“Toot! Toot! Toot!” went the Lycoming’s whistle, as one vessel after another saluted the new craft. “Toot!” it shrieked; “Toot! Toot!” as approaching craft indicated that they would pass to right or left.
Now far out from the shore, the ship had left behind her the roar of the water-front. Gone were the stench and dust of the streets, and the noise of traffic. Hidden from sight were the sordid and ugly features of the city. The great buildings seemed like dream structures. A fairy city, indeed, appeared the great American metropolis as it shone in the summer sun. To Roy it was fairer than any city he had ever seen.
Shortly the ship was passing Bedloe’s Island, with its towering statue of Liberty. Never had Roy been so close to the giant goddess. Always his heart thrilled at the sight of this emblem of Democracy. He was still a boy, but he was beginning to understand what is meant by that word Democracy. It meant opportunity to climb up, to get ahead, even as he was now starting to do; and Roy resolved that he would let nothing, absolutely nothing, stand between him and duty. For, as he looked at that immovable figure on the bridge, Roy realized more keenly than ever that if anything at all could help him to make good with his captain, it would be through doing his duty—just his plain, every-day duty as it came to him.
Soon the statue of Liberty was far to the rear. Past Robbin’s Reef light, past quarantine, through the Narrows, past the forts on either side that dominate the narrow neck of water, and on into the lower bay, sped the Lycoming. Ahead loomed Hoffman’s and Swinburne’s Islands, the latter with its imposing hospital buildings, where quarantined immigrants are treated. On the right, ever receding, were the low-lying shores of New Jersey. Far to the left lay Coney Island, Manhattan Beach, Rockaway, and other famous pleasure resorts on the south shore of Long Island. While straight ahead rolled the illimitable ocean, the goal of Roy’s desire.
Presently Roy heard a step on the iron ladder leading to his perch and a moment later the purser joined him.
“Now,” said that individual, with a sigh, “we can let down a bit. When it comes to being a slave-driver neither Pharaoh nor Simon Legree had anything on Captain Lansford. But he got us off on time, didn’t he?” And the purser chuckled as though all his hard work of the past few days was a good joke.
On the right the Atlantic Highlands were looming up, and the purser, who had a powerful glass in his hand, pointed out to Roy the range-lights that help to guide the mariner in the dark. Soon the Lycoming was off Sandy Hook, that low-lying finger of sand, with its fort and a lighthouse at the very tip.
“Ever read Cooper’s Water Witch?” asked the purser, and Roy nodded, “Yes.”
“Then you’ll remember that famous little craft used to elude her pursuers by sailing into Sandy Hook Bay there—the body of water enclosed by the Hook—and slipping out to sea through a break in the Hook itself.”