Just then the band on the poop of “Old Wagoner” burst into “The Girl I Left Behind Me.” The music rang over the darkening water with a charming sound, and the capstan rattled around at the liveliest possible rate, while the men worked, inspired by the melody. The boat was quickly brought alongside, and, just as Stewart and the two young midshipmen stepped on board, the officer of the deck called out the quick order: “Strike the bell eight! Call the watch!”
The boatswain, with his mates, had been standing ready, and as soon as eight bells struck he piped up “Attention!” and was answered by all his mates in quick succession. Then he blew a musical winding call, ending suddenly by singing out, in a rich bass, “All the watch!” This, too, was answered, every voice deeper than the other, and then the watch came tumbling up the hatchways. The wheel and chain were relieved, the officer of the deck perceived his own relief coming, and put on a cheerful smile. While all the busy commotion of relieving the watch was going on, Decatur and Somers were paying their respects to Commodore Barry, who commanded the ship—an old Revolutionary officer, handsome and seamanlike, who gloried in his beautiful ship, and was every inch a sailor.
The wind had been stealing up for some little time, and as soon as the anchor was lifted, “Old Wagoner” shook out all her plain sails and shaped her course for the open sea.
Decatur and Somers, on going below, were introduced to their messmates, Bainbridge, Spence, and others, and were shown where to sling their hammocks. Decatur directed everything in their joint arrangements, Somers quietly acquiescing—so much so that he overheard one of the midshipmen say knowingly to the others, “I think our new messmate is the sort of fellow who likes to be under the lee of the mizzenmast better than any other place on deck.” Somers did not quite take in that he was referred to, and went on very calmly stowing his traps away. Decatur did not hear the remark.
Dinner was served promptly in the steerage, and by that time “Old Wagoner” was dashing along in great style, with every sail drawing like a windlass.
At dinner the prospects of their cruise were freely discussed. The United States Government having on hand the quasi war with France, the frigate and the sloop of war were under orders to sail to the West Indies, and to clear out the great number of fleet French privateers that were playing havoc with American commerce. Each midshipman expressed the conviction that “we’ll meet some of those rattling good French frigates; and when ‘Old Wagoner’ barks up, they’ll either have to leg it faster than she can, or they’ll be chewed up—that’s certain.” Likewise all of them fully believed that they would return from the cruise covered with glory, and with a hundred thousand dollars each in prize money. The views of the older officers up in the wardroom were more conservative; but with a lot of merry, reckless young midshipmen the roseate hue always prevails.
Decatur, with his dashing manner, his fine figure, and his ready laugh, became instantly popular. Somers’s quietness was not very well understood, and before the day was out, Decatur was asked with the frankness of the steerage, if “Somers wasn’t a little—er—rather a milksop?”
“You think so?” answered Decatur, with a grin. “Very well. I’ve known Somers ever since I was born. We went to our first school together—and our last—and I tell you, for your own good, that you had better mind your p’s and q’s with that sort of a milksop.”
Everything progressed very pleasantly for the first day or two, but it was impossible that two new arrivals in the steerage could escape the “running” which, according to the code prevailing then, makes a man of a midshipman. Decatur achieved an instant popularity, so that the pranks played on him were comparatively mild, and were taken with laughing good nature. Somers was also amiable enough in regard to his “running.” In fact he was too amiable, for his messmates rather resented his want of spirit, as they mistakenly supposed. Therefore it was that, three times in one day, Somers was told that he was “too fond of the lee of the mizzenmast.”
“That means,” said Somers quietly, and looking the youngster in the face who last made the remark, “that you think I haven’t much spunk? Very well. We shall both be off duty until to-night. Couldn’t we go to some quiet place in the hold where we could have it out?”