To Johnny this seemed just one more journey into the great unknown. To Lawrence it was something more, his first long trip away from his own family. Strange emotions stirred within him. Questions he could not answer crowded through his mind. How long was this journey to last? What strange, wild adventures would he meet? What would be the outcome? Would they be of some real service?
Through his thoughts ran Blackie’s two lines of verse,
“‘Not once nor twice in our fair Island’s story
Has the path of duty been the way to glory.’”
What did it mean? He had only a vague notion.
“MacGregor,” he said to the gray-haired engineer who thrust his head up from the engine room, “what do these words mean?” He repeated the lines.
“Well, noo, me lad,” said the friendly old Scotchman, “I’ve never been too good at poetry. But it seems to me it says if ye think first of yer country and her needs, ye’ll be likely to get the things you want most fer yerself; that is, I meant to say, in the end.”
“Thanks.” Once again the boy paced the deck. Was this true? He wanted a tractor, a humble, earth-digging, sod-plowing, stump-pulling tractor. It was a strange thing for a boy to want, he knew. Most boys would have wished for an automobile, but he wanted a tractor. Would he get it?
As they left Seward behind and headed west to follow the Alaskan Peninsula until they could cross over into Bristol Bay, it seemed to him that they were heading directly away from his heart’s desire. The pay they were to receive was small. It would help very little. “And yet,” he thought with a firm resolve to do his best in his strange new position, “Sometimes fate does seem to take a hand in making things come out just right. Here’s hoping.”
The Stormy Petrel was a sturdy boat with powerful motors. She was small—little larger than a good-sized speed boat. But how she could go!