Larry was dozing in the forepeak and did not at first observe on what course his brother was sailing. When at last he did notice it, he assumed that something in the direction of the wind made Cal’s course desirable, but after a glance at the sails he changed his mind.
“Why are you heading in that direction, Cal?” he asked, looking about him. “Your course will take us several miles out of our way. Head her toward the point of land over there where the palmettos are.”
Cal made no change and he waited a full minute before he answered. When he did so it was in his most languid drawl.
“Larry,” he said, quite as if he had not heard a word that his brother had uttered, “there was a schooner sailing down the Hudson River one day. The captain of that craft was a Dutchman of phlegmatic temperament and extreme obstinacy. The mate was a Yankee, noted for his alert readiness of resource. The schooner was loaded with brick. The captain was loaded with beer. The mate wasn’t loaded at all. It was the captain’s business to steer and manage things in the after half of the ship. It was the function of the mate to manage things forward. But when the mate saw that the schooner’s course was carrying her straight upon the rocks, he went aft and remonstrated with the captain. For reply the captain said:
“‘Mate, you go forward and run your end of the schooner and leave me to run my end.’
“The mate went forward and ordered the anchor heaved overboard. Then going aft again, he said:
“‘Captain, I have anchored my end of the schooner; you can do what you please with your end.’”
Cal ceased, as if he had finished speaking. The others laughed at the story, and Larry said:
“What’s the moral of that yarn, Cal?”
“Haec fabula docet,” replied Cal, “that I’m sailing the Hunkydory just now; that I know where we are going and why.”