Harper's Round Table, June 4, 1895 Part 2

In the mean time the storm had broken; it was only a summer gale, and at nine o'clock the wind shifted to northwest, and the sun came out.

Thornton and his father went on deck, leaving Mrs. Seabury to attend to the Captain, who was awake and in much pain. The mate came up to Mr.

Seabury, and said:

"This are a ser'ous business, sir."

"Yes," answered Mr. Seabury; "I suppose you're in command now."

"Waal, I am: but I wish I wasn't."

"Why, how's that?"

"Why, ye see," said the mate, scratching his head, "I kin sail the schooner all right: but I can't navigate her. I'm blowed ef I know w'ich way to steer now."

"Why not sail west till you sight land?"

"'Cause I might hit a shoal or rocks, not knowin' they was there."

"Please may I speak?" said Thornton.

"Well, what is it?" asked his father.

"I can navigate the schooner, though I can't sail her," said the boy, earnestly.

"You! Why, you never were at sea before!"

"That makes no difference," said Thornton; "sailors navigate by the sun, moon, and stars, and I know all about them. Father, I _know_ that I can navigate this schooner into New York Bay. The chronometer is running; I know where the captain's s.e.xtant is, and I wish you'd let me try."

"We must speak to the Captain about this," said Mr. Seabury.

They went below and laid the matter before the Captain. In spite of his sufferings he became deeply attentive. He asked Thornton this question:

"How are you goin' to find the position o' the schooner now? I've lost her reckonin'."

"I'll take a chronometer sight right away, and another two hours from now, and work out the position by astronomical cross-bearings--Sumner's method, I think you sailors call it."

"Can you work Sumner's method?"

"Certainly, with sun, moon, or stars."

"Then you know more navigation than I do," said the Captain.

"It's nothing but applied astronomy, you know," said Thornton, "and I've always been studying astronomy."

"You go ahead and see what you can do, my boy," said the Captain. "Let Bowers, the mate, handle the schooner, and you tell him which way to steer."

Thornton went at once to the chronometer and set his watch by it. Then he went on deck with the Captain's s.e.xtant in his hand, and the crew stopped work to stare at him. He had a short talk with Bowers, who explained the situation to the men.

"If the Captain says it's all right," said one of the men. "I s'pose it is."

But, nevertheless, they could not understand how any person not a sailor could be a competent navigator, though the simple fact is that navigation has not necessarily anything to do with seamanship. The schooner was hove to for two hours, because Thornton explained to the mate that he desired to keep her in one place until he ascertained her position. At 11.15 the boy took his second sight and went below to work out his problem. His father stood over him in wonder while he filled a sheet of paper with sines, cosines, secants, and such things. At last the computation of the position was completed, and Thornton had to ascertain the course to be steered. He got the Captain's chart, and, marking the ship's place on it, went into the sufferer's cabin and showed it to him.

"I guess you must be about right, boy," said the Captain. "In settin'

the course, you want to get well out here."

And the Captain indicated with his finger certain dangers that must be given a wide berth. Thornton set a safe course, and, going on deck, told the mate to get the schooner under way S. 1/2 W. The men sprang to their work willingly, and in a very few minutes the _Three Elms_ was cleaving her way over a comparatively quiet sea. For three days Thornton continued his labors as navigator, and on the morning of the fourth he announced that the Highlands of Navesink ought to be sighted from the masthead at eleven o'clock. A sailor was sent up to look out for them.

The hour of eleven came, and he was silent. The mate and the crew looked gravely at the anxious boy. Could he have been in error? Five minutes pa.s.sed, and the men began to talk angrily. Then the man aloft cried:

"Land, ho! It's the bloomin' old Highlands! I know that lump!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: A CHEER WENT UP, AND THE MATE SHOOK HANDS WITH THORNTON.]

Then a cheer went up, and the mate shook hands with Thornton. Before supper the schooner was in tow of a tug, going up the Swash Channel.

"Well, mother," said Thornton, "do you think astronomy is such a useless thing now?"

And she was obliged to admit that she had never thought of it as the foundation of navigation. Thornton is at present the a.s.sistant to the government astronomer of a European country, and is receiving a comfortable salary.

HELEN'S CHOICE.

BY ANNIE HAMILTON DONNELL.

Helen set the baby down on the floor, and the pan of clothes-pins beside her. "There, now, we'll see," she said, gayly. She got down, too, and arranged the pins in an orderly little circle astride the pan's edge.

They went way round, and then Helen, with a sweep of fingers, sent them all clattering into the pan again. The baby crowed in wide-mouthed, toothless glee.

"_You_ do it now, baby--see, just as I do," Helen said.

She sprang lightly to her feet and went back to her dishes. The water was cold, and the teakettle almost empty, and mutton-chops did make such greasy plates. But Helen splashed in cheerfully. She was thinking of Uncle 'Gene's letter on the mantel-piece, and the final decision about it that very morning over the mutton-chops. It made her sing in sudden ecstatic antic.i.p.ation. What did she care about cold dish-water and uncanny dishes, when she was going to-- She filled out the thought with pantomimic action, running scales up and down the edge of the sink with dripping fingers, and executing intricate tuneless measures amid dying soapsuds.

"Helen, Helen!" called a sweet plaintive voice from the bedroom.

"Yes'm." The musical "selection" came to a quick stop. Helen hurried in, wiping her hands on her ap.r.o.n and rescuing the baby from an ignominious descent upon her nose on the way. "What is it, motherdie? is your head worse?" she asked, anxiously. "I'm afraid it's those noisy clothes-pins."

"No, dear, but there's a draught somewhere. I can feel it on my neck.

And I wish you'd rub my shoulder again. It's unusually achy this morning."

Helen found the liniment bottle, and went to work with practised, gentle touch. It was one of the dear invalid's bad days, and she had not tried to get up. Her pale face looked up into Helen's with wistful appreciation of the loving care. She was thinking of Uncle 'Gene's letter too.

The clock out in the kitchen struck eleven ponderously as Helen set the bottle away and put the screen before the window. In half an hour the primary children would be home, and close on their heels the older ones.

And what hungry, hurrying-scurrying little mortals they would be!

"Dear little mother, poor little mother, I'll shut the door and keep the Arabs as still as I ever can."

Helen always called them the Arabs when she spoke of them collectively.

It was a family pet name for them. The baby had toppled into the big pan, and was fast asleep when Helen went out. She picked her up and laid her tenderly beside the mother. Then with wonderful ease she flew about, finishing the dishes, setting the table for lunch, and doing three things at once with nimble dexterity. She met the Arabs at the door with hushing forefinger. They trooped in on tiptoe, sniffing anxiously for dinner smells.