“Yes, on one side, but in every war there has always been the side that fought to protect its loved ones and its homes from the brutality of conquerors. There is hideous wrong in every war, but the wrong is in the hearts of those who would rob and oppress those weaker than themselves, not in the patriots and heroes who resist. But I didn’t mean to deliver a lecture. I’d rather tell you about the brave boy who wielded this cutlass.”
Chicken Little drew her chair closer.
“It was in ’65–soon after I was mustered out of service at the close of the war, I was offered the command of a freighter going round The Horn to the Orient. I hated to leave my wife and little boy for a year’s voyage, especially after being away so long during the war, but it was the only opening worth while I could find. I guess I had the get-rich-quick idea, too, but never mind, that has nothing to 191do with the story. We had a terrible voyage. Storms and bad luck of every kind. The rigging was shrouded with ice for weeks–two men were frozen to death on watch. I don’t know that I blame the men as I look back. I had been so hardened myself by the terrible discipline and sights of war, I guess I didn’t take much trouble to make my crew see the necessity of some of our hardships. At any rate, they mutinied and would have killed me while I slept, but for my cabin boy. He was only sixteen, but he discovered the conspiracy and roused me. With the help of the other officers and a few loyal sailors we stood them off. Hot work it was.” The Captain stopped an instant, musing.
The young people waited, expectant. Captain Clarke held up the cutlass reverently. “Charlie used this to good purpose after he had fired his last round of ammunition. I was wounded–had propped myself against the rail and was aiming my last precious bits of lead at the ring-leader, when some one jabbed a bayonet at me from the side. Charlie knocked it up, cutting the dastard down with a second blow that was a marvel. Those two strokes saved my life and saved the ship. Do you wonder this ugly thing looks beautiful to me?”
“And the boy?” Katy asked softly.
“Commands a vessel of his own in the Pacific trade. I had a letter and a Satsuma jar from him a 192few weeks ago. But we are neglecting the Chicken Little! That will never do.”
A crescent moon was visible in the sky as they came back to the place where the boat was moored.
“I fear I detained you longer than I intended with my yarn,” said the Captain. “It will soon be dark and that moon is too young to be very useful.”
“Oh, it will give a good deal of light for two or three hours. I know every inch of the road, and even if I didn’t, the horses do,” Ernest replied.
“Will you boys take the oars together or one at a time? Chicken Little, you girls may take turns in the bow and the rest of us will make a nice tight fit here in the stern.”