“Come on, Old Man, we’re going ashore,” I told the gull as I put him under one arm. Then I swung the sack of cats over my shoulder, and once more I went to the Jacob’s ladder to disembark.
What a fine bunch of barnacles the crew were, I thought, when I couldn’t see them anywhere. Just as I went over the side I spotted them—Stitches was behind the mizzen mast pretending to be looking the opposite direction from me; Swede and the Jap cook were peeking out at me from the donkey-room forward. Fred Nelson acted the queerest of all of them. He appeared to be absorbed in polishing the brass on the binnacle, but he polished the one spot so steadily I thought he would wear it out.
“Hey Skipper,” he called: “Here’s somethin’ to remember the ship by.” He came down to me and handed me a plug of Star Cut Plug Tobacco. “It ain’t much, but it’s wishin’ you a fair wind for your westin’.” His face seemed white and drawn. He looked at me so hard I thought he was looking right through me.
“Pile down here and quit your dawdling,” Father ordered from his seat in the dinghy.
A funny lump came in my throat. It felt as if I had swallowed too big a hunk of oatmeal and it had stuck in my windpipe. I couldn’t make the feeling go away. I was afraid I would start to blubber at leaving the crew forever and especially my adored Stitches, so I yelled out very loud as I descended the Jacob’s ladder:
“So long, everybody. I won’t ever forget you.”
14
I find navigating on shore full of shoals
In the small boat Father asked why I had brought the gull and what was in the flour sack.