The skipper of the sailboat was Jim Evans; his passenger, Sam Mortimer. Through the years since college their friendship had endured, yet their lives led them so far apart that they seldom came together. Evans’s career as a scientist had brought him happiness, but no fame. His reputation for work of the highest quality was known only to a handful of experts competent to judge.
Mortimer’s career in politics had, on the other hand, placed him increasingly in the limelight, till in the spring of 1937 he found himself shouldering no less a responsibility than that of Secretary of the Navy, just as the European crisis was coming to a head. His predecessor had been none too competent, and in consequence his six months in office had been almost wholly taken up with reorganization in the Department, and little time had been left him to study the principles of naval policy, strategy, and tactics. His knowledge of naval affairs was small, and indeed he knew little of seafaring lore in any form. In years gone by he had made one or two short cruises in a small boat with Evans, but since then his recreations had been golf and tennis, and all his professional attention had been focused on politics. As yet no action had been taken by the American Government toward joining in the war, and the public had little idea whether any was to be expected; but to the Cabinet it was evident that action must come soon. Now Mortimer was keenly aware that the question of naval control of the Atlantic Ocean would soon be resting on his shoulders more directly than on those of any other man living; small wonder, then, that he felt overwhelmed by the responsibility he saw approaching. The American Navy was large and powerful, and, reinforced by such French ships as had been outside the Mediterranean and such British ships as had escaped disaster, it was about an even match for the consolidated navy of the Mediterranean Powers. On its efficiency rested the control of the Atlantic.
Early in September Secretary Mortimer left Washington for Boston to spend three days examining the resources of the First Naval District. He had spent a harassed and busy summer struggling to get the navy ready for the task which each week made it seem more probable was to devolve upon it. Every week the consciousness of his inability to see with an expert’s eye the large problems of naval strategy distressed him more. His brain was in a whirl, and he felt that he must for one day at least get off and give himself over to relaxation.
In this crisis the old desire to see Evans came over him; the sense of reliance on his friend, though often forgotten, was still there. He had telegraphed Evans asking if he could spare a day when they might get off by themselves and have a good talk. Evans had replied, suggesting a sail round Cape Cod as the most complete escape from the interruptions which would pursue them were they to remain in the haunts of men. Evans had his boat at Provincetown, and Mortimer, on completing his business in Boston, boarded a destroyer at the Navy Yard in the early morning and joined his friend in time to make a good start round the Cape.
The wind was west, and a little beating to windward brought the boat clear of Provincetown Harbor and around Race Point, where they started their sheets, then jibed and began the long reach down the Cape, by Highland Light, keeping close in shore where the sandy and pebbly beach and the bluffs behind presented a pleasing if somewhat monotonous picture.
As these two stanch friends sat chatting together in the cockpit of the Petrel, as Evans called his boat, dropping Highland Light astern and picking up Nauset, their talk drifted toward the topic that was harassing Mortimer by day and night.
“How much have you kept up with navy affairs since you left the service after the war?” he asked of Evans.
“Enough to know that the engineering men of the service have made wonderful strides in development in various fields, especially in communications, opening possibilities undreamed of in 1918, and that through the perennial difficulties of personnel, these developments are not utilized to anything like the extent they might be. To tell the truth, the navy has always interested me intensely; it has been a hobby of mine to read Mahan and other standard writers during my spare time, as well as the Naval Institute Proceedings. I’ve also kept in touch with some of the radio men I knew in the war who have stayed in the service, and I have watched with great interest the progress in radio communication that has taken place.”
“My God, I wish I had your knowledge of the subject,” said Mortimer. “Law and politics have taught me some things, but they haven’t taught me the principles of naval policy and naval operations, and those are the things I want to know now.
“I suppose you realize,” he went on, “that we may not be able to stay out of the European vortex much longer.”