“I wish that man didn’t belong to the navy,” said Mrs. Somers to herself as she closed the door: “he will be certain to fill the boy’s head full of notions afore he gits back, and he’ll be more’n ever for going. Well, well, it can’t be helped. I hope the poor soldier will see his father afore it’s too late;” and she resumed her household duties in the kitchen. CHAPTER II. THE DASHAWAY IN A NOVEMBER GALE. John Somers had been as uneasy as a fish out of water ever since his brother went into the army; an event which had occurred the preceding spring. He was quite as patriotic as Thomas, and was just as desirous of doing something to help his struggling country in the hour of her peril. His tastes were for the sea; though he would rather have joined the army than not had a part in the glorious work of putting down the Rebellion. But his mother had steadily resisted his importunity, and the month of November found him still at home, an unwilling resident beneath the parental roof, discontented and unhappy even in the midst of those hallowed associations which make home the dearest spot on earth. If the summoning voice of his country was powerful, the gentle tones of his mother were more potent. Though he did not reason and philosophize on the subject, he felt that his mother was nearer to him than his country; yet he hoped that she would yet give her consent to his going into the navy. Pinchbrook was situated a few miles from Boston; and its port, which was dignified by the title of Pinchbrook Harbor, was located upon one of the arms of the sea connected with Boston Bay. It was a thriving little place; and, during the summer, John, besides taking care of his father’s little farm, had contrived to earn a few dollars by doing odd jobs in the village, and especially by acting as skipper, cook, or foremast-hand, on board the sail-boats and yachts of the place. He was a skillful boatman, and was thoroughly proficient in the science of nautical cooking. His chowders, fries, and battered-clams were entirely unexceptionable; and, at a pinch, he could bake a bluefish or make a batch of biscuit. But John was not satisfied with his achievements at Pinchbrook Harbor, and in the bay, nor with the proceeds of his labors. His wages in the navy, not to mention sundry huge expectations which he entertained of pocketing some enormously large dividends of prize-money, would yield a far better return for his labor. He was satisfied that he could do more for the support of his family away from home than he could by “loafing about Pinchbrook,” as he modestly designated his humble operations; and, when he left the cottage with Lieutenant Bankhead, he fully believed that the something had turned up for which he had so impatiently waited for months.