Chapter II: Part 2

After that I helped the mate by carrying coils of rope which he wanted moved, and doing other small jobs. By this time Mother was saying that it was time to go home; so after the mate had finished his work I said to him: “Oh, how I wish I could go along back to Nova Scotia!” and left the schooner.

* * * * *

♦ _Sea Fever_ ♦

I don’t remember whether or not we visited the schooner any more before a certain memorable day, only a few days before she sailed. It was on a Saturday. I had been talking steadily about the schooner to everyone; I had described in full detail my various accomplishments to my old friend Mr. Rasmussen; I had thought more about the beauty and the adventures of the _Norman D._ than I had ever thought about anything before. And this Saturday morning, more than two weeks after the schooner had come in, the fever which was in me for sailing became intolerable. I shall never forget--never, though I live to be a thousand--how I felt that morning. I strode up and down the porch, feeling, ranting, and looking a good deal like a lion just brought in from the jungle, caged. I was frantic--wild--unpersuadable. I said: “You can’t keep me from it--you can’t, you can’t--I’m going to sail with the _Norman D._ And I’m going up to the dictionary _now_ to learn the thirty-two points of the compass by heart, so that I shall be well prepared, and so that I shall be allowed to steer. Yes, I’m going with the schooner!”

“But you can’t go alone.”

“I can! I can! I must! I shalt die if I don’t. Of course I can. Of course! I know the captain well, and the mate, and the cook, and the bo’s’n, too, for that matter. Oh, don’t talk to me--I’m going; I must go!”

“But how can you get back?”

“Oh, Lord! I am wild, and I am crazy, but I’m not so wild that I can’t think that out. You know the _Norman D._ is going to load up at Bridgewater; then she sails for New York; and Daddy can meet her at New York when she comes in. Oh, don’t try to talk to me, or keep me from it, because you can’t. You can’t do it. No! I’m going to sail.”

What a wretched, cruel thing _reality_ is--one of those hideous monsters which ill-fated Pandora let out of her magic chest!

“Now, Bar, be reasonable. You know you can’t go without someone else to go along too, and look out for you--someone we know.”

“But we do know the captain, and the mate, and the cook.”

“Yes, but not intimately. Now, listen a minute, and I’ll tell you something.”

“Not a word, unless you give me permission to go. And if you don’t give me permission, I’ll go without. I’ll run away, I will, and be a stowaway aboard the _Norman D._ And, if that’s the case, what’s more, I shan’t return home at all. I shan’t come back to New York. I’ll stay aboard her all the time. Indeed I will! And I’ll live the life I’m made to live.--Oh, if I were only sure I had a sailor stomach!”

“That’s right, too: you’ll certainly be seasick.”

“What do I care? Do you think you can break me of my desire to sail just by telling me I’ll get seasick? To be sure I’ll be seasick. And, what’s more, I’ll get over it, too. Now, may I go, or must I go without leave?”

“Now, listen again. You can go if you get someone to go with you. And if you can’t get someone to go with you, you just cannot go with the schooner, that’s all. That’s definite--you cannot sail with her unless someone goes with you. But you can go out on the tug to see her set sail--”

“Oh! I could never stand to see her sail away without me.”

♦ _Argumentative_ ♦

“And you can go with her some other trip--perhaps on her next trip--”

“But she has no schedule, and she only comes into New Haven very rarely.”

“No matter. Perhaps you can sail with her from New York the next time she comes in there.”

“But by that time I may not want to sail any more.”

“Well, that’s absolutely the best that can be done. If you can get someone to go with you, you may sail; if not, no.”

“And so now I’m going to learn the points of the compass.”

“But wait! Not so fast! Supposing you can’t get anyone to go?”

“Why, then I’ll go alone, and heaven help me!”

“No, you won’t go alone.”

“Well, I’m going to learn the points of the compass, anyway, because it may take me a long time to learn them all--and I shan’t mind knowing them anyway, whether I go or not. But I’m going! I’m sure of it. Something tells me so.”

* * * * *

So I fled upstairs to the dictionary and looked up the points of the compass. After about fifteen minutes of hard studying, I could stand off from the dictionary and repeat them all, slowly and rather hesitatingly, from north clean round to north again. In five more minutes I could say them off quite smoothly, and before I got downstairs I could run them off pretty fast--though I still had to think hard about them. Now I can reel them off as fast as the names of the sails of a square-rigger. They are nothing but second nature to me. All the morning ran through my head: “North, north by east, north-northeast, northeast by north, northeast, northeast by east, east-northeast, east by north, east. ...” (You have no idea how much harder that is to write than it is to say.)

When I appeared downstairs, the family stared at me as though I had gone absolutely cuckoo. In fact, by this time I had not the slightest doubt that I had. I immediately confronted them with “North, north by east,” and the rest of it. Then I said: “Now whom do you suggest?”

“For what? To go with you?”

“Ay, ay! What else should I mean? For what else can anyone possibly serve?”

“Bar, are you serious? Is it true that you really want to go so badly as all this, or is it just one of your jokes?”

♦ _Free Fantasia_ ♦

“Lord! Do I joke? Can’t you tell that I am serious? What? Have you never seen me serious before? Or possibly you haven’t. Anyhow, don’t you know when I’m serious, and when I’m not?”

And through me flowed a stream of the most marvellous sea dreams I have ever known. I thought of having the high white sails puffing with wind over my head. I thought of a great ship leaning over, I thought of pirates, buried treasure, mystic isles. I thought of the delight of sailing, not to New York or Boston, but to Nova Scotia--a strange country, new to me. I thought of the companionship I might develop with the crew. I thought of the storms, gales, perhaps even typhoons, I might encounter. I thought of the stories I should have to tell when I came back, swinging to and fro in my sailor walk, sunburned, brawny, knowing everything about the ropes which looked as numerous to my inexperienced eyes as sea shells on the seashore. I thought of how strange it was that, only two weeks ago, I had considered the whole thing well-nigh an impossible dream, and of how, now, here I was on the point--perhaps--of sailing myself.

* * * * *

To be reasonably brief with the matter, there was a whole lot more talk, but eventually it was decided that, if I could get G. S. Bryan to go as my shipmate on this adventure, the chances were all in favor of my going--that is, if Captain Avery assented. Otherwise the chances were distinctly unfavorable. And so, after a lot of complicated long-distance telephoning, I communicated the idea to the Bryans and got them to come over Sunday (the next day) to talk it over with us and with Captain Avery.

Of course, I spent most of my time skipping wildly around the house, shouting out “North, north by east ...” and other ship words. Also, I spent a good deal of time with my face buried in the dictionary, learning new words and names, so that I should not be landlubberly when I went off sailing in that schooner. Off sailing--think of it! My dreams realized so soon--so soon!

♦ _The Art of Digression_ ♦

Well--and this is leaving out a great, great many details--the Bryans did come over on Sunday, and we all went down to assault Captain Avery. The old skipper was most entertaining that day. He spread out all his charts on the dining room table and showed us his various passages, and by which way he would go up to Nova Scotia, and which way he had come on _all_ of his previous trips; and, of course, that involved us in listening to a great many tales of all kinds, I really thought the man was powerless to stop talking. He spread out chart after chart, and explained them all to us--all the various things which the mysterious little signs indicate. This was a whistling buoy, that a bell buoy--and so on, absolutely endlessly. (Charts are certainly fascinating. They show the stretches of sea all marked and written up, even more than a land map shows the land. They show soundings everywhere, marks for buoys, lighthouses, and the rest, and also signs which indicate what kind of bottom you are sailing over. As for the land, it is simply blank, just as the sea is in land maps--blank except for a few of the important shore towns.) Then, after they had been rolled up and put away, he fell to telling tales once more. He came into a description of rough weather; and that evidently reminded him to show off his trick furniture, for he immediately put his hand beneath the table and pushed a shutter of some kind, and instantly little racks, crisscrossing each other and running all around the edge, shot up two or three inches above the rest of the table. “It’s a very primitive arrangement, folks, but it certainly does come in handy in rough weather.”

He pointed to a hook on the wall of the cabin just beside his desk, to which was attached a long string with an empty ink-bottle hanging at the end of it. “Now, folks,” said he, “do ye knaow why I hung that up there? Well, I’ll tell you. You look very carefully and see ’f you can tell which way the schooner is listing.” We all studied the empty ink-bottle for some time in silence. At last Daddy said: “It strikes me she lists to port a little.” “That’s right, folks; she lists just a leetle bit to port. Yes, I allus did have an idea that she listed a little.”

He described everything in absolute detail. He would tell us exactly what sails he took in or let out during such and such a trip; also exactly how many reefs he took in this sail or that during this or that kind of weather. And some of his pronunciations were delightful. He was continually saying: “Ye knaow, folks ...” and he always pronounced “route” as “rout.”

♦ _The Reward of Persistence_ ♦

We fell to giving little hints about our going on the trip back with him. But he was rather obstinate, and persisted in his own material. Some of the hints he would take, and then slyly pass them over, with “Oh, yes, I guess that girl would like to go along with us! I wouldn’t mind taking her either, if she had another girl friend to go along with her.” This seemed to suggest something like accordance, and we redoubled our efforts. But he persisted gently in his “girl friend” idea, and wouldn’t take the most obvious hints. At last we all withdrew from the schooner, except Daddy, who stayed behind, talking. We considered ourselves vanquished in our hopes, and there were some pretty gloomy moments. But Daddy shortly afterwards came tearing out on to the wharf, looking very excited about something or other. “Now you,” he said, “you’re going to go down to the schooner on Tuesday morning, to find out when she sails. And then you telephone your shipmate here, and tell him when; and then the two of you pile aboard and away to Nova Scotia. And I think I make out that it would relieve Captain Avery of considerable embarrassment if you would take along some blankets.”

My head was in a whirl, being mixed up with the captain’s indifference to hints and Daddy’s explosion of the welcome which the captain had apparently given to the situation when it had been placed before him directly. But the delight that possessed me! I was really going to sail! Yes, in spite of all obstacles, I was going to sail. And not long before that I had thought of sailing only as a vague dream far off in the future; and not long before that I was only beginning to know a few of the simplest things about ships, which were all vague and romantic and fairy-like to me; and not very long before that I didn’t know the slightest thing about sails of any kind, and, not knowing, had not cared. But now! Something had suddenly started to open up to me, like a great window overlooking ships and the sea.

And I could not help a few doubts crossing my mind. It was really a bit too good to be true, and I was inclined to disbelieve it a little. For my superstition warned me that something would turn up to keep me from sailing--that an accident might occur aboard, or an accident at home, or an accident that would prevent my shipmate from accompanying me. And, after all, it _was_ too good to be true.

* * * * *

♦ _Anticipatory_ ♦

Yet nothing did occur. The few days flowed on smoothly. On Tuesday morning, as had been previously arranged, Mother and I went down to see Captain Avery and find out when he “calculated on” sailing. We walked down Brewery Street in a drizzling rain, and just before reaching the wharf we encountered the skipper himself, walking up the street to town, with a huge umbrella over his head. We consulted with him, standing there in the rain, for a few minutes. He told us to be aboard the schooner by four bells (six o’clock) that afternoon; he told us to bring blankets, and also any small snacks, such as crackers or fruits, which we might want for luxuries, in case we were seasick. It seemed almost certain that I should go. I didn’t see anything standing in the way. Again the romance, the adventure, the piraticalness of it overwhelmed me, and I could not believe my senses. We walked down close to the wharf gate and stood there for a short time, watching them discharge the lath from the bottom of the hold. They were using the main gaff as a crane. They would swing it over the hold, tie several bundles of the lath on to a rope from the end of it, and then swing it out over the lumber carts, where the teamsters would unfasten the bundles. They were working the gaff, of course, by the machinery in the engine-room. I was thinking about the next day, and of being towed out into the open sea; I hardly saw the crew toiling away in the rain, hardly heard the steady drone of the engine.

To my delight, who should be riding back in the same trolley but my old friend Mr. Rasmussen? I fell immediately to telling him all about it. “Well,” said I, “the captain says for all hands to be aboard by four bells this afternoon.”

“So!” said he. “And you--are you all ready? Have you got your oilskins, sea boots, sou’wester?”

“Well, no. You see, I haven’t had very much time to get ready. I only decided a few days ago that I would sail with the schooner.”

“Why, what kind of a sailor are you?” said he.

“You see, mate,” I replied, “I haven’t yet decided whether I shall enlist as a regular member of the crew. I’m still only a passenger.”

We talked some more, about his own sloop, and what the chances were of my having a sail in her sometime. He told us all about her--how he had bought her, and how he had taken her all apart to find out what she was made of and whether she were really seaworthy, and how he repaired her here and there until she was as snug and tight as he could wish, and how now he was not afraid of any weather for her, knowing her to be as strongly made and ship-shape as a sailor’s heart could desire.

We telephoned, and the Bryans agreed to be over at two bells, so as to have a good margin left over. The day seemed horribly long, I was so wild and excited. After lunch I went to the most tipsy rocking-chair in the house and rocked, and rocked, and rocked--so that I should be ready for a little rolling after meals. I didn’t honestly think I should be seasick--but I am a very suggestible sort of person.

There was something darksome and fearful in the air--and, in spite of my common sense, I could not help a vague misgiving. I found myself repeating hotly: “I’m going! Of course I’m going! There is nothing to prevent it.”

* * * * *

♦ _Anxious Moments_ ♦

In the early part of the afternoon the telephone rang. I jumped like a madman for it. It was Captain Avery’s familiar croaking voice, and I was so startled that my heart sank down into the toes of my boots. He was pleasant, even though he didn’t sound as if he were accustomed to telephoning. All he wanted was to know my address and that of my shipmate; evidently he had to register us.

I was indescribably relieved. But the telephone rang again a very few minutes afterward. Again I sprang for it, and again I could feel my heart running downstairs. Again it was Captain Avery. But this time his voice seemed to denote trouble. “Barbara,” he said, “do you realize that you will have to have some identification to go into Canada--something to show that you’re an American citizen? You’re likely to be held up at Boston, coming back, as an immigrant.”

“But--but--what sort of identification must I have, Captain Avery?”

“Just a minute.” (Pause.) “I think a letter from your father would do, Barbara.”

“Hold the line, please, Captain Avery.” I was absolutely terrified, now, and I was about to call for help, when another person took up the line and said, in a pleasant, expressionless voice, “Is your father or mother there?”

“Just a minute,” I said again--and, at the same time, I heard the voice of Mother answering on the telephone downstairs. For that I was grateful--so grateful! My heart was still going like a perfect sledge hammer, but I had to pick up the upstairs receiver and listen. This is what I heard (or something to this effect, for my brain had gone absolutely crazy, and my senses had forsaken me. I found myself saying: “You fool! Didn’t you know all the time that you couldn’t--couldn’t--couldn’t go on this trip? Didn’t you know that something would come up? You mean to say you didn’t know that it was far too good for yourself?”).

“Do you realize,” said the pleasant, expressionless voice, “that an adult male is taking a minor female into a foreign country?”

“Well,” said Mother, characteristically, “I hadn’t thought of it in just that way, but, now you speak of it, those do seem to be the facts.”

But I could listen no more. I couldn’t listen--it was like hearkening to my own doom, and I put down the receiver. I afterwards found out that the rest of the talk was simply on the necessity of identification of some kind, and what kind, and the need of going to a lawyer about it, and so on. And here it was, the afternoon I was supposed to sail; undoubtedly the Bryans were now on their way; and it looked pretty black and desperate.

Mother came dashing upstairs and assaulted me: “This is very serious, Bar. It looks as if you mightn’t be able to go, after all. We have to go down-town to see a lawyer, and we may not be able to get through in time.”

♦ _Calamity Threatens_ ♦

We bustled into good clothes and bustled at full speed down-town, through the same sort of drizzling, melancholy rain that we had had earlier in the day. Even the rain and the dull greyness of the day seemed to predict no good. Yes, everything was going wrong now--everything which, up to half an hour ago, had been going right. What a difference a telephone call may make! It might make, in this case, the difference between a week of the most piratical, adventuresome, glorious days that I had ever known, and a week of gloomy days at home, lamenting the marvellous chance which I had lost through carelessness, and through not having a wider margin of time left over. I was prepared for the blackest. But my piratical fancies did not forsake me altogether, and I dreamed of how delightful it would be if I could leave home suddenly--snooping out, and flying down the street; down to the _Norman D._ Then I should tell my friend the mate all the trouble, and I was sure he would sympathize, and allow me to stay aboard until she sailed back to New York. There he would smuggle me ashore as a bundle of old clothes, and Daddy would pick me up. Everything would go in a mysterious, piratical fashion. It seems strange, but none of us had ever thought of Canada as a foreign country.

* * * * *

♦ _Subscribed and Sworn to_ ♦

And now I was to be put to the trial of facing one of those formidable persons called lawyers. But the hope of going even now put courage into my heart, and I strode eagerly. We went into Mr. Holbrook’s high office feeling very queer indeed. In that place I looked for no surprise; but one exciting thing did happen. When I went desperately over to the window to get a little light, if not air, while Mother was stating, in her most pitiful tones, the entire case, I saw, over tier after tier of roofs and high buildings, the blue water of the bay, and, looking like a child’s toy dock, the old, broken wharf, and, lying alongside it, like a child’s toy ship, the _Norman D._, mirrored in the calm water, white, noble, with her beautiful tall masts towering up against the sky. While Mr. Holbrook was in some of his most solemn moments of discussion, I shrieked out: “Oh, look! There’s the schooner now! See, down there by that tiny little wharf. That’s the _Norman D._ See? Isn’t she beautiful?” At the same time Mr. Holbrook was dictating the necessary affidavit to his secretary. It had to be signed by each of us; and it had to be certified and sealed by the Clerk of the Superior Court; and arrangements had to be made for my birth-certificate to be mailed to Nova Scotia for us on the return trip. While Mother took care of these grave matters, I was dashing furiously homeward in the first trolley, to arrive before the Bryans, if possible, and explain the whole complicated mess to them. And again I fell into my dreams of adventure. It happened that the Bryans had not arrived when I got home, but they had called up from Derby, and been told as much as the house knew about it, and that had put them into confusion, and I was very much afraid that they had gathered from the report that they weren’t to come at all. What a grand mess that would be! But they did come, soon after Mother, and again the mess was gone through, and pored over, and thought about. We felt truly safe and sound, having such a ponderous affidavit with us; we did indeed! “... By and with the full consent of the deponent ...”!

We drove down to the schooner to find out for sure whether she was to sail that afternoon or the next morning. We hoped it would be in the morning, because we were very much crowded and confused, and rather giddy with so many accidents and telephone calls and lawyers and affidavits, and we wanted time to get settled down a little and to think things over, and to buy crackers and fruit as Captain Avery had suggested. But I, secretly and against my common sense, hoped to sail right then. I was furiously eager to get away from New Haven and all its traps and snares. Also, I feared that, if I had to spend another night at home, I should be so excited that I shouldn’t sleep. I should be so full of ideas about the sea, and ships, and pirates, and adventures--and the trip, the actual trip that I was going on--that I _knew_ I shouldn’t sleep a wink.

We drove down in the same sort of rain we had been having all day. We told everything to Captain Avery; also Mother, following one of Mr. Holbrook’s numerous advices, asked him if he would please write a note to certify that we really were his passengers, on board his schooner, from New Haven to Bridgewater. This note we should present to the officials at Boston if challenged.

But we found, to everybody else’s joy and my dismay, that the schooner was not to sail until Wednesday morning. Tired and confused and a little dizzy, I ran about among the various members of the crew--especially the cook and mate--and told them, with huge glee, that I should be sailing with them. The cook, good old soul, seemed very much delighted, and at once retold his favorite yarn about the cold tea. The mate said he was sure I should make a splendid sailor.

♦ _The Day of Days_ ♦

Glorious! But I need not repeat my new dives into even more wonderful sea dreams. Now, for the first time, I could really shake off the misgiving; now I really knew that I was to do what I had, though for so short a time, longed to do. We ate supper down-town. When I got home to bed, instead of lying awake and tossing, and becoming feverish from excitement, I dropped like a stone into a deep, dreamless sleep. I never slept more soundly in my life--except, perhaps, afterwards, when--but wait a page or two.

* * * * *

The day dawned fair, and there seemed to be a breeze where we were, for white fair-weather clouds were scudding across the sky. I woke rather early; I was wide awake in a flash, and I leaped out of bed, clapping on my old clothes as hastily as I could. My hair I braided up tightly, as I always do when I go on any wild enterprise. Mother fussed a little over the braids, and said I looked like a hobgoblin. I said that braids were nautical, and befitted the schooner and the sea.

We took three jars of our own homemade orange marmalade, some of which was to go to the men in the fo’c’sle, the rest aft. We thought this would please Captain Avery. Then, with my sailor rags fluttering about me like a proud banner of triumph, Mother and I marched down Armory Street to the trolley. Mother left me down-town to wait for the Bryans and to buy those everlasting crackers and fruits, but I simply _couldn’t_ wait, and I transferred into another trolley and sailed down Chapel Street. I was so absorbed in my own dreams that I almost went past Brewery Street. But I saw the topmasts of the schooner just in time, and got out. I couldn’t resist saying to myself: “Oh, thank heaven! She is still there.” You see, my superstition tried its hardest to make me believe that I still might possibly be hindered from going. It was still trying to make me see imaginary obstacles. But I didn’t see any, and I wouldn’t see any, and I went tearing down Brewery Street, vaulted lightly through the little gate, and reached the side of the ship, with my suitcase and the three jars of marmalade.

But--what is this? Is my superstition right after all? Are there still more difficulties? It seemed so, for not a soul stirred on deck. I stood there, gazing at the ship, with my suitcase in one hand, and my heart again sinking into my boots. I was just about to raise a hail, as I had done once before, when a sailor-like man, in a blue cotton shirt with the sleeves cut off at the shoulders--he was very brown, almost coppery, with terrific muscles--strode up to me and asked if I wanted to go aboard. He hopped aboard, brought a ladder instantly, and lowered it over the side.

♦ _Wager on a Delicate Subject_ ♦

In no time I was having delicious conversations with the cook, who was telling me he was sure I should be seasick, while the mate sat on the bulwarks on the other side of me, telling me he thought I shouldn’t be. The mate and the cook fell into a sort of playful arguing, and finally they laid a wager on me--the mate wagering a quarter that I shouldn’t be seasick, and the cook wagering his quarter that I should.

The delight of it! Already, this intense familiarity with the crew--and two of them wagering about my seasickness! I could contain myself no longer. I slipped down off the bulwarks and ran to the foremast shrouds; then up on to the bulwarks again and up the ratlines, quick as a squirrel, hand over hand. There I sat on the crosstrees, in the blazing morning sun, watching three or four of the crew who were out on the jibboom replacing the repaired outer jib.

When I came down, the mate and the cook were still talking where I had left them. The mate began to compliment me again on my daring aloft. He told me about one of the crew, Richardson, who had never been much good as a sailor, and who couldn’t climb nearly so well as I. We watched that same Richardson, a foolish-looking lad, going up the port main rigging on some little task, and he seemed, indeed, very timid and scared. He turned almost white when he was ordered up, and he went very slowly and cautiously. It was perfectly true that he couldn’t climb so well as I. Then the mate came back to my seasickness. The cook had gone back into the galley, and evidently the mate wanted very much to argue in favor of his wager, and strengthen his side a little. So he said to me: “Now, ’tain’t likely as you’ll be seasick. And, if you are, you’ll certainly get over it in a couple o’ days. As long as you’ve a good head, that makes all the difference in the world. Now, Richardson here, he hasn’t got a head--he can’t stand the height, and he gets seasick every trip. But you--look at the way you go scrambling up to the crosstrees. Them as can climb like that never get sick.”

We talked about the trip, and what time the captain thought he should be getting out. The captain was then ashore, collecting the last provisions, and they were all anxiously awaiting him and the tug which was to tow us out of the harbor. It was, of course, dead calm in there, but there was a line of vivid blue out beyond, and it looked like a breeze. I asked the mate, in order to air my knowledge a bit, if four bells had yet struck. But the mate evidently saw my trap and thought that I was talking about what I knew nothing of, and he queried in a tone of obvious scorn: “What is four bells?” And I was proud to reply without the slightest hesitation: “Ten o’clock, mate.”

* * * * *

♦ _A Purchase on Suspicion_ ♦

But now, in spite of the pleasure of sitting and yarning with my matey, I began to think over again the delight, the impossibly delightful idea, of the voyage. And I fairly squirmed and itched all over. Of course I was impatient for the return of the captain. Shortly he appeared, with a large and mysterious-looking bundle under his arm. Said he to Mother, who was standing on the wharf: “I bet you can’t guess what I’ve got here!” and he chuckled mysteriously.

“No; what is it?”

He chuckled some more. “Well, I’ll tell you! I’ve got two brand-new _pails_, in case they get seasick!”

To myself I was thinking: “Supposing we fool you? Then your new pails would go to waste, wouldn’t they?” For I was secretly pretty sure I should be steady. I talked a little to the captain, asking him what time he thought we should be under way, and how soon he expected the tug; for now everything was ready, and we were to slide out to sea as soon as the tug appeared. The mate got up instantly when the captain drew near--not to be caught idling, I suppose--and began to busy himself about the deck. That man has a marvellous knack of finding things to do. When he feels like working, he can always find a thousand little jobs to do here and there.

Mother came aboard, too, and talked with the captain and the mate. The mate was extraordinarily pleasant, telling her all about what a fine climber I was and what a good head I had, and saying that he didn’t think I would be sick. A man had come from town along on to the wharf--seemingly a very nice person, dressed in city clothes. He leaned over the bulwarks, talking to Mother, and telling her how he loved to see the schooners that still came into New Haven now and then, and how rare they were now, and how lucky I was to be sailing with the _Norman D._, and how soon he’d go if he had the chance.

And, amid all these happenings, the tug which was to tow us out to sea had chugged up slowly, and now lay alongside the schooner to port. There was shouting and _yoho_-ing among the two crews, and through the confusion could be heard the hoarse, loud voice of Captain Avery, rapidly giving his orders. He seemed to me to have a clear idea of what he wanted done, but, if a moment were lost in the execution of his orders, he immediately became nervous and hectic. Towropes were got out and thrust through the cable-holes. Now our mate had skipped ashore and loosened the ropes which held the ship to the posts on the wharf; then he called out to me to untangle the rope where it was snarled around the capstan. Shortly afterwards I was sent to coil it up in a snug, neat coil.

♦ _Outward Bound_ ♦

Now everything was astir. The schooner was securely made fast to the tug by a long, stout towrope. This was let out, and the schooner began slowly, slowly to move from the wharf. Now she was quietly turning upon her heel, and soon she was headed out for the open sound, past the breakwaters, past the lighthouses. I felt her sliding on beneath me. There were several little yachts and small sailboats in the bay: they turned and stared at us as we went gliding past. Beautiful indeed we must have looked--but of that I was hardly thinking; indeed, I was thinking of few things, my head was in such a whirl with the delight of the moment.

The wharf grew more and more distant, and the smoking town, too. I was glad to realize that, at length, we were leaving it behind and were bound for the open, free sea and the wild winds and waves. Now we saw East Rock and West Rock as small nubbins of hills in the distance. The tug was to stay with us until we had rounded the tip of a long green peninsula which jutted out into the bay. Beyond this I could still see the bright blue which seemed to denote wind. Now the tug had reached full momentum, and the great schooner was gliding pretty swiftly through the water. More and more distant grew the land behind us--nearer and nearer the open sea.

I was called back to myself by the sudden sound of an engine running. The bo’s’n had started our engine, and now the sails were to be run up. Oh, was it true? Could it possibly be true that we were going to run up sails? that there really were a few sails left in this modern world? I heard the voice of Captain Avery giving orders. “Mainsail up first--then foresail, forestaysail, and jibs--put up the spanker and topsails last. Lively there, boys!” And--it was so glorious that I had to pinch myself and rub my eyes hard--the peak halyards were wound around the winch on one side of the engine-room, and the throat halyards around the other, and now, amid the roaring of the engine and the quivering of the great tackles, up went the gaff slowly, quivering and shaking; up went the sail, spreading out gracefully, as white hoop after white hoop ran up the tall mainmast. Up and up and up! Then the mainsail was stretched to its full length, and the gaff came to rest just below the crosstrees. Never had I realized what a vast expanse the sails have. The halyards were made fast. And now the foresail, too, shivering and groaning, began to reach up. It, too, was soon made fast. And then the beautiful jibs, two at a time, went rolling up, their long points seeming to reach into the sky itself. The first two were the forestaysail and jib, the last the flying jib and outer jib. The schooner shuddered. The engine had awakened her; the sea had called, and she was answering.

♦ _Under Sail at Last_ ♦

We were now almost out of the bay. A gentle puff of wind rose, and I saw the great white sails lifting and filling. Then, when the wind died down, they collapsed. And now we had cast the towrope. The tug fell away. We felt like a queen on the ocean, dominating the little boat proudly. Now the tug circled, wheeled about, and started for the wharf again. The _Norman D._ ran up her spanker, the largest sail of all, headed her nose for the open, and began to sail gently on with a steady little breeze puffing out the sails. We were off! We were headed for who knows what strange and mysterious adventures?

* * * * *

About the first thing we did was to have dinner. We went below aft, and fed on the same sort of sailor grub that Mother and I had had the night we ate supper there. I was sorry that I had to break up the delight by having dinner, and I finished hastily, and went back on deck as soon as possible. Yes, we were sailing. The bo’s’n was at the wheel. I talked to him a while. The wind seemed to be rising just a little bit. I tried my best to make the schooner seem to be rolling, but all I could see was a slight waving of the horizon up and down; I couldn’t feel it at all. But the sails were full and steady, and oh! so beautiful they seemed to me. I could see myself entering into the spirit of sailing right off. I had the most curious sensations I have ever experienced--of mystery, of adventure; I can’t describe it at all. But I could think myself a sailor. The crew were now unfurling the topsails. When they were all loosened, the topsail halyards were hauled, and up went the topsails, one at each topmast, sharp mountain-peaks on the lower sails.

♦ _Amenities in the Galley_ ♦

But, thought I, I mustn’t neglect my duty through sheer delight. I ran up to the galley, had a talk with the cook about almost everything under the sun, and dried his dishes and helped clean up the galley for him. He thanked me cordially and very touchingly, and I resolved to help him a great deal. He seemed like such a sad little old man! I never knew quite what to make of him. The arched wrinkles upon his high, bald forehead, his smallness and robustness, all combined to make him a very curious-looking specimen. He wore, too, a sort of butcher’s apron arrangement, and somehow the strings dangling behind always seemed comical to me. But he knew more about ships than anyone there, and he seemed rather disgusted at the greenness of this young crew. “Oh, Lordy, Lordy,” he would say, “that crew--they give me a pain. Why, in old days, when the sails were much harder to hoist up, and when all the work was a cursed sight harder--why, we poor sailors would get flogged and fired fer bein’ so slow as on this schooner. And here, they have an engine and everything made to suit them, yit they dawdle and lazy around and don’t seem to know how to do nothing.”

There seemed now to be quite a breeze outside. I could somehow feel the deck sliding from beneath me, and I staggered around in the galley, much to the amusement of the cook, who put his hands on his hips, and roared aloud, and told me I hadn’t got my “sea legs on yit.” I stepped out of the galley to see what the weather was doing. It was sparklingly clear. The sun made mazes of color on the blue sea. The wind _was_ coming up, and I could see the waves sloshing against the side of the schooner. We were slipping down along the coast of Rhode Island, a low green bar far off. The ship was leaning gently and quietly before the rising wind. The sails looked fuller and puffier than ever, and the breeze was very fresh and delightful. I returned to the galley and said: “Well, there seems to be quite a breeze out, cook.” But the cook was not to be fooled with a landsman’s idea of a breeze. And he replied in a truly pathetic tone of voice: “Oh! Oh! There’s such a terrible wind out--I’m seasick!” and he laughed and laughed.

The dishes were finished very shortly. I went on deck and sat and watched the sea. I had such a marvellous sense of remoteness! In spite of the long green coast, I could not help feeling that we were out in mid-ocean--and when I turned my back to that edge of land I was sure of it. The sea seemed to stretch away boundlessly. The sky was of a marvellous color, but away off on the horizon there were banks of clouds, casting weird and lovely shadows down on the far skyline--maroons, wine-colors, green, and dark, dark blue. Very strange! And the sails seemed white--oh! so white--in spite of the fact that they were somewhat dirty with rough handling.

The wind was steadily rising all the time, and the schooner keeled over gently and quietly, more and more, on her starboard side. When I ran to the starboard bulwarks to look down into the waves, all I saw was the raging white bone which the schooner carried proudly in her white teeth--a mass of foam, white, whiter than fresh-blown snow, curling into gorgeously weird and beautiful shapes, with a rushing noise as its small bubbles went out, thousands at a time. How angry the sea was becoming! The waves rose high and high--ten times higher than in any gale I had ever fought in the canoe. The waves roared, the wind moaned, the whitecaps rose up mysteriously like snow-palaces and then subsided again. All this time the sea was becoming overcast with clouds, and now the waves were shadowed and strange. And to see them, in their dark green and blue, with those castles of foam surmounting each wave like proud ivory--oh, this was sailing! And yet it was nothing to what was to come.

♦ _Waves and Foam_ ♦

The schooner was keeled away over now, but she didn’t roll a bit. She was absolutely steady, and kept on her course without varying a quarter point, straight as an arrow. I shall never forget the delight with which I went to the fo’c’sle deck, where I sat as far as I could squeeze into the peak of the bow and looked down on the port side, where the raging sea seemed far, far below; and then down on the starboard side, where it was near, and angry, and lapping furiously at the ship, and reaching hungrily for it. And from there I could look down straight ahead and see the foam, I could see where the sharp cutwater divided the seas in half, and I could see one long chain of foam reaching down the port side and another down the starboard--each of them like a range of towering snow-capped mountains. And three or four white-winged gulls swooped and darted about, looking, as they flew low over the waves, like whitecaps themselves.

* * * * *

For a good part of the afternoon this kept up. But, alas, towards night I could feel the breeze going down, and the schooner slowly and gradually righted herself, and the sails were close-hauled a little to catch every bit of breeze that was coming to us. And then I began to feel the roll. I could see the horizon ahead of us waving up and down. It was a delightful sensation, like that of a seesaw, for the schooner was not pitching, but only rolling head-on. All the same, I was sorry to find the sails flapping. First they would puff out suddenly at a little spurt of wind, then slowly empty again and hang idly flapping. Calmer and calmer it grew, and then the tackle began to rattle and groan: and what a racket it did make!

♦ _Sunset at Sea_ ♦

I believe there is no other din aboard a sailing vessel that is anywhere nearly so loud, tiresome, or monotonous as that which the tackle makes in a calm. First the sails would swing out to the full stretch of their sheets, either when the schooner rolled forward or when a tiny spurt of wind suddenly rose; then they would bring up short against the sheet with a terrific groaning as the ropes became taut with a jerk; then, on the return, the booms would swing back in again and every bit of breeze would go out of the sails. They would flap, and billow and roll uncannily, with the reef points jigging about like live creatures. This would go on while the schooner rolled back, and then, as she dived forward again, the sails jerked back on the full reach of the sheet. The sails would fill for a brief moment, and during that moment each reef point would tap its tip upon the taut canvas, each at a slightly different time, so that there was a sort of _purr-r-r-r-r-r-r-r!_ and almost at the same time the sails would relax. Again they would billow and flap, and again swing back inwards. And a terrible creaking and groaning was going on all the time, until, if you listened to it, it would almost drive you crazy.

The schooner was now rolling deeply. Below in the cabin, everything was banging about. The inside of it was so much more like a house than the deck was, that I could scarcely persuade myself I was on a ship; and it seemed strange to feel a house rolling and swinging.

The air, in spite of the calm, remained clear and sharp, and there was a glorious sunset. Long fingers of fire reached out in fan-like shapes from the horizon, and the sky was all flushed with rose. To see a sunset from a schooner! We were so enchanted with our new kind of life that we stayed up very late that night. It grew dark quickly; night came down upon us like a sudden black cloud, and it grew cold. A breeze came up--just enough to hold the beautiful great sails steady as though they had been carved of marble, and to make a glimmering pair of foamwings along the sides of the ship.

It was then, standing by the wheel in the dark, that I had my first real talk with the mate. It was also the first time I thought of him as piratical-looking. He was, when I stopped to think about it, the most piratical-looking person I ever laid eyes upon. He is very dark and swarthy, with luxuriant black hair and eyes the most wicked-looking on earth; wicked, yet strangely playful at the same time, and with a curious twinkle which shows when anything amuses him. And he is a silent, mysterious, soft-footed person, who looks as though he were brooding dark and treacherous things--perhaps concocting a mutiny. And, standing there in the dark, his pirate face sharply silhouetted against the brightness of the starry sky, he made me feel as though I were cabin-boy on a pirate ship. But this is looking at him from only one side. In the morning, and on sunny days, one wouldn’t suspect that he was piratical. There is only a hidden suggestion of it--a faint smile of treachery in his eyes, and something that is evil in his chuckle. It is on foggy days, and in the late of the afternoon when it begins to grow dark, that the pirate in him shows. He is the one for us to sail with, Alan, if we ever start off on a treasure-expedition!

* * * * *

♦ _A Rolling Sky_ ♦

When I saw the stars, I had a strange experience. In spite of the small breeze which kept the sails from making their infernal racket, there was quite a roll and swing and swoop to the ship; she dipped her prow like the wings of a sea gull. But when, looking up at the high stars, I picked out one bright one above the truck of the mizzen-mast, and was just beginning to try to identify it, I saw it swinging about the mast in bewildering and beautiful curves and flashes of gold; and, to my puzzled eyes, it seemed to leave a burning track behind it. I have seen shooting stars; I saw one two years ago which glided very slowly and softly across the northern half of the sky--so slowly that I could watch every motion of it. And my first thought was that this revolving star was a specially magical shooting star. But I never saw a shooting star make bewildering curves and circles. I looked at the other stars, and they all seemed to be gyrating crazily about the sky, sometimes fast, sometimes slowly. And then I could feel the mighty ocean throbbing beneath me, and again I looked at the mast, and it seemed stock-still against the wheeling sky; yet I could feel the schooner rolling and pitching in the swell. Of course, the sky was just as it ought to be: it was the mast, the schooner, that rolled as the sea heaved.

The moon had not yet risen, and everything was pitch dark except for magical sparks of starlight. All the afternoon we had been continually passing small steamers and barges, and I had never thought they were beautiful until now. I was too devoted to my original idea of vessels with sails to pay much attention to little “chuggers,” as the crew often called them. But now, at night, they suddenly became fairy-like. A small steamer would click slowly by across our bow, with a swash of foam, and she looked like an enchanted ship out of some mysterious land of stars. Then a long string of barges passed us far ahead, all towed by a small power boat, and each one gleaming with red and green and yellow lights. One after another they passed, at even intervals, until we had begun to think that there would never be an end to them. And when they had gone, we were again alone in the darkness, except for the far-away lights on shore.