We left Dan curled up in a bunk, wondering how long it would be before the schooner would go to the bottom.
"What's that?" exclaimed Dan, starting up from the narrow berth on which he was sitting.
He had heard a crash and felt a jar that was different from the shocks he had been experiencing for the last half hour.
Suddenly the Battleship Boy leaped from the berth, splashing into the water knee deep, as another shock, more violent than the other, set the doomed schooner trembling from stem to stern.
"Another mast has gone by the board," he groaned.
"Bang!"
The sound was accompanied by a ripping and rending of woodwork as if the vessel were being torn apart by some strange, wonderful power.
"I can't stand this any longer. I've got to go on deck and find out what is occurring, even if I am swept overboard. I'm not going to die down in this hole anyway. It's no way for a jackie in Uncle Sam's Navy to end his life. Tommy, you'll have to get along the best way you can. Good-bye if I do not see you again."
There was a note of regret in the Battleship Boy's tone, as his glance lingered half regretfully on the ugly face of the parrot.
"Lubber!" retorted the indignant parrot.
"I guess I am all you accuse me of being," answered Dan with a mirthless laugh.
Running up the companionway he crouched under the hatchway, listening in order to determine whether a wave were washing over the ship or just leaving the stern. Having decided on this, the lad quickly threw open the hatch and sprang out on deck.
A cold blast of salt spray smote him full in the face. Dan cleared his eyes and glanced about him inquiringly. He was able to see but little of deck or mast, but he felt quite sure that only one of the latter had been left standing.
There was a sudden angry flash off to port.
"Lightning," muttered Dan. "We're going to have a thunderstorm to add to my other troubles."
No sooner were the words out of his mouth than the ship received a shock so sudden and violent as to throw the boy flat on his face on the deck.
"That's the time we were struck," he cried, springing up.
Indeed the "Oriole" had been struck, but not in the way that Dan Davis thought. Instead of being struck by lightning another projectile from the seven-inch gun had torn its way through the stricken schooner.
Dan never had been under fire; in fact, he never had taken part in target practice, so he knew little of what big-gun fire was like.
A beam from a searchlight smote his face.
"The 'Long Island'!" he fairly shouted. "They're coming back for me. Tom," he yelled, poking his head in through the hatchway, "they're coming after us. We shall yet be saved."
"Get out!" answered the parrot in a shrill screaming voice.
Dan dropped the hatchway, straightened up and shading his eyes as he gazed off across the waste of waters. Just then he caught sight of another of those sharp flashes that he had taken for lightning. This time he saw that the flash had come directly from the battleship itself. At the same instant he experienced another of those terrific shocks, this one sending him staggering to the rail.
The truth suddenly dawned upon him.
"They are shooting at me!" he gasped. "But why are they doing that terrible thing?"
Dan pondered over this for a full moment.
"I know," he cried. "They are trying to sink the schooner, to get her out of the way, so that no other ship will run into her in the darkness. Well, I certainly am in a fine fix. Not being able to drown myself in a respectable way, the ship has come to my help by shooting at me. I wonder what gun they are doing it with? It must be the twelve-inch, judging——"
"Bang! Crash!"
"There she goes again."
The schooner heeled until the lad was sure that she was going to turn turtle. The Battleship Boy felt a shiver running up and down his spine.
"If I had a light I might signal them and attract their attention. I don't believe they are able to pick me up with the searchlight. If they saw me they surely would not keep on shooting at me."
Dan hastened to the cabin below. There was not a lantern to be found so he grabbed up the cuddy lamp and ran to the deck with it. The instant he reached the deck the wind blew the light out.
The boy put the lamp down on the deck and crept over to the port rail which was the side nearest to the distant battleship.
Once more the seven-inch gun let go, the projectile going just a little high and cutting a gash in the deck as it went screaming over, losing itself in the sea off to starboard somewhere.
"About six feet nearer, and my name would have been Dennis," muttered the lad.
He remembered, afterwards, that he had not experienced any feeling of fear. The sensation of being under fire, and that with the knowledge that a battleship was trying to sink the vessel under him, filled him with awe and curiosity. Dan found himself wondering just how long it would take for the guns of the warship to put the schooner under. Had she not been loaded with lumber the schooner no doubt would have gone down under the first projectile that struck her.
"My, but those boys can shoot," he muttered with a feeling of pride. "Ah, that one went too high. Lower, lower!" fairly screamed the boy.
"Crash!"
"That's the time you did it," he shouted exultantly, picking himself up from the deck, his clothing torn, his body scratched from the splinters that the projectile had rained over him in a perfect shower. "A few more shots like that and you'll have her. But I'm glad there isn't any flag flying here. I'd have to take it down. I couldn't stand it to see them shooting at the Stars and Stripes."
The next shot tore away a large section of the rail on the port side, and seemed at the same time to have twisted the ship about.
But Dan was clinging to a stanchion, which fact saved him from being again thrown to the deck.
"I guess they must have decided to cease firing," he said. "I hope they haven't given it up. I know I shall be disappointed. How I wish I were at that gun! Wouldn't it be fun! I believe I could shoot as straight as they do. But——"
Dan did not finish the sentence. There came a report more terrific than those that had preceded it. The stanchion to which the lad bad been clinging suddenly doubled over, striking him on the head, felling him to the deck. The schooner lurched heavily, and, settling over on her starboard side, slipped slowly down a great sloping hill of water into a deep hollow of the sea. But Dan Davis lay still. The blow on his head had been a cruel one, the iron stanchion having been struck by a projectile from one of the seven-inch guns and bent double.
The first gray streaks of the dawn were shooting up from the angry sea when Dan opened his eyes again. His first sensation was that of choking. He was, indeed, choking, for the deck on which he lay was a river of salt water. The lad, in falling, had become wedged between the rails, this being the only thing that had kept him from being washed overboard.
The lad's first thought was that he was drowning. Soon, however, he managed to get his eyes open sufficiently to examine his surroundings.
There was gray, turbulent water wherever the eye roamed, a waste of foaming sea, here and there heaping itself into great dark piles that seemed to tower higher than the masts of a ship.
"It's a wonder I'm alive," exclaimed the Battleship Boy, as he began extricating himself from his uncomfortable position. "The sea is not nearly so high as it was last night, and this old craft is still on its legs. That is the most surprising thing about the whole business."
Dan got to his feet, but he was very unsteady. His first business was to look over the ship and make up his mind how badly she had been hurt by the fire of the battleship. Wreck and ruin greeted him on every hand. The decks were a mass of tangled wreckage, broken masts, twisted stanchions and knotted ropes. In several places the decks were ripped wide open, the lumber beneath them split and torn into shreds.
Peering over the side, the lad discovered a jagged hole in the hull, through which the water rushed with every roll of the ship.
The "Oriole" was lying well over on her side, threatening every instant to complete the job by turning over entirely. Dan surveyed the ship with critical eyes.
"I see now what has saved me. It is the lumber. The schooner was so far down in the sea, too, that the shots from the battleship could do her little serious damage. I wonder why they ceased firing. They must have thought we were sinking. Well, anyway, I'm still afloat, I wish I could see the sun so I could guess where I am."
Dan consulted the compass critically, learning that the battered hulk was headed southeast. He tried the steering wheel, making the discovery that the ship's rudder had not been torn off. He uttered an exclamation.
"I wonder if I could do it?" he muttered. "The land lies somewhere to the southwest. I know we are not far from the coast, for we sighted a lighthouse yesterday afternoon."
The stump of a mast was still standing, the stick having broken off about thirty feet from the deck.
Dan, after a moment's reflection, ran below. Wading about in the cuddy and storeroom in water up to his armpits, he found that of which he was in search. He staggered to the deck, dragging a jib sail after him. It was no slight effort to carry the heavy canvas, but the lad accomplished it.
Now his purpose became evident. After great exertion he managed to climb the slippery mast, carrying a block and tackle with him. The roll of the ship made his task doubly difficult, but Dan pluckily held on, weak and lame as he was. He knew no such word as "fail." When he set about a certain task he did so with perfect confidence in himself. He knew he should succeed.
"There. I'm not a half-bad sailor, after all," he cried, dropping to the deck.
His next duty was to carry a rope from the sail that he had fastened to the stump of the mast, back to the steering wheel, first having passed the rope through tackle that he had made secure to a stanchion. Taking it all in all, he had accomplished something that would have been a credit to a much more experienced seaman.
But Dan had not quite finished with his preparations. He was eyeing the heavy mast that lay lengthwise of the deck, amidst a tangled mass of ropes and stays.
Procuring an axe from the deck house he cut the mast free; then, rigging some tackle, he worked with the stick until at last he had dumped it over the stern into the sea. Before doing so, however, he had made fast a line to it, securing the line at the stern of the schooner before launching the spar. The "Oriole" steadied considerably under the influence of the dragging spar.
"Now, for the experiment!" cried Dan almost joyously. "I don't know, but perhaps the minute I get some wind in the sail the whole outfit will turn turtle. At least, that will be better than waiting for the ship to do so of her own accord."
He drew the sail taut, after a long, comprehensive glance over the deck, at the same time crowding the wheel over to port. Then followed a minute of anxious suspense. The sail slowly filled, the shattered bow gradually swung about. With a "splash, splash, splash!" the battered hulk of the wrecked, shot-riddled "Oriole" began to move.
"Hip, hip, hurrah!" shouted Dan Davis. "Right side up with care! Now, if we don't get any worse weather, we'll land somewhere, even if it's on the rocks."
Dan decided upon the course that he would follow if he could, and, watching the compass, held the "Oriole" to that course as closely as possible.
All during that day the sea continued gray and angry, the clouds hung low and the sea gulls swept screaming by him, bound for still water. Dan remained steadfast to his vigil, watching sea and sky and sail with keen, observant eyes. He could not tell how fast he was traveling, but so long as the schooner was under motion he did not care particularly. There was no sight of land, but still he might be within three or four miles of the coast and yet be unable to sight it, for the "Oriole" was low in the water.
Now and then, as the schooner rose on a swell, he would catch sight of a wisp of smoke on the far-off horizon, showing that steamers were working their way up or down the coast.
Dan began to feel faint and hungry. He decided to look for food. Lashing the wheel he went below and began his search in the dark, water-logged interior of the ship.
"Git out!" shrieked the parrot.
"I'm going to, just as soon as I find a cracker."
The parrot shrieked with rage, which caused the Battleship Boy to laugh almost happily.
After some searching about the lad came upon a tin case of hard tack that had not been water-soaked. A piece of this he gave to the parrot, the rest being stuffed into his own pockets. Then Dan returned to his wheel.
It was late that afternoon when the lad caught sight of something ahead in the distance that attracted his attention instantly. He sprang up to the broken rail, and, supporting himself by a twisted stanchion, peered into the midst of the spray.
"Land ho!" he shouted. "I think I see a light house."
Dan danced about the deck gleefully, for a moment, then grabbed the wheel.
"Gid-dap! You're a slow old poke," he jeered.
After a time he was able to make out the beacon more clearly.
"Somehow, that light house looks familiar to me," he muttered. "I know I have seen it before. Why, of course; I know where I am now. Hurrah! We're headed for the Delaware Breakwater. If I keep on in this way I'll be in Philadelphia—in the course of time," he added with a broad grin.
As Dan Davis and his derelict craft drew nearer and nearer he discovered something else that caused him to gaze fixedly. What he saw was the towering cage masts of a battleship.
"Saved!" cried the Battleship Boy. "And it's the 'Long Island.' I know it is. Won't they be surprised to see me, though? They must have gone in there to get out of the gale."
The lad was swelling with pride. He had accomplished a great feat, and he knew it.
By this time glasses from the warship were being leveled at the strange craft that was to be seen floundering through the sea, headed for the harbor where the battleship was at anchor. The officer of the deck sent word to the captain, who was below, and the captain, after one look at the wreck approaching, sent for the executive officer.
"What do you make of her, Mr. Coates?" he questioned.
The executive officer took a long, searching look at the schooner, then turned wonderingly toward his superior.
"It's our schooner 'Oriole,' unless I am greatly mistaken, sir."
"You don't mean it?"
"I may be mistaken, but it looks very much like her."
"But we smashed the hulk of the 'Oriole,' Mr. Coates. We saw her go under."
"If we did she has pulled herself together and come back from Davy Jones's Locker to a certainty. There's a man at the wheel, sir. I believe that is Seaman Davis."
"Send a boat's crew out to meet her at once."
A cutter was quickly launched. By this time the rails of the battleship were crowded with jackies. The word had been passed around that the strange craft was none other than the schooner that officers and crew supposed they had broken to pieces in the gale the night before.
Officers, through their glasses, saw the cutter run alongside the schooner. Then, with the lone mariner on board, they began the return trip to the battleship. The cutter came alongside, a few minutes later, and Seaman Daniel Davis ran up the sea ladder, leaped through the rope railing and came to attention before the commander of the battleship.
The instant his salute was returned, Dan ran to the port side of the after deck, where stood a child, clinging to its mother's hand.
"Young lady," he said, "I've brought your parrot to you. But I must say he has about the worst disposition of any parrot that I ever knew."
Dan handed the parrot over to the eager hands of the child.
"Lubber!" shrieked the parrot, making a vicious grab for the Battleship Boy's hand.
The jackies of the "Long Island" set up a mighty cheer that was heard far off on the mainland, wafted there by the quarter gale that was still blowing. At the same time one by one the officers strode forward, grasping the hand of the plucky lad, showering him with congratulations. Dan Davis had performed a feat that would be talked of on shore as well as on the high seas for a long time to come.
"Ord'ly," called the captain sharply.
"Aye, aye, sir."
"Tell the master-at-arms to see to it that Seaman Davis gets a warm meal, the best that the ship affords, and at once. Davis, you will draw a suit of clothes from the canteen at my expense. Yours are ruined. After that you will turn in and stay there till to-morrow morning."
Dan saluted gravely.
As the hulk of the "Oriole" would be dangerous to navigation, she was towed within the Delaware Breakwater and delivered to the proper authorities, and the passengers and crew of the ill-starred schooner went ashore.
That night being Saturday the crew gave a banquet in honor of the Battleship Boy, following it with an entertainment. There were songs, buck and wing dancing, a little playlet and a lively boxing bout.
Dan was dragged to the stage amid loud demands for a speech.
"Tell us how you did it," shouted the jackies. "Tell us all about it."
The Battleship Boy blushed furiously.
"Mates, I can't do it. I—I——" then Dan fled. They found him, an hour later, hiding in the twelve-inch gun turret.
The officers, however, felt a keen professional interest in the lad's accomplishment, and especially in the effect on the schooner of the big gun-fire. Hardly a man of all that crew of eight hundred men and officers ever had stood on the deck of a ship that was being bombarded by heavy projectiles.
Dan was summoned to the captain's quarters. There, in the presence of the senior officers, he related in a clear, comprehensive manner all that had occurred, describing in detail the shock when the projectiles hit the schooner; giving as nearly as possible the degree of list that had followed and the number of hits. His technical knowledge was a surprise to the ship's officers. Such knowledge was unusual in a seaman, showing, as it did, that the lad had used his eyes and his brain to good purpose since he had been on shipboard. As a matter of fact, Dan had been studying ever since his enlistment. He had spent all his leisure moments in studying the technical works with which the ship's library was equipped, asking questions of the petty officers, until he had informed himself far beyond his grade.
Both lads had by this time risen to the grade of full seamen, which carried with it a substantial increase in pay.
"What, in your opinion, prevented our fire from sinking the schooner?" questioned the captain.
"Why, the fact that the boat was loaded with lumber was all that kept her afloat, sir. Then, again, her hull lay so low in the water that the projectiles had no opportunity to do effective work. If you had elevated the seven-inch and dropped a projectile or so on the deck of the schooner, I might not have been here to tell you about what happened," added Dan with a suggestive smile.
The captain smiled at his executive officer.
"That is most excellent logic, Mr. Coates."
"Yes, sir."
"I think we shall have to make a full report of this to the Navy Department. Prepare a statement from what Seaman Davis has told us, together with any further technical information he may be able to give you. At the same time full credit should be given to Seaman Davis for his splendid work. Young man, I congratulate you. You are not unknown to me. I well recall other fine deeds on your part performed some time since. I trust you suffered no injury during your trying experience."
"No, sir."
"You are interested in guns?"
"Very deeply interested."
"But you have not been stationed at one of the guns?"
"No, sir."
"Would you like to be? Would you prefer to be a member of a gun crew?"
"It has been my ambition to join a gun crew, sir. I feel that I should do well in that position."
"Then you shall. Coates, will you be good enough to tell the ship's writer to enter Seaman Davis as a member of the starboard seven-inch crew?"
"Yes, sir."
"Thank you, sir," answered the Battleship Boy, his eyes gleaming with pleasure. "I shall try not to be a discredit to the seven-inch, sir."
"You will not. That goes without saying."
"May I ask a favor, sir?"
"Certainly. What is it?"
"Will it be possible for my friend, Seaman Hickey, to have a place in that gun squad?"
"I think that can be arranged," answered the captain with an indulgent smile. "Has your friend also a desire to learn to shoot?"
"Yes, sir."
"His desire shall be gratified. And, as for you, Davis, continue in the way you have started and there is little doubt as to where you will eventually bring up. I shall watch your career with deep interest. I always take an interest in the young men who are striving to work themselves up. If I can be of assistance to you, at any time, communicate in the proper manner, and I shall be glad to do all I can for you."
Dan rose, for they had invited him to be seated when he first entered the cabin. He came to stiff attention, saluted and, when the commanding officer waved his hand, the Battleship Boy executed a smart right-about-face and marched from the room.
On the following morning Dan and Sam were marched to the quarter-deck with the seven-inch starboard gun crew at muster. They were proud boys, too, and, after quarters, they proceeded directly to their station, where they spent the forenoon receiving instruction under the captain of the gun's crew.
Dan fondled the great gun almost affectionately. It already had become a thing of life to him, for had not this same gun been thundering away at him, hurling projectiles at him in a determined effort to sink the ship under him, only a few hours before?
"Rather be at this end than the other, wouldn't you?" questioned Sam Hickey, with a grin.
"Yes; now that I have had time to think the matter over, I believe I prefer this end," laughed Dan. "It was not so bad, though. You see, I never had been under fire before, and I was interested. It was a new experience."
"One that few of us have had," spoke up the gun captain.
"I know I should have run away if I had been there," decided Sam, with a thoughtful shake of the head.
"Where would you have run to?" demanded Dan, at which there was a laugh all around.
Sam was sitting on the deck of the turret, industriously at work polishing the brass tompion with which the end of the gun is plugged to keep out the sea water.
Finishing his task, he turned up the tompion and sat down on it, as with chin in hands he listened to the conversation.
"Makes a good seat, eh?" he grinned, as he saw the eyes of the gun captain upon him.
"You will not think so if you damage the tompion. Get off from it. Do you know what those things are worth?"
"'Bout a dollar and a half," answered Sam rather contemptuously. "I could buy enough to fit the ship with on a month's pay."
"You could, eh?"
"Yes."
"You will have a chance to buy one if you are not careful. Those tompions cost twenty-five dollars apiece, and I ought to know, for I dropped one overboard once and it was checked up against me."
Sam uttered a low whistle of surprise, then very gingerly carried the brass plug outside and inserted it in the muzzle of the big gun. As he did so Sam half turned his head, finding himself looking into the eyes of a dark-faced fellow, who was lounging against the rail.
"Hello, Blackie," greeted the red-haired boy.
The dark-faced boy scowled. He was one of two Hawaiians who had joined the ship about the same time that the Battleship Boys had come aboard. One of the Hawaiians was very dark and the other almost white, so the jackies named them Black and White, these names being easier of pronunciation than were the real names of the men.
As it chanced, both Black and White had been shifted from the seven-inch gun crew to make room for Dan and Sam, while the Pacific Islanders were set to scrubbing decks and doing general work about the ship.
The men did not dare rebel, but they had been ugly ever since the change had been made, and Sam's grin did not tend to make Black any the less ugly.
"I said 'hello,'" repeated Sam.
Still the Hawaiian made no reply. He simply scowled—scowled until his face was ridged with sharp wrinkles.
"Don't you know how to salute, my man?" urged Sam, with the superior air that he had seen some officers employ.
"Me know."
"Then salute your superior."
"No salute you. You nothing but red-head."
"Oh, that's it, is it? Because I'm a red-head you won't salute me? Well, let me tell you, I had a sight rather have a red head than some other colors that I know about."
Sam turned on his heel and strode into the gun turret without another word. He did not realize that he had made an enemy of the dark-skinned Hawaiian, an enemy who would never forget to do him an injury. Perhaps Sam would not have cared had he known.
A few moments later the gun captain emerged from the turret and stood leaning over the rail of the ship, looking into the water, one hand resting lightly on the muzzle of the seven-inch gun. Suddenly his hand slipped and went right into the muzzle.
The gun captain withdrew the hand with a surprised look on his face.
"What's this?" he muttered. "What did that red-head do with the tompion, I wonder!"
He glanced about the deck, and, failing to discover the brass gun plug, hurriedly entered the turret where Sam was now engaged in polishing the bright work on the gun butt.
"Hickey!"
"Yes, sir."
"What did you do with that tompion after you polished it?"
"The plug, you mean?"
"Yes."
"Why, I put it back where it belongs."
"Where, I asked you?"
"I stuck it in the gun."
"Come out here."
The gun captain led Sam to the outer deck, and, taking hold of the boy's arm, pointed to the muzzle of the seven-inch.
"Do you see any tompion in that gun?" he demanded.
"N-n-n-no," answered Sam hesitatingly.
"Now, tell me where you put it."
"I told you once. I put it in the muzzle. Where did you think I put it!"
"I did not think. But it is now my opinion that you dropped it overboard."
"I did nothing of the sort," protested Hickey indignantly.
"You were the last man to handle the plug, were you not?"
"Y-e-s."
"Where is it?"
"I—I don't know."
"That will cost you twenty-five, young man. You will no doubt be put on the list for a reprimand, if not worse. That's all I've got to say to you."
Sam stood with both hands thrust in his trousers' pockets, gazing absently off to sea.
"Almost a whole month's pay gone to grass," he muttered. "Shoot the whole business!"
An hour later Sam Hickey ran across the fellow Black on the superstructure.
"See here, Blackie."
Black moved on as if he had not heard. A second later Sam had him by the collar.
"You wait a minute. I've got something to say to you."
Black halted because the grip on his collar forced him to do so, but he turned an angry face on the Battleship Boy.
"I'm in a fix, Blackie, and you've got to help me out."
Black grunted.
"You were standing outside the seven-inch port when I came out on deck a while ago, weren't you?"
"Yes."
"You saw me put that tompion in the muzzle of the gun there, didn't you?"
Black shook his head.
"You didn't?"
"Me not see."
"Don't you remember, I was just putting the plug in when I said 'hello' to you, and you wrinkled up your face as if you had a colic, or some other kind of pain in your stomach?" urged Hickey.
Black shook his head again.
"Me see nothing," he declared sullenly.
Sam surveyed him half suspiciously.
"You're a thick-head, that's what you are. Here I am in a fix, and you won't even try to help me out. You just wait until you get in trouble, and see how quickly I will come to your rescue—not! I'll lose my memory entirely so far as what you want me to remember is concerned. Go on; I don't want anything more to do with you," added the red-haired boy, giving the other a shove.
"What's the trouble, Sam?" demanded Dan Davis, who was passing along the deck at that moment.
Sam explained briefly.
"You are sure you put the tompion in the gun?"
"Sure? Of course I'm sure. I couldn't possibly be mistaken about a thing like that, could I?"
"I should think not."
"Of course I couldn't."
"Then it must have fallen out and gone overboard. Evidently you did not put it in tightly. I can't see but that you were negligent, so take your medicine like a man, Sam. In other words, grin and bear it," advised Dan.
"Huh!" grunted Hickey in a tone of disgust. "Twenty-five dollars' worth, eh? All right; I'll bear it, but I'll not grin."
While this conversation was taking place another was being held in the cabin of the captain, who was in consultation with Mr. Coates, his executive officer.
"I have just received an order by wireless from the admiral to put ashore six signalmen to be used for landing practice up in Gardiner's Bay. They are going ashore this afternoon, when we move up near enough to put them off," said the captain. "How many signalmen will that leave us for our work?"
"Let me see," mused the executive officer. "It will leave us three men. I presume you wish to send the most expert signalmen to the admiral?"
"By all means."
"That will leave us very short. We shall be practically without a signal corps. Three of our fellows are merely novices, and can hardly be depended upon."
"Then I shall have to wire the admiral that we cannot spare the men. I dislike very much to do that, for we should have plenty of men on board who are experts with the wig-wag flags."
"Yes, that is so. It would be rather humiliating to have to confess our weakness. Is there no other way out of it? Perhaps we could get along without a signal corps for the present."
"Wait a minute. I have an idea," exclaimed the commanding officer, his face lighting with a smile.
"Yes, sir."
"Is not that young seaman, Dan Davis, handy with the flags?"
"Right you are, sir."
"Was he not one of the signalmen who did such fine work when we were laying mines, the time Bill Kester was rescued by this same boy?"
"Yes, sir. Both boys took part in that rescue, if you recall the incident."
"Yes, I remember. That will leave us in fine shape. You will see to it that the signal corps is put ashore this afternoon."
"Yes, sir."
"And, by the way, I think it might be a good idea to have Davis drill in some other men while we are about it. I want to see what we can do. He strikes me as being a most likely lad."
"Both of them are, sir, though Davis is built of a little finer material than his companion. Have I your instructions to order him to go ahead with the instruction?"
"Certainly."
"How many men shall we try out?"
"Oh, say a dozen. From the dozen we shall be able to pick at least six likely ones."
"Shall we assign the men?"
The captain reflected.
"No, let Seaman Davis do that. If he chooses any men we cannot spare you will so advise him. I want to see what sort of material he will choose."
"Very good, sir; I will attend to the matter at once."
Shortly after that Dan received orders to report to the executive officer. The latter explained briefly what was wanted of him.
"For the purpose of the instruction you are clothed with the authority of a petty officer," said Mr. Coates. "Your orders will be obeyed. When you have chosen your men hand me the list, and I will pass upon it."
"Aye, aye, sir."
"You are relieved from further duty for the present."
"Aye, aye, sir."
Dan made a dignified salute, and walked away with his shoulders a little more erect than usual. But the moment he was sure he had gotten out of sight of the officer, he started off on a run to carry the good news to Sam Hickey. Sam was not over enthusiastic. He was still grumbling over the loss of the tompion, which meant also the loss of twenty-five dollars to himself.
Within the hour he had handed in the list of names of the men chosen for signal duty. This list was approved by the executive officer and the captain, and that afternoon Dan assembled his class on the forward deck for their first lesson. Not a man of them had ever before had signal instruction.
In military formation the Battleship Boy marched his class up and out to the forward deck.
"Halt!" he commanded. "Left face! Right dress! Front!"
"Coates, that was pretty well done, eh?" chuckled the captain, who, with his executive officer, was leaning over the bridge railing, watching the proceedings.
"Open order, march!"
The men of the class spread out so that there was plenty of open space in front of each man.
The Battleship Boy gave the men a brief talk on the general subject of signaling, impressing upon them the need of accuracy.
"Do not try to be fast. Speed will come in good time, but make it your ambition both to send and to read messages with absolute accuracy. We will now begin with the code, which is as follows:"
Davis ran through the code, signaling out each letter slowly in order to show the men how the movements were executed.
The wig-wag code, as used in the United States Navy, consists of a series of numbers that represent the letters of the alphabet. They are delivered by a red flag bearing a white square in its center. The code that Dan spelled out is as follows:
A .................. 22 O .................. 21B .................. 2112 P .................. 1212C .................. 121 Q .................. 1211D .................. 222 R .................. 211E .................. 12 S .................. 212F .................. 2221 T .................. 2G .................. 2211 U .................. 112H .................. 122 V .................. 1222I .................. 1 W .................. 1121J .................. 1122 X .................. 2122K .................. 2121 Y .................. 111L .................. 221 Z .................. 2222M .................. 1221 End of word ........ 3N .................. 11 End of sentence .... 33
The flag with which the numbers are made is attached to a staff just long enough to handle easily. Before beginning the message the flag staff is held perpendicularly in front of the operator. Dipping the flag once to the left, at right angles to the body, indicates the figure two. Dipping it once to the right indicates the figure one. Dipping it forward once, away from the body means the figure three. For instance, if the flag be dipped twice to the left, the operator will have made the signal "twenty-two," meaning A.
"I will now spell the words 'Battleship Boy,';' he said, beginning a slow movement of the wig-wag flag, making the following figures:
"2112, 22, 2, 2, 221, 12, 212, 122, 1, 1212, 3, 2112, 21, 111, 212."
"We will now begin practicing the code in groups of three letters," said the instructor.
For a full hour he put the young jackies through their paces. By the time the bugle blew his class had learned nearly half the signal alphabet.
"If you will practice these movements, using your hands in place of flags, this evening, you will have fixed the numbers and the letters that they represent so firmly in your minds that you will not be likely to forget them. Do it at every opportunity before turning in to-night. I shall expect each of you to be letter-perfect in the morning. Once more, now, call the letters as I make them. I will give you only what you have had this afternoon. Begin with the first man in line."
The Battleship Boys Swung Into the Chorus.The Battleship Boys Swung Into the Chorus.
The Battleship Boys Swung Into the Chorus.The Battleship Boys Swung Into the Chorus.
The Battleship Boy made the figures, wigwagging slowly. Among the men on the forward deck there were only three who were not quick to read the signals. These Dan ordered to step forward. A few minutes proved, to his own satisfaction, that their minds were too sluggish to enable them to make very good signalmen.
"You three men need not report to-morrow," he said.
"That boy is bound to command, Coates," announced the captain with emphasis. "Davis!"
"Aye, aye, sir," answered Dan, turning and saluting.
"You and your friend, Seaman Hickey, turn to and give an exhibition of wig-wagging. It will be instructive, as well as entertaining, to all of us."
Dan's eyes lighted with pleasure.
"'Red, White and Blue,'" he said, as he passed a flag to Sam. "Follow me giving the next lines."
"Will that save my twenty-five?"
"It may."
"All right, I'll take a chance on it. Go ahead."
Dan stationed himself on one side of the deck, while Sam walked briskly to the opposite side.
"Oh, Columbia, the gem of the ocean,The home of the brave and the free,"
wig-wagged Dan.