CHAPTER X THE CALL OF DUTY
Captain John Bracewell's deep voice was shouting orders to the tug which was making fast to haul the deep-laden Sea Witch out from her wharf. She was ready to begin her long voyage around Cape Horn, and the trade winds of the Pacific were calling her. In their first hours aboard, her crew had found that they were in a "smart ship," with a master who knew his trade. No longer a stranded derelict, but a leader of men, gravely rejoicing in the strength and beauty of the Sea Witch, Captain Bracewell looked every inch a proper seaman to command this queen of the old-time Yankee merchant marine.
In the spacious after-cabin, bright with the summer sun which flooded through the open skylights, Margaret was saying almost the last of her good-bys. Clusters and bouquets of flowers, sent by Mr. Cochran, senior, made every shelf and corner gay. Mrs. Cochran and he had made their farewell call and were gone ashore, but Arthur still lingered in the cabin. Beside him stood able seaman David Downes. The young owner of the departing ship was saying to the fair-haired girl:
"I can't stay more than a minute longer. My boat is alongside, and I must get back to my office. I'd like awfully well to go down the Bay with you, but—"
He hesitated, glanced at David and went on with an affectionate smile, which embraced both his friends:
"You may not see your big brother for a year, Miss Margaret. He deserves to have you all to himself to-day."
"Better change your mind and come back in the tug," said David. "This is your ship, you know. And Margaret will love to have you."
She smiled, with lips which slightly trembled, and there was unspoken sadness in her brave eyes, as she told them:
"Indeed I want you both until we have to say good-by. And David has not quite decided to desert us. I am hoping to persuade him yet that he belongs in the Sea Witch. We just can't give him up without trying, to the very last minute. But it is going to make no difference, even if the seas do roll between us three. We can't forget you for a moment, either of you. You two have brought us this great gift and blessing—my two big brothers."
Arthur's gaze was wistful, but he answered brightly:
"And your owner is prouder of his master and of you than he is of his fine ship."
"Not to overlook the mate," exclaimed a hearty voice behind them, and Mr. Becket's head blazed grandly in a patch of sunshine, at the foot of the companion-way. "Beg your pardon, Mr. Cochran, but we are in the stream and your boatman wants to cast off. Any orders, sir?"
"I am coming, Mr. Becket. Well, it is good-by, and God bless you, Miss Margaret, and fair winds to you, and clear skies," said Arthur, as he clasped her hand for a moment. Then he followed Mr. Becket on deck. David ran after them, and as he helped his friend overside, Arthur asked:
"Is it go or stay, with you? The longer you hang in the wind without making up your mind, the worse it will be."
"It's the hardest thing I ever had to decide," replied David. "I sort of went ahead blind, and didn't know how much this was going to mean to me."
"Father and mother and I have begun to find out that you haven't been thinking of yourself at all, from start to finish," cried Arthur. "Maybe that is why all your friends like you."
This unexpected compliment took David aback, and all he could think of to say in parting was:
"You'll hear from me by to-morrow. It's all a game of figuring out what is right to do."
David watched the boat move shoreward, until it dodged behind a string of barges, and then he returned to Margaret in the cabin. She made a gallant effort to face the issue which they had argued over and over again.
"It all happened just right that Mr. Becket was willing to come as mate," she began, "but oh, the whole beautiful plan seems so empty without you, Davy. Why can't you sail with us? Grandfather says he will make you third mate at the end of this voyage. And you will be just drudging along in the Roanoke for years and years, before you can get that far."
"It is different with Mr. Becket," replied David, with a sigh. "He is almost fifty years old, and he needs a position. Besides, he stands a fine chance to be master of the Sea Witch when Captain John retires. But I am just beginning, and I belong in steam."
Margaret was unconvinced, as she looked up at him with affectionate pride.
"I suppose you know what is best, Davy, and I want you to succeed more than anything else in the world. Duty is a queer thing anyhow. The Cochrans think I ought to stay ashore and go to school. But I know better. There never was a wiser teacher than grandfather, and he needs me, and school must wait. And you and I could study together, Davy. Think of the months and months at sea."
"But it all comes down to this, Margaret. Answer me yes or no. Which course do you want me to take? The one I ought to steer, or the one I want to follow? There's the whole thing in a nutshell."
She thought it cruel of him to pin her down to this kind of an answer, but she met his questions as squarely as Captain John would have done.
"The course you ought to steer, if you have to take one or the other," was her verdict.
"Then I go back to the Roanoke," declared David. "I've been veering this way and that in my mind, but the things I've learned about duty in the last year kind of help me to make a good finish of it. I must stick it out as I started. We sail in the morning, Margaret, and we may pass you going out. I can read any signals you set, and I'll know they are meant for me."
"'Don't forget your dearest folks,' will be what I'm saying to you, David," she answered, very softly.
David moved toward the companion-way. He saw how hard it was for Margaret to keep back her tears, now that the parting was so near.
"Don't forget me, little sister," he said, and his voice faltered. "I'll be waiting for you, forever and ever, amen."
He meant more than was in his words, for the "little sister" was dearer to him in this moment than she had ever been before. But he could not tell her what was in his heart. They went on deck as Captain Bracewell called out cheerily:
"I smell a shift of wind. We shall be under sail to-morrow. Why, the breeze has painted roses in your cheeks already, Margaret. There's nothing like getting to sea again. How about it, Davy Downes? Shall I put your name on the ship's papers?"
"No, sir. I am an able seaman aboard the Roanoke. And I'm sorry that I put you to the trouble of holding a berth open for me."
Captain Bracewell looked at the lad with approval, as he rejoined:
"It isn't always easy to get your true bearings, my boy, and maybe I did wrong in trying to persuade you to sail with an old fogy like me. We want you bad, but we're not going to stand in your way, hey, Margaret?"
The "little sister" had nothing more to say. Her bright world was clouded, and she could not look beyond this hour. It was Mr. Becket who cheered them with his never-failing good humor. Coming aft for orders, he stood surveying the silent group as if wondering what misfortune had happened in his absence.
"Cheer up, my children," was his exhortation. "You've got what you wanted, and what more do you want? Why, I didn't look as dismal as all this when my last skipper chased me ashore, with his one whisker whistlin' in the wind."
"David is going to leave us," said Margaret, solemnly.
"And what would we do with the useless little paint scrubber aboard a real ship?" exclaimed Mr. Becket. "He's never been aloft in his life."
"Get forward with you, Mr. Becket," thundered the captain, and the mate ducked down the ladder, as if he had been shot at. The time was all too short before the Sea Witch reached an anchorage in the lower bay. David was ready to leap aboard as the tug came alongside. He was through with saying good-bys, and he lingered only long enough to shake hands all round.
Margaret and he had tried to console themselves with the thought that this was not really their last sight of each other. The liner would be going out in the morning, and then it would be farewell in earnest. But David was a lonesome and melancholy sailor as he went aboard the Roanoke that night. The bos'n found him on duty at the gangway, and took pity on his low spirits.
"It vas hard to lose friends, but it vas worse to have no friends to lose, and all hands on deck, from the old man to his sawed-off leetle cabin-boy knows that you haf been true to your friends and stuck by your colors, boy. It vill do you no harm. I vas getting old, and there is gray in my hair, and I vill never be a ship's officer. But if you does your duty and sticks by your friends you will wear the blue coat mit the brass stripes on the sleeve, and you will be glad you stayed by steam."
"But I always wanted to be the kind of a seaman my father was," confided David, grateful for the cheer of this grizzled shipmate. "And I've just left that kind of a ship-master and a vessel that made me sort of choke all up to look at her."
Next morning came fair and sparkling, with a fresh wind out of the north-west that set the harbor to dancing. The liner's decks were crowded with passengers in holiday mood. From her huge funnels poured clouds of black smoke, to tell the water front that she was eager to be free and hurrying over seas. Promptly on the stroke of ten, as if she were moved by clockwork, the decks trembled to the thresh of her giant screws, hawsers came writhing in to the rattle of donkey-engines fore and aft, and the black hull of the liner slid slowly past her pier.
Up in the bow, able seaman David Downes waved his cap to Arthur Cochran who had come down to see him off. Their friendship had been knit closer by the sailing of the Sea Witch, and David glowed at the thought of the message which Mr. Cochran, senior, had sent to the steamer by his boy:
"Tell the able seaman that I wasn't as crazy as I seemed when I bought the Sea Witch overnight. If he had wanted her for himself it would have been another matter. But I did it to please him as much as to please the old skipper and my boy. Tell him he has helped me to know what friendship means, in a world where I thought that kind of thing had gone out of style."
As the Roanoke neared Sandy Hook, David saw far ahead a row of tall spars astern of a tug. He forgot his work and rushed to the rail. It was the Sea Witch, and the liner would pass close to her. Soon little patches of white began to break out among the yards of the ship ahead. The bos'n stood beside David and growled in his ear:
"You must not loaf on deck, boy, but maybe a minute won't hurt nothings. It vas a good sight, that. I know it all. Now I hear the captain say to the mate, 'Set your jibs.' And next it is, 'Set your staysails.' And then it is, 'Loose your lower topsails.' Then the mate vill sing out to the men, 'Haul away the lee sail,' or 'Overhaul the main-top-gallant bunt-lines.' But I am an old fool and you are a young loafer. Get along mit you."
As if by magic, the white canvas was spreading higher and higher above the low hull of the Sea Witch, until her royals seemed like bits of the clouds that drifted in the blue sky. As David answered a summons from the bridge, he overheard Captain Thrasher say:
"Very smartly done. The old man must have shipped a good crew. Wonder where he got 'em? That's the way Yankee ships used to make sail when I was a boy."
David felt a thrill of pride as if he had a personal share in this welcome praise. The liner was overhauling the Sea Witch hand over hand. David was straining his eyes to make out the flutter of a skirt on the quarter-deck. The ship was still too far away, however, and his attention was caught for a moment by the surprised voice of the bos'n:
"Holy schmokes, your granddaddy is gettin' up his sky-sails. He vill give us a race, eh?"
Sure enough, the sailors of the Sea Witch could be seen working in mid-air, and presently the tiny squares of canvas gleamed above her royals. "It is to show this old tea-kettle what a Yankee ship can do," quoth the bos'n.
No more stately and beautiful sea picture could be imagined than the Sea Witch, when Captain Bracewell had put her under this staggering press of sail. The wind was humming through the stays of the Roanoke's apologies for masts, and it smote the Sea Witch with a driving power, which heeled her until the copper of her hull gleamed like a belt of gold against the white-capped Atlantic.
David could see Margaret leaning against the weather rail of the poop, her hair blowing in the jolly wind, as she shaded her eyes and gazed at the liner's decks. Nor could this daughter of the deep sea have asked for a more fitting accompaniment for her farewell to David than the roaring chorus which floated from amidships of the Sea Witch. Captain Bracewell had bullied and bribed the shipping masters of New York to find him Yankee seamen. It was a hard task that he set them, but by hook and crook he had gathered a dozen deep-water "shell-backs" of the old breed among his thirty foremast hands, and they knew the old-time sailors' chanties. Now, as they swayed and hauled on sheets and braces, their lusty chorus came faint and clear to the liner:
"Come all ye young fellows that follow the sea,
With a yeo, ho, blow the man down,
And pray pay attention and listen to me,
Oh, give me some time to blow the man down."
Soon the chorus changed as the topsail yards were swayed:
"We're outward bound this very day,
Good-by, fare you well,
Good-by, fare you well.
We're outward bound this very day,
Hurrah, my boys, we're outward bound."
The passengers of the liner were cheering. Here were sights and sounds which they had read about in romances of the sea. But David was no longer thinking of the ship yonder. He was blowing kisses to the "little girl" who had crossed the deck and was standing with one arm about the captain of the Sea Witch. Over their heads was set a row of signal flags to speak their parting message:
"All's well. Love and greetings."
Captain Thrasher turned his whistle valve, and the Roanoke bellowed a courteous "Good-day to you." Stronger and more musical than before came the sailors' chorus:
"Hurrah, my boys, we're outward bound."
Captain Thrasher chanced to catch a glimpse of the lad with the radiant face, who was leaning over the rail of the deck below him. With a kindly impulse, he sent a boy to call David to the bridge.
"You can see them a little better here," said the captain. "I take it that you're pretty sorry to leave those shipmates of yours. Did you want to go with them?"
The young able seaman stood very straight, and his square jaw was firm-set, as he replied:
"Yes, sir. But I decided to stay with you."
The captain of the liner understood the boy's struggle. He made no comment, but said to one of his officers:
"Tell the quartermaster to sheer a little closer to that ship. I may want to speak her."
David looked his gratitude, and was on edge with excitement, as he gazed down at the white deck of the Sea Witch, and wondered if his voice could carry that far. Perhaps he might hear Margaret call to him. She had seen him go to the bridge. Her face was upturned, and she had picked up a speaking-trumpet.
David gazed down at the white deck of the Sea Witch.
Just then the fourth officer of the Roanoke brushed past David. He was bare-headed, his coat was torn, and there was blood on his face. He addressed the captain, as if short of breath:
"If you please, sir, two of those insane steerage passengers we are deporting have broken out, and are running amuck below. The rest of the people are scared clean off their heads, and I want more help to handle 'em."
The discipline which had become an instinct with Captain Thrasher caused him to grasp at whatever assistance was nearest to save every second of time he could. He saw David at his elbow, and snapped at him:
"Down you go! Jump! I'll send more help in a minute or two."
David cast one glance at the deck of the Sea Witch. Margaret had never looked so dear to him as now, when she was almost within speaking distance. The pleading disappointment in David's face was not unobserved by Captain Thrasher, but his grim features were unmoved as he repeated, more sharply:
"Don't stand like a dummy! Below with you!"
A sweet, shrill hail came from the quarter-deck of the Sea Witch, "Oh, David, ahoy!"
David heard it, but he did not turn to look over the side. The doctrine of duty had never been so hard to swallow, but with his jaw set hard and his fists shut tight he ran after the fourth officer. A bedlam of noises came from the steerage quarters, groans and shrieks and prayers. Re-enforced by two more seamen, the officer and David charged into the uproar. Three stewards and a quartermaster had pinned the insane foreigners in a corner, and were trying to put strait-jackets on them. It was a difficult task, even with more help, and the panic of the other Hungarians, Russians, and Poles had grown to the size of a riot. David pitched in with the momentum of a centre-rush, and after several sharp tussles looked around him to find that his doughty comrades had done their duty well. His impulse was to rush on deck for a sight of the Sea Witch, but his duty was to await orders.
"Stand guard over these poor lunatics till you are relieved," grunted the fourth officer.
David's face turned very red, he winked hard and tried to hold back the words that rushed to his lips:
"But I must go on deck, sir. I—I—" he broke off and steadied himself with a great effort. Before the amazed officer could reply to this mutinous outburst David had come to himself. Discipline and duty took command again, and he added in a tone of appeal:
"Please forget what I just said, sir. I didn't mean to talk back. Of course I'll stay."
The officer cast a sour look at the lad, as if in half a mind to punish him. Then with a gruff "Keep your tongue in your head next time," he went away.
David looked around at the speck of blue ocean which glinted through an open porthole. Margaret's ship was out there, but he could not see her. Every moment the liner and the Sea Witch were drawing farther and farther apart. And Margaret—was she looking for him, trying to send across the water her message: "Don't forget your dearest folks"?
The disconsolate David, sulking in the steerage, was not wise enough to know that in this trying hour he was doing that which would have made his "dearest folks" happy in this big boy of theirs.
When at length he climbed on deck, the stately Sea Witch was hull-down against the blue of the south-western sky. Lower and lower dropped the pyramid of sail, until a fleck of white hung for an instant on the horizon line. David rubbed his eyes, and looked again. The Sea Witch had vanished.
He turned away and looked up at the bridge of the Roanoke. Captain Thrasher was pacing his airy pathway, quiet, ready, masterful, while the strength of fifteen thousand horses drove the Black Star liner toward her goal. David Dowries was sure in his heart that he had chosen the right way, although it was the hardest way. As the sun went down, he gazed across the heaving sea where he had last glimpsed the Sea Witch, and said to himself:
"What I ought to do, not what I want to do: that is the course Captain John and Margaret told me to steer. And here is where I belong."