Not halting in his stride, the commander announced, “We’re casting off at once, Mr. Todd. Call o’ duty! Send all hands to stations.”
The chief engineer stepped into the starboard alley from his stateroom, his face lathered. “Did I hear you say we’re off again, sir?”
“At once! Give her all she’ll carry.”
By this precipitate change of plans the Arrowsic plowed in departure down the harbor, cutting the foam streaks which were still marking the trail of her arrival.
Stepping into the wheelhouse, the captain gave orders to the man on the grating. “East by half south after turning the whistler. And make course good in tide first hour’s ebb.”
The chart room was abaft the wheelhouse through a connecting archway.
Captain Bent launched himself into a swivel chair and swung up his feet to rest on a table. His smile always flickered when he took this attitude. The pose was a deep-water gesture, with its meaning for mariners. Twice around Cape Horn—he was entitled to put both feet on the table!
The executive officer, coming in to make due log entry, glanced at the posed feet and grinned understanding.
Said Captain Bent, unbending more than was his wont, “They’re up there as monuments of memory, Mr. Todd. My memory has just been jogged. Nudged by a name. Harvest Home! We’re headed to pull off a packet named the Harvest Home. A two-master lugger taking the name of the mighty in vain. ’Twas in a full-rigger named Harvest Home that I rounded the Horn. Articled apprentice! So, for once, we’ll put a bit of sentiment into the job we do to-day. But Captain York Coombs would bang his fists up against his coffin lid if he could know that a two-sticked old hooker was now parading his clipper’s name.”
Lieutenant Todd made suitable reply and entered time of departure, course and objective.