Voyage to Somewhere Read Online Free PDF Page B

I paused for an instant.
    â€œCast off number one,” I said finally.
    There was a splash as the line fell from the wharf into the water, and the seamen on the bow heaved it in.
    â€œ Together , now!” I heard the chief boatswain’s mate say. “Damn it, heave together! ”
    â€œCast off number four.”
    There was a strain on number four, and the workmen on the wharf could not get the line off the cleat. The chief boatswain’s mate ran aft.
    â€œGive her slack there, boys, give her slack,” he said, and the line slumped into the water. I watched the end of the line as it snaked through the water toward the ship and came dripping up on deck.
    â€œCast off number three.”
    There was a flurry of activity on the after part of the well deck and a cheery voice called up, “Number three is all free, sir!”
    â€œRight full rudder.”
    Boats swept his huge arm around and spun the wheel.
    â€œThe rudder is right full, sir,” he said. His voice sounded very sure and matter of fact.
    â€œPort engine ahead slow.”
    The engine-room telegraph jingled, and almost immediately I felt the heavy throb of the engines and the deep-throated hollow coughing of the exhaust.
    â€œThe port engine is ahead slow, sir,” the quartermaster said. He sounded nervous.
    I leaned over the wing of the bridge and watched the bow nudge into the dock. Number two line creaked at the strain. The stern slowly swung out.
    â€œPort engine stop,” I said.
    The engine-room telegraph jingled almost before I had finished the sentence and the quartermaster said, “The port engine is stopped, sir.”
    â€œAll engines back slow.”
    Again the engine-room telegraph. The quartermaster looked up, smiling. “All engines are backing slow, sir.”
    The ship moved backwards through the water slowly, and number two line, the last to hold us to the wharf, lost its strain.
    â€œCast off number two,” I said.
    The workmen on the dock cast it off, and without waiting to see it hauled aboard, hurried off. The line trailed for a moment in the water, then the seamen hauled it in and coiled it on deck.
    â€œAll lines are aboard, sir,” the chief boatswain’s mate called. “Shall I secure the deck for sea?”
    â€œYes, Chief. Secure the deck for sea.”
    The narrow strip of water that separated the ship from the land was widening. Already it was as wide as a river.
    Slowly we threaded our way out of San Pedro harbor. Mr. King stood in the port wing conning the ship, and I sat on a stool in the starboard wing full of the luxury of for a little while letting someone else do the worrying. The pilot boat, a small launch with an enormous “Prep” flag flying from the bow, followed us. We wound our way down the crowded channel and passed through the mouth of the harbor. Mr. King stopped the ship and blew a long blast on the whistle. As the pilot boat came alongside we stood chatting by the rail.
    â€œGood luck,” he said. He stood looking out to sea. The horizon was misty and indeterminate, and because it made no sharp line to limit space, the extent of the ocean seemed infinite.
    â€œYou go that way,” he said, waved in the general direction of the Hawaiian Islands, grinned, and climbed over the side into his boat. The coxswain of the boat raced his engine, and the boat veered away. We were alone.
    We set the four to eight watch. Mr. Warren was officer of the deck, and I sat on my stool on the starboard side of the bridge. White, the seaman who had asked me about sending the telegram, came up and relieved Boats on the wheel. Immediately the ship began weaving back and forth across her course. Each time she swung she swung wider, until finally we were tacking like a sailing vessel. Mr. Warren went over and gave what instructions he could to White. The boy stood there with the sweat pouring from his face and worked the wheel from one side to the other. I