Free Voyage to Somewhere by Sloan Wilson Page A

a public square, we saw a huge crowd of people, almost all of them sailors. They were gathered around a little group of some obscure religious organization that was conducting a street meeting. A tall man played a bass drum, and there was a cornet and a violin. Inside the circle of sailors several ill-dressed old women held up standards on poles. While they sang hymns they waved these standards gently in time to the music. “Trust In God,” they read. “Bring Your Troubles To God. He Understands.” Standing with these angular women was one shabby little man who held above his head a plainer standard than the others.
    â€œFriends,” this standard read, “Co-operate With The Police. Make Way For The Traffic While You Sing.”
    While we stood there more and more sailors joined the group. They sang hymns of every denomination.
    â€œAbide with Me.”
    â€œAve Maria.”
    â€œNow the Day Is Over.”
    Mr. Rudd turned around. “Come on,” he said, “let’s go home. Let’s go back to the ship.”
    * Copyright 1911 by Ernest M. Burnett. Copyright renewed. Used by permission of Shapiro Bernstein & Co., Inc .

CHAPTER ELEVEN
    W E WERE GLAD to leave Honolulu. One month there had gained us very little more than promises in the way of repairs or material. Most of the work that was done on the engines was done by Mr. Rudd and his men. The reason we had to stay there so long was that the small electric motor which drove the sanitary pump had burned out, and we had to wait for a new one to be shipped from the States. When finally we dropped our mooring lines from the SV-130, which was still held for lack of a cylinder head, we felt freed.
    â€œOn to New Guinea,” I heard one of the boys shout. “On to New Guinea and mail !”
    We were to sail without stopping from Honolulu to Milne Bay in British New Guinea. After we cleared Honolulu harbor we found that the ocean was not very rough, and only two of the men were seasick. When the steep green hills of Oahu had become dwarfed and blue in the distance astern, I retired to the flying bridge, where we had rigged an awning and placed a handmade deck chair. Stretching out and lighting my pipe, I regarded the voyage ahead with some satisfaction. The way we were routed it would take about twenty-five days to reach Milne Bay. At the present time of the year in that part of the globe there should be no typhoons or other disturbances. Our course kept us free and clear of all land, reefs, or other navigational worries. Feeling comfortable and expansive, I called Mr. Crane up to me.
    â€œHow’d you like to handle the navigation this trip?” I asked.
    Mr. Crane grinned. The sun had tanned his pale skin, and some of the weight had gone from his hips. Ever since he had been aboard he had acted with a certain calm competence, in spite of the fact that he had never before been to sea and that he had trouble with seasickness.
    â€œSure,” he said, “I’ll do it. But you better check me.”
    â€œI’ll check you once a day,” I told him, “and if I find you’re right I won’t take any more sights until just before your landfall.”
    Mr. Crane descended to the wing of the bridge to get the sextant. “I want to take a few sights right now,” he said, “while I know where I am.”
    The days following slipped by as effortlessly as the water slipped by the hull of the ship. Relieved of my navigational duties, I lived a life of ease. Most mornings I slept until about nine-thirty, had a comfortable breakfast of coffee and toast, then retired to my chair under the awning on the flying bridge. The weather was perfect, and the sky and the sea, bisected by the horizon, together seemed to make a huge glass globe, the bottom half of which was only a slightly darker shade of blue than the top half. Each day was so exactly like the one before it that it required a consicious effort to