Here was a service that required cool heads,
honest hearts, and the highest technical skill, and the
men under him must be sound to the core. He intended
to do his duty, and so should every man
subject to his orders. The Government had trusted
him and he held himself responsible. This would
probably be his last duty, and it would be well done.
He was childless, sixty-five years old, and had been
idle for years. Now he would show his neighbors
something of his skill and his power to command.
He did not need the pay; he needed the occupation
and the being in touch with the things about him.
For the last fifteen or more years he had nursed a
sorrow and lived the life almost of a recluse. It
was time he threw it off.
During the first week of service, with his crew
about him, he explained to them in minute detail
their several duties. Each day in the week would
have its special work: Monday would be beach drill,
practising with the firing gun and line and the safety
car. Tuesday was boat drill; running the boat on
its wagon to the edge of the sea, unloading it, and
pushing it into the surf, each man in his place, oars
poised, the others springing in and taking their
seats beside their mates.
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