THE PROFESSOR AND THE CAPTAIN.

The Young America, with every rag of canvas set, including studding-sails alow and aloft, rolled and pitched gracefully on the long swells of the German Ocean.  The wind was very light from the north-west, and there was hardly enough of it to give the ship steerage-way.  A mile off, on her starboard bow, was the Josephine, beclouded in the quantity of sail she carried, but hardly leaving a wake in the blue waters behind her.  The hummocks and the low land of the shores of Holland and Belgium were in sight; but, with the present breeze, there was but little hope of reaching the mouth of the Scheldt that night, though it was hardly twenty miles distant.

The regular course of instruction was in progress in both vessels, the starboard watch of each being in the steerage, attending to their studies, while the port watch were on deck, in charge of the sailing department.  Mr. Lowington paced the deck of the ship, and, with the habit of an old sailor, frequently cast his eyes aloft to see what sails were drawing.  Occasionally, from a custom begotten of his solicitude for his charge, he glanced at the Josephine.

The squadron did not make even a mile an hour; and when the watch was changed, at four o’clock, there was not a breath of air to ruffle the glassy waves.  The ship rolled and pitched on the swells, and the sails slapped against the masts and rigging under the effect of her motion.  The young seamen on deck, without being in a hurry, were annoyed and vexed, as all sailors are in a calm.  They partook of the heaviness of the scene, and gaped and yawned, from mere inactivity, and the want of something to occupy their minds.

The calm was only the prelude of a lively scene.  To the westward, beyond the low coast line dimly seen in the distance, was a dense mass of black clouds, rising rapidly towards the zenith.  Low, muttering, muffled thunder came over the sea.  The sun went into the inky veil; and then the lightnings flashed, faintly at first, but glaring brighter and brighter as the darkness increased.

Mr. Lowington still paced the deck; but, instead of looking aloft now, he cast frequent glances at the officer of the deck, who was watching the dense black clouds.  The principal said nothing; for, whatever views he had in regard to the working of the ship, it was his policy never to interfere until absolutely necessary.  The officers were encouraged to do their own thinking, and were expected to take all necessary precautions for the safety of the ship at the right time.  The second lieutenant was in charge of the deck, and as yet he had taken no step which indicated that he was conscious of any peril.

“Mr. Lavender,” said he, at last, when the principal’s movements had begun to be a little nervous.

The second midshipman, who was the third officer in rank on duty, stepped up to the lieutenant and touched his cap.

“Tell the captain there is a shower coming up, and that the clouds look squally,” added Mr. Ellis, the officer of the deck.

Lavender touched his cap, and went down into the steerage, where the captain was reciting his French lesson to Professor Badois.

“Excuse me,” said Captain Haven.  “I must go on deck, for I suppose Mr. Lowington wouldn’t give an order to take in sail if the masts were blown out of the ship.”

The commander of the Young America went on deck in a hurry.  He and all below had observed the sudden darkness which pervaded the steerage, and they were rather glad to have something stirring occur to break up the monotony of the calm.  The captain looked at the black clouds, and promptly directed the officer of the deck to take in the studding-sails, which was done by the watch.

The clouds wore that peculiar appearance which indicates wind-an aspect which the old sailor readily recognizes.  Captain Haven was familiar enough with the weather signs to understand what was coming; but the young sailor is almost as much afraid of taking in sail too soon as of being too tardy in doing so.  There is as much vanity in carrying sail as in wearing fine clothes.  The captain did not wish to be too cautious, for that would cause a smile upon the faces of the ship’s crew.

He looked at Mr. Lowington, who seemed to be perfectly satisfied, or rather his attention was directed entirely to the Josephine, which had not yet taken in her huge fore square-sail.  Then he studied the threatening pile of black clouds, which had now nearly reached the zenith; while the thunder rattled, and the lightnings flashed with blinding glare.

“Take in topgallant-sails and royals,” said Captain Haven to the officer of the deck, now satisfied that his reputation for carrying sail could not suffer in the face of such admonitory indications.

Mr. Ellis called on the entire starboard watch to obey his orders; for only a quarter watch was required to handle the ship under ordinary circumstances, the other portion of the watch being idlers on deck.  The light sails were taken in; and Mr. Lowington made no comment, as he sometimes did, after an evolution had been performed, in order to express his approval or otherwise of the action of the captain.

The Josephine was most strangely deficient in caution on the present occasion, and the principal was evidently much disturbed by the conduct of her captain, who was usually very prudent, without being timid.  There she was, with all her extra sail set and flapping in the calm, while a tempest was brewing before her.

“Captain Kendall must be asleep,” said Mr. Lowington, nervously, to Peaks, the adult boatswain of the ship.

“And the officers too,” replied the old salt, hitching up his trousers.  “We ought to fire a gun to wake them up.”

“It is not like Captain Kendall to be caught napping when a squall is gathering,” added the principal.

“I should think the thunder would wake them up.  It’s heavy for these parts.  That squall will come all at once when it does come.  It will take their sails right out of the bolt-ropes.”

Mr. Lowington walked aft again, and on the quarter-deck met Flag-officer Gordon, who had also been observing the Josephine, and wondering at her continued neglect of the most ordinary precautions.

“Mr. Lavender,” said the commander of the squadron.

The midshipman, ever ready to do the meagre duties assigned to him, touched his cap to Captain Gordon.

“Pass the word for the signal-officer,” added the flag-officer.

“That’s right, Captain Gordon!” exclaimed the principal.  “If the officers of the Josephine don’t do better than this, they must be broken.  I am astonished.”

“So am I, sir.  Captain Kendall is usually very careful, and what he don’t see isn’t worth seeing.”

“Be as expeditious as possible, for the squall will soon be upon us.”

The signal-officer appeared with the midshipman and quartermaster in charge of the signals.  Captain Gordon ordered the number, “Take in sail,” to be set.

Paul Kendall was severely criticised on board of the ship; but, before he has suffered too much in the estimation of his sympathizing friends, let our readers be transferred to the steerage of the Josephine, in which, as the consort of the Academy Ship, the same rules and regulations prevailed.  The port watch were at their studies, while the starboard watch had the deck, in charge of Mr. Terrill, the first lieutenant.  This was the captain’s study time, for he was a member of the several classes, and in school hours was subject to the discipline of the professors, the same as other students.

When the squall began to gather, Professor Hamblin was hearing the recitation in Greek.  The learned gentleman did not think a scholar knew anything unless he possessed a considerable knowledge of Greek.  It was his favorite branch, and the class in this language was his pet.  He was a strict disciplinarian, and never allowed anything to interrupt the recitation in Greek if he could possibly avoid it.  No scholar, not even the captain, as the regulations then were, could leave the class without his permission.  It is true, the rule had not been made, or even been considered, with special reference to the commander of the vessel; but Paul had always quietly submitted to it, even at some inconvenience and sacrifice to himself.  No emergency had arisen, since the Josephine went into commission, which required the setting aside of the rule, and it was supposed the professors would have judgment enough to use it with proper discretion.

Professor Hamblin, so far as Greek roots were concerned, was not lacking in judgment; but he knew no more about a ship than Cleats, the boatswain, did about Greek.  He was a very learned man, and lived in a Greek and Latin atmosphere.  The dead languages were the chief end of man to him.  He was cold, stern, and precise, except that, when hearing a class in Greek, he warmed up a little, and became more human, especially if the students manifested a becoming interest in his favorite branch.

Unfortunately for Paul Kendall, he was not an enthusiastic devotee of the Greek language and literature.  He lived too much in the present to be enamoured of anything so old, and, as it seemed to him, so comparatively useless.  But he was faithful in the discharge of all the academic requirements of the institution, not excepting even those branches which he disliked.  Though he was always very respectful to Professor Hamblin, he was candid enough to say that he did not like Greek.  He was, therefore, no favorite of the learned gentleman, who thought his abilities and his scholarship were over-estimated-because he did not like the dead languages.

“Mr. Terrill directs me to inform you that a squall is coming up,” said Ritchie, the third master, as he touched his cap to Captain Kendall.

“No interruption!  No interruption!” interposed Professor Hamblin, very ill-naturedly.

The third master touched his cap, as the captain bowed to him in acknowledgment that he had heard the message, and then retired.  The professor was vexed:  perhaps he was a little more ill-natured than usual, on account of being slightly seasick-an effect produced by the uneasy roll of the vessel in the calm.

“Now, Mr. Kendall, go on with the dual of [Greek:  admev],” added he, as Ritchie retired.

“I must beg you will excuse me, Professor Hamblin,” said Paul, with the utmost deference, as he rose from the bench on which he was seated.

“Go on with the dual!” replied the professor, sternly.

Paul looked at the snapping gray eye of the learned gentleman, and was assured that he had a will of his own.  As the captain of the Josephine, he did not wish to set an example of insubordination, which others might adopt before they were certain that the emergency required it.  He had not seen the gathering clouds, and he had full confidence in the judgment and skill of Terrill, who was in charge of the deck.  The rule was that the professors should be obeyed in study hours.  This had always been the regulation on board the ship; but, then, the principal, who was a sailor himself, was always present to prevent any abuse of power.

Paul decided to yield the point for a time, at least, and he recited his lesson as directed by the professor.  Half an hour later, Ritchie appeared again, with another message from the first lieutenant, to the effect that the squall was almost upon them.  This was about the time that Flag-officer Gordon had sent for the signal-officer, on board of the ship.

“You must excuse me now, Professor Hamblin, for I must go on deck,” said Paul, as respectfully as he could speak.

“I can’t spare you; I haven’t finished the exercise yet,” replied Mr. Hamblin, sourly.  “This is a plan to break up the lesson in Greek, because some of the young gentlemen don’t like to study it.”

“I beg your pardon, sir; but the officer of the deck sends me word that the squall is upon us.  You can hear the thunder and see the lightning,” added Paul.

“I am not afraid of thunder and lightning,” growled the professor.  “My classes are not to be broken up on any frivolous pretences.  Mr. Lowington assured me I had full powers over all during study hours; and I tell you to be seated, and go on with your recitation.”

“But the vessel is in danger, sir,” protested Paul.

“I’m not afraid, and you need not be.  Take your seat, sir, or I will report you to the principal.”

Paul’s face flushed.  No officer or professor had before ever threatened to report him to Mr. Lowington.  Mr. Hamblin was as ignorant as a baby upon nautical matters, and while the Josephine rolled easily on the waves, and the sails flapped idly against the masts, he could imagine no peril.

“I am sorry to disobey your order, sir; but in this instance I must,” said Paul, firmly, though his voice trembled with emotion.

“Very well, sir,” replied the professor, angrily, “I shall report you to the principal, and if I have any influence with him, you will be removed from your present position.”

Paul did not wait to hear any more, but hastened on deck.  His quick eye discovered the peril of the moment.  The squall was indeed upon them.  At the peak of the Young America hung the signal which had been hoisted; but it was not necessary to look in the book for its meaning.

“Mr. Terrill, call all hands-quick!” said Captain Kendall, in sharp tones.

“All hands on deck, ahoy!” roared the boatswain’s mate, as he piped his shrill whistle at the main hatch.

The students flew from their seats at the mess table, deserting the two professors without an apology.  With only two exceptions, the officers and crew of the Josephine were all old sailors.  Most of them had been on board the ship for two years, and a sudden squall was no new thing to them.  They leaped into their stations, and when the orders were given they knew exactly what to do.

“Stand by sheets and halyards!” shouted the first lieutenant.  “Man the jib, and flying jib halyards, and downhauls!”

“All ready forward, sir,” reported the second lieutenant, whose place was on the forecastle.

“Man the topgallant clewlines and buntlines!” continued Terrill.

“All ready, sir!”

“Ease off the sheets!  Settle away the halyards!  Clew up!  Lay aloft, and furl topgallant-sail!”

The topgallant men sprang up the rigging like so many cats, for all hands had been thoroughly waked up by the impending peril.

“Let go the flying jib halyard!  Haul down!  Lay out and stow the flying jib!”

“Man the topsail clewlines and buntlines!”

“All ready, sir,” replied the second lieutenant.

“Let go the topsail sheets!  Clew up!  Settle away the halyards!  Haul taut the braces!”

All this was done in half the time it takes to read it; and the light sails of the Josephine were furled.  The main gaff-topsail was taken in, and then the schooner had only her jib, foresail, and mainsail.  It was not necessary to take these in until the peril became more imminent; but Paul ordered the foresail to be lowered, and reefed, for the vessel was supposed to lie to best under this sail.  The Young America had furled everything except her topsails, jib, and spanker.

Professor Hamblin had not yet recovered from his astonishment, and he was as indignant as a learned Greek scholar could be.  Professor Stoute and himself were the only persons left in the steerage; but while the former laughed, the latter stormed.

“I have been insulted, Mr. Stoute,” said the learned gentleman.  “That boy has disobeyed me, as though I were a person of no consequence.”

“Why, he was perfectly respectful to you,” laughed the good-natured professor.  “You must remember that he is the captain of the ship, and that everything depends upon him.”

“He left the class contrary to my orders; and not satisfied with that, he calls all the rest of the students on deck,” added Mr. Hamblin, wrathfully.  “I had not finished the Greek lesson.”

“But there’s a squall coming up,” pleaded Mr. Stoute.

“What if there was a squall coming up.  The principal assured me there were hands enough on deck to work the vessel under all ordinary circumstances.”

“But you don’t understand the matter, Mr. Hamblin,” continued the jolly professor.

“Do you mean to insult me too, Mr. Stoute?” demanded the irate fountain-head of Greek literature.

“Certainly not; I beg your pardon, Mr. Hamblin,” replied Mr. Stoute, laughing more heartily than before.  “I do not profess to comprehend these nautical affairs; but I presume it was necessary to call all hands, or the captain would not have done so.”

“It was not necessary.  I am willing to take the responsibility of that assertion myself, and I shall report this disrespect and disobedience of the captain to Mr. Lowington.  If he chooses to sustain the delinquent in such gross misconduct, I will leave the vessel at the first port we enter.”

“Mr. Lowington will certainly do justice to both of you.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Stoute; he must do justice to me.  I have been a schoolmaster and a professor in college all my lifetime, and I do not wish to have any one speak of settling a case between me and one of my pupils.  There is only one side to such a question,” replied Mr. Hamblin, whose dignity was terribly damaged by the incident of the afternoon.

“Well, Mr. Hamblin, I wish to be respectful; but I also mean to be candid.  I feel compelled to say that I believe you are all wrong.”

“All wrong, sir!”

“Yes, sir; all wrong.  Look at the question for one moment.”

“I don’t wish to look at it.  Between teacher and pupil there can be no issues of any kind.  It is my place to command, my scholar’s to obey, in the school-room.”

“Now, really, Mr. Hamblin,” continued the laughing professor, rubbing his hands, as though he enjoyed the controversy, “while I agree with you on the general principle, I must differ from you in its application to this particular case.  Your pupil is the commander of the vessel.  Our very lives depend upon his prudence and skill.  It was necessary to take in sail.”

“Very well.  Wasn’t half the crew on deck for that purpose?” interposed Mr. Hamblin.

“But who shall determine whether it is necessary or not to take in sail?”

“The officer who has the care of the vessel for the time being, of course.  Then there are Mr. Cleats, and Mr. Gage, and the servants to help them reduce the sails, if needed.  There is not the least necessity for disturbing the classes.”

“But no one except the captain can give the order to take in a single sail in the daytime.  This vessel is under naval discipline, you are aware; but I think you cannot have read the rules.  Here they are,” added Mr. Stoute, taking the printed regulations of the ship from his pocket.  “Officer of the Deck.  He is not to make or take in sail in the daytime, except in a squall, without directions from the captain; but in the night he may take in sail, acquainting the captain with his reasons, which he must enter on the log.”

“Well, this is a squall-isn’t it?” growled Mr. Hamblin.

“Perhaps it will be; but it seems to me quite proper that the captain should go on deck when there is any danger.  For my part, I have some regard for my fat body, and I don’t care about leaving it here at the bottom of the German Ocean,” chuckled Mr. Stoute; and he always laughed with especial gusto when he had said anything which he thought was funny.  “The captain can leave any of my classes when he is sent for to look out for the vessel.”

“Mr. Stoute, this is a question of discipline; and higher considerations than those of merely personal comfort and security should be brought to bear upon it.  It would be impossible for me to impart to my pupils a knowledge of that noblest language of the historic past, if they are to be permitted to leave the class when they choose to do so.  I shall refer this matter to Mr. Lowington for his decision.  He must suspend the captain, or he must suspend me.  If I cannot control my scholars, I will not attempt to instruct.  It would be preposterous to do so.  I shall take a boat, and go on board of the ship at once, for this difficulty admits of no delay.”

Professor Hamblin, in high dudgeon, took his hat, and went up the ladder.  Mr. Stoute shook his fat sides, laughing at the ire of his distinguished and learned associate.  He was desirous of seeing his companion start for the ship in the approaching tempest, and he followed him on deck.

“Captain Kendall,” said Mr. Hamblin, sternly, as he walked up to the young commander, heedless of the rattling thunder and the flashing lightning.

Paul bowed politely, and looked at the professor, intimating that he was ready to hear him.  It was noticeable that Mr. Hamblin always called the commander “Mr. Kendall” when he was in the steerage attending to his studies, and “Captain Kendall” on deck, or in the cabin.  The professor intended to indicate, by this choice of terms, that he was captain during school hours.

“Captain Kendall, I desire a boat immediately,” added Mr. Hamblin.

“A boat!” exclaimed Paul, astonished at the request at such a time.

“I said a boat, Captain Kendall.  I purpose to refer the matter of your disobedience to Mr. Lowington without any unnecessary delay.”

“But, Mr. Hamblin, there is a squall coming up.”

“I am aware of that; but I demand the boat.”

“It would be dangerous, sir.  The boat would certainly be swamped.”

“I will take the responsibility of that.”

“I should be very happy to furnish the boat, sir; but I cannot expose a crew to such a storm as will soon break upon us,” replied Paul.

“You refuse-do you?” demanded the professor, angrily.

“I feel compelled to do so, sir.”

“In my hearing, Mr. Lowington instructed you to furnish the professors with a boat at any time when they desired it.”

“I will furnish the boat, sir; but I will not expose the crew to such peril.  I will hoist out the third cutter for you, sir, if you wish.”

“I demand a sufficient number of sailors to row the boat.”

“You will pardon me, sir; but I will not send any seamen into a boat until the squall is over.  It is unreasonable to ask such a thing.”

“Unreasonable, sir!  How dare you tell me I am unreasonable?” stormed the professor, stamping his foot upon the deck.

Paul bowed, but made no reply.  He was placed in a very disagreeable and painful position.  He knew that it was madness to send a boat off while the squall was impending.  Mr. Hamblin was wrathy.  The long billows were black and smooth, and the sails hung idly on the gaffs.  There was no danger then, and the learned gentleman had been so fortunate as never to see any of the perils of the ocean.  His passage to England in the steamer had been a remarkably pleasant one.  Nothing like a gale, or even a high wind, had interrupted its serenity, and the professor had imbibed a certain contempt for the perils of the ocean.  He had never seen them; and, if mere boys were able to work such a vessel as the Josephine, a learned man like himself need not tremble in their presence.