Dan was released from the sick bay late on the following afternoon. In the evening of the same day Black and White were removed to the brig, and a marine sentry placed in front of their cells to see that they were properly looked after.
Dan wondered what would be done in their case. Being unfamiliar with forms on shipboard, he did not understand that punishments are not inflicted hastily.
On the morning of the second day, after quarters, there was a stir below decks. Dan had rejoined the crew of the seven-inch gun when he was informed by the captain's orderly that his presence would be required in the captain's quarters promptly at ten o'clock.
"I wish I were you to-day," whispered Sam.
"Why?"
"'Cause there's going to be a court-martial—a summary court-martial!"
"What for?"
"They're going to try Black and White. How I'd like to help soak those heathens."
A few minutes before the hour named, Dan went below. He found the corridor of the captain's office thronged with shipmates. In front of the door stood a marine sentry.
"Am I to go in?" he asked.
"Are you a witness?"
"Yes."
"I guess you may enter, then."
Dan did so. At one side of the room he espied Black and White, in charge of the master-at-arms; and the midshipman who had been officer of the deck the night the men escaped, together with two coxswains.
Dan walked to the opposite side of the room, where he leaned against a bulkhead.
The captain's dining-room table had been cleared and stood in the center of the room, four chairs having been placed around it. Presently three commissioned officers filed in, the executive officer of the ship taking his place at the head of the table as president of the court. It was his duty to swear in the judge advocate, who, in this instance, was a lieutenant. Following this the judge advocate swore in the others of the court and then proceeded to read the specifications, which were as follows:
"'That on the 25th of August, 19—, while the United States battleship "Long Island" lay at anchor inside the Delaware Breakwater, after tattoo, when all hands had turned in for the night, save those on regular duty, among them being Ordinary Seaman Charlie Vavitao and Ordinary Seaman William Takaroa, the said men did secretly leave their billets and without permission take to one of the ship's dinghies, in which they rowed away from the ship with intent to desert. Secondly, it is charged that the said men did make a felonious assault on Seaman Daniel Davis while he was carrying out the orders of his superior officer, resulting in the seaman's disability, from which he has not yet wholly recovered.' How do you plead!"
The prisoners pleaded "not guilty." All witnesses were then excluded from the room. Midshipman Carter, who had been the officer of the deck on the night in question, was called to testify. He was questioned by the judge advocate, who acted as the prosecutor and the attorney for the defence at the same time.
The midshipman related briefly all that had come under his observation. He had but little information that was of value to the court, and he so told the court.
"Seaman Davis, then, is the witness who knows the whole story?" questioned the judge advocate.
"Yes, sir."
"Call Seaman Daniel Davis to the witness chair."
Dan was summoned by the sentry. The boy's face was still bandaged; his face was pale and there was a livid mark across the right cheek where an oar blade had struck him.
Dan gave his name, age and date of enlistment, together with his station on shipboard.
"You were on the anchor watch on the evening of the twenty-fifth of August, were you not?"
"Yes, sir."
"State what occurred."
The witness related briefly the incidents leading up to the escape of the two ordinary seamen.
"You discovered them going over the side of the ship, did you not?"
"Yes sir."
"Did you try to stop them?"
"I did."
"On whose orders?"
"On the orders of the officer of the deck, sir."
"Midshipman Carter?"
"Yes, sir."
"State what occurred."
"I followed them, and after a time succeeded in overhauling the dinghy in which they were rowing away. I ordered them to surrender when I drew alongside. Black attempted to strike me with the boat hook, but I got it away from him. Black later hit me with an oar, at about the time I rammed them with the starboard dinghy."
"Well, what else?"
"Not much, sir. We mixed it up a little. I got Black, but I had a hard time with White. He almost got the better of me. I am not quite sure that he did not do so wholly."
Dan had related his story in a simple, straight-forward manner, without the slightest trace of bravado. He really had done a plucky thing in attempting to capture the two men in a frail boat out on the rolling waters, but he did not seem to think he had accomplished anything very remarkable.
"Did either man attempt to do more than defend himself?"
"Well, it seemed so to me, sir," answered the Battleship Boy, with a faint smile.
"Use a knife or anything of that sort?"
"Black appeared to be seeking to get at his knife. Of course I could not say for sure, sir."
"Did either man say anything?"
"Not that I can recall now, sir, except that they refused to surrender to me."
"You did not hear them say anything that would lead you to believe that they were deserting?"
"Oh, no, sir."
"You can think of nothing else that will aid us in getting at the facts in this case?"
"No, sir. I have told you all I know about it."
"Very good; that will be all."
Black, who was believed to be the leader in the escape, was called up and given permission to relate his side of the story. He assured the court that neither he nor White had had the least intention of deserting. They had been on board for a long time. They said they had a friend not far from where the ship was lying, and they thought they could get away to go to see him and be back before morning.
Asked the name of the friend, they gave it without the least hesitation.
White also told a straightforward story.
"If you were not deserting, why did you make such a murderous assault on Seaman Davis?" demanded the judge advocate sharply.
"We get excited," answered White. "We want to get away then."
"And had you gotten away, at that time, you would not have returned to the ship, eh?"
"No, no; we come back," insisted the Hawaiian.
"Have these men ever been up on charges before?" asked the judge advocate.
"No, sir," replied the clerk of the court. "There are no marks against them. Their records are good, so far as the papers show."
"Then we will close the case here."
The court was cleared for deliberation. They found the accused men guilty of absenting themselves from the ship without leave, and also on the second count accusing them of felonious assault on Seaman Daniel Davis.
The court decided that the charge of desertion had not been fully established, and this alone saved the men from a long term of imprisonment. Perhaps they were swayed in their verdict by the fact that the government was making a strong effort in every way to win the regard of the Hawaiian Islanders. To have carried out the punishment in its extreme form might, it was thought, have served only to embitter the Hawaiian people. The punishment was severe enough as it was. The recommendations of the court were that Black and White be locked up in the brig for thirty days, with rations of bread and water, with a full ration every third day.
This peculiar sentence was on account of the regulation that forbids a prisoner on shipboard from being kept on bread and water for more than five consecutive days. By giving a full ration once in every five days the men can be kept under punishment for three months. The court also decided that both men should suffer a loss of two months' pay.
The commanding officer approved the findings of the court, after reading them over, and duly affixed his signature.
The prisoners did not know as yet what their punishment was to be. This was made known to them at muster that evening, when all hands were piped to quarters, the charges and findings being read before the ship's company.
"Men," said the captain after the executive officer had read the verdict of the court, "I am of the opinion that both of you should be dismissed from the service. The evidence, however, did not fully warrant the court in finding for that. It appears to be your first offence, but remember, this is your first enlistment also, which gives me the right to discharge you dishonorably from the service. I shall do so upon the next serious breach of discipline hereafter. You may consider that you have had a very lucky escape from long imprisonment and from dismissal as well."
"And, as for Seaman Davis, I desire to commend him thus publicly for his pluck, his faithful obedience of orders and the masterful way in which he has carried out his orders. Such men are a credit to the United States Navy. They make one forget that, now and then, we have some of the other sort among us. Davis, you will be mentioned in my communication to the department."
"I expect you'll be getting your whole head knocked off some of these days," growled Sam Hickey.
"It has not been knocked off yet," answered Dan with a laugh, "though it has had a considerable list to starboard on occasions."
"I should say it had. I'm glad those niggers are in the brig. They——"
"Don't use that word, please. I never liked it. And, besides, they are not Africans; they are Hawaiians."
"They ought to have been shot. Anyhow, all black looks the same color to me."
The lads were lounging on deck in the forecastle. It was Wednesday afternoon, when all hands ordinarily take a half holiday, except those who are on duty. The battleship "Long Island" was plowing up the waters off the coast—"coasting," they call it on shipboard. The officers on the bridge were taking sights at the ranges—light houses—with their sextants, while the young midshipmen, under the direction of the ship's navigator, were mathematically working out the ship's position.
"I never could understand why they have to go to all that trouble," said Sam.
"They are figuring out our position—they are trying to find out where we are."
"Don't we know where we are?"
"We don't. Perhaps the officers do."
"Pooh! I know where we are, and I don't have to get a sextant and a lot of other junk to tell me, either," scoffed the red-headed boy.
"Well, where are we, Mr. Smarty, if you know so much?"
"We're off Atlantic City. That's the Absecon light off the port bow. I could knock the top of it off with the seven-inch if I had half a chance."
"That may be true, Sam, but suppose there were a fog, or the lights on shore went out, or one of many things were to occur—supposing we were hundreds of miles out at sea and—well, how would you find out where you were, if you had no instruments with which to take your observations, or did not know how to use those you had?"
"Hold on; that's enough. Don't put on any more trimmings. I'd do without 'em, even if it were as bad as you say, and I'd never miss 'em, either."
"What would you do?"
"Do? I'd just keep going by the compass."
"But supposing the compass were wrong?"
"I'd keep going, just the same, till I got somewhere—till I plumped up against something solid; then I'd sing out, 'full speed astern, both engines,' just like the 'Old Man' does up there, when the man in the chains sings out 'by the mark five.' He's awful afraid the old ship will scrape over a sand bar. Between you and me it would be good for her. Why, don't you see, it would scrape the barnacles off her so she wouldn't have to go into dry dock and cost the government all that money. I know something about ships, I do."
"And what you do not know would sink all the ships in the Navy," answered Dan, emphasizing his reply by several nods of his head.
"Don't you believe it."
"Here comes the boatswain's mate. I think he is looking for us. Yes, he's coming this way. I reckon we shall have to turn out for some duty."
"I'll run and hide, then. I am not going to work this afternoon. He can't get me interested in any of his patriotic games to-day. No, siree!"
But Sam was destined to become greatly interested in the work that the boatswain's mate had come to talk with them about.
"Good afternoon, boys," he greeted them. "How is your head, Davis?"
"Oh, I had almost forgotten that I had a head," laughed Dan, instinctively laying a hand on the bandage that was bound about his wound.
"You did pretty well the other night in overhauling that boat. Have you done much rowing!"
"Oh, yes; considerable on the river at home. I have rowed in races there—small rowboat races—and so has my friend Sam."
"I thought you were pretty handy about small boats. It is a good thing for a seaman to know boats."
"I wonder what he's getting at?" muttered Sam, eyeing the boatswain's mate suspiciously. "He isn't here for any good, I am sure of that."
The boy had noted that the boatswain's mate was eyeing them closely, tilting his head to one side and squinting out of one eye as if he were sighting a big gun.
"Don't shoot," laughed Sam.
"What's that?"
"Nothing, only I thought you were getting ready to shoot, the way you were squinting at me."
"We are going to have some races ourselves in about three weeks."
"Is that so?" exclaimed Dan.
"Out here on the ocean?" demanded Sam.
"Not exactly out here, but in some bay along the coast. These races are a big thing and arouse a lot of interest."
"Whom do you race with?" asked Dan.
"With crews from the other ships. We race for silver cups and the rivalry is very keen. You have seen our racing gig, have you not, boys?"
"Oh, yes; that's so. I had forgotten about the gig. It's up on the upper deck, starboard side, isn't it?" queried Dan.
"Yes; that's the boat. She's one of the slickest boats in the service."
"Pretty heavy for racing, isn't she?" questioned Dan.
"They have to be for sea racing. You see, we frequently run into some foul weather. No paper shells for that kind of racing. It's a man's game, every inch of it," announced the boatswain's mate, Joe Harper by name.
"I should think it must be. What grand sport," breathed Dan. "How many men do you have in the boat?"
"Twelve, including the coxswain. We have some likely material on board this season."
"Who has charge of the race? Who is the captain of the crew?"
"I am. That is, I am the coxswain, and have full charge of the boat and the picking of the crew."
Sam was eyeing the boatswain's mate with new interest now. This time it was Sam Hickey who was squinting out of the corner of one eye. He was trying to figure out, in his own mind, what the boatswain's mate was getting at. As yet he had not been able to decide in his own mind.
"There's a colored gentleman in the woodpile for sure," he muttered. "He'll show his woolly head in a minute or so, or my name's not Sam Hickey."
The colored gentleman fulfilled Sam's expectations very soon after that.
"Unfortunately, two of our men have been, taken away from us. I say unfortunately, though I don't exactly mean it in that way. I'm mighty glad we are rid of them, only that it makes necessary a change of plans."
"Who are they, Mr. Harper?"
"Those two islanders, Black and White. They are a fine pair of birds, but they certainly could pull an oar. Would you boys like to come up and look over the boat?"
"Indeed we should," answered Dan enthusiastically.
They made their way to the upper deck. Two sailors had stripped the canvas from the racing gig, and were preparing to go over it with sandpaper to smooth its sides down.
"Why do you do that; to make it smoother?" asked Dan.
"That is the idea exactly," answered the boatswain's mate, patting the gig affectionately. "We shall be working over this little craft for the next few weeks on every possible occasion."
"You do not have sliding seats?"
"Oh, no. It would not be advisable in this kind of a racing craft. You will observe, however, that the foot rests for the men's feet are made of old shoes. They slip their feet into these, which gives them a great purchase. They can release their feet at any instant, should we get upset in a heavy sea."
"Each man pulls one oar, of course?"
"One oar only," nodded the mate. "That is about all one healthy man could sit up and accomplish. None but the strongest and pluckiest can stand the kind of a race we run."
"How long a course do you cover?"
"Four miles. Two miles out to the stake boat and return. As I was saying, we have lost Black and White, and there are two vacancies on the crew at present."
"Yes, sir," answered Dan in an unusually respectful tone.
"Yes, sir," added the red-haired boy. "What about it?"
"Well, as I said, there are two vacancies," replied the mate, with a significant smile.
There followed a pause, during which Sam walked over to the rail, gazed off across the waters, apparently without being conscious of having seen them at all, then slowly returning to the gig, leaned up against it, gently smoothing the gunwale with his hand.
"It is considered a great honor to be a member of a racing crew, especially a winning crew, boys."
"Yes, sir; I should think it would be," agreed Dan.
"How would you lads like to try out for the crew?"
"We join the racing crew?" questioned Dan, his eyes opening wide in amazement. "W—we——"
"Yes. You and your friend may try for the places vacated by Black and White. They will, of course, be out before the races come off, but their punishment forfeits their right to row with us. I have been looking you two lads over, and I am sure you have good material in you. I know you have the pluck. You have shown that you have, both of you, on more than one occasion. What do you say?"
"What do I say?" answered Dan with glowing countenance. "I say that, if I could get on the racing crew, I should be the happiest boy in Uncle Sam's Navy."
"That's me," nodded Sam in approval of his companion's sentiments. "I knew you were up here for something. The colored gentleman is out of the woodpile."
"Say, Dan," remarked Sam as the boatswain's mate walked away, "speaking of Black and White, I've got an idea. I'll bet that fellow Black threw that seven-inch tompion overboard. I'll bet also that he's the black scoundrel who plugged your ear with a marline spike."
Dan made no reply, but walked thoughtfully away.
"Hello, Dan."
Sam Hickey peered over the edge of his hammock in the early morning.
"What is it?" answered Davis sleepily.
"I wonder whether we have missed reveille."
"What's that?" Dan sat up very suddenly.
"I thought that would fetch you awake in a hurry," chuckled the red-headed boy, snuggling down under his bedclothes, one eye peering over at his companion.
"That's mean of you, to wake me up so early in the morning," grumbled Dan. "I was having such a fine sleep, too. I was dreaming——"
"I was dreaming. I'll bet I had a better dream than you did. I dreamed I was the captain of the 'Long Island,' with four gold stripes around my sleeve. Then I woke up. That was too fine a dream to sleep over very long at a time."
"Pipe down the guff," growled several voices from the depths of other hammocks. "What do you think this is—a pink tea?"
"No; it's a deck picnic," answered Sam, as the bugle blew the reveille, summoning all hands from their hammocks. The men in the corridor with the Battleship Boys scrambled down from their hammocks in no enviable frame of mind, for Hickey had spoiled at least five minutes of their sleep, which was of no small consequence at that hour of the morning. Sam seized his clothes and ran for the shower bath, anxious to get his bath over before the men of his division got there. They were not in a pleasant frame of mind, and the boy considered it prudent to keep clear of them until they "got their eyes open," as he expressed it to himself.
The early morning work was finished up and then came breakfast. By this time the battleship was swinging along past Fire Island light. The sea was fairly calm and the sun was shining brightly.
"I wonder what we are going to do up here?" questioned a jackie, as they were at their breakfast.
"Up here? Where are we headed for!" demanded Sam. "Looks to me as if we were going to butt into a sand bank, the way the ship was headed when I came below."
"I think we are going into Fort Pond Bay," answered someone.
"Never heard of the place. Is it a pond?" asked Hickey innocently.
"Hear the landlubber talk. Yes, red-head, it's a pond; a sloppy-weather pond with the current so swift at times that if you were to go swimming in it, you'd want your port and starboard anchors out all the time."
"What are we going to do in the pond?"
"The Old Man hasn't taken me into his confidence yet," scoffed a sailor. "I am expecting to hear from him most any time now."
"Ordering you to appear at mast court, eh?" questioned Sam maliciously.
"That'll be about all for you, red-head."
"Better look out or Dynamite will be mixing it up with you," warned another. "Won't you, Dynamite?" nodding at Dan.
"I think I have had all the mixing-up that I want," answered Davis, with a short laugh. "If you don't believe it, just look at this bandage on my head."
"Yes, Dynamite's a sore head," suggested a shipmate. "I'd be willing to trade heads with you, if what's in yours could go with it."
At this there was a laugh all around the table. Dan blushed. He did not like these broad compliments. But, to Dan Davis' credit, be it said that, instead of making him conceited, they served quite the opposite purpose. They made him the more determined to merit the good things that were said of him.
"Torpedo practice to-day," announced a sailor, coming in at that juncture from his watch on deck.
"What range?" asked some one.
"I hear it is a four-thousand-yard range."
"That will give us all a chance to go out for a row."
"For what?" questioned Sam.
"For the exercise, red-head. We jackies never have anything to do, you know, so they have to send us out for a row, now and then."
"We don't have to row in a common whaleboat or a cutter. We've got something better in which to row," retorted Hickey.
"Got something better?"
"Yes."
"Maybe you're going to run the captain's motor boat."
"No; not yet. Maybe we'll be doing that later. Just now we're going to content ourselves with the gig."
"The gig!"
"Sure thing."
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about the racing gig. Didn't you know Dan and myself were members of the racing crew now?"
"No; I didn't know anything of the sort. You kids on the crew? That's a joke. If we fellows who have been in the service a year or two get on the crew we think we're lucky."
"Is that right, Davis?" spoke up one of the men further down the table.
"Partly, Bob. We have been chosen for a tryout. We may make such a miserable failure of it that they will put us out of the boat after the first practice spin."
"I'm not so sure about the red-head, but I'll risk your making a mess of anything that you try," answered the jackie addressed as Bob. "I won't say you're lucky, for the good things generally go to them that deserve them," continued the sailor wisely. "Leastwise, that's been my observation. I notice not many of them have ever come my way, though. What oars are you going to pull?"
"I can't say, Bob. That depends upon Mr. Harper."
Envious glances were directed upon the Battleship Boys from all parts of the mess.
"I know how they happened to get in for a try-out," announced a member of the mess. "Black and White were to row in the crew. Instead, they'll be holding down the deck of the brig for the next thirty days."
"I was in there once," said Sam, with a grin that brought a shout of laughter.
"A fellow doesn't know what the sailor's life is like unless he gets in the brig."
"I think I should be satisfied without knowing, then," answered Dan. "I came pretty close to it once. That was enough for me."
By the time the jackies had finished their breakfast the "Long Island" was plowing into Fort Pond Bay, and an hour later her starboard anchor was let go. The ship's prow swung into the tide. The decks were thronged with sailors cleaning ship, while others were getting the small boats ready for the work of the day. It was a busy scene, one in which the Battleship Boys evinced the keenest interest, for they had never seen torpedo practice before. Dan had some knowledge of the operation of these weapons of modern warfare, but he was anxious to see the torpedoes fired.
First, the two steamers were swung out and lowered to the water, where they were made secure to the lower booms. The captain's motor boat came next. Two officers went off in her to place the target for the torpedo practice. This was nothing more than a bamboo fish pole with a red flag secured to it.
The target was planted in a shallow place in the bay off near the shore of Gardiner's Island, after they had measured off the course, a distance of four thousand yards from the ship. It was not intended that the torpedoes should hit the target, which was placed merely as a guide for the ordnance officer to fire at. Coming within a hundred feet of it, either way, would be considered pretty good shooting.
In the meantime the torpedo officer was far down in the hold of the ship, in the torpedo room, getting ready the huge, fish-like monsters for the flight they were soon to take. There were six of the deadly instruments of warfare down there. Dan would have liked to go below to see how the torpedoes were fired by compressed air, but his duties would not permit him to do so.
"Seaman Hickey and Davis report for signal duty!" called a boatswain's mate.
"That's us," nodded Dan. "I guess we are going out. That will be fine."
"Man the small boats and patrol the torpedo course," commanded an officer from the bridge. "Davis, you will go out with the motor boat. Hickey, remain on board for signal duty here. We will put some of your class in the small boats, and distribute them along the course," ordered a quartermaster.
Dan's class in wig-wag work had made marvelous progress. They were now nearly as proficient in signal work as had been the regular signal corps, who were working on one of the other ships some five miles to the northeast from where the "Long Island" lay. None of Dan's men had worked at such long range before. He was glad, therefore, that he had been assigned to go out on the range, for he could keep a watchful eye on his men. He had perfect confidence in Sam. The station Hickey had was very important, for he was to receive messages and to send messages to all the small boats of the fleet.
"Now, all small boats keep clear of the torpedo course, so that none of you get hit. Don't fall in too soon after the torpedo goes by. We want the course kept clear so that we can follow it with our glasses. Take your places on the range."
The two steamers whistled shrilly, as, with a procession of small boats in tow, they started out over the course.
"Hickey, take your place abaft of the bridge, within hailing distance of the commanding officer," ordered the quartermaster.
Sam stationed himself by the side of the box where the signal flags were kept, and, leaning against it, focused his spyglass on the rapidly receding small boats.
"Up starboard anchor!" commanded the executive officer.
Anchor chains rattled as the huge anchor was slowly raised from the sandy bottom of the bay. The torpedoes were to be fired while the ship was under full speed.
"Once over the course, then fire on the return," ordered the captain. "Port, fire first."
"Aye, aye, sir."
The battleship completed her course at right angles to the course over which the torpedo was to be fired, then swung about.
"Full speed ahead, both engines. Raise the red flag."
The firing signal was hoisted to the peak.
"Are you ready, Mr. Ordnance Officer?"
"All ready, sir."
"Sound a long blast on the siren."
The weird voice of the siren shrieked its warning over the waters, while the prow of the battleship was rolling up a great white wave as the ship raced along at full speed.
"Fire!" came the quick word of command.
The ordnance officer pressed a button, his eyes on the target.
A dull, muffled explosion followed.
"Wow!"
Sam, who had climbed to the top of the signal box for a better view of sea, was so startled that he lost his footing in leaping to one side.
"Look out below!" he howled. "I'm coming!"
"Gangway!" cried half a dozen sailors at once, as, with quick intuition, they discovered what was occurring.
Hickey, in attempting to right himself, had plunged head foremost from the signal box. In his descent he caught a signal halyard. He bounded up into the air like a tight-rope walker. The next instant he struck a chain that had been rigged as a railing on the companionway to the lower bridge.
"Look out below!" bellowed a voice. "Torpedo coming your way."
Sam balanced, for one awful second, on the companionway chain, then pitched downward through the open hatchway. He disappeared in the direction of the gun deck. From the commotion below it was evident to those on the lower bridge that he had reached his destination.
"What's all that racket?" demanded the captain, looking aft from the navigator's bridge.
"Signalman fell off, sir."
"Fell off where?"
"Off the signal box, sir."
"Where is he?"
"I think the gun deck stopped him, sir."
"Get another man up there to attend to the signaling. We cannot bother with such clumsy lubbers."
"No other signalmen on board, sir."
The captain uttered an exclamation of impatience.
"Find out if he is hurt. Watch that torpedo, Mr. Coates."
"We're watching it, sir. It is following a very straight course."
For a few seconds after leaving the torpedo tube, far below the surface of the water, the torpedo wavered as if uncertain what course it should follow.
All at once it straightened out and darted away off toward Gardiner's Island, where the target could be faintly made out through the officer's powerful glasses. The gyroscope, with which all torpedoes are equipped, caused the projectile to right itself. At its rear end might be seen, in that brief glance, a propeller whirling so rapidly as to cause the water to boil, the propeller being operated by a compressed-air engine within the shell of the torpedo itself.
After righting itself the torpedo dived under the water several feet, but its course could be followed by the foam it left in its path.
One of the dinghies, far out, lay too close to the course, the captain thought.
"Signalman—where's that signalman?" he shouted.
"He's coming, sir."
Hickey's red head appeared through the open hatchway, followed by the body of the limping Sam.
"Get on your station!" commanded the captain. "What's the matter with you?"
"I got shot off the signal box, sir."
"Shot off the signal box!" grumbled the commanding officer, in a tone of disgust. "Are you able to use the flag?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then signal that dinghy that they are in the path of the torpedo."
By the time Hickey had clambered clumsily to the signal box again, he was too late to be of service. Fortunately the men in the dinghy had seen the torpedo just in time. A quick pull at the oars had turned the boat in such a way that the projectile shot past with only a few feet to spare.
"She's heading very straight, sir," the executive officer informed his superior.
"Yes; that's a fine run. But it isn't the fault of our signalman that the torpedo didn't run down the dinghy. Hickey, that was about the worst performance of its kind that I ever saw. See that you do not let it happen again. If you do, I shall take you off signal work entirely."
"Aye, aye, sir," answered the Battleship Boy, whose face was now redder than the shock of fiery hair that was standing straight up on his head.
"I'll show him," muttered Sam. "I'm a clumsy lummox, but I know my business just as well as he does his. Wait till I get a chance to wiggle this flag! I'll make those fellows out in the small boats think they're getting struck by lightning. I'll——"
"Ask them if they can see the torpedo," broke in the voice of the captain.
Sam set his flag dancing. The moment he began to work with it all his nervousness left him. The red-headed boy was himself again.
"Steamer number one says they are after it, sir."
"Do they know where it is?"
"Yes, sir; they have it located."
"Did you see the way that man Hickey, handled the signal flag, Coates?"
"Yes, sir; I observed him."
"The boy is all right, in spite of his clumsiness. Can you make out the torpedo, Coates?"
"No; but I see the whaleboat putting off for it. The water there is evidently too shallow for the steamer to get in."
Sam's glass was at his eye, as he balanced himself lightly on the iron railing surrounding the signal box.
"Whaleboat number one signals that they have the torpedo, sir," sang out Sam Hickey.
"Very good. You will fire the starboard torpedo next, will you not?" asked the captain of the ordnance officer.
"Yes, sir, as soon as the men get that one on board."
The whaleboat made fast a rope to the torpedo, and then the steamer, taking the smaller boat in tow, headed for the ship, towing the monster in their wake. Beaching the ship, the torpedo was hauled aboard with a derrick and placed on the deck, to be taken apart and shipped back to the torpedo room below.
It had made a splendid flight, and all hands were pleased with the first shot. It had been fired exactly as it would be in war time, except that it carried no explosive on the practice flight.
Dan, out on the water, was now improving his opportunity to put his signal corps through a series of practice messages. He was drilling the men of the signal corps in quick reading. First he would wig-wag a message to the fleet of small boats; then they would repeat it back to him as fast as they were able to operate the flags.
"They're signaling out there, sir," said the executive officer to the captain.
"Signalman, attention! Attend to your business."
Hickey looked up to the bridge in surprise.
"Aye, aye, sir."
"Don't you see them signaling to you out there?" demanded the captain.
"I see them signaling, yes, sir. I've been watching them for the past ten minutes, sir."
"What do they want?"
"Nothing, sir."
"Then what are they wig-wagging for?"
"Seaman Davis is drilling the squad, sir."
"Oh!"
The captain turned on his heel, giving the boy a view of his broad back.
"Mebby that one didn't land under the belt!" chuckled the red-headed Battleship Boy. "I guess I know my business, I do."
The ordnance officer announced that he was ready for another shot.
"Very well; we will get under way," announced the captain, the ship having laid to while the torpedo was being shipped aboard. "Pull over pretty close to that shore there before you swing. Chains, there!"
"Aye, aye, sir," answered the men in the chains, the little platform from which the lead is cast to determine the depth of water under the ship.
"How much water have you?"
The leadsman made a cast.
"By the mark, ten," he called in a sing-song voice.
"Keep it going."
The ship was slowly drawing near a high, sandy bluff.
"By the mark, seven."
"Slow down both engines," commanded the captain. "Give us another sounding."
"By the deep, six.... And a quarter, five."
"Seaman Davis signaling, sir," called Sam Hickey.
"What does he say?"
"Begging the captain's pardon, when he went out on the range he crossed your present course. He says there is shoal water less than a fathom deep three ship's lengths ahead of you, sir."
"How's your lead?" thundered the captain, turning to the men in the chains below him.
"Quarter less ten," was the answer.
"That is plenty of water. No cause for alarm there. Tell the engineer to go ahead."
The "Long Island" took a bone in her teeth at once, and began forging ahead.
"Signals again, sir."
"What is it?"
"Signalman wig-wags that there is a deep hole about where you are now. On the other side of it is shoal water."
"Back both engines, full speed!" commanded the captain with almost explosive force. "Keep casting your lead! Tell me when she begins to go astern."
"Aye, aye, sir."
"Do you know of any shoal in here, Lieutenant Douglas?" questioned the captain of the navigator.
"No, sir; there is nothing on the chart to show it. I guess the boy is in error."
"If so, it is the first time I ever knew him to be. Ah! What's that?"
There came a slight jolt, then a steadying of the ship.
"She's stopped, sir," called the man with the lead. "And a half, two."
"Is she backing?" The captain's voice showed deep concern.
"No, sir. She's aground, sir."