Boy Scouts at Sea; Or, A Chronicle of the B. S. S. Bright Wing

by Arthur Astor Carey

One of the “Blues” was put out on three strikes and Clarence Ellsworth struck a ball which went almost straight into the air, and was well judged and caught by the second baseman, Malloy, who had previously been roughly handled by Dick.

After this the “Reds” began to forge ahead still further, and the hopes of the “Blues” were finally dashed when Mr. Miller, after having made a two-base hit, was put out on third,—the final score being eleven to six in favor of the “Reds.”

Thus ended the first game of the season for the “Blues” and the “Reds” of the Bright Wing; and, after cheering one another and giving the Boy Scout yell, they started to walk through the town on their way back to the dock.

The long boat, with Mr. Miller on board and Tom Sheffield as coxswain, got under way first; and, as the ship was about half a mile from the shore, it gave the boys a good chance for a stretch after their game. The two other boats started together about seven minutes after the long boat, and the idea of a race occurred to the two coxswains at the same moment. Mr. Wentworth, the officer in command, gave his assent. The two coxswains, Chippie Smith and Sidney Malloy, looked their men over carefully with a view to balancing the boats; and, after one or two changes of position, it was agreed that Mr. Wentworth should give the word. The latter picked out the corner of a certain building on one side of the bay and the mast of a ship lying at anchor on the other side. The imaginary line connecting these two points would be about at right angles to the course the boys would have to row to get to the Bright Wing. Mr. Wentworth ordered the two bow men to report when both bows were as nearly as possible on this line with their heads turned in the direction of the ship; and, after a little backing and pulling, with the boats about a hundred feet apart, Mr. Wentworth gave the order, “Stand by;—give way together!”

Once started, Mr. Wentworth, of course, said nothing more, but, in his seat in the stern, next the coxswain, left the management of the boat entirely to him.

“Easy, now! Easy!” called Chippie, as his men, in their haste to get away, began interfering with one another, instead of pulling all together.

Malloy’s crew made a little better start, for he had taken pains to warn them to go easy for the first six strokes until they had got the rhythm of the oars into their heads and bodies.

By the time Chippie’s men had got out of their little mess, Malloy’s boat was about a length ahead; and, after that, both crews settled down to work with a good steady swing.

In such a short race as this, one boat’s length at the start was of some importance, and Chippie felt that they must do their best to make up for the loss as quickly as possible. It was not a question of keeping strength in reserve, as he would have done if there had been a mile to row instead of a half-mile.

The Bright Wing was lying broadside on to them, and it had been agreed that they would row across her bow,—the first boat going across being the winner. They knew, of course, that there would be plenty of boys on board who would crowd into the jib netting to act as judges.