A Knight goes to Sea.
“And do you want to come to my launching?”
“You going to be launched?” asked Charlie.
“Not exactly,” said Skipper Wentworth, Wort’s father, “but my schooner is, and if you come to Raynes’s ship-yard next Saturday, you will see her. You can tell any of the other boys to come if they like. Wort will be there.”
Charlie went down to the yard the day before the launching. The schooner seemed to be an ant-heap where all the ants were stirring, and all were on the outside, so many men were at work. The club boys were quite numerously represented through their friends. Sid’s father was flourishing a paint-brush high up on a staging. Pip’s father and also Juggie’s cousin were swinging their hammers about the cook’s quarters Pip’s grandfather, a blacksmith, was inspecting some of the iron-work of the vessel. A tall cousin of the governor was driving oxen. The clanking chains of the oxen hauling timber for the building of another vessel, the pounding of hammers, the shouts of the bosses ordering the workmen, made a lively compound of sound. The next Saturday, every thing was ready for the launching.
With eager eyes Charlie noticed all the movements of the workmen. He saw them drive the wedges under the schooner, and heard blow on blow as the wedges went in farther and farther. He saw them knock away the props holding the schooner in place, and along the ways, or planed timbers, well greased for the schooner’s ride, he watched the vessel slowly then swiftly moving. Down, down she went, lower and lower, so deep into the waiting arms of the blue river, that the waters threatened to go over her, and then up she came gracefully, bringing a bridal-veil of snowy foam with her, and exciting the admiration of all the spectators, who vented their feelings in an uproarious “Hurrah!” One of the fortunate party that had permission to be in the vessel at its launching was Wort Wentworth, the skipper’s boy.
“I must see every thing that there is,” thought the inquisitive boy, and he turned, finally, into the state-room which the skipper himself expected to occupy as his quarters in the cabin. “Nice place,” he said, climbing into his father’s berth, and there curling up into one corner.
The day had been an exciting one, and yet tiresome, and Wort’s next movement was to gape.
“Sort of sleepy,” he said. The wind murmuring at the open window of the state-room had a drowsy sound, and—and Wort’s head gave a sudden fall. He opened his eyes, and said, “This won’t do; I mustn’t go to sleep,” But the wind continued to hum its drowsy tune as if saying, “Go to sleep, go to sleep, tired boy, tired boy; there, there!” Wort’s head rose and fell several times, and each time he made a remonstrance. But the remonstrances were feebler one after the other, his eyes refused to open, and there in the captain’s state-room was a boy fast asleep!
It was the latter part of the afternoon, and one of the men at work on the new vessel came to Wort’s father, and said, “Cap’n, shall we let the schooner lie off in the stream to-night, or do you take her to her wharf?”
“No chance for her at the wharf, and she must stay here till Monday, and I don’t think any one need stay with her and watch. She is so heavily anchored she can’t very well run away. We will all leave. But where is my boy?”
“I think, cap’n, I see a boy like him going off with your brother.”
“All right. My brother Nathan was here, and he will look after Wort. Now we will go.”
When Skipper Wentworth reached home his wife told him that “Nathan” had said something about taking Wort home with him to spend a day or two at his farm, three miles away.
“Then Wort has gone with Nathan, wife?”
“I think he must have, as he has not come home.”
“He is with Nathan. All right.”
The good folks went to bed, and nobody told them where Wort was. The little waves rippling about the schooner may have known, and a bright, inquisitive star looking in at the cabin window may have known, but neither wave nor star told the secret. Toward morning Wort woke up. Where was he? He put out his hands expecting to feel the soft feather pillow that Mother Wentworth daily laid upon his bed. It was only a hard board that he felt above him and back of him. Where was he? He rubbed his eyes wide open, and little by little it came to him that he was in the cabin of the schooner. What if the vessel should break away from her moorings and drift off to sea? What if it had gone already, and this craft with a crew of one were actually on her voyage? His heart thumped hard in his fright. He crawled out of the cabin, making his way along as well as he could over pieces of board, running into a carpenter’s saw-horse provokingly left in the door-way, and stroking his legs, he stepped outside. The wind from the water swept cool across the vessel. Where was he? Adrift? He turned toward the sea. The light at Simes Badger’s lighthouse was still blazing, but far away above the dark, angry sea, there was a faint glow in the heavens.
“Good!” thought Wort. “Father’s vessel hasn’t broke loose, for there is the light-house where it was yesterday, and that’s morning over there. She’s coming!”
He turned toward the town. He saw one light shining from a house window, and thought it must signify a sick person or an early riser. Then he heard a cock crowing.
“Never knew a rooster had such a pleasant voice before,” he said. All that he could do was to wait until Simes Badger’s light went out, and day filled the eastern sky, and not only roosters but human beings were stirring in Seamont.
“Then some one will come and get me, I hope,” thought Wort.
He patiently waited, watching the dark gurgling river and the brightening sky.
About six o’clock Simes Badger pushed off his boat from the light-house dock, leaving his assistant in charge.
“I must get my breakfast,” he said.
He leisurely rowed up the river.
“Ah,” thought Simes, “there is Skipper Wentworth’s new craft. She sets easy in the water. She will make as trim a fore and aft as ever left this harbor.”
He was now opposite the newly-painted black and green hull.
“Massy!” he exclaimed, resting on his oars, “What’s that on deck? A hen there? Somebody is wavin’ suthin’. Something must be wrong there. Let me take a nearer look.”
He rowed close up to the vessel’s side, and there detained his boat in the still, sparkling stream, raised his weather-tanned face, and saw a very fresh, boyish face looking down.
“O, Mr. Badger, come and get me!”
“Wort Wentworth, is that you?”
Simes knew that Wort had a reputation for scrapes, but was not prepared for this appearance under the present circumstances.
“What are you doin’ there? You all alone?”
“I got asleep in the cabin, and they left me here.”
“And you been here all night? It is a wonder the sharks didn’t eat you,” said Simes, who had a very vivid imagination.
“The sharks?”
“Well, no matter about them things. I s’pose now you want to go home?”
“Yes, if I can get down into your boat.”
“I’m willin’ to take you if you can get down.”
“Couldn’t I shin down the chain-cable?”
“O no! Look round and find a piece of rope and make it fast to something up there, and then drop your rope down here and come that way.”
“What, drop myself down like the rope?” said Wort, grinning.
“Tut, tut, boy! come down the rope! Didn’t I say so plain as day? and if I didn’t, I will now.”
Wort found a rope, made one end fast to the rail, and then, throwing the other end down to Simes, safely lowered himself into the stern of the light-keeper’s boat. In fifteen minutes more Wort was at home, to the surprise and joy of his parents.
The club boys heard about Wort’s experience, and had a word to say concerning it.
“I say, Wort,” asked Charlie, “how do you like going to sea?”
“Did you catch any waleths?” inquired Pip.
“What did the mermaids say to you?” asked the governor.
“It is the last of your going to sea, Wort. You will have to be a land-lubber,” said Sid.
This last remark touched Wort.
“No, sir! See if I don’t go to sea.” And go he did. Skipper Wentworth thought it would be pleasant to have Wort’s company the first voyage, which would terminate the latter part of the year.
Mrs. Wentworth had every thing in readiness for her boy’s comfort by the time the vessel sailed.
“What is her name?” he asked his father.
He only replied, “I want to surprise the club you belong to.” One day, to the delight of the boys, he showed them the name painted in conspicuous letters on the stern, “White Shield.” It was a mild autumn day when the “White Shield” went to sea. The club boys gathered on a wharf at the foot of the lane, and watched the vessel drifting down the river. They waved their handkerchiefs to Wort, who waved his in return. Then they stood and followed with their eyes the vessel in its flight. She passed Forbes’ Island, passed the light-house, passed Rocky Reef, passed—out of sight.
That day, at twilight, Charlie went to Mr. Walton’s house. The clergyman’s mother received a message which Charlie brought from Aunt Stanshy, and asked him to come in.
“Sit down here,” she said, and placed a chair before the open fire kindled on the edge of the autumn evening. “Sit down, and rest.”
“‘The ‘White Shield’ has gone to sea,” he remarked, anxious to give the latest news.
“The ‘White Shield’?”
“Haven’t you heard about her?”
“No.”
“Why, I thought every body knew about the ‘White Shield.’”
And did she know that Wort Wentworth had gone to sea in the “White Shield?” No; she was ignorant of that important fact. How narrow the circle of her knowledge was!
“I know one thing, though, little boy,” said the old lady, “that the sea, which fascinates so many young people, may prove to be a very hard master. O, I don’t like to hear it roar on stormy nights!”
Then the old lady went to a picture of a ship at sea hanging on the wall. There she stood and sighed. Charlie wondered what it all meant.
“But there is one thing we can do on stormy nights,” she added. “We can pray. And I sometimes think, nights when the winds are roaring, how many souls all along the coast must be kneeling while the sailors at sea are up in the rigging, climbing, or furling the sails.”