Down the Rhine; Or, Young America in Germany by Oliver Optic (romantic books to read .txt) 📗

had been discharged from the brig as soon as he ceased to be violent; for the principal did not wish to punish any one for the mutiny, preferring to let it work its own cure on the diet he had prescribed.

With the exception of the rebels, every one seemed to be particularly jolly. The principal had explained his policy to them, and they were entirely satisfied. All the evolutions of seamanship were performed with remarkable precision even in the gale, demonstrating that the crew had not lost their prestige, when the will was right. In the cabin, even, the rough sea did not dampen the spirits of the passengers, who had been, in a measure, accustomed to the rude action of the sea by their voyage in the steamer and in the Josephine. The Grand Protectress of the Order of the Faithful was full of life and spirits, and watched with the deepest interest the progress of the rebellion in the steerage.

In Raymond's party the suffering from thirst had become intolerable. Lindsley's back had been broken early in the forenoon, but Raymond declared that he would never yield—he would die first.

"What's the use?" demanded Lindsley. "We are whipped out, sold out, played out, and used up. My tongue is as dry as a piece of wash-leather."

"I don't like to give it up," replied Raymond. "It looks mean to back out."

"Just look at it a moment. We are suffering for the sins of Howe's fellows. They let off the water, saving a supply for themselves, and our fellows are really the only ones who suffer for their deed. We are sustaining them, even while they won't give us a drop of water to moisten our lips. For one, I never will get into such a scrape again. We have been fools, and whenever I see the runaways go one way, I'm going the other."

"All hands, on deck, ahoy!" shouted the boatswain at the main hatch.

"That means me," said Lindsley, rushing to the ladder. "Come along, Raymond. Howe and his fellows have been stingy and mean enough to be left alone."

Most of the crew were on deck when the call was piped. Lindsley led the way up the ladder, and Raymond followed him. The last argument of his friend had evidently converted the latter, for, however much he disliked to yield, it was not so bad as supporting the cause of such fellows as Howe, who would not even give him a drink of water. And the idea of enduring positive suffering for the evil deed of the runaways was not pleasant. They had let the water out of the tanks, but Raymond and his friends were the only ones who had thus far suffered in consequence of the act. It was these reflections which absolutely drove him upon deck, rather than any disposition to undo the wrong he had done.

A lift of the fog had revealed the Bill of Portland, a narrow neck of land projecting outside the channel from the English coast. The wind was hauling to the northward, and the prospect of fair weather was very good. The order was given to turn out one of the reefs in the topsails. The appearance of the Raymond party was noticed by Mr. Lowington, and even the passengers observed those who wore neither the white nor the blue ribbon. As soon as the rebels reached the deck, they discovered the water breaker in the waist. They charged upon it with a fury which required the interference of an officer; but half a pint was served out to each of them before they were sent aloft.

The reefs were turned out, and the ship came about on the other tack. Nothing had been seen of the Josephine since the fog settled down upon the squadron the night before; but the principal had no fears in regard to her safety. Fog-horns, guns, and bells warn the voyager of his approach to any of the perils of the shore; and the experienced navigator can interpret these signals so as to avoid all danger.

"South-west by west, half west," said Paul Kendall, who was the acting sailing-master on duty, giving out the course to the quarter-master in charge of the wheel.

"South-west by west, half west," repeated the latter.

"Where will that take us?" asked Grace Arbuckle, who watched everything that was said and done with deep interest.

"That course will take the ship to a point off Ushant, which is an island near the coast of France, not far from Brest," replied Paul, who took especial pleasure in explaining to her the working of the vessel.

"How far is it from here?"

"From the Bill of Portland, which is the land you see astern of us, the distance to Ushant is one hundred and fifty-seven miles."

"How long will it take us to go there?"

"That will depend entirely upon the wind," laughed Paul. "We are logging ten knots just now, which would bring us off Ushant about ten o'clock to-morrow forenoon. But the wind is going down, and we may not get there till to-morrow night."

"Well, I'm in no hurry; and I rather hope it will not blow very hard," added Grace.

"That's just my wish. If the water only holds out, I don't care."

"But there is something more for the Grand Protectress to do," said Grace.

"A dozen more who are to take the first degree; but I do not know whether they will be willing to be initiated."

"Why not?"

"Raymond, who is generally a good fellow, has been very ugly. Perhaps he feels better now he has quenched his thirst."

"May I speak to him?"

"Certainly, if you wish to do so."

Paul conducted the Grand Protectress to the waist, where the head steward was giving the Raymond party another half pint of water apiece. They were very thirsty, and, as boys understand the word, they had doubtless suffered a great deal for the want of water. As they had returned to their duty, and yielded the point, Mr. Lowington had directed that they should be frequently supplied, until they were satisfied. The general opinion was, that they had already been severely punished, not only by the thirst they had endured, augmented as it was by their diet of salt beef and hard bread, but in the mortification they had experienced at the failure of their scheme. The latter punishment was quite as severe as the former.

"Miss Arbuckle wishes to speak to you, Raymond," said Paul, addressing the discomfited leader of the mild party.

"What for?" demanded he.

"She will explain for herself."

"Does she want to preach to me?"

"I think not. Of course you are not compelled to see her, if you don't wish to do so," added Paul, who could not see why any one should not wish to converse with Grace.

"I will hear what she has to say," said Raymond, with a condescension which Paul did not like.

The commodore presented the delinquent to the young lady. Raymond touched his cap, and bowed politely.

"I am very glad to see you on deck, Mr. Raymond, for I have wished to make your acquaintance since last evening," Grace began.

"Thank you. I was not aware that I had any claims upon your consideration."

"I see you wear no ribbon. Shall I furnish you with one?"

"I don't know what it is for?" said Raymond, glancing at the white ribbon on the commodore's breast. "What does it mean?"

"I can't tell you anything about it just yet. I suppose you are very sorry for what you have done."

"I feel better since I have had a drink of water," replied Raymond, good-naturedly; and there was no doubt that he spoke the literal truth.

"I regret that it was necessary to deprive you of water."

"It was not my fault. I had nothing to do with emptying the water tanks," pleaded the culprit. "It was the runaways who did that."

"Then you were in bad company."

"I think so myself," answered Raymond, candidly, for he was still under the influence of the clinching argument which had induced him to come on deck.

At this point the conversation was interrupted by the call of the principal, who summoned the Raymond party into his presence on the quarter-deck.

"Are you satisfied?" asked Mr. Lowington, with a pleasant smile on his face, when the rebels had assembled before him.

"No, sir," replied Raymond, promptly, and before any other of the party could give a different answer.

"Why did you come on deck, then?"

"We couldn't stand it any longer without water."

"Is that the reason why you came on deck?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then you may return to your former diet till you are satisfied," added the principal, pleasantly.

"We don't wish to do that, sir."

"Didn't I understand you to say that you were not satisfied."

"I am not, sir," continued Raymond, stoutly. "I don't think it was fair to—"

"Stop!" interposed the principal, rather sharply. "I do not purpose to listen to your grievances. You have undertaken to redress them yourselves, and I see no reason why you should not persevere till you are satisfied."

"We can't live on salt junk and hard bread without any water, sir."

"Can't you, indeed? You should have thought of that before you joined hands with those who started the water out of the tanks."

"We did not even know that they meant to start the water, or, afterwards, that they had done it, till the cook said so. We are not responsible for what they did."

"Perhaps not; yet you were in the hold, in full fellowship with them. But I do not intend to argue the matter with you."

"We are ready to return to our duty, sir, whether we are satisfied or not," added Raymond.

"O, you are?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, as long as you are willing to do your duty, I suppose it does not matter whether you are satisfied or not."

Raymond made no reply, and could not help wondering that he had been so simple as to believe the principal would ask an explanation of mutineers.

"Are you willing to obey all orders?" continued Mr. Lowington.

"Yes, sir."

"And the others?"

"Yes, sir," replied Raymond's followers.

"Will you refrain from all communication with those in the steerage who still refuse to do duty?"

"I will," answered Raymond, who had before made up his mind to do this.

"Especially you will not inform them of anything which takes place on deck, or give them the benefit of any explanation you may hear," said the principal. "Those who assent to these terms will walk over to windward."

The party, who could not help wondering at this singular treatment of what they regarded as a very difficult matter, walked squarely up to the weather-rail of the ship, and halted there. The remarks of the principal, and the pledge he exacted, seemed to explain the strange conduct of the white and the blue ribbon bands in the steerage. No one had been able to ascertain definitely what those badges meant.

"Very well. I am satisfied, if you are not," said Mr. Lowington, mildly. "You deserve punishment, but it shall depend upon your future conduct whether you receive it or not. You will go forward."

When the party reached the waist, they were confronted by Grace and Paul.

"You have promised to be faithful—have you not?" asked she.

"Yes; but I'm not satisfied," replied the leader.

"Then I confer upon you the first degree of the Order of the Faithful," added Grace. "Its emblem is a yellow ribbon;" and she pinned the decoration upon Raymond's breast.

"What does it mean?" he asked.

She explained its meaning, and then initiated his companions.

"How happens it that we have yellow ribbon while others have white or blue ones?" asked Lindsley.

"Because you have taken only the first degree, being the last ones to come. If you do well, and are faithful, you shall be raised to the second, and then to the third degree," replied Grace, with a vivacity which was not at all impaired by the laughter of the initiates, who, as others before them had, regarded the order as a pleasant joke.

"When you have proved yourselves worthy, you will be advanced to the second degree by the Grand Protectress," added Paul. "The motto