XVIII.ECHOES OF WAR.

“I SUPPOSE, Captain,” said Dr. Hartel to Allan, “that if we have war—”

“If we have war!” cried Allan; “wemusthave war. They have blown up one of our battle ships!”

“Well,” said the Doctor, quietly, “we don’t know that yet. And I should hardly say that we must have war. War is a very serious business.”

“I think we ought to make it very serious for the other side,” insisted Allan, heatedly.

“It would be very serious for both sides,” said the Doctor. “I was going to say that I supposed you would want to go to the front with your camera. There seems to be no doubt of that.”

“I should rather go with a gun,” said Allan.

“With your kodak on your shoulder?”

“You are making fun of me, father.”

“I hope you don’t wish me to take you seriously.”

“No,” interposed Edith; “no one shall take him seriously. The idea! If he talks war like this, we’ll lock him up in the dark-room.”

“With nothing to eat but pyro and hypo,” laughed Mrs. Hartel.

“Look out!” pursued the Doctor, with a twinkle in his eye, “or the Captain may indignantly resign his commission.”

“Anyway,” said Allan, “if I was a few years older, I’d join Company K.”

The fate of theMaineand the prospect of war entirely changed the current of photographic enthusiasm at the club. The boys, especially, turned unanimously to war themes. Owen had made some pictures at the Brooklyn Navy Yard when he first had his camera. He had a picture of theBostontaking coal, and another showing the terrible twin guns in the forward turret of theNew York. At the second lantern show in February, Major Mines displayed the mechanism of some of the rapid-fire guns, and had a capital plate showing the disappearing gun at Sandy Hook. The pictures were all quite warlike at this February meeting.

At the March meetings there came pictures of the forts in the harbor, camera sketches by Mr. Thornton from the State Camp at Peekskill the year before, and Mrs. Creigh’s picture made on the deck of theMaine.

Then came the declaration of war, the thrill of Dewey’s victory at Manila, the capture of the first sea prizes, the stir and excitement of recruiting. Big McConnell joined Company K.

Hazenfield broke out with all sorts of flags. Little McConnell boasted that he hoisted the first flag in thetown; though this seemed to be a matter of debate, since Allan had swung out the Hartel flag immediately after breakfast on reading of the actual declaration of war.

“The ‘sky scrapers.’”

For the next six months a large proportion of Allan’s pictures had flags in them. Indeed, there was a great deal of flag in everything for a time. When Allan was in New York in July and looked up at the “sky scrapers,” the sky seemed full of flags.

Of course the boys of the club lamented that they could not be at the front. The next best thing was to go to the camps; and this they did, and found the soldiers so accustomed to cameras that being photographed seemed to cause them no uneasiness or resentment whatever.

A “snap” at a cruiser.

The chief trouble, Allan found, was that he had to promise a good many prints to different soldiers who stood for him or helped him with groups and camp scenes. He had learned that promising prints is one of the most entertaining features of photography, and that keeping the promises is one of the most troublesome.However, a soldier seemed to deserve a print if he wanted it, and Allan never promised prints with more of genuine willingness than during the exciting weeks of the war.

It was at the Hempstead Camp that Allan, McConnell, and Owen found Big McConnell, who had become a corporal, and who was glad to show the boys around.

“I’m dead tired of this show,” grumbled Big McConnell. “I wish they’d send us somewhere. The rations are spoiling my naturally sweet disposition. You didn’t happen to see the pie-woman, did you, as you came in?”

“No,” said Allan.

“I’m looking for her about now,” went on Big McConnell. “I need pie, I do.”

“Doesn’t the cook give you pie once in a while?”

“Pie?” shouted Big McConnell. “Well, I guess not. I wish you could photograph the slush we had for dinner. You would need an orthochromatic plate and a microscopic lens.”

“Did you finish the box mother sent down?” asked Little McConnell.

“Finish it?” His brother looked down in dramatic disdain. “Young fellow, I was eating the nails in the cover before eleven o’clock the next day.”

“I wonder what makes you so hungry?” said Little McConnell.

The Corporal pointed across the field where the second battalion was drilling. “That, for one thing. Did you ever stop to think how heavy a musket is, and how many times its weight doubles in an hour’s drill?”

Across the company street Corporal Dacey wasshowing his cousin Cora how to hold a musket, and they all laughed at Cora’s brave attempt to ignore the weight of the weapon.

“How to hold a musket.”

Over by the Y. M. C. A. tent Big McConnell found the pie-woman, and they all went to work on pie of various denominations.

“What kind is yours?” asked Owen of the Corporal.

“I don’t know,” grunted Big McConnell, his mouth full. “All pie tastes alike to me. What’s the Captain doing?”

This meant Allan, who had slipped off with his camera. McConnell, who went to reconnoitre, reported that Allan was taking a group of soldiers. The Corporal looked out. “The old guard,” he said.

“What is the ‘old guard’?” asked Owen.

“They are changing the guard,” replied the Corporal. “This is the guard that has just come off duty. I shouldn’t think there was light enough left for a picture.”

The day had almost gone, and in half an hour the boys were on the train again on their way back to New York, where the newsboys were shouting about battles, and the papers had stupendous news eight inches high.

“I hear,” said Owen, “that our smoky powder is making it awfully hard for anybody to get good bombardment pictures.” Allan thought it would be hard to report a bombardment from the ship that was doing the bombarding. “But I can’t see,” he said, “why they shouldn’t get good shots from the boats that were looking on.” “I tell you what I’d like to have had,” said McConnell, “and that was a good chance at that Matanzas mule when the shell hit him!”

“‘The old guard.’”

Both Allan and McConnell were greatly interested in the war-ships, and read news of their doings with particular attention. When the victorious ships of Sampson’s fleet returned northward, the club hired a launch and went down the river to see and picture the inspiriting naval parade. The scenes in the bay and up the river to Grant’s tomb furnished material for one of the most beautiful lantern displays the club ever held.

Allan determined to make a special trip to see andto photograph theOregon, of which he was a great admirer, because “the bull-dog of the navy” seemed to embody so much of what was most American in the United States battle ships. When theOregonandIowaafterward came out of dry dock, and were ordered away to Manila, Allan and McConnell started off early one morning for Tompkinsville, Staten Island, off which town the war-ships were to anchor.

It happened, however, that theIowahad not yet come into the bay, though theBrooklynwas there, and the boys recognized the graceful prow of theGloucester, the plucky little converted yacht that had figured so prominently and creditably at the sinking of Cervera’s fleet.

It was theOregon, however, that the boys most wished to see more of, and to photograph at close quarters.

The boatmen at Tompkinsville had been charging high prices since the fighting ships had anchored off shore, and the boys were a little discouraged in their first inquiries.

In the midst of their discouragement a sailorish-looking man on one of the docks asked them if they wanted a cheap boat. This was precisely what the boys did want, and they indicated the fact to the sailorish-looking man, who thereupon lifted his finger and motioned to the boys to follow him.

The boys followed their guide for some distance and finally reached a low-roofed shop where a man with a pipe was scraping an oar. This man had a dory, but he would not rent it unless he went with it. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he said, “I’ll row you around all the ships for a dollar.”

“No,” said Allan, “that’s too much.”

“The graceful prow of theGloucester.”

“Too much!” cried the man who had a dory, “why, I have been getting a dollar and a half a trip. What did you expect to pay?”

“I expected to pay about fifty cents an hour,” admitted Allan. “And an hour was all we wanted.”

“Well, I’ll be losin’ money,” said the man; “but call it seventy-five cents.”

The boys finally agreed to these terms and were soon afloat with the dory, the man pulling at the oars and asking questions about the cameras.

“Sakes alive!” he said, “but there’s been camera cranks around here. It must be lots of fun, though.” There was a strong tide and the man had to bend hard at the oars while Allan and McConnell adjusted their cameras and peeped at the war-ships with the aid of their finders.

It was rather a misty morning. There was a peculiar silvery light on the water and the ships looked queerly on the shadow side next the shore. TheGloucesterwas dainty and trim. To make the glimpse of her more entertaining, a message arrived on a launch, and within five minutes the anchor had been lifted and she steamed away, evidently toward the Brooklyn Yard. TheBrooklyn, with the shot-hole in her smoke-stack (carefully pointed out by the man of the dory), floated quietly at her moorings. There was bustle on theOregon—and it was washday, evidently.

“I wonder,” said Allan, resentfully, “why they always have their wash out when a fellow wants to make pictures?”

The man of the dory laughed. He couldn’t explain it, he said.

“How near do you want to get?” he asked.“I want a good full-length picture,” said Allan. “I think we are far enough away from her now if you will pull south a little ways.”

When they had pulled south for a short distance Allan found that the three hundred feet of theOregonrequired a long range, and the man swung the bow again to the east.

They had made several shots from their seats; but Allan now stood on the forward seat, the man slowing down again as Allan got the range.

“I’ll steady you,” said McConnell, bracing Allan and watching theOregonas her lines swung into favorable view.

“Click!” sounded the camera, and Allan rolled the film for another shot, this time getting an almost perfect profile of the ship.

“Now, McConnell, I’ll steady you.”

“Oh, never mind,” said McConnell, confidently; “I think I could stand better alone.”

“Pull up a few strokes,” Allan suggested to the oars-man, for the tide was carrying them north. “Better let me hold you, McConnell.”

But McConnell, who was studying his finder, protested that he was all right. And he did make a successful shot with no more assistance than Allan’s one hand at his back—assistance which he seemed to feel that he might have done without. Yet his confidence, if it had not been too great when he occupied a place on the seat, made him reckless in the moment of his success; for in stepping down his foot slipped, and the quick turn which he made to save himself sent him into the bay.

“‘I’ll steady you,’ said McConnell.”

Allan sprang forward to reach McConnell, and the boatman tugged at the oars in the moment of confusionwhen he did not realize on which side of the stern the boy had fallen. There was a stir among the jackies in the starboard bow of theOregon.

“I’m all right!” shouted McConnell.

Allan had caught an oar from the boatman’s hand and now held it within McConnell’s reach.

“I don’t want that!” laughed McConnell, as he swam to the side of the dory. But he consented to let the boatman and Allan lift him over the side.

“Pull ashore!” said Allan to the boatman. “We must get these clothes dry somehow.”

“Well, we had all we wanted everyway, didn’t we?” said McConnell, trying to wring some of the water out of his clothes. “Wasn’t it good that the camera dropped into the boat!”

Allan had scarcely noticed what became of the camera. He had a feeling of being responsible in some degree for McConnell’s mishap, and realized that the wet clothes must be removed at the earliest possible moment, for it was a cool morning that threatened a chill.

As the boatman pulled under the bow of theOregon, there was a shout from some of the jackies, and McConnell waved his hat, which the boatman had recovered with his oar.

“And so,” said McConnell to his mother that afternoon, “we went to the boatman’s shop and he rubbed me down with a dirty, rough towel, and put my clothes to dry by the stove while I sat on a stool with Allan’s coat and an old pair of overalls on, and something like a boat sail wrapped around me. Then Allan got me a cup of tea and a sandwich from a restaurant. It was great fun; and we’ve got all the ships!”

Allan’s report was somewhat different, naturally, but it was fully as enthusiastic in the matter of the pictures of the famous ships.

As for McConnell, he dried off so thoroughly in the boatman’s shop that he suffered not a whit from his ducking.

“There’s no harm in a salt-water wetting,” he said, “and I got a good snap-shot at the war-ships, anyhow.”

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