The basket was three-quarters submerged. The boy inside was played out and could offer no help, but the C. P. O., clinging fast to his bobbing goal, went to work with his knife and a singleness of purpose that no mere raging sea could shake. He hacked away at the imprisoning ropes, his teeth clenched, and at last crawled into the basket and got a bowline under the officer's shoulders. We hoisted him aboard, and while we were doing it, the C. P. O. clambered up to the rail, where eager hands drew him over.
But he did not want our praise. It embarrassed him. What he wanted most of all was to get into dry clothes and to go about his duties. Hero! He grinned at the word. Just the same, that is what he was—a real American boy with steady nerves and quick eye and plenty of pluck. Oh, yes, there are lots of heroes at large these days, but they do hate like the very dickens to have you call them that to their face.
CHIEF YEOMAN LANG
SPEAKS:
DEPTH BOMBS AND DESTROYERS
Eight years is a long time in the service. But it pays. Yep. Even if I never draw a commission I'll get a pension of one-third my full pay after another eight years, and if I stay in for thirty years, all told, I'll pull down over a hundred dollars a month for the rest of my days—me—just a chief yeoman. Now, that's not bad, is it?
I've seen quite some service. You know about that little party at Vera Cruz last year? I was right there in the front row. I've always been ready for a scrap provided they gave me destroyer duty. Nothing else goes with me. Once you get used to the feel of that rolling deck under your feet you can't be happy on any other bark afloat!