CHAPTER XVIII
YOU'VE SPOILED THEIR TEA PARTY
So absolutely confident of winning were the people, officers, midshipmen and crew on board the Chicago that they had made all their plans for the elaborate tea and dance to be given on board the ship of the winning crew.
Boatloads of Jackies had been sent ashore for evergreens, and a force of men had been put to work decorating the quarter-deck, the wardroom and the steerage until the ship presented a wonderful picture. The dance was to be held on the quarter-deck of the ship of the victorious crew immediately after the race, so the preparations were elaborate and hopes more than sanguine. Already the Chicago's officers mentally pictured the gay gathering upon her tastefully decorated decks; saw the handsomely gowned chaperones and the daintily clad girls in all the bravery of summer gowns dancing to the strains of the ship's band. Oh, it was the prettiest mental vision imaginable!
And on the old Olympia? That stately veteran of Manila Bay upon whose bridge his loyal, devoted admirers had outlined in brass-headed nails the very spot where Commodore Dewey's feet had rested as he spoke the memorable words:
"When you are ready you may fire, Gridley."
And the Olympia's personnel? The admiral of the fleet, the captain and the officers straight down to the very stokers? Well, THEY had an idea of what the Olympia's men were worth when it came to the scratch and a few things were privately moving forward which might have made the Chicago's personnel sit up and take notice had they found time to do so.
There were no EVERGREENS brought over the side, it is true, but launches had been darting to and fro with systematic regularity, and each time they came from New London significant-looking boxes, important junior officers, and odd freight came, too, but no one was the wiser. Not only were awnings spread fore and aft, but they were hung in such a way that passing craft, however curious the occupants, could not see what might be taking place on board.
But with five bells came a revelation. A steady line of launches put off to the shore, some to the east, some to the west, to return with a gay freight, and as they came up the starboard gangway the festive femininity broke into rapturous exclamations, for on every side were roses! Red roses, white roses, pink roses, pale yellow roses, begged, bought or—hush!—from every farmhouse within a radius of five miles, and every nook and corner of the deck was made snug and attractive with bunting, or rug-covered—well, if not chairs, improvised seats which served the purpose equally well and from which "the get-away" could be clearly seen, the course being a triangular one, starting on the port side of the Olympia and ending on the starboard bow. The Chicago, with all her bravery, lacked the position held by the Olympia.
Captain Stewart's party were the guests of the Olympia and had come aboard early.
Peggy and Polly were wild with excitement. At least Polly was; Peggy took her pleasures with less demonstration.
The cutter crews were already in their boats and ready to pull out to the starter's launch which bobbed gaily within easy range of the quarter-deck.
Peggy and Polly hung over the rail calling cheery farewells to Durand and Lowell and telling the others that they would never forgive them if they did not win the trophy.
"Win! Win! Fill up that tin cup right now and have it ready to hand over when we come back the proud victors of the day, for we'll be thirsty and you can just bet we're going to come back in that fascinating guise— winners, we mean. What? Let those lobsters from the 'Chi' beat us out? Not on your life! You just watch us play with them, and pull all around them," shouted Lowell as the cutter shoved off at the coxswain's word.
Meanwhile the Chicago's cutter had taken. her berth and was ready for the send-off from the committee's launch.
Now a cutter race is no holiday pastime but a long pull and a strong pull from start to finish, for a cutter weighs something over and above a racing shell, to say nothing of her lines being designed for service in stress rather than for a holiday fete. Add to the weight of the boat herself her freight of twelve men, and all pretty husky fellows, and you've got some pulling ahead in order to push that boat through a given distance of water.
If all the civil world had been on the alert during the previous day's contest, certainly all the little Navy world assembled at New London was on the alert that afternoon. The decks of the Chicago and Olympia were crowded with friends. The ships' launches were darting about like distracted water-bugs, and innumerable "shore boats" were bringing guests from every direction.
Presently, however, the course was cleared, the signals given and the heavy oars took the water as only "man-o-war's men's" oars ever take it: as though one brain controlled the actions of the entire crew.
The start was pretty even, the huge sweeps dipping into the water simultaneously and cleanly. Then the Chicago's men began to pull slowly away from the Olympia's, the coxswain right at the outset hitting up the stroke faster than the Olympia's coxswain considered good judgment so early in the race, for that triangle had three sides, as is the rule of triangles, and each side presented a pretty good distance.
But the people on the Chicago were cheering and yelling like bedlamites, pleased to the very limit to see their men putting up such a showing, and confident of their ability to hold it to the finish. They did not pause to reason that they had begun at a stroke which meant just a degree more endurance than most men are equal to, but they were sanguine that their ship was to hold a function in their honor.
Just astern the Chicago's boat the Olympia's coxswain was keeping up his steady "Stroke! Stroke! Stroke! Stroke!" which sent the boat boiling through the water as though propelled by a gasoline engine. The Olympia's men were holding their own if not breaking a record.
"Hold her steady. Keep the stroke. We won't try to set the Thames afire —not YET," were the coach's significant words from his launch.
Lowell nodded quick understanding but kept his steady weight against the oar which was setting the stroke for the men behind him, and Durand's eyes hardly left the sway and swing of that splendid broad back just in front of him as on they rushed to the first flag-boat, making the turn of the triangle just a length astern of the Chicago's men, and amidst the cries of:
"Hit it up, Olympia! Overhaul 'em! Pull down that lead!" from the launch following, in which several officers were yelling like Comanches.
"Takes better men. You didn't know how to pick 'em," were the taunting cries from the Chicago's launch on their starboard beam.
"Wait till they round the next stake-boat. They're only playing with you now."
"Playing OUT? They've got to do better than this to overhaul US. We are rowing some," were the laughing answers.
"Now we'll play for fair. Hit her up to thirty-six," was the order of the Olympia's coxswain, and the oars flashed response to the order, the cutter seeming to fly.
There was a quick exclamation from the coxswain of the Chicago's cutter, a sharp command, and the stroke jumped to thirty-eight which sent the boat boiling forward. Another command on the Olympia's as the second stake boat was neared and the Olympia's crew was holding it at forty, a slip to tell, and the boats rounded the second stake-boat bows even.
Then came the home stretch; the last telling, racking effort of the two- mile triangle. The Chicago was still pulling a splendid thirty-eight as they swept by the stake-boat, but once the turn was made oars flashed up to forty-two, for the Olympia's nose had forged half a length ahead after that turn.
Meantime pandemonium had cut loose in the launches as well as on board the ships, and if yelling, hooting, or calls through megaphones could put power into a stroke, certainly no inspiration was wanting.
Half the last stretch was covered, the lads rowing in splendid form when the Chicago's men started in to break the record and their launch went mad as they spurted to forty-six to overhaul their rival's lead. But a forty-six stroke is just a trifle more than can be held in a heavy cutter with twelve, fourteen and sixteen-foot oars weighing many pounds each; it simply could not be held.
"Give 'em forty-two for a finish, fellows," bawled the Olympia's coxswain through his megaphone, literally pro bono publico. And forty- two did the trick, for forty-six could not be held, and the Olympia's cutter swept past the stake-boat a length in the lead, while Captain Boynton on the bridge beside the admiral of the fleet fairly jumped up and down.
Alas, and alack for the dance on board the Chicago and the tea to be served to her admiring guests!
One of the conditions of that tea and dance was victory with a capital V for the hosts.
"Bring 'em aboard! Bring 'em aboard! Pass the order," rumbled the admiral.
"Just as they are!" questioned Boynton, not quite sure that he understood aright.
"Yes! Yes! Bring 'em aboard!"
"What will the ladies say?" gasped Boynton. "These rowing togs are rather sketchy."
"Hang their clothes! Get 'em some. Pass the word, man. Bring them up the STARBOARD GANGWAY. Bring 'em up, I say, and get down there to welcome them! They own the ship and everything on board!"
Boynton lost no time in passing the word and hurrying down to greet the winning crew and it seemed as though the whole personnel of the old Olympia had gone stark mad.
But to see and hear was to obey and the Olympia's lads, clad in raiment conspicuous principally for its limitations, came piling up the sacred starboard gangway to be met by Captain Boynton who grasped each hand in turn as he shouted:
"You're a bunch worth while! You spoiled their tea party! You busted up their dance, confound you, you scamps! You did 'em up in shape and WE'RE the whole show! Now go below and get fit to be seen, then come back and let the ladies feed you and make fools of you, for they'll DO it all right."
And they were fed! They were ready to be. A pull over such a course means an appetite, but whether these level-headed chaps were made fools of is open to question.
It was long after dark before that frolic ended, and the ships were a fairy spectacle of electric lights, the band's strains floating across the water as light feet tripped to the inspiring strains of waltz or two-step.
That was one of the happiest afternoons and evenings Peggy and Polly had ever known, and so passed many another, for Neil Stewart meant that month to be a memorable one for Peggy, little guessing how soon a less happy one would dawn for her, or how unwittingly he had laid the train for it.
For two weeks there were lawn fetes at Navy Bungalow, long auto trips through the beautiful surrounding country and the delightfully cosy family gatherings which all so loved.
After Gail's graduation Mrs. Howland returned bringing that golden- haired lassie with her, Snap and Constance coming too.
Gail's introduction to the circle was a funny one:
Captain Stewart had been curious to see whether "Howland number four would uphold the showing of the family," as he teasingly told Polly, and Polly who was immensely proud of her pretty sister had brindled and protested that: "Gail was the very best looking one of the family."
"Then she must be going some," he insisted.
She was a sunny, bonny sight in spite of a dusty ride down from Northampton, and Captain Stewart was at the steps to help her from the auto which had been sent up to the New London station to meet her. She stepped out after her mother and Constance, but before Mrs. Howland had a chance to present her Captain Stewart laid a pair of kindly hands upon her shoulders, held her from him a moment, peering at her from under his thick eyebrows in a manner which made a pretty color mantle her cheeks, then said with seeming irrelevance:
"No, the Howland family doesn't lie, but on the other hand they don't invariably convey the whole truth. You'll pass, little girl. Yes, you'll pass, and you don't look a day older than Polly and Peggy even if you are hiding away a sheepskin somewhere in that suitcase yonder. Yes, I'll adopt you as my girl, and by crackey I'm going to seal it," and with that he took the bonny face in both hands and kissed each rosy cheek.
Poor Gail, if the skies had dropped she couldn't have been more nonplussed. She had heard a good deal of the people she was to visit but had never pictured THIS reception, and for once the girl who had been president of her class and carried off a dozen other honors, was as fussed as a schoolgirl.
Peggy came to her rescue.
Running up to her she slipped her arms about her and cried:
"Don't mind Daddy Neil. We are all wild to know you and we're just BOUND to love you. How could we help it? You belong to us now, you know. Come with me. You are to have the room right next ours—Polly's and mine, I mean—and everything will be perfectly lovely."
Within three days after Gail's arrival Happy, Wheedles and Shortie had to leave for their own homes, as their families were clamoring for some of their society during that brief month's leave before they joined their ships. But fortune favored them in one respect, for Happy and Wheedles were ordered to the Connecticut, the flag-ship of the Atlantic fleet, and Shortie to Snap's ship, the Rhode Island in the same fleet. So, contrary to the usual order of things where men in the Academy have been such chums, their ways would not wholly divide.
Two weeks later the practice ships weighed anchor for Newport, and the party at Navy Bungalow was broken up. Mrs. Howland, Constance, Gail and Snap returned to Montgentian. Captain Stewart and Captain Harold were obliged to rejoin their ships, Mrs. Harold, with Polly and Peggy, going on to Newport, thence along the coast, following the practice squadron until its return to Annapolis the last day of August when all midshipmen go on a month's leave and the Academy is deserted.
Mrs. Harold was to spend September with her sister, a pleasure upon which she had long counted. Peggy was invited to join her, but alas! Captain Stewart had rendered THAT impossible by asking his sister-in-law to pass September at Severndale.
Of this Peggy had not learned at once, but was bitterly disappointed when she did, though she strove to conceal it from her father, when, too late, he awakened to what he had done.
Mrs. Stewart had contrived to spend as many hours as possible at Navy Bungalow, but she had certainly not succeeded in winning the friendship of its inmates, and Neil Stewart bitterly regretted the impulse which had prompted him to invite her to Severndale. When too late he realized that he had fallen into a cleverly planned trap, dragging Peggy with him. And what was still worse, that there would be no one at hand to help her out of the situation into which his short-sightedness had involved her. As a last resort he wrote to Dr. Llewellyn:
"I've been seven kinds of a fool. Watch out for Peggy. She's up against it, I am afraid, and it is all my doing. I'll write you at length later. Meanwhile, I'm afraid there'll be ructions."
Poor Dr. Llewellyn was hopelessly bewildered by that letter and prepared for almost anything.
Mrs. Harold and Polly bade Peggy good-bye at New York. Jerome and Mammy acting as her body-guard upon the homeward journey.
It was a hard wrench, and the two girls who had been such close companions for so long felt the separation keenly.
"But you know we'll meet in October and have all next winter before us," were Polly's optimistic parting words, little guessing how the coming winter would be changed for both her and Peggy.
It had been arranged that Mrs. Stewart should arrive at Severndale on the fifth of September. Peggy reached there on the second and in a half- hearted way went about her preparations for receiving her aunt.
Nor were Mammy and Jerome more enthusiastic. They had pretty thoroughly sized up their expected guest while at New London.
Nevertheless, noblesse oblige was the watchword at Severndale.