“Head away! Head away! They can’t come aboard if you head away!”
“Oh, well; it’s too late now.”
It was really too late, for the steamer had already cast a yawl and the two men, together with the crew, were in it and heading over the churning water. All watched them as they came alongside and clambered on.
They were Jersey pilots who had been displaced on the other boat because one of their number had been taken sick and more room was needed to make him comfortable. He was thought to be dying, and must be taken back to New York at once, and his condition formed the topic of conversation for the rest of the day.
Meanwhile our schooner headed outward, with nothing to reward her search. At five o’clock there was some talk of not finding anything before morning. Several advised running toward Princess Bay on Staten Island and into stiller water, and as the minutes passed the feeling crystallized. In a few minutes all were urging a tack toward port, and soon it was done. Sails were shifted, the prow headed shoreward, and gradually, as the track of the great vessels was abandoned, the waters became less and less rough, then more and more quiet, until finally, when we came within distant sight of Princess Bay and the Staten Island shore, the little vessel only rocked from side to side; the pitching and churning were over.
It was windy and cold on deck, however, and after the crew had dropped anchor they remained below. There was nothing to do save idle the time. The few oil lamps, the stove-fire and the clearing away of dishes after supper, gave the cabin of the fore-and-aft a very home-like appearance.
Forward, most of the sailors stretched in their bunks to digest their meal. There were a few magazines and papers on the table, a few decks of cards and a set of checkers. It was interesting to note the genial mood of the men. One might fancy oneself anywhere but at sea, save for the rocking of the boat. It was more like a farmhouse kitchen. One little old sailor, grizzled and lean, had only recently escaped from a Hongkong trader, where he had been sadly abused. Another was a mere boy, who belonged to Staten Island. He had been working in a canning factory all winter, he said, but had decided to go to sea for a change. It was not his first experience; this alternating was a regular thing with him. The summer previous he had worked as cook’s scullion on one of the other pilot-boats; this summer he was a sailor.
The Staten Islander had the watch on deck from ten to twelve that night. By that time the rain had ceased and the lights on the distant shore were visible, glimmering faintly, it seemed good to be on deck. The wind blew slightly chill and the waters sipped and sucked at the prow and sides. Coming above I chatted with the young sailor.
“Do you like sea life?” I asked him.
“There ain’t much to it.”