“Un soldo!” the boy implored. J. tossed a coin into the water; the boy dived for the money, caught it before it was ten feet below the surface, and came up snorting like a young grampus, the soldo in his cheek, his arm raised in that irresistible gesture.
“Basta!” cried Antonio, bending to his oars. There is war to the knife between him and the diver, a share of whose profits he demands. “To the American war-ship, Signore? Off to Messina again? I would not go in your place!”
The boat shot out from the Immacolatella and past the small steamer bound for Ischia, while J. counted his packages. They were pursued by a boatload of musicians, singing “Santa Lucia.” From the shore came a whiff of fried fish, just enough to whet the appetite.
“The ‘Celtic’ is close in shore, I believe,” said J., “I suppose I must give you a franc.”
“Four miles at least, Signore.” Antonio paused in his rowing; “To another it would be five francs, but we are old acquaintances, let us say three.”
In six minutes they were alongside the “Celtic,” anchored less than half a mile away. It was already seven o’clock when J. came on board. He was received by his chief, Captain Belknap, then turned over to the care of the ship’s doctor and made welcome by the officers at dinner in the ward-room. Later he was introduced to Captain Huse, in command of the “Celtic,” then took a few turns up and down the deck, just to make sure that Vesuvius was in his old place across the bay, that the sleeping Queen Capri still slept on the face of the waters; by four bells he was ready to sleep. The doctor showed him where he was to bunk. There were already four of them in the “sick bay,” up among the Jackies; not that any of them were ill, but because it was the only corner on the ship where there was a place to stow them. Belknap had written Captain Huse that he and his man were quite prepared to rough it and, if need be, could sleep between decks. The “Celtic” is a U. S. supply ship carrying about one hundred and forty men, and bow and stern guns; her officers’ quarters are small, but somehow Captain Huse made Belknap’s party very comfortable. J.’s bunk was in the sick bay, along with Lieutenant Allen Buchanan, Ensigns Wilcox and Spofford and Dr. Martin Donelson, all of our navy. The rest of the party (thirty-four petty officers and enlisted men from the U. S. S. “Scorpion”) were stowed in different parts of the ship; the chart-house was assigned to Belknap.
They all slept well. The next morning, as there was only space for one to dress at a time, J., the last comer, lay in his berth waiting his turn. He heard a familiar voice outside, and caught a glimpse of Hugh, the Yeoman, squatting on the slippery iron deck, talking with a machinist come on board that morning to join the Messina party.
“We was to Suez on the ‘Culgoa’ long about the end of December,” Hugh was saying, “when we got a message from Roosevelt to get up steam and push through to Messina, and give them all the food and clothing we could spare. We had a thousand loaves ready when we sailed into that Lord-forsaken place! We let it down to ’em in nets. We been hanging around these parts ever since.”
The machinist asked a question. The Yeoman’s answer was energetic:
“Sure! Didn’t you know? Roosevelt is sending out wood to build three thousand houses for these Eyetalians, and we’re the Johnnies that’s going to build ’em. Did you ever hear the likes o’ that? Ain’t he a wonder!”