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Updated: September 27, 2025
The door of the little wheel-house where the captain had now taken his stand, commanded a view of Main Street rising up from the water, and no native of Algonquin could do him the injustice to suppose that he would sail away while any one was waving to him from the hill. A half dozen women were signalling him now, and the captain blew a reassuring blast.
"Who's the captain here?" called Dave, racing across the landing stage to the tender's gangplank. "I am, sir," replied a portly, red-faced Englishman, leaning out of the wheel-house window. "What'll you charge to land us in haste aboard the American battleship 'Massachusetts'?" asked Darrin eagerly.
The north is all right in a way, but for a girl such as I am the life is too narrow. It is a splendid region for a person who wishes to lead the quiet life, but I am not ready for that at present." Weston made no reply to his daughter's words, but remained silent for some time as he stood with Sconda in the wheel-house.
The nights were more glorious than the days, when the broad full moon would shed her light upon the water with a brilliancy unknown in our foggy clime. It did not look like a wan flat surface, placed flat upon a watery sky, but like a large radiant sphere hanging in space. The view from the wheel-house was magnificent.
He could feel the care with which the Nome was picking her way northward. Her engines were thrumming softly, and her movement was a slow and cautious glide, catlike and slightly trembling, as if every pound of steel in her were a living nerve widely alert. He knew Captain Rifle would not be asleep and that straining eyes were peering into the white gloom from the wheel-house.
I had been standing by my father near the wheel-house all this while, observing things with that nicety of perception which belongs only to children; but now the dew began falling, and we went below to have supper. The fresh fruit and milk, and the slices of cold chicken, looked very nice; yet somehow I had no appetite There was a general smell of tar about everything.
The boat had forged several hundred yards into the stream. I could see the wharf-boat with its glaring lights. I could even see human forms standing along its deck, but I could no longer distinguish that one that my eyes were in search of. Disappointed I stepped on to the hurricane-deck, which was almost a continuation of the roof of the wheel-house.
Collier and his wife rose at the same moment and departed on separate errands. They met most mysteriously in the shadow of the wheel-house. "What is it? Is anything wrong with Florence?" Collier asked, anxiously. "Not homesick, is she?" Mrs. Collier put her hands on her husband's shoulders and shook her head. "Wrong? No, thank Heaven! it's as right as right can be!" she cried.
Judging from the appearance of the boat, the dinner might have been an experiment, but we ran no risks. It was enough to sit on deck forward of the wheel-house, and absorb, by all the senses, the delicious day. With such weather perpetual and such scenery always present, sin in this world would soon become an impossibility.
The anchor was up almost as soon as they got on to the bridge, and Oscarovitch moved the pointer of the telegraph to "Ahead slow." The quartermaster in the oval wheel-house behind him moved the little wheel a few spokes to starboard, her mellow whistle tooted, and she glided in an outward curve through the other yachts and shipping, and gained the open water.
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