any good. So she seconded Jack’s efforts with the true sailor’s cheer and the boys felt nothing but pleasure and enjoyment in connection with their little taste of drill in nautical knowledge. They all sat down to their supper, but Jack reminded the boys that he had not reached the third point of his lecture, namely that of Etiquette, and then asked his mother’s permission to round up the evening’s instruction, which he did quite simply and without any more mock heroics.

“Now the next thing I want to tell is about the quarter-deck. You see, boys,” he said, “in ancient times every ship carried a crucifix high up aft, and the National Ensign was flown just below it. These two symbols represented together the idea of God and the King, and therefore were saluted whenever a man passed over the side, either on arriving aboard or leaving the ship, and whenever a man came up from below on to the deck. We preserve the same custom now both in our Navy and on Boy Scout ships; because, although the crucifix and the King have disappeared, the ideas of God and our country always remain, and the custom of saluting the quarter-deck—whether the flag is flying at the time or not—is an expression of the first words of the scout oath: ‘On my honor I will do my best to do my duty to God and my country.’”

It was interesting to note the change in Jack’s manner as he solemnly repeated these words. Any one could have seen that he regarded them as very important and as expressing an idea to be held in reverence. The younger boys listened attentively and, after a little pause, during which his words seemed to be sinking into their minds, they thanked Jack for giving them such a good send-off, and then thanked his mother with real gratitude for her friendliness and the good little supper which they had so much enjoyed.

All hands parted in high spirits, full of expectation of the time when they should actually tread the deck of the Bright Wing.

As they were going home, Tom suddenly said: “Gee, I guess I’ll get up an hour earlier to-morrow morning and work on that diagram!”

“Say,” said Chippie, “he didn’t tell us the positions of the four sections on the deck; I’d like to mark them on my drawing. I’ve half a mind to go back and ask him now!”

“Oh! come along,” said Dick, “it’s too late; my Dad says you mustn’t drive a willing horse too far.”

“All right, Dick!”

And so they separated, each one to his own home and bed, to dream of bunks, and quarter-decks, and companionways, all mixed up together.

CHAPTER IV
All Hands Aboard!

On Tuesday, the twenty-third of June, the Bright Wing lay in the berth assigned to her at the Navy Yard, all prepared to set sail at noon. There was a moderate breeze down the harbor, the tide was high at eleven o’clock, and all she would need would be a tow out for a mile or so to get out of the way of the shipping.

Everything was shining on board. The ship carried a new suit of sails, and her paint and bright work were all gleaming in the sunlight. At the fore topmasthead the Boy Scout flag was rippling, and at the main truck the long pennant was waving gracefully. The ensign did not catch the wind so well, being under the lee of a big battleship docked close by. Everything looked as if the Bright Wing were chuckling to herself in anticipation of her coming venture.

The three Northbridge boys had come up by the early train, accompanied by Mr. Sheffield and Tom’s sister Eleanor, and Chippie had immediately gone below to hunt up his locker, where he was putting the contents of his sea bag in order. The other two boys remained on the dock, taking in the scene before them with pride and pleasure; Dick talked with Mr. Sheffield about different points of special interest, while Tom’s beaming face spoke more eloquently than words as he and Eleanor listened to the conversation.

“She’s like a duck in the sunshine!” said Dick.

“Yes, right after her morning dip,” said Tom.

Presently Mr. Sheffield and Eleanor bade the boys good-by and Tom and Dick jumped on to the deck.

Some of the other boys had come on board the night before and had already put their lockers in order and got into their white uniforms. Dick and Tom received their individual “station billets” upon which they found all the information as to their bunks, lockers, divisions, sections, and special duties in the different emergency drills, written out clearly, so that they could set to work at once to find out where they belonged, what was expected of them, and how to make themselves comfortable.

At a quarter to eleven the boatswain’s pipe was heard, loud and clear, and the order “all hands aboard” rang out. The few scouts who were left on the wharf cut their good-bys short and quietly clambered down the ratlines or jumped on to the deck. Then the gangway was hauled up, the hawsers released, and the Bright Wing sat, like a gull, free in the water. In the meantime the Government tugboat had backed up within easy distance and thrown her line on board; and, as the vessel drifted into the channel, the tug got under way, the line tightened, and the Bright Wing followed in her wake.

The regular watch were at their posts on deck as a matter of course,—the lookout in the bow, the boatswain’s mate with his quartermaster and other seamen just in front of the quarter-deck, while the rest of the boys climbed up the rigging, shaking their hats in final farewell to their friends ashore.

It was not long, however, before they were far enough out in the channel for the tug to leave them. Jack Perkins was in the bow in charge of the line; the Captain was at the wheel; Jack was waiting for the order to “let her go”, and, as soon as the words reached his ears, he cast off the line which slipped into the water and left the Bright Wing to her own resources. The Captain of the tug waved his hand in salutation, the sails filled, and a sense of living motion was felt by all on board as the Bright Wing rolled over slightly and began cleaving the water under the pressure of her sails.

Tom and Dick were standing near the rail, well forward on the windward side. “Gee!” cried Dick, “what a difference there is between sailing and being towed.”

“You bet,” said Tom, “something like being alive or dead!”

Soon after they had parted from the tug, the bugle sounded for mess inspection, and the scout master passed up and down the line. After that, all hands waited “at ease” until the cabin boy came up on deck and announced dinner to the ranking officer. The boys then marched aft by twos, followed by the officers, and stood at their places at the tables until after grace.

Dick, Tom, and Chippie, much to their disappointment, found themselves in different sections, so that they did not sit together at meals; but Dick sat next to his boatswain’s mate, who was Clarence Ellsworth.

“Say,” said Dick, when he got a chance to speak, “why do the boys go down to dinner before the officers? You’d think the officers would march down first.”

“Well, you see,” said Ellsworth, “those who go down first have to wait for the others, and the officers come down when everything is ready to pitch into the food. Something like getting into a boat,—we have to go down first to get things ready. (Law Number 5.) It’s the same for Sea Scouts and for all sailors everywhere.”

“Oh, I understand,” said Dick.

The boys’ table ran down the whole length of the berth deck—fore and aft—on the starboard side, while the smaller officers’ table was on the port side. Jack sat at the head, or forward end, of the boys’ table as chief boatswain’s mate. The talk was very animated and rather loud, for, of course, the boys felt the pleasant excitement of new surroundings and unaccustomed conditions. Some of them were shy and a little awkward on account of the strangeness of things they had never seen before; but, under the influence of good food and good humor, they all gradually unbent, and the boys of each section soon felt at home with one another. Of course it was the business of the boatswain’s mates to help this feeling along as much as possible, so that they could get the best work out of their men; for it is a rule, both on land and sea, that the best work is done when the men who work together do it in a friendly and a happy spirit. This, you will remember, is what Mrs. Perkins had learnt from her father, the captain of the Sally Smart. She had taught it to Jack, and Jack had taught it to the other boatswain’s mates.

Before dinner was over, Dick noticed the new watch go on deck to relieve the old one, and the old watch come down to take their share of the good things. By the time all the boys had returned on deck, it seemed to him that they had gone about half the way to their anchorage at Hull. The remainder of the afternoon was spent principally in putting their belongings in order and in asking questions about the different parts of the ship and their uses. By half-past four they dropped anchor at Hull, and the sails were furled; and, at five o’clock, the bugle sounded for the first General Quarters of the cruise.

First, the boys were drawn up in two rows on each side facing each other, while the setting sun threw long shadows to starboard on the deck; they were then faced about toward the quarter-deck to hear the first official words addressed to them by the Chairman of the Committee. He was a tall man with gray hair and dressed in a blue suit; you could see that he was fond of his job, and Dick thought that his eyes were noticing everything that was going on. He spoke in a clear voice that you could hear all over the ship, although it was not particularly loud, and there was absolute attention on the part of the boys.

“I’m mighty glad, boys,” said he, “to welcome you on board this ship. You know, of course, that we are here for a serious purpose. The Bright Wing is not a yacht, and we are not here just to enjoy ourselves, although we probably shall have a much better time than if we were. We are here to learn to apply the spirit of the scout law to the art of seamanship. I do not want to keep you long now, but I want to point out to you at the outset the fact that you have a real responsibility as the crew of this vessel.

“Men who are in the habit of facing danger look it squarely in the face and do not pretend that it does not exist. There is always a certain amount of risk in life at sea, although many sailors seem to think it is more dangerous to cross Washington Street or Broadway during business hours than to face the most adverse winds and dangerous currents; but, for the sake of those we have left at home, as well as for other good and sufficient reasons, the safety of the vessel is something we are bound in honor to ensure to the utmost of our ability.

“Now there are three things which are essential to this safety. The first is the soundness of the vessel and her tackle, and for this the Sea Scouting Committee, of which I have the honor to be the Chairman, is responsible; the second is the knowledge and skill of the Captain, and for this both he and the Committee are responsible; and the third is the handiness and good discipline of the crew, and for this YOU are responsible.

“Both the Committee and I are satisfied with the soundness of the vessel and her tackle, and also with the skill and knowledge of our Captain or Navigating Officer; it remains for you to prove that you are equal to the share of the responsibility which devolves upon you, and I heartily believe that you will prove yourselves worthy of the trust.”

After this the boys were dismissed until Mess Inspection and supper at half-past five.

“I say,” said a quiet boy, nudging Dick’s elbow, as they sat eating their baked beans, “that old Chairman seems to mean what he says all right.”

“Yep,” replied his companion, “you bet he does. And he expects us to toe the mark. Any duffer can see that!”

After supper Dick found the other two members of the Triangle Club, and they voted unanimously that the Chairman was “all right.”

Before prayers, the names on the Anchor Watch were posted by Mr. Miller, with particular instructions for the scout on duty, and the first watch was from eight to nine. This hour was always assigned to one of the youngest boys, and Chippie happened to be the one selected the first night on board. As soon as prayers were over, Mr. Miller hastened to join him to make sure that he understood just what his duties were, and to repeat to him the instructions already posted on the berth deck.

It was Chippie’s business to know the name of the Sea Scout who succeeded him at nine o’clock, and also the exact position of his bunk. He was to keep a sharp lookout on all sides of the vessel and to notice if anybody hailed the ship from shore. He was to watch the riding lights fore and aft and to see that they were brightly burning. He was to give notice of any boats or other vessels approaching or hailing the ship. On noticing anything that called for attention he was immediately to report to the scout master. In case of change of weather, he was to call Mr. Wilson, the mate.

He was provided with a card called the “Rough Log” ruled off into several different headings on which, before the end of his watch, he was to note down the state of the weather, the state of the sea, the cloud formations, the direction of the wind, and the direction of the ship’s head, stating the time of his observations. This card was then passed on to his successor, so that the complete record for the night contained observations for every hour.

At five minutes of nine he was to go below and wake up his successor. Then he was to return on deck and ring the ship’s bell (two bells) at nine o’clock. After that he was to remain on duty until relieved; but, if his relief failed to put in an appearance at five minutes past nine, he was to go below and turn him out of his bunk. He was then to return on deck until relieved, and under no circumstances to leave his post before the arrival of the new watch.

“Remember,” said Mr. Miller, in conclusion, “you are responsible for the safety of the ship during your watch, and you are on your honor.”

The boys had all turned in, and taps had sounded by the time Mr. Miller had finished. Left to himself, Chippie began pacing the deck, stopping every few minutes to peer out into the darkness and to listen to every sound.

The binnacle lamp was always kept burning so that the compass could be read; and, in the light of this lamp, Chippie filled out the spaces provided on the Rough Log. [He wet his thumb and held it up in the air to judge which way the wind was blowing], and was surprised to find how difficult it was to make up his mind. Finally concluding that there was no wind (a fact which in his great earnestness he had failed to notice), he put down a good big zero under the heading “Direction of the Wind.”

He wet his thumb and held it up in the air to judge which way the wind was blowing. [Page 52.]

“Good joke,” thought Chippie; “I guess it won’t take me so long to find that out next time,” and then turned his attention to the “direction of the ship’s head”, “the state of the sea”, “the state of the sky”, etc.

Any job, when you are not accustomed to it, seems awkward, and Chippie filled out his last space with a sense of relief. Then he ran forward to look at the ship’s clock in the companionway, and found, to his surprise, that it was already one minute to nine, and he should have gone below to wake the next watch four minutes before.

But luckily the new watch had been lying awake in his bunk with his clothes on, and saved Chippie the trouble of going below by appearing at the top of the ladder just as Chippie was about to go down. So then Chippie went straight to the ship’s bell and—“ding-ding”—“two bells”—rang out into the night.

“Gee, but I’m in luck,” whispered Chippie to himself.

Then he went aft with the new watch, showed him the Rough Log and the list of directions, and finally went forward again, slipped down the companionway, and crawled into his bunk.

“I wonder if some of the other fellows will be trying to study out which way the wind is blowing!” thought Chippie as he pulled off his clothes. Then his thoughts went back to his home in Northbridge for a while; and presently the Bright Wing began rocking gently in the roll of a passing steamer. He was just awake enough to notice the motion and then sailed off to the land of dreams.

At ten o’clock it was Dick’s turn on watch. The last members of the crew ashore—the carpenter and first mate—had come aboard at half-past nine, and there were no more hails to listen for. The boats were all on their davits, the boat booms and side-ladders were up, and the Bright Wing was tucked up and snug for the night.

After Dick had finished his observations of the weather, etc., and had filled out the Rough Log, he watched the sky for a long time. He did not know the stars very well, but they had a great attraction for him. He looked around until he found the Great Dipper, which was the constellation he was most familiar with, and then the Pole-star by following the direction of the pointers. He noticed that the Dipper was to the right of the Pole-star and below it. Then he noticed the constellation called Cassiopeia—in the shape of a “W” to the left of the Pole-star and above it.

“Here’s my chance,” thought Dick, with a sudden inspiration, “to see if the northern stars do really turn around the pole like a wheel as they are supposed to do.” He then looked at the buildings on shore to find some landmark by which to test the turning of the stars. But his watch on deck was already half over, and he had not time enough to make his experiment properly. If he had been on land it would have been easier, but the ship was swinging at her anchor with the tide as it ran in, and there were no very prominent buildings in sight.

When the next boy came up to stand his watch, Dick tried to interest him in his astronomical observations, but he got no response, and so promised himself to begin his experiment in plenty of time at the very next opportunity.

CHAPTER V
The First Forenoon at Anchor

At the sound of reveille the next morning, the boys were all out of their bunks in short order; and, after a cup of cocoa with some crackers, they got the gear out of the way preparatory to scrubbing the decks, and the cabin skylights and portholes were closed.

“What the dickens is the use,” said Dick to Tom, “of having all these things done on the very minute? A fellow has hardly time enough to look around!”

“That’s all right,” answered Tom, “the things have all got to be done sometime, and the quicker they’re put through, the better. There’s no sense in wasting time over the chores.”

“Right you are, Tom,” said Perkins, who was standing near, “and on board a vessel you have to be even quicker than on land; for otherwise we should be knocking our heads together—there are so many of us in a small space. That’s why things have to go like clockwork.”

While the decks were being scrubbed with salt water, the officers in the cabin heard the swish of the water up against the portholes as they were dressing below. Suddenly an exclamation was heard from the cabin companionway, immediately followed by the scout master’s whistle and the cry, “Boatswain’s Mate!”

The boatswain’s mate ran down and found Mr. Miller wiping the back of his neck which had just been soused by a stream of salt water coming through an unclosed porthole.

“Who is responsible for closing the portholes, Perkins?”

“On the starboard side, Sir? I will find out at once. It must be some one in the second division, first section.” Jack returned on deck and found the boatswain’s mate of that section. “Gray,” was the answer, “Number 4,” and Jack went back to the cabin and reported to Mr. Miller.

“Put him on report,” said he, “and bring the matter up at ‘Mast.’”

“Ay, Ay, Sir,” said Jack, and the incident was closed for the time being.

Then the scrub-deck gear was stowed, portholes and skylights were opened up again, all hands began washing, for which they were allowed four buckets of fresh water, and pretty soon, at the sound of the boatswain’s pipe, which seemed especially musical in the morning air, a lot of hungry boys—followed by their officers—went below with raging appetites.

“Colors” came immediately after, and, at the command “Attention!” every man and boy on deck stood up straight and practically motionless, facing the quarter-deck. One minute later, at the words “sound off”, it was interesting to observe the quartermaster as he held the ensign under his left arm, deftly wound up, so that it should not touch the deck or the rail, and then gave the halyard a quick haul. The ensign broke out clear and ran up to its staff head without a hitch. At the end of the bugle call, all the right hands on deck went up in salute, and then everybody was dismissed and the ceremony was over.

Morning “Colors” is the beginning of the official day on board a vessel in the Navy or in the service of the Boy Scout brotherhood. No visitors are expected on board before this time, and nobody need feel the necessity of being completely dressed before breakfast, which comes half an hour earlier. Scrubbing and washing down the decks is done in bare feet and legs with the trousers rolled up over the thighs—a custom which originated the fashion of the “bell shape” characteristic of sailors’ trousers. A ship’s company before morning “Colors” is very much like a household when people are dressing or doing early morning chores in slippers and dressing gown, the difference being that there is more “housework” to be done at that early hour on board ship. The raising and saluting of the ensign is not alone an act of respect to the flag, reminding us of the first point of the scout oath and of our duty to our country, but it is like opening the front door of a house and saying good morning to the world at large.

This is true even in a more literal sense; for, immediately after morning “Colors”, the boat booms are let down and the boats lowered—thus providing means of communication with the shore and other vessels; and, at the same time, the side-ladders, which give general access to the ship, are put in position.

For the time being—as they stood at attention during the bugle call—both Chippie and Dick had clean forgotten their little adventures of the night before. Everything was so different from the way things look during the night watches. The deck of the vessel, alive with boys and men, only arrested in their activity by the brief ceremony of “Colors”, other vessels in the neighborhood all astir with preparations for the day, the sun shining brightly in the east and reflected in the rippling surface of the water, broken only by the shadows of the hulls and their spars,—how different a scene was this from that in which Chippie had been the central figure as he stood in the dark the evening before, with not a soul in sight, solemnly holding up his thumb in the still air to see which way the wind was blowing!

All that was outside of Chippie’s thoughts now as completely as if it had never happened; but it would return again later with many other shifting scenes; and through them all there was something in the back of his mind which could always be recalled whatever his outward surroundings and circumstances might be. He had no father, and he was his mother’s only son. She was a hard-working woman who had made it possible for him to have everything he needed ever since he could remember. She had made it possible for him to come on this cruise, and he was deeply grateful to her for all her goodness. He remembered what Jack Perkins had told them that evening at his house about saluting the flag not only as the emblem of our country but also as the emblem of our duty to God; and this morning, as he stood there “at attention”, he thought to himself: “I guess the biggest duty I’ve got is to stand by my mother!”

Just before “Colors” the coxswains, who had cleaned their respective boats before breakfast, reported them to the scout master as ready for inspection; the quartermaster reported the clocks wound, and the watch was relieved.

The new watch consisted of Clarence Ellsworth, boatswain’s mate, a coxswain, a quartermaster, and five ordinary and apprentice seamen, of whom Dick Gray was one and served as messenger. This watch was on duty for four hours, from eight to twelve, and the boatswain’s mate was responsible for all the routine orders during that time. Immediately after the old watch had been relieved, Mr. Miller handed to Ellsworth a slip of paper upon which were written these routine orders. He was supposed to blow his “call” and to give his orders in a clear, audible voice and then to see that they were carried out as stated. It was the special duty of the master-at-arms to help in carrying out orders by mingling with the boys, setting them a good example, and giving the slow or lazy ones a good-natured shove ahead. The boatswain’s mate cannot be in two places at once, and the master-at-arms is a great help to him in this respect, and must necessarily be a boy of ability and character; for the master-at-arms could not possibly have the right influence with the boys if he merely tried to order them around; he is obliged to be good-humored and dignified, and to keep his mind on his job all the time. The master-at-arms at this time was admirably suited to fill all these requirements.

As the boatswain’s mate of the watch sounded the call for “Mast”, the boys all lined up on the starboard side just forward of the quarter-deck, and the captain and scout master stood facing them. Dick was the only Sea Scout on report, and was charged with not properly closing a porthole before washing decks. He pleaded guilty and was let off with a warning, as this was his first offense. All hands then joined in the “setting up” exercises before going over the masthead.

The master-at-arms was an “able seaman” by the name of Young, who came from Attleboro, an inland town, where there were few facilities for practicing seamanship; he was a boy who was earning his living and the leader of a small gang who had formed themselves into a section of Sea Scouts. He had received a good many hard knocks, and, through them, some knowledge of human nature; and there was a good-humored determination about him which made him a natural leader whom it was easy to follow. There was nothing showy about Bertie Young, but you could not have found a boy on board who did not value his regard. Nothing special was apt to occur for the master-at-arms to attend to, during the morning hours at anchor, except to exert a steady influence for order and quiet; and, without having to think of it, he habitually kept track of the time and of the messenger in ringing the ship’s bell. But one of his chief jobs came in the evening; namely, that of keeping the berth deck quiet after tattoo and taps had sounded.

At a little after half-past eleven, Young happened to look at his watch, and it struck him that he had not heard the ship’s bell sound seven bells as it should have done a few minutes before. Looking over toward the day bunk, he noticed Dick, the messenger, fooling with some of the boys who were off duty, and quietly walked up to him.

“Say, Dick,” said he, “didn’t you forget to strike seven bells?”

“No, it isn’t time yet,” retorted Dick somewhat crossly.

“You’d better look at the cabin clock and see,” answered Young. “Say, Dick,” continued the master-at-arms, “you have no business to be here on the day bunk when you’re one of the watch on duty.”

Dick flung off in a huff to look at the clock and found that he was six minutes late. Then he started forward to ring the bell and bumped up against Chippie Smith.

“Get out of the way there, Chip; don’t you see I’ve got to strike the bell? I’m six minutes late now, but I don’t care whether it’s six or sixteen! I’m tired to death of all this doing things on time and splitting the day up into seconds! It’s all bosh, I say.”

“You go and strike the bell,” retorted Chippie, “and do your talking afterwards!” And then he thought to himself:

“I guess it’s about time to have another meeting of the club. I’ll go and find Tom.”

CHAPTER VI
Sports by Land and Water

The evening before, Mr. Miller had engaged the Hull baseball field for this afternoon; and, as all the boys were to be allowed liberty, some of them went down to the cabin at half-past two to ask for a little of their money which was kept in the ship’s safe. At a quarter to three the bugle sounded for liberty inspection, and a few of the greener boys were found to have tied their black kerchiefs with wrong knots, causing a laugh among the older ones.

“How do you expect your rope knots to hold, if you can’t tie your neck-gear right?” said Jack Perkins, as they all tumbled into the ship’s cutters and rowed ashore.

Mr. Miller and Perkins were chosen captains for the two teams, and Boatswain Fred Hamilton was elected umpire. Then Mr. Miller and Jack began choosing their men alternately; and, as they stood in two bunches opposite each other, “the Blues” and “the Reds” appeared to be fairly evenly matched.

About half a dozen boys who had not been lucky enough to be chosen for the teams, sat on the benches and improvised score cards, hoping that some of them might be called upon as substitutes before the game was over. Mr. Miller himself was a good player for “the Blues.” He was more than an average player, having served on his freshman nine at college, and having always gone out regularly as a candidate for the “Varsity” up to his senior year. On two or three occasions he had even played as a substitute on the “Varsity”, and was looked upon as a valuable and reliable man in reserve. “The Reds”, on the other hand, had a first-rate player in their captain, Jack Perkins, who, besides being a prize-winner at track athletics, had served as captain of his class nine at the Northbridge High School.

Both Mr. Miller and Jack usually took the position of catcher. Mr. Graham Wentworth, the assistant scout master, was made pitcher for the “Reds”, and Clarence Ellsworth pitcher for the “Blues.”

At the toss up, the “Blues” won their first innings and went in with Mr. Miller at the bat. He knocked a swift grounder, which was picked up by the shortstop, Tom Sheffield, and thrown to first base, so that Mr. Miller was put out at the very beginning of the inning. Chippie Smith, who was sitting on the benches, climbed up and waved his hat frantically at this good play of his chum’s, and the spectators, who had now begun to gather around the stands, gave a round of applause. Tom was surprised at himself, and began muttering “steady, now, steady!” to keep from getting excited.

Mr. Miller felt rather queer as he sat down on the grass and watched Ellsworth go to the bat. The latter helped the situation for the “Blues” somewhat by making a two-base hit to left field. He held second base all right, and the “Blues” felt a little better. Ellsworth, however, tried to steal third, but was put out by a pretty cross-diamond throw from the pitcher, Mr. Wentworth. This made two out for the “Blues”, and it looked as if the first inning was to end unluckily for them. Nobody scored, that inning, until all had been at the bat excepting Dick Gray, who got his first base on a “single” to right field, but then, to the astonishment of everybody, kept on running to second. Guy Plummer, who was playing right field, picked the ball up quickly and threw it to second, at just about the same time that [Dick dove forward on the ground to touch the base]. The second baseman, Sidney Malloy, was a good player but rather a small boy, and immediately turned to the umpire and claimed that Gray was out; but Dick gave him a dig in the ribs; and, at the same time grabbed the base, loudly claiming that he had made good.

Dick dove forward on the ground to touch the base. [Page 70.]

The umpire took a few minutes to consider, and then decided that Gray was “not out.” Plummer had been in a pretty good position to see what had actually happened and he thought it was a clear case of “out”; at the same time, it was quite possible that Gray had honestly believed that he had touched the base before the ball was caught. Nobody really had any unpleasant feeling over the incident, except Malloy, the second baseman, and Mr. Wentworth, who from the pitcher’s box had noticed the ugly look in Dick’s face when he told the small-sized second baseman to “shut up!”

This made “three out” at the end of the first half of the first inning. The “Reds” only made one run in their half, and this was scored by Perkins on a “three-bagger” to left field, caught, but dropped, by the left fielder. During the next four or five innings no very remarkable work was done on either side. There was some good hitting, but the fielding was rather poor; and, at the beginning of the sixth inning, the score stood at seven to six in favor of the “Reds.” During this inning, however, Mr. Wentworth began improving in his pitching. He seemed to have got his second wind and threw his balls with a kind of regular swing, and with greater swiftness and accuracy.

One of the “Blues” was put out on three strikes and Clarence Ellsworth struck a ball which went almost straight into the air, and was well judged and caught by the second baseman, Malloy, who had previously been roughly handled by Dick.

After this the “Reds” began to forge ahead still further, and the hopes of the “Blues” were finally dashed when Mr. Miller, after having made a two-base hit, was put out on third,—the final score being eleven to six in favor of the “Reds.”

Thus ended the first game of the season for the “Blues” and the “Reds” of the Bright Wing; and, after cheering one another and giving the Boy Scout yell, they started to walk through the town on their way back to the dock.

The long boat, with Mr. Miller on board and Tom Sheffield as coxswain, got under way first; and, as the ship was about half a mile from the shore, it gave the boys a good chance for a stretch after their game. The two other boats started together about seven minutes after the long boat, and the idea of a race occurred to the two coxswains at the same moment. Mr. Wentworth, the officer in command, gave his assent. The two coxswains, Chippie Smith and Sidney Malloy, looked their men over carefully with a view to balancing the boats; and, after one or two changes of position, it was agreed that Mr. Wentworth should give the word. The latter picked out the corner of a certain building on one side of the bay and the mast of a ship lying at anchor on the other side. The imaginary line connecting these two points would be about at right angles to the course the boys would have to row to get to the Bright Wing. Mr. Wentworth ordered the two bow men to report when both bows were as nearly as possible on this line with their heads turned in the direction of the ship; and, after a little backing and pulling, with the boats about a hundred feet apart, Mr. Wentworth gave the order, “Stand by;—give way together!”

Once started, Mr. Wentworth, of course, said nothing more, but, in his seat in the stern, next the coxswain, left the management of the boat entirely to him.

“Easy, now! Easy!” called Chippie, as his men, in their haste to get away, began interfering with one another, instead of pulling all together.

Malloy’s crew made a little better start, for he had taken pains to warn them to go easy for the first six strokes until they had got the rhythm of the oars into their heads and bodies.

By the time Chippie’s men had got out of their little mess, Malloy’s boat was about a length ahead; and, after that, both crews settled down to work with a good steady swing.

In such a short race as this, one boat’s length at the start was of some importance, and Chippie felt that they must do their best to make up for the loss as quickly as possible. It was not a question of keeping strength in reserve, as he would have done if there had been a mile to row instead of a half-mile.

The Bright Wing was lying broadside on to them, and it had been agreed that they would row across her bow,—the first boat going across being the winner. They knew, of course, that there would be plenty of boys on board who would crowd into the jib netting to act as judges.

Both coxswains were counting steadily to keep the rowing smooth and even, and Chippie’s boat had already caught up to the extent of half a length, when an angry exclamation escaped one of the boys who had “caught a crab”, and, at the same time, lost his balance—tumbling over backwards with his feet in the air.

“All but Number Three keep on rowing,” cried Chippie. “Easy, there, Number Three! You must not pull the boat around. All right, Dick. Now, all together,—keep stroke! One, two!—one, two!—one, two!—” Thanks to Chippie’s presence of mind, the incident had only cost them one boat’s length, so that they found themselves a length and a half behind the other boat, instead of half a length, as they had been before.

“It was your fault, Guy,” muttered Dick under his breath, to the boy behind him.

“Keep your mouth shut and your oar going, Dick,” cried the coxswain; “we’ve got to save this race first, and you can blame other people afterwards.”

Some of the boys in the other boat, when they had noticed Dick’s mishap, had begun to laugh and sensibly slackened up their pace. Chippie noticed this, and it gave him a new interest in gathering his men together to do their best.

“Now, boys,” said he, in a low but distinct tone, “pull yourselves together, and we may win out yet. The other crew have begun wool-gathering, and that will give us a chance either to win or make it a tie.”

Then, “one, two!—one, two!—” he began his firm rhythmical count, and every boy in the boat felt the effect of Chippie Smith’s quiet determination.

In another minute the chuckling boys of the other crew were surprised to notice that they were only a half length ahead. Then they stopped grinning, and Malloy got back on his job, which he realized he should never have left for a moment.

But now it seemed that they had come too near to the goal to recover themselves entirely. Chippie Smith’s boat had too strong a headway, and the whole crew were working together like animated clockwork. They managed to cross the line practically at the same time as their opponents, and the question of which boat actually was the winner had to be referred to a committee of three boys who were in the jib netting at the finish. The race was so close that the committee itself was not unanimous, although Chippie Smith’s boat was declared the winner by the distance of a mere hair’s breadth.

When it was all over, Mr. Wentworth sent for Chippie and shook hands with him.

“I call that pretty work, Smith; you were in a hard position when that mistake was made, and you held your men together well.”

Chippie was standing at attention and brought his hand up to salute. There was no mistake about the “smile of the scout” on his face at that moment. It was more eloquent even than his hearty “Thank you, sir!”

The interest in the race had been so keen among both officers and boys that the memory of the baseball game was almost cast into the shade.

Sidney Malloy’s crew were a little ashamed of themselves, but they were foremost in their appreciation of the grand way in which their opponents had rallied and made such a fine showing at the end.

All the boys in Chippie’s crew felt that they owed their victory—such as it was—to the coxswain, and were for carrying him on their shoulders around the deck, but Chippie got away and climbed up the mast to the crosstrees, from which superior strategic position he threatened to annihilate any one who should be so bold as to pursue him.

After Chippie had come down and the excitement had begun to subside, he began to feel uncomfortable about Dick, and wondered what was the matter with him. He thought about the incident of the bell, and then about Dick’s accident in the boat.

“I never saw him so awkward in a boat before,” thought he, “I wonder what’s got into him?”

Then he thought of the meeting on Duck Island when they had all three agreed to keep one another up to the scout standard, and felt troubled and unhappy. He went off to talk it all over with Tom.

The only other member of this crew who was not happy was Dick Gray himself, and it was hard to make out just what was the matter with him. In talking him over with the Chairman, Mr. Wentworth remarked:

“I can’t quite make that boy out, sir. He may need some special help. I can’t make out his signals.”

CHAPTER VII
Under Way for Marblehead

Immediately after reveille next morning, the boys were surprised to hear the boatswain’s call followed by the command to “stand by to set sail.” The boatswain’s mates “got busy” very quickly and could be seen sending their boys to different parts of the deck,—some to the bowsprit to remove the jib stops, some to the fore boom to release the foresail, and the others to the parts of the ship to which they belonged.

After the fore and main sails had been set, all hands were ordered forward to the windlass and began hauling up the anchor. It was hot work, and there was not room enough for all the boys to get on to the job at the same time; but Dick managed to get on among the first, while Tom and Chippie were in the outside ring who stood ready to jump in and “spell” their comrades. Then,—after the anchor had been broken from the ground,—came the manning of the halyards,—first the main, then the fore, and then the jumbo and the jib halyards.

As the head sails ran up, they were filled by a light northwest breeze which somewhat tempered the heat. The night had been very warm, and the boys were all glad to get up on deck and very much interested in the prospect of sailing; the reef-points beat a cheerful tattoo on the canvas, as it quietly slatted back and forth, while the ship’s bow headed westward to pass through the gut into the outer harbor. Once outside, she settled down to a long leg on the port tack, and then the anchor was hoisted up and lifted over the rail.

While this was going on, Jack Perkins was active in seeing that the boatswain’s orders were carried out. The mate stood on the quarter-deck giving his commands, while the boatswain repeated them forward with the musical accompaniment of his call. Jack not only had his own division to look after, but it was his business also to see that the other B. M.’s were on their jobs, and that every scout of every division was doing his allotted work.

This was the first time that the crew had performed this particular manœuvre, and it was not surprising that there was a hitch here and there. Some small boys would stand looking on while the others were hauling on the halyards, but on inquiry it was found that they were under the impression that only the “huskies” were considered worthy of this work. This idea was quickly dispelled, however; and, before the mainsail was finally set, every available boy was on the halyards, each one contributing his share of the pull, however small it might be. Other boys who hesitated were mostly green hands who had not caught the spirit of acting together, while one of the little fellows was found in the jib-net admiring the view, and another curled up on the day bunk reading a book. Altogether it was a good opportunity for Mr. Miller to distinguish the wool-gatherers from the workers, but he felt sure that it was only practice that was needed to get this crew pulling together in true and shipshape style.

By this time it was 7:45, and there was just time to scrub decks and then wash up before breakfast. It was a pleasant thing to hear the trill of the boatswain’s call as the mess cooks scrambled down to set the tables; and better still to sit down to breakfast after the early morning’s work.

The breeze was not strong but held out steadily while the routine work was going on, and also through “quarters” and “mast.” At “quarters” the “lucky bag” was brought out for the first time and was found to contain a jumper, a couple of towels, and a lanyard and knife. Mr. Miller explained the principle of the “lucky bag” as follows:

“The master-at-arms will pick up everything that he finds lying about the decks and put it in the ‘lucky bag’; they may remain in the bag at the discretion of the sea scout master until he decides to open it at ‘quarters.’ At this time articles lost may be claimed by those who have missed them, but a penalty may be imposed upon the owner before the lost article is returned to him. As this is the first time the ‘lucky bag’ has been opened on this cruise, no penalties will be exacted on the return of these articles. The Sea Scouts are warned that in the future they will be expected to be shipshape in their habits, and that articles left carelessly lying about will not be returned to their owners until due penalty in the shape of extra duty has been paid.

“But there is another matter to which I must call your attention at the present time. It is one thing to approve of discipline in theory and quite another to submit to it in practice. Most of you boys are familiar with stories of good seamanship, but very few of you have ever experienced before this cruise the training which made such seamanship possible. Almost everybody is naturally lazy, and doing things on time is irksome and disagreeable to lazy people. ‘Oh, I guess to-morrow’ll do as well’, or ‘All right, I’ll be there in a few minutes’—these are the common expressions of lazy lubbers who have not yet learnt to like the promptness and alertness which good seamanship requires. I warn you boys of this now, at the beginning of the cruise, because I know the temptation comes to almost every one, and you might as well give up the idea of being Sea Scouts unless you are morally strong enough to clear all such lazy stuff out of the way. Orders must be carried out on the run and on the jump, and there is no room for a grouch on board of this ship.

“Since this cruise started, I have seen some boys hanging back and doing their work in a poor-spirited way; I did not always blame them, because I knew they were acting from ignorance and did not yet know the absolute necessity on board ship of a prompt and cheerful spirit. But, after this, I shall expect all hands to put their best foot foremost and to show that they have in them the making of good sailors and Sea Scouts.

“Those who are not able to live up to this standard will loaf their way along until they drop out,—maybe at the next port we make. They will not come on another cruise and they will have missed all the training as well as all the fun and enjoyment that comes from putting your heart into your work and doing what you have to do with all your might.”

While Mr. Miller was talking, you could see some of the boys here and there straighten up in sympathy with his words. Tom and Chippie, especially, looked at one another significantly and hoped that Dick was taking it all in as eagerly as they were. But they were disappointed, for the grouchy look on Dick’s face had not cleared away.

The instruction that morning was “Knots and Splices”, “Boxing the Compass”, “Ship’s Rigs”, and “Chart-work with the Captain.” Tom liked the chart-work best and found no difficulty in remembering the symbols for lights, buoys, shoals, etc., and felt as if he were on a cruise within a cruise, exploring the waters of some foreign land. Chippie felt most at home with his knots and splices, because it was less like studying than any of the other subjects; and both boys were surprised to find how much they had to learn about ship’s rigs. Dick, on the other hand, did not seem to take much interest in anything, and if there had been any motion of the sea he would have been suspected of being seasick.

About ten o’clock the breeze died down while they were still a good distance from Marblehead. It was hot, but as there was no swell on the water, everybody felt comfortable in spite of the heat. The boys had begun to feel at home in their new surroundings, and were too much absorbed in the interest of their work, as each division passed from one instructor to the next, to mind the discomfort of the heat.

As there was no particular hurry in getting to Marblehead, which was their destination for that day, the Captain decided not to use the launch to tow the ship unless it should become necessary toward the afternoon. So the Bright Wing lay with her sails flapping quite lazily, and with the jaws of the main gaff creaking and snarling, as it swayed from side to side, until eleven o’clock; when the bugle sounded “retreat from drill”, and there was nothing more but play and good fun until dinner time.

After dinner a change in the weather set in, in the form of gathering clouds toward the northwest, which at first were scarcely noticeable; while the ship’s band—in the form of a good Victrola—played some lively airs, in which the boys often joined in chorus. By about three o’clock the wind was blowing in light but sudden gusts and the clouds in the northwest had gathered thickly, with streamers extending overhead, indicative of more wind.

Jack climbed up into the crosstrees to take a good look at the sky and reported to the Captain, when he came down, that there was smoke in the direction of Marblehead, but he could not make out whether it was at Marblehead itself or beyond. Pretty soon the smoke became quite perceptible on deck as the wind increased to a fresh breeze.

The Captain sent word to the Chairman; and, as soon as he came on deck, he noticed the cloud of smoke which was now quite conspicuous in the northwestern sky, and stretching like a long streamer over the sea.

“There may be something for us to do when we get to Marblehead,” said he to Mr. Miller, who was standing by. “It must be a big fire to cause so much smoke as that.”

For the next half-hour the Bright Wing bounded along in a spanking breeze, and every boy on board felt the new exhilaration and life of the wind and motion. It did not take them long to get into port, and they dropped anchor in Marblehead harbor at about a quarter of four. The boys were all at their places for lowering the sails; but, once lowered, they were ordered to make them only temporarily secure with the stops, without careful furling, in view of the Chairman’s haste to get ashore and on to the scene of the fire as quickly as possible. It was decided to leave one of the four sections on board to finish the furling and make all fast, and then to follow the rest of the company; these got into the boats as soon as they could be lowered, and headed for the nearest wharf.

Dick appeared to have got over his grouch during the day, and his section was the first to leave the ship.

CHAPTER VIII
The Salem Fire

As soon as the main party arrived at the landing they inquired eagerly where the fire was, and learned very soon that it was in Salem, and had started in the northwestern section of the city.

Marblehead lies about southeast from Salem, and the wind was blowing from west to east, veering to northwest,—so that the fumes of smoke, driven by blasts of heated air, kept pouring over the houses of the little old-fashioned town, making the atmosphere decidedly disagreeable in the streets below.

Mr. Miller was in command of the company; and, after a brief consultation between himself, Mr. Wentworth, and the boatswain’s mates, it was decided to separate into divisions, to march within easy call of one another toward Salem, and to reach, if possible, the headquarters of the Salem Fraternity or Boys’ Club. Here, they felt, they would be sure to find other boys with their leaders who could give them all the information they required and plenty of work to do.

The distance to Salem was about four miles; and, during the second half of their walk, the smoke became thicker and hotter. Here and there burning embers, carried by the wind, fell along the road and on the roofs of adjoining houses. All along the streets people were hurrying from one place to another in more or less excitement; and, on the housetops, groups were busy wetting down their roofs and putting out burning cinders. A little later they came upon piles of furniture on the sidewalks, and furniture vans carrying the household possessions of families to places of safety. The activity increased as they entered the city proper. As they walked northward, the wind and smoke came from a direction on their left; and, as they advanced nearer to the heart of the fire, they could see the flames springing out of the wreckage below, spreading from one house to another under the influence of the wind; could hear the crash of falling buildings, and watch great showers of sparks and burning material being carried along by the gusts of air.

Presently they found themselves surrounded by a crowd of people, and the order was passed along to each division to walk in Indian file. Tom Sheffield was the last boy in the line and suddenly his attention was attracted by a knot of people that had gathered quickly around some one who was lying in the street. This had happened after the other scouts had got well ahead of him, so that he was the only one who had noticed the occurrence. He ran quickly up to the spot and saw a woman lying in the midst of the group with broken pieces of crockery all around her and a large spot of blood on the left sleeve of her white shirt waist. Her eyes were closed, and her face was pale. An elderly woman held her head on her lap but was evidently frightened and did not know what to do. A little child in the crowd was crying excitedly, and at the same time a man called out, “Get a doctor, somebody,—she’s bleeding to death!”

Tom then quickly ripped up her sleeve with his knife and laid the wound bare. He saw at once from the pulsations and color of the blood that an artery had been severed. He then felt in his pocket for his first-aid kit but found that he had left it behind. Quickly he whipped out his pocket handkerchief and folded it over to serve as a bandage, tying it tightly above the wound. He then exerted even more pressure by inserting a lead pencil and twisting the bandage around. When the crowd noticed that the blood had stopped flowing, there were exclamations of surprise.

“Good for you, sonny,” called out the burly man.

“He’s one of them Boy Scouts,” remarked another, “you can tell by the suit he wears.”

“Come,” called out Tom, “you fellows had better stop talking and hurry up the doctor. Has anybody gone for him?”

“That’s all right, son; here he is now.”

And a brisk young man stepped out of an automobile that had just slowed up at the outskirts of the little crowd.

After a glance at the improvised bandage and tourniquet, the doctor nodded at Tom with a smile and went back to get more permanent apparatus out of his bag. This was quickly applied and then, after asking a few questions and learning that the woman’s house had been burnt down, he lifted her up in his arms, and carried her to the automobile.

“Here, you Scout! I want your help. Jump into the automobile and support her head as I lift her in.”

Tom instantly obeyed, and the next minute the patient’s head was resting upon his shoulder, and the doctor was driving the car to the Beverly Hospital. Once there the attendants took charge under the doctor’s orders; and, left to himself, Tom began to wonder how he could best communicate with Mr. Miller.

He decided to telephone from the hospital to the Salem Fraternity, and leave a message there; and, as he was coming out of the telephone booth, he ran across the doctor who had come from the wards to telephone himself.

“Oh! Hullo!” cried he, addressing Tom with a hearty greeting, “I was afraid you had run away, Scout; I wanted to shake hands with you and compliment you on your work. But we doctors are beginning to take good work for granted, when we see your uniform.”

Tom laughed. “I guess the good work wouldn’t stay good long,” said he, “if we were to bank on the uniform.”