It was still very early, with the sun only just coming up when he started homeward. He had borrowed the binoculars and went first down to the point, hoping to have another view of the captured yacht. The wind was blowing fiercer and fiercer, and the spray dashing up in columns between the rocks. The yacht and two of her captors had disappeared, it was plain that they had made for some port other than Rockford. The third ship, however, was headed in his direction, probably planning to make for Rockford or possibly Piscataqua. She passed so close that Billy could see, through the glass, as plainly as though he were alongside, her wave-swept deck, her weary wind-buffeted crew, even the worn faces of the officers on her bridge.
They had had a night of it, just as he had, but he was going to rest and to recover himself in peace and ease, while they had probably another day and night of just such toil and watching before them, and another, and another. That was what war was! No gathering of great fleets for battle, no spectacular deeds of glory, no frequent chances for the winning of undying fame. It was to be hard work, unwearying vigilance, dull days of patrolling and long, long nights of watching. So America was to be guarded, so her Allies were to be given aid. It would take many men to do it, and each last one must bear his full part. He went back along the point and up the beach path, thinking deeply.
What was his surprise on seeing Johann Happs again; he who should have been at home sleeping was, instead, hurrying toward the wharf with a bundle under his arm. When Billy called to him he did not stop, merely hastened on the faster. Finally, however, Billy’s flying feet overtook him, the boy’s hand was laid upon his arm and he was forced to turn about.
“Oh, it’s you!” he exclaimed in evident relief, “I thought it might be some one else.” He fumbled in his pocket. “The hotel clerk had this message for you; I told him I would deliver it and had almost forgotten all about it.”
He drew out an envelope and handed it to Billy. It was a cablegram, the answer to the dispatch he had sent to his father the morning before. He held the paper with difficulty in the wind and finally managed to read its contents.
“Give consent reluctantly,” it ran.
When he had cabled he had thought of enlisting only as a distant possibility, now, with the permission in his hand, with the vivid impression still in his mind of what the naval service stood for, he felt the desire surge up within him to enlist now, without a moment’s delay.
“Father may cable again to say I can’t,” he reflected as he stood there, buffeted by the wind. “They are so far away, he and mother might not understand how things really are. If I can send a message saying I have applied, before they can send word to me again, that I know would settle it. It would take months to get my father’s signature to the papers giving consent, but he could cable authority to some one to sign for him. The great thing is to hurry.”
Where was the nearest recruiting office, he began to wonder. Certainly not on Appledore Island, no, nor even at Rockford. The nearest was at Piscataqua and—wait, what was it they had told him there? That the number was nearly full and that probably the place would be closed in a day or two. In that case he might have to go to Boston; there would be delay, it might be too late.
“Johann,” he asked, suddenly coming down to earth and calling to his companion who had begun to move off down to the wharf, “Johann, where are you going?”