CHAPTER II.

THE DASHAWAY IN A NOVEMBER GALE.

John Somers had been as uneasy as a fish out of water ever since his brother went into the army; an event which had occurred the preceding spring. He was quite as patriotic as Thomas, and was just as desirous of doing something to help his struggling country in the hour of her peril. His tastes were for the sea; though he would rather have joined the army than not had a part in the glorious work of putting down the Rebellion. But his mother had steadily resisted his importunity, and the month of November found him still at home, an unwilling resident beneath the parental roof, discontented and unhappy even in the midst of those hallowed associations which make home the dearest spot on earth.

If the summoning voice of his country was powerful, the gentle tones of his mother were more potent. Though he did not reason and philosophize on the subject, he felt that his mother was nearer to him than his country; yet he hoped that she would yet give her consent to his going into the navy.

Pinchbrook was situated a few miles from Boston; and its port, which was dignified by the title of Pinchbrook Harbor, was located upon one of the arms of the sea connected with Boston Bay. It was a thriving little place; and, during the summer, John, besides taking care of his father’s little farm, had contrived to earn a few dollars by doing odd jobs in the village, and especially by acting as skipper, cook, or foremast-hand, on board the sail-boats and yachts of the place. He was a skillful boatman, and was thoroughly proficient in the science of nautical cooking. His chowders, fries, and battered-clams were entirely unexceptionable; and, at a pinch, he could bake a bluefish or make a batch of biscuit.

But John was not satisfied with his achievements at Pinchbrook Harbor, and in the bay, nor with the proceeds of his labors. His wages in the navy, not to mention sundry huge expectations which he entertained of pocketing some enormously large dividends of prize-money, would yield a far better return for his labor. He was satisfied that he could do more for the support of his family away from home than he could by “loafing about Pinchbrook,” as he modestly designated his humble operations; and, when he left the cottage with Lieutenant Bankhead, he fully believed that the something had turned up for which he had so impatiently waited for months.

To make the acquaintance of a lieutenant in the navy was a piece of good fortune which he had not anticipated, and he was convinced that he should make a favorable impression upon the mind of his passenger before they returned from the fort. It was, as his mother had remarked, an awful night to go upon the sea; but he had weathered some heavy gales in a fore-and-aft schooner, and he was satisfied that he could keep Captain Barney’s little yacht right side up in anything short of a West-Indian hurricane.

As they walked down to the harbor, Lieutenant Bankhead questioned his young skipper in regard to the boat in which they were to venture upon the stormy bay, and the dangers they would encounter on the passage. These inquiries, however, were only intended to “bring out” the young salt, and develop his knowledge of the business he had undertaken. His replies were so satisfactory, that the officer soon became as confident as his skipper; and, moreover, he began to entertain a very high respect for the character and ability of his new companion.

“You’ll do, Jack,” said Mr. Bankhead, after he had fully tested the knowledge of the boy, and the peculiar seamanship necessary for the safe management of a sail-boat; “you’ll do. I can handle a ship: but I never attempted to work a boat under sail; that is, I never made a business of it. If you put me through all right, I’ll give you a ten-dollar bill, and be much obliged to you besides.”

“I’ll do the best I can; but it blows pretty heavy, and there’s an ugly sea running.”

“I know it, my boy; and so much the more credit to you if you take me through handsomely.”

“I don’t think there’ll be any trouble about it, sir. Captain Barney’s boat’s as stiff as oak and iron can make her, and she works like a lady in a sea. Here is the wharf. I don’t know your name sir.”

“Lieutenant Bankhead, of the navy. Yours is Jack Somers; at least, everybody calls you so.”

“Yes, sir; and it’s a good name enough for me. I wish it was written on the shipping-papers in the navy.”

“Perhaps it may be yet. We want all the likely lads of your build and spirit that we can get.”

“I should like to go in,” added Jack, as he cast off the painter of a small dory, in which they were to pull out to the moorings of the sail-boat.

“Why don’t you, then?”

“My mother don’t want me to leave home. If you will step into this dory, sir, I will pull you off to the Dashaway.”

“Dashaway! is that the name of the captain’s boat?”

“Yes, sir: he christened her himself.”

“Well, it’s a smashing name. By the by, I will speak to your mother about your going into the navy, if you wish,” added Mr. Bankhead, as he stepped into the dory, and seated himself at the stern.

“Thank you sir; but I don’t think she will let me go.”

“Perhaps she will. I am ordered to the Harrisburg, and very likely I can induce your mother to let you ship in her. Well, this comes heavy,” added Mr. Bankhead, as a wave dashed its spray all over him.

But the passage from the wharf to the Dashaway occupied but a few moments: and John soon placed his passenger upon the half-deck; and after making fast the dory to the moorings, he joined him. The skipper opened the cuddy, which was large enough to contain two berths and other conveniences, and invited him to enter, and thus protect himself from the cold wind and the dashing spray: but Mr. Bankhead was too much of a sailor to shun his own peculiar element; and, enveloping himself in a heavy pea-jacket he found in the cuddy, he offered his services to assist in getting the boat under way.

“You are the skipper, Jack, and I will obey your orders,” said he. “What shall I do?”

“You may knot these reef-points in the foresail, if you please, sir, and I will put a couple of reefs in the mainsail. It will help us get off the quicker.”

“But you don’t intend to carry a reefed foresail and a reefed mainsail, do you?” asked the officer.

“No, sir: we will try it under jib, and mainsail with two reefs. I think she will carry it; but, if she won’t, we shall be all ready to put her under a reefed foresail.”

“Just so; I understand you; and your calculation is a very good one.”

In a few moments these preparations were completed, and the mainsail was hoisted. The wind blew even fresher than John had supposed; but he still believed that the Dashaway would carry her jib and double-reefed mainsail.

“Now, sir, if you will stand by the helm, I will let go the moorings and hoist the jib,” said the skipper, when everything was in readiness for a start.

“Ay, ay, my lad. The jib-sheet leads aft, don’t it?”

“Yes, sir.”

John then cast off the moorings, and, seizing the halyard, ran up the jib in the twinkling of an eye. Mr. Bankhead then made fast the sheets, and the Dashaway, catching a heavy flaw, heeled over till her washboard was nearly submerged,--an antic which caused the lieutenant at the helm to cast loose the mainsheet, under the impression that she was going over.

“She can stand it, sir,” shouted John, as he hauled in the sheet again, and took his place at the helm.

“She makes cantering work of it, anyhow,” added Mr. Bankhead, whose nerves were somewhat shaken by the heeling-over of the boat.

“She’s good for a bigger blow than this. Now, if you will take a seat on the weather-side, or lie down in the cuddy, we shall soon get our bearings. There, sir, she jumps over the waves like a feather.”

Captain Barney was too much of a sailor himself to own any other than a stiff, weatherly boat; and such was eminently the character of the Dashaway. She breasted the big waves like a mass of solid oak; and though the spray dashed furiously over her, as she leaped over the angry billows, John Somers felt as safe in her as he would in the kitchen of his mother’s cottage. The wind was east, and the sky overcast, which made the night exceedingly gloomy and dark. The intrepid young skipper could only discern the sombre outlines of the islands and the headlands of the main shore; but these were sufficient to enable him to lay his course.

Lieutenant Bankhead, though an older and perhaps a better sailor, did not feel so much confidence in the weatherly qualities of the Dashaway. He was accustomed to large vessels, and he could not help realizing that his life was in the keeping of the bold youth at the helm. He was silent and thoughtful. His father was dying at home; and, without this solemn fact, a man with a soul could not but be impressed and awed by the wild war of the elements, within the circle of whose contending forces the little bark that bore him on his mission of parental affection was struggling on her course.

He was silent and anxious; and John, full alive to the responsibility which rested upon him, was too busy and too earnest to talk. The roaring of the wind, the surging of the waves, and the thumping of the boat against the sturdy sea, were the only sounds to be heard; and they were enough to occupy the whole mind of a thinking being, and idle words seemed to be an insult to the majesty of the storm.

On flew the Dashaway, till the dark form of Fort Warren appeared like a gloomy shadow upon the eastern sky. They were soon sheltered from the fierceness of the blast by the high walls of the fortification, and the boat came into comparatively still water. The spell seemed to be broken; and the lieutenant, who had hardly spoken a word since the boat got under way, uttered some hearty commendations of the skill of the boatman.

By the exercise of the same good judgment which had enabled him to bring his little craft in safety through the darkness and the storm to her destination, John, with the assistance of his passenger, laid her alongside the wharf which forms the only landing-place at the island. Here, as Mr. Bankhead had anticipated, a serious difficulty presented itself. The fort was at that time, as it is at present, used as a place of confinement for political prisoners. Messrs. Mason and Slidell had just been placed within its strong walls, to meditate upon the folly and crime of rebellion against the best government on earth; and the military regulations, which excluded the curious and the lawless, were necessarily very stringent.

“Keep off, keep off!” shouted the sentinel on the wharf, as the boat rounded up by the pier,--“keep off, or I’ll fire into you!”

“I am Lieutenant Bankhead, of the United States navy; and I come on business of pressing importance.”

“Show your pass,” replied the guard hoarsely.

“I have no pass.”

“Keep off, then, or I will fire! My orders are very strict.”

“Will you pass the word for the officer of the guard?”

“I can’t do it. Keep off, or I must fire!”

“One word, and I will go. Who is the officer of the day?” demanded the lieutenant.

“Captain Bankhead.”

“He is my brother. His father is dying. You can put the boatman and myself under guard.”

This statement seemed to produce an effect upon the sentinel, and he ordered both John and his passenger to come upon the wharf. The corporal of the guard was sent for, and soon appeared with a lantern in his hand, which enabled him to see the shoulder-straps of Mr. Bankhead. He directed him to get into the boat again, while he despatched a man for Captain Bankhead. It was some time before the latter appeared; and then half an hour was consumed in seeing the commandant of the fort and obtaining the necessary furlough.

It was after ten o’clock when the two brothers were embarked on the Dashaway for the return trip. If there was any change in the weather, it was for the worse. The rain had begun to fall, and the gale had not decreased in violence.

“Now, my lad, you have two lives besides your own, instead of one, in your keeping, and you must have a sharp eye to windward,” said Lieutenant Bankhead.

“I shall do the best I know how. We will run up under the reefed foresail; but a small boat going before the wind makes worse weather than on any other tack. She will shake you up a good deal; but she will land you at Pinchbrook Harbor in two hours from now, if nothing happens,” added John, as he cast off the painter, and pushed off from the wharf.

“This is an awful night,” said Captain Bankhead, who, being no sailor, began to be filled with doubts and fears as the Dashaway leaped forward upon her course.

But, notwithstanding the doubts of the sailor and the fears of the soldier, the brave little bark bore them safely over the stormy waves, till in mid-channel, just below Fort Independence, a dark object on the water, dead ahead, attracted the attention of the watchful skipper.

“Sail ahead!” said Lieutenant Bankhead.

“I see it, sir.”

“I will go forward, and see how she heads.”

The naval officer went out to the heel of the bowsprit to determine the course of the approaching vessel.

“Steady,” said he.

“Steady,” replied John.