Of what was the lonely boy thinking as he stood there on the threshold of his first voyage? Did he picture to himself, swimming, through a hail of Dutch and English cannon-shot with the dispatch that turned the battle, the round black head of a little cabin-boy who was one day to be Admiral Sir Cloudesley Shovel? Did he see a vast dreary ice-field outspread beneath the cold blue arctic sky, and midway across it the huge ungainly figure of a polar bear, held at bay with the butt of an empty musket by a young middy whose name was Horatio Nelson? Was it the low sandy shores of Egypt that he saw, reddened by the flames of a huge three-decker, aboard of which the boy Casabianca
"stood on the burning deck,
Whence all but him had fled"?
Or were his visions of an English "reefer" being thrashed on his own ship by a young American prisoner, who was thereafter to write his name in history as "Salamander" Farragut? Far from it. Frank's thoughts were busy with the home he had left; and amid the cold and darkness, its cozy fireside and bright circle of happy faces rose before him more distinctly than ever.
"Wonder if they've missed me yet? The boys'll be going out to the coasting hill presently to shout for me: and sister Kate (dear little pet!), she'll be wondering why brother Frankie don't come back to finish her sled as he promised. And what distress they'll all be in till they get my first letter! and—"
"Hallo, youngster! skulking already! Come out o' that, and go for'ard, where you belong."
"I didn't mean to skulk, sir," said Frank, startled from his day-dream by this rough salutation.
"What? answering back, are ye? None o' yer slack. Go for'ard and get to work—smart, now!"
Frank obeyed, wondering whether this could really be the pleasant officer of a few hours before. Down in the dark depths below him figures were flitting about under the dim lamp-light, sorting cargo and "setting things straight," as well as the rolling of the ship would let them; and our hero, wishing to be of some use, volunteered to help a grimy fireman in rolling up a hose-pipe.
But he soon repented his zeal. The hard casing bruised his unaccustomed hands terribly, and it really seemed as if the work would never end. It ended, however, too soon for him; for the pipe suddenly parted at the joint, and splash came a jet of ice-cold water in poor Frank's face, drenching him from head to foot, and nearly knocking the breath out of his body.
"Why didn't you let go, then?" growled the ungrateful fireman, coolly disappearing through a dark doorway, hose and all, while Frank, wet and shivering, crawled away to the engine-room. Its warmth and brightness tempted him to enter and sit down in a corner; but he was hardly settled there when a man in a glazed cap roughly ordered him out again.