Promptly at a quarter to four the next morning Captain Eri rapped on the parlor door. Josiah, who had been dressed since three, appeared almost instantly. They walked down to the shore together, and the Captain's eyes twinkled as he noted the elaborate roll in the boy's walk.

The Mary Ellen was anchored between the beaches, and they rowed off to her in a dory. It was pitch-dark, and cold and raw. Lanterns showed on two or three of the other boats near by, and, as Josiah and the Captain pulled up the eelgrass-covered anchor, a dim shape glided past in the blackness. It was the You and I, bound out. Ira Sparrow was at the helm, and he hailed the Mary Ellen, saying something about the weather.

“It 'll be kind of ca'm for a spell,” replied Captain Eri, “but I wouldn't wonder if we had some wind 'fore night. Here you, fo'mast hand,” he added, turning to Josiah, “stand by to git the canvas on her.”

The mainsail was soon hoisted, and the catboat moved slowly out of the bay.

“Gee! it's dark,” exclaimed Josiah, “what are you goin' way off here for? Why don't you go straight out?”

“I gin'rally take the short cut through the narrers,” replied the Captain, “but I thought you mightn't like the breakers on the shoals, so I'm goin' 'round the p'int flat.”

“Huh! I ain't a-scared of breakers. Can't be too rough for me. Wisht 'twould blow to beat the band.”

“Maybe 'twill by and by. Pretty toler'ble slick now, though.”

It was after sunrise when they reached the ledge where codfish most do congregate. The land was a mere yellow streak on the horizon. The stiff easterly blow of the day before had left a smooth, heavy swell that, tripping over the submerged ledge, alternately tossed the Mary Ellen high in air and dropped her toward the bottom. It was cold, and the newly risen December sun did not seem to have much warmth in it. Anchor over the side, the Captain proposed breakfast.

The “able seaman” did not feel very hungry, but he managed to swallow a hard-boiled egg and a sandwich, and then, just to show that he had reached the dignity of manhood, leaned back against the side of the cockpit, lit a cigarette, and observed cheerfully, “This is hot stuff, ain't it, Cap?”

Captain Eri wiped the crumbs from his mouth, leisurely produced his pipe, and proceeded to fill it with tobacco shaved from a chunky plug.

“What d'you smoke them things for?” he asked contemptuously, referring to the cigarette. “Nobody but dudes and sissies smoke that kind of truck. Here, take this pipe, and smoke like a man.”

Josiah looked askance at the proffered pipe.

“Oh, no!” he said magnanimously, “you'll want it yourself. I'll get along with these things till I git ashore; then I'll buy a pipe of my own.”

“Never you mind 'bout me. I've got two or three more below there, some'eres. Take it and light up.”

The “able seaman” took the reeking, nicotine soaked affair, placed it gingerly between his teeth, held a match to the bowl and coughingly emitted a cloud of ill-smelling smoke. The pipe wheezed and gurgled, and the Mary Ellen rocked and rolled.

“Now, then,” said Captain Eri, “we've sojered long enough. Go below, and bring up the bait bucket and the lines.”

Josiah staggered into the little cabin, reappeared with the heavy cod lines and the bucket of mussels, and watched while the Captain “baited up.”

“All ready!” said the skipper. “Two lines apiece, one over each side. Watch me.”

The cod bit almost immediately, and for ten minutes the work was exciting and lively. The Captain, watching from the corner of his eye, noticed that his assistant's pipe was wheezing less regularly, and that his lines were thrown over more and more listlessly. At length he said, “Haven't stopped smokin' so quick, have you? What's the matter—gone out? Here's a match.”

“I guessed I've smoked enough for now. I can't fish so well when I'm smokin'.”

“Bosh! If you want to be a reel sailor you must smoke all the time. Light up.”

Reluctantly the boy obeyed, and puffed with feverish energy. Also he swallowed with vigor. The cod smelt fishy; so did the bait, and the catboat rolled and rolled. Suddenly Josiah pulled in his lines, and took the pipe from his lips.

“What's the matter?” inquired the watchful skipper.

“I—I guess I won't fish any more, Cap. Kind of slow sport, ain't it? Guess I'll go in there and take a snooze.”

“I guess you won't! You shipped to fish, and you're goin' to fish. Pick up them lines.”

The boy sullenly turned toward the cabin door. Was he, who had just declared himself independent of school restraint, he who had once been the thorn in the flesh of every policeman in the —th ward, to be ordered about by this Cape Cod countryman! “Aw, go chase yourself!” he said contemptuously. A minute after, when he picked himself up from the heap of slimy fish in the bottom of the boat, he saw the Captain standing solidly on one cowhide-shod foot, while the other was drawn easily back and rested on its toe. When Josiah recovered his breath, the burst of bad language with which he assailed his companion did credit to his street bringing up. It was as short as it was fierce, however, and ended amid the cod and the mussels from the overturned bait bucket. But, as the Captain said afterwards, he was “spunky” and rose again, incoherent with rage.

“You—you—I'll kill you!” he shrieked. “You promised not to touch me, you lyin' old—”

He tried to get out of the way, but didn't succeed, and this time merely sat up and sobbed as Captain Eri said in even tones:

“No, I'm not lyin'. I promised not to lay a hand on you in anger, that's all. Fust place, I don't kick with my hands, and, second place, I ain't angry. Now, then, pick up them lines.”

The “able seaman” was frightened. This sort of treatment was new to him. He judged it best to obey now and “get square” later on. He sulkily picked up the codlines, and threw the hooks overboard. Captain Eri, calmly resuming his fishing, went on to say, “The fust thing a sailor has to l'arn is to obey orders. I see you've stopped smokin'. Light up.”

“I don't want to.”

“Well, I want you TO. Light up.”

“I won't. Oh, yes, I will!”

He eyed the threatening boot fearfully and lit the awful pipe with shaking fingers. But he had taken but a few puffs when it went over the side, and it seemed to Josiah that the larger half of himself went with it. The Captain watched the paroxysm grimly.

“Sick, hey?” he grunted, “and not a capful of wind stirrin'. You're a healthy sailor! I thought I'd shipped a man, but I see 'twas only a sassy baby. My uncle Labe had a good cure for seasickness. You take a big hunk of fat salt pork, dip it in molasses, and—”

“Oh, d-o-n-'t!” Another spasm.

“Dip it in molasses,” repeated Captain Eri.

“Don't, Cap! PLEASE don't!”

“Another thing a sailor learns is not to call his skipper 'Cap.' A fo'mast hand always says 'Aye, aye, sir,' when his off'cer speaks to him. Understand that?”

“Y-e-s. Oh, Lord!”

“WHAT?”

“Ye—I mean aye, aye.”

“Aye, aye, WHAT?”

“Aye, aye, SIR! OH, dear me!”

“That's better. Now pick up them lines.”

Well, 'twas a dreadful forenoon for Josiah; one not to be forgotten. The boat rolled unceasingly, his head ached, and pulling the heavy cod made his back and shoulders lame; also, he was wet and cold. The other boats scattered about the fishing grounds pulled up their anchors and started for home, but Captain Eri did not budge. At noon he opened his lunch basket again, and munched serenely. The sight of the greasy ham sandwiches was too much for the “able seaman.” He suffered a relapse and, when it was over, tumbled on the seat which encircled the cockpit and, being completely worn out, went fast asleep. The Captain watched him for a minute or two, smiled in a not unkindly way, and, going into the cabin, brought out an old pea jacket and some other wraps with which he covered the sleeper. Then he went back to his fishing.

When Josiah awoke the Mary Ellen was heeled over on her side, her sail as tight as a drumhead. The wind was whistling through the cordage, and the boat was racing through seas that were steel-blue and angry, with whitecaps on their crests. The sun was hidden by tumbling, dust-colored clouds. The boy felt weak and strangely humble; the dreadful nausea was gone.

Captain Eri, standing at the tiller, regarded him sternly, but there was the suspicion of a twinkle in his eye.

“Feelin' better?” he asked.

“Ye—aye, aye, sir.”

“Humph! Want to smoke again. Pipe right there on the thwart.”

“No, thank you, sir.”

It was some time before anything more was said. Josiah was gazing at the yellow sand-cliffs that, on every tack, grew nearer. At length the Captain again addressed him.

“Perez ever tell you 'bout our fust v'yage? Never did, hey? Well, I will. Him and me run away to sea together, you know.”

And then Captain Eri began a tale that caused the cold shivers to chase themselves from Josiah's big toe to the longest hair on his head. It was the story of two boys who ran away and shipped aboard an Australian sailing packet, and contained more first-class horrors than any one of his beloved dime novels. As a finishing touch the narrator turned back the grizzled hair on his forehead and showed a three-inch scar, souvenir of a first mate and a belaying pin. He rolled up his flannel shirtsleeve and displayed a slightly misshapen left arm, broken by a kick from a drunken captain and badly set by the same individual.

“Now,” he said in conclusion, “I cal'late you think I was pretty hard on you this mornin', but what do you figger that you'd have got if you talked to a mate the way you done to me?”

“Don't know. S'pose I'd have been killed,—sir.”

“Well, you would, mighty nigh, and that's a fact. Now, I'll tell you somethin' else. You wanted to enlist in the Navy, I understand. You couldn't git in the Navy, anyway, you're too young, but s'pose you could, what then? You'd never git any higher 'n a petty officer, 'cause you don't know enough. The only way to git into the Navy is to go through Annapolis, and git an education. I tell you, education counts. Me and Perez would have been somethin' more 'n cheap fishin' and coastin' skippers if we'd had an education; don't forgit that.”

“I guess I don't want to be a sailor, anyway, sir. This one trip is enough for me, thank you.”

“Can't help that. You shipped 'long with me for two months, and you'll sail with me for two months, every time I go out. You won't run away again neither, I'll look out for that. You'll sail with me and you'll help clean fish, and you'll mind me and you'll say 'sir.' You needn't smoke if you don't want to,” with a smile. “I ain't p'tic'lar 'bout that.

“Then,” went on the Captain, “when the two months is up you'll be your own master again. You can go back to 'Web' Saunders and 'Squealer' Wixon and 'Ily' Tucker and their tribe, if you want to, and be a town nuisance and a good-for-nuthin'. OR you can do this: You can go to school for a few years more and behave yourself and then, if I've got any influence with the Congressman from this district—and I sort of b'lieve I have, second-handed, at any rate—you can go to Annapolis and learn to be a Navy officer. That's my offer. You've got a couple of months to think it over in.”

The catboat swung about on her final tack and stood in for the narrows, the route which the Captain had spoken of as the “short cut.” From where Josiah sat the way seemed choked with lines of roaring, frothing breakers that nothing could approach and keep above water. But Captain Eri steered the Mary Ellen through them as easily as a New York cabdriver guides his vehicle through a jam on Broadway, picking out the smooth places and avoiding the rough ones until the last bar was crossed and the boat entered the sheltered waters of the bay.

“By gum!” exclaimed the enthusiastic “able seaman.” “That was great—er—sir!”

“That's part of what I'll l'arn you in the next two months,” said the Captain. “'Twon't do you any harm to know it when you're in the Navy neither. Stand by to let go anchor!”