Summary court-martial met on the following afternoon. Louis Flink was found guilty, the recommendation of the court being that he be dismissed from the service.
At a general muster the findings of the court-martial, approved by the commandant of the station, were read out by the executive officer.It was an impressive scene to the Battleship Boys—one that they never forgot, showing as it did that the United States Navy is no place for a man guilty of a dishonorable act.
Louis Flink was read out of the service and driven from the grounds of the Training Station, a disgraced man.
“I’m sorry for the poor fellow, though I have no sympathy for him,” murmured Dan.
“What’s the difference?” demanded Sam.
“Difference between what?”
“The difference between feeling sorry for a man and having sympathy for him? I, for one, am mighty glad to see him go, but I’m sorry I did not get a chance at him first. I’ll never get over that.”
“He must have been the one who was the cause of our other trouble, Sam.”
“Of course he was, beginning with the pie he threw at us. But what are we going to do with the marks against us? We were no more to blame for the things we were disciplined for than we are for having our jackets ruined.”
“We shall have to take our medicine; that is all,” answered Dan ruefully.
Two days later, the boys were summoned to the office of the executive officer. They went rather apprehensively, wondering what could be the reason for the unusual summons.
Arriving at the executive office the lads stated their business to the sentry, and were admitted after a little delay, coming to a halt and saluting as they reached Lieutenant Commander Devall’s desk.
The salute was quickly answered, after which the boys stood at attention, hats in hands.
“I presume you would like to join a ship, would you not?” he asked.
“Join a ship? Indeed we should,” answered Dan, his eyes glowing with pleasure.
“You boys, I believe, joined from the same place?”
“Yes, sir.”
“H-m-m-m!” mused the executive officer, consulting the enlistment record of the two apprentices. “Piedmont?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You would like to be shipmates, would you not?”
“We should like it very much, indeed. If it were possible, I wish we might be placed on the same ship,” replied Dan.
“I will arrange it,” replied Lieutenant Commander Devall, consulting several papers from the mass with which his desk was littered. “Several details are being sent out to various ships to-day. I was under the impression that one ship on my list asked for two ordinary seamen.Ah, yes, here it is. Yes, that will be all right. I shall assign you, but, of course, I cannot promise that you will be retained indefinitely in that way. You may be reassigned to some other part of the service at any time, but it is not likely that this will be done for some time, yet.”
“May I ask, sir, to what ship you will assign us?”
“Yes; the battleship ‘Long Island.’”
“The ‘Long Island,’” mused Dan.
“The ‘Long Island,’” repeated Sam under his breath.
“That is the new battleship, is it not, sir?”
“The newest one in the Atlantic fleet. She has just had her trial trip, and has been accepted by the government. I am very glad to be able to give you this detail, for you are a pair of likely young men. Your record at the station has been a splendid one, and your promotion deserved.”
“Thank you, sir. You know we have some marks against us,” spoke up Dan.
“I was thinking of that. Let me see. There appears to be some doubt about those extra duty tours—I mean to say as to whether you men were wholly in the wrong. Have you any reason to suspect that others were trying to get you into trouble?”
“Yes, sir; we have had reason to suspect as much,” answered Dan after an instant’s hesitation.
“Whom did you suspect?”
“There can be no harm now, sir, in saying that we suspected the fellow Flink.”
“Yet you made no report of it?”
“How could we, sir? We had little on which to base our suspicions, and besides it did not seem the manly thing to do, to carry tales about one’s shipmates.”
“He’s the fellow, sir, who threw the pie,” spoke up Hickey.
“What’s that?”
“Threw the pie.” Sam did not heed the warning look from his companion. “The day we entered the training school.”
“I recall the incident, and I also recall that you both refused to state what you knew. Always obey the command of an officer; bear that in mind, young men. No matter if it does mean getting an associate into trouble. Your officers will never make a request of you that is not for the good of the service. You are well fitted for the duties that are before you. Be obedient, courteous and willing. Never allow soreheads—‘sea lawyers’ we call them on board ship—to make you discontented on board. Remember that there is no more honorable calling in theworld than that which you have chosen. See that you do honor to it.”
“We shall try, sir.”
“And, by the way, you are entitled to a leave of absence for four weeks from this time, with a full allowance of pay. You may join your ship later, at the expiration of leave. I take it that you lads would like to go home and show yourselves in your uniforms.”
Dan hesitated.
“Of course, we should like it, sir, but I think we should prefer to join ship at once.”
“Very good, then; you will join the ‘Long Island’ to-morrow. In the meantime I shall arrange to have the marks against you canceled, so that there may be no bar to your progress. You will go aboard with a clean bill of health in every way.”
“May I ask where the ‘Long Island’ is, sir?” questioned Sam.
“New York.”
“At the Navy Yard, sir?”
“No, she is lying in the North River; I think about off Riverside Drive. Do you know where that is?”
“No, sir.”
“That is nearly opposite General Grant’s tomb. You can find the place easily. Any policeman will tell you how to get there.”
“Yes, sir; when do we go, sir?”
“On the night boat. You came up here on that, did you not?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I will have your papers prepared and your transportation ready at five o’clock. You will call here for them. The quartermaster will instruct you as to what you are to take with you and how to proceed. My lads, I trust I shall hear good reports from you. We always feel a keen interest in the young men who have had their first instruction here at the Training School. That will be all.”
Two hands were brought to foreheads in precise salute, and, executing a right about face, the Battleship Boys, marched steadily from the room, their faces grave, their shoulders thrown well back.
Once outside, Sam turned a bronzed, freckled face toward his companion.
“We are the people—the real people—aren’t we, Dan?” he questioned, with a sly wink.
“We are,” answered Dan soberly.
The heads of the Battleship Boys were in a whirl of expectancy for the rest of the day. The afternoon hours dragged slowly along, but at last the evening mess was over, and they quickly gathered their dunnage, starting for the New York boat with light and happy hearts.
Each boy had nearly fifty dollars in his pockets as the result of his three months’ service at the Training Station. This money, however, they had decided to deposit with the paymaster of the ‘Long Island’ as soon as possible after arriving on board.
The next morning Dan and Sam were up just as the Fall River Line boat was about to pass under the Brooklyn bridge.
“Look!” cried Dan. “Do you recognize that yellow building over there?”
“Can’t say that I do. What building is it?”
“It is the recruiting station where you and I joined the service three months ago. And now, just think of it, we are jackies. Everybody knows we are jackies as soon as they look at our handsome uniforms.”
“Yes,” breathed Sam, “and there’s the very Flag under which we enlisted.”
Instinctively the Battleship Boys removed their caps and came to attention, in which position they stood until the towering Sound steamer had swept on and began rounding the Battery.
“Small boat with two enlisted men approaching, sir,” called out the deck watch of the big battleship “Long Island.”
“What ship?” answered the officer of the deck.
“I don’t know, sir. Can’t make them out exactly.”
The small boat, manned by a perspiring boatman, was creeping nearer and nearer to the huge, drab-colored man-of-war, whose towering sides and huge masts dwarfed everything else about it.
The small boat pulled up to the starboard or right side of the ship, and drifted in.
“Boat, ahoy!” called down the quartermaster, making a megaphone of his hands. “What do you want?”
“We want to come aboard, sir?” answered Dan, rising in the fragile skiff and saluting.
“Who are you?”
“Recruits from the Newport Training Station, assigned to this ship.”
“We Want to Come Aboard, Sir!”“We Want to Come Aboard, Sir!”
“Then you ought to know better than to try to board a man-o’-war on the starboard side. Get around to the port side where you belong.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” answered Dan, touching his cap.
“How are you going to know which is the port side of these tubs?” muttered Sam, shading his eyes from the sun and gazing at the ship. “I’m blest if both ends don’t look alike to me.”
“Then you must be losing your eyesight, Sam. Don’t you see how the quarter-deck is cut away astern, while the bow stands high out of the water? Then there’s the Flag astern. You’ll never see the colors up forward.”
“I can’t see everything at once, and you must remember that this is the first time I ever saw a real battleship close enough to touch it.”
The ship was at anchor, and some distance out in the stream. A swaying rope ladder hung from the lower boom on the port side, reaching down to within some four feet of the water’s edge.
The river was choppy that morning, and the little boat bobbed perilously. The boys were used to this, however, and gave no thought to it.
“Will you please pass a line over here for our dunnage?” called Dan.
“Pass the landlubbers a clothes line,” shouted a voice from the forecastle.
A line, coiled, suddenly shot down from above. Sam chanced to be standing up in the boat atthat moment. The line hit him fairly on the top of his red head, flattening him on the bottom of the skiff.
A shout went up from the forecastle.
“You lubbers!” bellowed Sam, scrambling to his feet, nearly upsetting the skiff in his efforts to get his eyes on the man who was responsible for knocking him down. “I’d duck you if I had you down here.”
“Yes, you would!” came back the prompt answer.
“Yes, I would.”
“Come up here and try it, red-head! We’ve got some shower baths up in the forecastle.”
“Don’t answer him, Sam,” cautioned Dan. “There is an officer watching us, and we do not want him to think we are a couple of rowdies.”
“Well, we aren’t, are we?” demanded Sam indignantly.
“Certainly not. All the more reason why we should act like gentlemen.”
Sam grumbled some unintelligible reply.
“Are you going first, Dan?”
“It makes no difference.”
Dan grasped the swaying rope ladder, known as a “Jacob’s ladder,” and ran up with agility.
“My, the little man must have made a voyage to Africa and taken lessons from the monkeys,” jeered a voice.
“It isn’t necessary to go to Africa to find specimens of that animal,” answered Dan, reaching the lower boom, along which he ran lightly, sprang over the rail and planted his feet on the deck. His first duty was to turn his face toward the stern of the ship and salute the Flag.
By this time Hickey was on his way up the ladder, and in a moment more he awkwardly measured his length on the deck, having caught his toe in the rope railing in scaling it.
The men of the forecastle set up a shout of approval.
“That’s the way to do it, lad! A regular human projectile. We don’t need any torpedoes when you are on board.”
Sam got up, blushing furiously. As he rose a jackie ran his fingers through the shock of red hair.
“Shipmate, you’d better keep away from the magazines with that head of hair, or there’ll be an explosion that will be heard all the way to Newport.”
“People who play with fire sometimes get burned. You’d better stand clear,” warned Hickey, whereat their was another shout, this time at the expense of the jackie who had taken the liberty with Sam’s head.
“I’ll bet the Old Man will send his orderlyon a run for the barber when he sees red-head here,” vouchsafed another.
The “Old Man” aboard ship means the captain.
The lads gave no further heed to the chaffing of their new shipmates. Dan nudged his companion and motioned for the latter to follow him.
“Where?” demanded Sam. “You don’t know where you are going.”
“We must report to the officer of the deck first of all. Lieutenant Commander Devall told me to do so.”
“Oh, I didn’t think you would know enough to do it of your own accord,” was Sam’s withering reply as he turned to follow Dan.
The lads made their way over the superstructure, where they were treated to various good-natured criticisms hurled at them by jackies and marines lounging along the deck.
Descending the iron steps that led down to the quarter-deck, the Battleship Boys once more came to attention and saluted the Flag. The officer of the deck brought his right hand to the visor of his cap in acknowledgment of the salute.
The boys stepped up to him, saluting once more.
“Well, men, what is it?”
“We are recruits from the Training Stationat Newport, sir. We have come to join the ship, sir.”
“Very good. Messenger!”
A sailor came to him on the run, saluting as he brought up sharply in front of the young ensign who was acting as officer of the deck.
“Take these men to the master-at-arms.”
The messenger crooked a finger; the Battleship Boys saluted the officer of the deck, and, turning, followed their guide. He led them through narrow corridors, up through the gun deck, where the butts of the great eight-inch guns lay shining in the sunlight that filtered down through open hatches.
At last he halted before a curtained doorway and rapped.
“What it is?” came a voice from inside.
“Officer of the deck directs you to receive two recruits who have just come on board, sir.”
The curtain parted and the lads saw before them a kindly faced man, whose weather-beaten features testified to many months of exposure to wind and sun on the high seas.
“Come in, lads,” he said. “Have you your papers with you?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Dan, extending their record papers.
“All clear,” said the master-at-arms after a brief glance over the documents. “The Training Schoolgives you a special good-conduct mention, I see. That is well. Follow me.”
Once more the process of diving through narrow passageways, down iron companionways, with chains for hand rails, turning sharp corners, trumping their elbows on projections and the like, was gone through with.
“What are they trying to do with us?” whispered Sam.
“I don’t know.”
“Guess they’re trying out our wind to see whether we are any good or not. This certainly is a sprint. If they keep it up much longer I’ll change my mind again and go ashore.”
Just then the master-at-arms rapped on the casing of another door, and, at command, entered, motioning the boys to follow.
They were now standing before the ship’s writer. The writer, after looking over their papers, entered their record in a large book on his desk. Following this he asked them many questions about their past life, going over much the same ground that the recruiting officer had done when they enlisted in New York. After satisfying himself on all points, the writer said:
“I will assign you to a deck division for the present. Here are the numbers for your sea bags and hammocks. Here are your dittyboxes.” He handed to the lads two boxes each about a foot square, neatly made and varnished. A lock and key was attached to each, and on the top of each box was a number.
Sam took his box under his arm. He seemed to be doubtful as to just what he was expected to do with the box, but at the moment he had no opportunity to ask, for once more the master-at-arms was beckoning the boys to follow him.
“There he goes again. Another sprinting match,” muttered Hickey. “I shall have an appetite when I get through with this race.”
“You don’t need exercise to give you an appetite,” retorted Dan. “That’s one of the things you always have with you.”
They were going forward through the interior of the ship, though by this time Sam had lost his bearings entirely. He could not have told whether they were going forward or aft.
“Two recruits just come aboard, sir,” announced the master-at-arms.
This time it was to the boatswain’s mate that they were introduced.
“Come in, lads,” he said in a voice that Sam afterwards decided must have come from the boatswain’s boots. The voice was deep and hoarse and fearsome, but the smile that followed the words was entirely reassuring.
“He isn’t half as fierce as he looks,” muttered Hickey in a whisper so loud and plain as to reach the ears of the boatswain’s mate. The latter smiled broadly.
“No; you need not be afraid of me, my lads. The boatswain’s mate is supposed to be a sort of father and mother, all in one, to the raw recruit. I suppose you have learned everything there is to know since you have been at the Newport station, have you not?”
“We have learned some things, but I fear there are still many things for us to learn,” replied Dan, with a half smile.
“Just so. You have learned to make all the various knots that a sailor is supposed to be familiar with?”
“Yes, sir,” answered the boys in chorus.
“And belay a fall?”
“Yes, sir; we know how to take a turn on a cleat with a rope.
“Very good. Hickey, my lad, now that you know how to belay a fall, I will ask if you can pass a stopper?”
A blank expression appeared on Sam’s face, while a twinkle showed in the eyes of the boatswain’s mate.
“I—I don’t know, sir. If the stopper were good to eat I don’t think I should pass it unless I were walking in my sleep.”
The boatswain’s mate leaned back and laughed uproariously.
“Passing a stopper, my lad, means to wrap a rope about a fall while another belays it. There are a lot of these sea terms that you will learn as you go along. I see you have been assigned to the deck. What branch of the service would you prefer to be in, or haven’t you thought about the matter seriously?”
“I think we should prefer to be on one of the guns—in a gun squad, sir.”
“That’s my idea, too; but, first of all, serve some time on deck. You will learn a great deal there. I will instruct you carefully in your duties and show you your billet, after which you will go forward and get acquainted with your shipmates.”
“Will you tell me, sir, what I do with this casket?” inquired Sam.
“The ditty box?”
“Yes, I guess that is what the other man called it.”
The boatswain’s mate smiled good-naturedly.
“That is for the purpose of holding your valuables.”
“Money?”
“Oh, no, it would not be exactly safe. You had better place your money in the hands of the paymaster.”
“That is what we intend to do,” spoke up Dan.
“The ditty box, my lads, is the sailor’s most treasured possession. In it he keeps his trinkets, his pictures, his letters, his pen and paper. But this is not all. The ditty box serves as the jackie’s desk, his table, his seat and many other things. Never interfere with another man’s ditty box unless you are looking for trouble. You will get it fast enough if you do so.”
“I’ll be too busy looking after my own to want to bother chasing the other fellow’s ditto box.”
“Ditty,” corrected Dan.
“All right. It’s all the same.”
“I will now show you through the ship, as you will be required to be familiar with it. Learn all you can. Learn the name of everything on board, for all this knowledge will be needed some of these days when you come up for promotion. I presume you have ambitions to rise to higher grades?”
“We are going to do so, sir,” answered Dan promptly.
“That is the way to talk. You will win with that spirit. Nothing can stop you. Now, come with me and take a look at the ‘Long Island.’”
“There we go again,” laughed Sam. “What time do we mess, sir?”
“Very soon, now. I shall get you back in plenty of time.”
They started out on their first tour of inspection of a battleship and the boys uttered many exclamations of wonder as the parts of the great floating machine and implement of war were revealed and explained to them.
The boatswain’s mate took them first to the bridge, where the compass and steering wheel were located; thence to the fire control, a steel-bound enclosure, open at the top, just forward of the bridge. It was from there, he told them, that the electric signals were given for torpedo firing.
“Is this a torpedo boat also?” questioned Sam innocently.
“Certainly not. This is a battleship. It is provided, however, with two torpedo tubes, a starboard and a port tube.”
From this point the lads went down, deeper and deeper into the ship, By this time there were no stairways to walk down. In place of them were narrow ladders running through narrow apertures in the various decks.
As he went along the boatswain’s mate briefly explained everything, going into detail regarding the handling of the big guns, the ammunition hoists and the electric signaling plant far down amidships. They did not complete theirjourney until they were far below the level of the water in the very bottom of the ship.
From there they made their way upward to the wireless telegraph room, where the operator was sitting with receiver on his head, listening for the faint ticking of the messages that might be hurled through the air.
Now and then the operator would nervously clutch his key.
Sam jumped when the resonators crashed forth their message to another far-away operator; then the sending instruments settled down to a steady squealing.
“Reminds me of Bill Thompson’s pigs,” nodded Sam. “That’s the kind of a noise they make when they get an appetite.”
At last the lads completed their tour.
“Stand by the starboard anchor chain!”
The command was given from the bridge as the lads emerged from the forward hatchway. Glancing up they saw several officers in their white uniforms standing on the bridge of the ship.
“I guess we must be going to get under way, sir,” said Dan.
“Yes.”
The “Long Island” had swung with the tide until she was headed down the river. Groups of expectant jackies thronged the forward deck.To one side stood the members of the ship’s band, instruments in hand.
“Stand clear of the starboard anchor chain,” came the second command from the bridge. “Up with the starboard anchor.”
A rattling of chains followed instantly as the anchor was quickly raised by electric power until its stock was level with the forward deck.
“Starboard anchor shipped, sir,” was the answer from the forward deck.
“Aye, aye!”
The captain, who had been standing looking over the forecastle from the bridge, now turned to the midshipman at the bridge telegraph, from which signals are transmitted to the engine room.
“Slow speed ahead, both engines,” commanded the captain.
A tremor ran through the ship and at the same instant the Stars and Stripes fluttered from the gaff, showing that the ship was under motion.
At that moment the band struck up a lively tune. With one accord the jackies threw their arms about each other and began waltzing about the deck, raising their voices in song as they spun around.
The Battleship Boys, however, did not sing. Their eyes were swimming with happiness,their hearts were full of patriotism. The throb of the engines was borne faintly to their ears, and the great ship, turning her prow seaward, headed slowly for the Narrows.
“Deck division turn out to swab down decks!” bellowed the boatswain’s mate.
The ship had poked her nose out into the open sea by this time, the “Long Island” rising and falling gracefully on an easy swell.
“What did he say?” questioned Sam.
“I’ll confess that I did not understand a word of it,” answered Dan. “I don’t see why those mates cannot talk plain United States.”
The command was followed by a bustling about the decks. Men hurriedly brought out their deck swabs, implements somewhat resembling mops. Others brought pails which they filled from the taps on deck, while still others coupled hose to pipes along the sea gutters.
Sam felt a hand on his shoulder.
“What division are you in?” demanded a gruff voice.
“The deck division, sir.”
“Then what are you doing here?” said a boatswain’s mate that they had not seen before, glaring at them.
“I—I don’t know, sir,” stammered Sam.
“Will you tell us what we are to do?” spoke up Dan. “You see, it is our first day on board.”
“Do? Do?” exploded the mate. “Get a swab and go to work; that’s what you are to do. What do you think this is, a liner where you can loll around and look pretty?”
“We are ready to work, if you will show us. Where will we find swabs?” questioned Dan.
The mate conducted them to a chest in which the swabs were kept.
“Take your swabs and hurry aft to the quarter-deck. That’s your station,” he directed.
By the time the boys reached the quarter-deck their mates were already at work, moving along swiftly, pushing their swabs ahead of them.
“Take off your shoes. What do you mean by coming here with your shoes on?” demanded the mate.
Somewhat hesitatingly Dan and Sam removed their shoes and stockings, rolled up their trousers and joined their fellows in scrubbing down the decks.
Sam was surly. He plainly did not like the assignment.
“This is a tough job,” he confided to his companion.“I didn’t join the Navy to make a washerwoman of myself.”
“We have got to learn, old chap. We must take our turn. If we complain, we are not fit for the service. You may be an admiral some day; who knows?”
“An admiral? Huh! Nice chance I’ve got to become an admiral—admiral of the scrub gang, you mean.”
“Pipe down the guff,” commanded the mate sternly.
“What’s that mean?” muttered Sam.
“I think he means we are to stop talking.”
For the next hour there was a steady splash, splash as the swabs worked back and forth over the deck, the latter running rivers of water from hose and pail.
“Well, how do you like Field Day?” questioned the mate who had first instructed the lads in their duties.
It was after the mess hour and all hands were resting preparatory to taking up the duties of the afternoon.
“What’s a Field Day?” asked Sam.
“When all hands turn to to clean ship. You see, ships get in rather bad condition, regarding cleanliness, after having been in port for some time.”
“Do the men like to clean ship?”
“They love it. Give a jackie a deck swab, put him in bare feet, and he is happy.”
“I don’t see anything to get excited about in scrubbing decks,” grumbled Sam.
“You will after you have been in the service longer. By the way, the smoke lamp is lighted. Fall to, lads.”
“You mean——”
“Go take your smoke. Light up your pipes.”
“We do not smoke, sir,” replied Dan.
“No, we don’t smoke,” added Sam. “But we eat.”
“That is all right. A great many of the boys do not smoke these days, and it is a good thing. Now, in my time, everybody smoked. But things have changed on the sea as well as elsewhere.”
“Attention!” called a voice.
The boys stiffened instinctively. They did not know the reason for the command, but experience had taught them that it was well to obey that command whenever heard.
It was the captain who was approaching, on his way to the bridge.
His hand came up in salute as he glanced quickly at them.
“Carry on, lads,” he said, whereat the Battleship Boys and their shipmates resumed their interrupted conversation.
“You will find the Old Man a splendid officerand very kind to you boys,” said the mate. “I’ve been under him for ten years, and there ain’t a man in the world who’s got a bigger heart than he, especially for the jackies. He loves them, every one of them.”
Soon after that, the boys went forward. Sitting under the shining twelve-inch guns, either of which would carry an eight hundred pound projectile twelve miles, they talked in low tones until the bugle sounded the command to scrub decks again.
Throughout the afternoon, until eight bells, that is four o’clock, the steady scrub, scrub, continued, the men now and then conversing in low tones.
“How long does this scrubbing business keep up?” asked Sam when he met the boatswain’s mate later in the afternoon.
“Let’s see; you enlisted for four years?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, that’s it.”
“What is it?”
“The scrubbing. We are always scrubbing aboard ship; that is, when we are not painting. Do you like to paint?”
“I never tried.”
“You will have a chance to do so to-morrow. We shall probably anchor off the Delaware breakwater to-morrow morning; then all handswill turn to and paint ship. Next to scrubbing decks the jackie is never so happy as when he has a paint brush in his hands.”
But Sam was doubtful. He decided that he would much prefer to be an officer. When the day was ended both boys had appetites that would not bear trifling with. Mess, that night, was a real meal so far as they were concerned. Sam had a third helping of everything on the bill.
“Have some more canned Willie,” urged a shipmate.
“Willie? Who’s he?”
“Willie is meat.”
“Red-head, you keep on eating that way your first day out, and Pills will have a job putting you on your feet again,” suggested another sailor.
“I’ll take the chance,” mumbled Sam, his mouth full of food. “It won’t be the first chance I’ve taken in this line of duty, either. But who is Mr. Pills?”
“‘Pills,’” laughed the sailor, “is the doctor.”
By the time supper had been finished the breeze had freshened considerably and the “Long Island” was pitching heavily. The watch was called on duty about this time, but being raw men the two boys were not to havethis duty put upon them just yet. Instead, they repaired to the forward deck, where they lay down against the big gun turret, to rest after their day’s work.
The smoke lamp had been lighted, and many of their companions were stretched about on the deck, smoking, telling stories or discussing the latest news that they had heard while in port. In the lighted corridors men might be seen sitting on the floor with their ditty boxes on their knees, writing letters.
About this time, the band came out, electric lights were strung over the deck on the starboard side, where the musicians would be protected from the strong breeze, and chairs brought out for the players.
Soon the regular evening concert began. The voices of the sailors were stilled; under the spell of the music many heads drooped, many tired eyes closed for a few moments of delicious sleep.
“Isn’t it glorious?” breathed Dan.
“It might be if things weren’t so upside down,” complained Sam.
“What’s the matter? Aren’t you feeling well?”
“I have felt better,” answered Sam in a husky voice. “I guess I’ll take a walk.”
His walk did not last long. Sam took a turnonce across the deck, then settled down beside his companion, holding his head between his hands.
“Why, Sam, are you really ill?” questioned Dan, his voice full of concern.
“Ill? I think I’m going to die. Ugh!” Sam stretched out on the deck flat on his back.
“Sam Hickey, I believe you are seasick,” exclaimed Dan.
Sam’s only answer was a long-drawn moan.
The services of two jackies were required to boost Hickey into his hammock that night at nine o’clock, when hammocks were piped up.
At five o’clock next morning, when the bugle piped all hands out, the red-haired Jackie was in a sad state. His hair was standing up like the quill of a porcupine, fairly bristling with disorder. When Dan helped him down to the deck Sam fell in a heap.
“Brace up!” urged Dan. “Don’t let them think you a landlubber.”
“I don’t care what they think. I’m a sick man.”
“Never mind; you will feel better after you get some hot breakfast inside of you.”
“Breakfast! Waugh!”
Dan helped his chum to the shower baths, where Sam took a cold bath that tuned him up considerably. He was still very uncertain on his feet, however, as he made his way forward for his deck swab, for the first duty of the day was to take up his occupation of swabbing decks.
Sam’s footsteps lagged that morning. He was several paces behind the other swabbers all the time.
“What’s the matter, red-head?” questioned one of the jackies.
“I’m sick, that’s all.”
“Trying to work the list, eh?” asked another.
“I don’t know what working the list may be, but I’m anything you want to call me.”
“He means getting on the binnacle list,”
“What’s that?” wondered Sam.
“Being excused by the doctor for one day on account of a fit of laziness that makes a fellow think he’s sick.”
“I don’t think; I know,” was the lad’s muttered response. However, Sam resolutely stuck to his work, though every plunge of the battleship threatened him with a final collapse to the deck.
Somehow, he managed to pull himself throughthat long morning without, as he called it, “disgracing myself.” When the command came, “knock off scrubbing decks,” Sam broke ranks and ran for the forecastle. He did not dare trust himself to walk, for he feared he would be unable to keep on his feet.
But his headlong course was an unsafe one through the narrow corridors of a man-of-war, and many a jackie and marine’s shins were rapped soundly by the handle of the deck swab, during Sam’s wild dash. The jackies yelled at him, now and then one hurling something at the fleeing lad, but Sam did not stop until something finally happened to check his mad career.
Somehow his swab handle was thrust between the feet of a man standing with his back to the lad. This occurred on the gun deck.
The man went down flat on his face, and Sam likewise tripped over the handle of the deck swab, plunging headlong on the fallen man.
There was instant commotion. Those of the crew who chanced to be standing about set up a roar of laughter.
“Look out, Bill. His head will set fire to your uniform,” shouted one of them.
Sam was struggling to his feet, very red in the face and very much ashamed of his clumsiness. He started forward to help the other man up, when the latter regained his feet with abound. The man’s face was bloody, a deep gash having appeared across his nose.
“Did the red-head do you up, Kester?” shouted several voices at once.
Bill Kester, in falling, had struck a sharp edge on the carriage of an eight-inch gun, and had sustained a painful wound. Besides this, his face was smeared with grease that it had collected in scraping along the carriage.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” begged Sam.
Kester was mopping the blood and grime from his face, regardless of the fact that the sleeve with which he was performing the operation would not stand an inspection.
“It was an accident. Believe me, I could not help it. I was feeling sick and was hurrying to some place where I could lie down.”
The injured seaman did not answer at once.
“Is there anything I can do for you? May I get you some water?”
“Go soak his head under the scuttle butt,” shouted another sailor.
It was quite plain that, for some reason, all hands seemed to enjoy Bill Kester’s unexpected downfall, for no one expressed any sympathy for him, or regret at the accident. This Sam did not observe, however. He was too much concerned over the result of his carelessness. In fact he forgot, for the moment, that the deckwas heaving under his feet and that everything movable about him was on the move.
“Hit him again, red-head!”
“I said it was an accident, and that I am very, very sorry. Did you understand?”
“You lie!”
Sam Hickey’s face had been pale since the beginning of his recent internal disturbances. But the color now surged to his cheeks, mounting to the roots of his red hair, with which it merged.
“If you were not hurt, I’d make you take back those words. I don’t allow any man to apply that term to me.”
“That’s the talk. Hand him one for luck, anyway, red-head!”
“You lie!” This time it came out with such an accent that there was no misunderstanding. Bill Kester’s intent was plainly to goad Sam into attacking him.
The Battleship Boy stood with tightly clenched fists at his side, his teeth grinding in his great effort to control himself. Something of this seemed to convey itself to the jackies who, up to this moment, had looked upon the little scene as a delightful diversion. They saw at once that the red-headed, freckle-faced boy before them was holding himself in check under circumstances that would have driven any one of them into a blind, uncontrollable rage.
“Coward!” shouted Kester.
At the same time he sprang forward, landing a resounding slap on Sam Hickey’s cheek.
Smack!
The Battleship Boy’s right fist shot out. Sam had gone the limit in self-control. He could endure no more.
The fist landed squarely on Bill Kester’s sore nose, but with a force that must have surprised that worthy. The man staggered backward, falling all in a heap, wedged in between the sides of the eight-inch gun carriage.
“Whoop! Now let the eagle scream!” shouted the sailors. “Pretty hot stuff for a shipmate who’s on the binnacle list. Go over and give him another on the same spot, red-head.”
Sam’s deck swab dropped from his hand.
“I’m sorry I did that. I ought not to have hit him, but I just couldn’t help it.”
“Don’t you worry about that, lad,” soothed a shipmate. “Bill got what was coming to him, only you ought to hit him once more in the same place. If you want to finish the job we’ll see that you get fair play.”
“I do not want to fight. I am no fighter,” said Sam.
“No fighter?” the sailors laughed uproariously. “Do you know, red-head, that Bill Kester is a bullyand that he’s licked half the crew already?”
“I don’t care if he has licked the whole fleet; he can’t call me a liar and a coward. I could stand for the liar business, because maybe he didn’t mean it that way. But ‘coward’ I draw the line at.”
By this time Kester had extricated himself from his uncomfortable position. No one had offered to help him, and for reasons of his own, Sam had not gone to the fallen man’s assistance. The lad stood calmly awaiting the result of his act.
Bill got to his feet unsteadily, blinked his eyes, gingerly felt his now flattened nose, then thrusting out his chin, he glared at his young adversary.
Sam gave back the look unflinchingly.
“Shall we call it square? I’m sorry I tripped you and sorry I had to hit you,” announced Hickey in a manly tone, wholly free from anger.
For an instant Kester hesitated.
“All right; shake, shipmate,” he said, advancing.
Sam met him half way with a pleased smile on his face, his right hand extended to complete the truce that had been declared.
“Look out, red-head!” warned a voice with a trace of excitement in it.
The warning came too late.
Quick as a flash Bill Kester planted a cowardly blow squarely between the boy’s eyes. Sam Hickey settled down on the gun deck, toppled over and straightened out.
For an instant there was silence. Then an angry roar burst from the indignant jackies as they made a concerted rush for Kester, who had sought to follow up his advantage and inflict further punishment on his victim while in this defenseless position.
“Steady, boys! Don’t maul him up,” warned one of the cooler heads, as the men started to take the punishment of the bully into their own hands.
Kester was a man who was very much disliked by his associates and shipmates. He was in his second enlistment. He had once been dismissed from the service, but, by means known to none of his shipmates, had managed to get back again.
“Throw him overboard! It’s all the cur deserves.”
“No; leave him for the kid to take care of.”
“Yes, leave him to me,” interrupted Sam, raising himself on one elbow. “I’ll take care of him when my head gets plumb on my shoulders again. Did he hit me with a brick?”
Before replying, the jackies conducted Kester to the forward bulkhead door. Through this they thrust him, half a dozen heavy shoes landing on him in swift kicks as he disappeared through the door.
“What did you let him go for?” demanded Hickey getting his feet, leaning against the butt of a big gun for support. He was weak and trembling, but not for an instant did his natural grit desert him.
“That’s all right, shipmate. You ain’t in no condition to mix it up with Bill. You wait till some other time and you’ll get your chance and it’ll be a fair and square knock-down fight, no under the belt foul tactics either. You’re the right kind, and we’re with you, even if you have got a combustible head of hair on you, and that stands all the time.”
Sam took his way forward thoughtfully. He was still suffering from his illness and, besides, was weak from the effects of the blow he had received from Bill Kester.
In the meantime, Kester, holding a handkerchief to his face, was making his way toward the surgeon’s quarters. His face was in sadneed of repair, but he sought to hide that fact from his associates.
“Hello, Bill, what’s the matter? Have an argument with somebody?” greeted a shipmate, with a quizzical squint at the bully’s face.
“I ran into a stanchion,” explained Kester lamely, proceeding on his way, avoiding the curiosity of the men as much as possible.
The surgeon, the instant he had taken a look at the man’s face, however, saw that something more than a stanchion had hit Bill on the nose. All his questions, however, were avoided. On his report to the captain, which the surgeon made every night, was the notation: “Bill Kester, seaman, badly battered face, broken nose, with a deep gash in it, evidently made by some sharp instrument. This man has been undoubtedly in a bloody fight.”
That was all, but it was quite sufficient to start the wheels of discipline moving. That evening Kester was called upon by the master-at-arms.
“Kester, I have come to ask you with whom you were in a fight to-day?”
“How’d you know I was in a fight?” demanded the seaman in a surly tone.
“Your face answers that question. Who was it?”
“Hickey.”
“The recruit?”
“Yes.”
There was a quizzical look in the eyes of the master-at-arms. That a bully of Kester’s reputation should have been used up in this manner by a raw recruit was somewhat of a surprise to him.
“What did he hit you with?”
Bill hesitated.
“What did he hit you with?”
“A deck swab.”
“And you nagged him to it?”
“No, I didn’t. I didn’t do anything till I got it.”
“Very well. Do you wish to make a charge against the man?”
“Yes.”
There was no further investigation that night. The master-at-arms’ report was made to the captain. But that night Sam recounted to his companion, Dan Davis, all that had occurred. Dan listened attentively, asking a question now and then.
“I do not see how you could have acted differently unless you had run away, and I shouldn’t want to think you had done such a thing. I would much rather see you punished than to know you had acted the part of a coward.”
“Don’t use that word,” begged Sam. “Kester did. That was what clinched the whole business. If he hadn’t done that, I might not have hit him, even though he slapped me.”
A dull flush suffused the cheeks of the Battleship Boy at the memory of what had occurred, but his voice was calm and without the slightest emotion.
“Do you think there will be a row about it?” he asked.
“I hope not. If there is, take your medicine like a man,” advised Dan.
“I will. I’m feeling better now. I guess I needed a good shaking up to jar the seasickness out of me. I haven’t that ‘went-away’ feeling now.”
“I guess you must mean a ‘gone’ feeling, do you not?” smiled Dan.
“Yes; I was gone, all right.”
“Well, don’t worry about it. Nothing may happen as the result of your fight.”
“Fight? Do you call that a fight? It wasn’t a fight. If I had been feeling right there might have been a fight. There may be yet. I have an idea I have not heard the last of Kester. If he gives me half a chance I’m going to pay him back for that cowardly blow.”
“Be sure you are in the right, Sam,” cautioned Dan. “Keep your head. Defend yourself, if you haveto, but see to it that you do not stir up any trouble.”
Dan’s advice always was good, and Sam gave more heed to it than he appeared to. As a matter of fact, he set much store by the advice and counsel of his cool-headed friend, Dan Davis.
That evening passed uneventfully and the lads enjoyed a refreshing night, with the cool breezes from the sea blowing over their swaying hammocks.
On the following morning after breakfast the master-at-arms tapped Sam on the shoulder.
“You will report at mast on the quarter-deck at one o’clock, sharp,” he said.
“Mast?” wondered Sam.
“Yes.”
“What for?”
“A charge has been laid against you.”
“What sort of charge?”
“Assaulting a shipmate and beating him.”
Sam uttered a short, nervous laugh.
“Is that all?”
“You will find it is quite enough. At a quarter to one you will report forward of the after twelve-inch-gun turret and there await me. I shall bring other prisoners there for trial. We will join you there.”
“Very well,” answered Sam. He did not yetrealize the seriousness of the courteously executed order. However, he looked up Dan as soon thereafter as possible, relating to him what had occurred.
“Why, Sam, you are under arrest!” exclaimed Dan.
“Under arrest?”
“Of course you are.”
“But I thought they locked people up after they arrested them.”
“It isn’t always necessary on shipboard. You couldn’t get away if you wanted to.”
“That’s so. I hadn’t thought of it in that light before. Under arrest? I wonder what will happen to me next? First, I get seasick, get knocked out, then get arrested for being punched. This is a funny business. And the worst of it is that I can’t change my mind for four years.” Sam grinned a mirthless grin. “Hard luck, isn’t it, Dan?”
“No; it is a good thing. All this will make a man of you—of both of us.”
The lads went about their duties soon after that. At noon Sam hurried through his dinner, after which he slicked himself up as best he could and went to the after gun turret, where he awaited the master-at-arms, as he had been ordered to do. The latter arrived a moment later, bringing with him two other prisoners andBill Kester. The latter was accompanied by the surgeon. Kester’s face—that is his nose—was patched up with numerous strips of adhesive plaster.
The men were conducted half way down the deck, where stood the captain, the executive officer of the ship and the captain’s yeoman, the latter with his record book in hand, eyeing them carefully.
“Sam Hickey, step forward,” called the yeoman.
The lad took his place in front of the captain, who, at the moment, was studying the record sheet giving Sam’s history.
“Where is the man who makes this charge?” demanded the captain.
Kester was thrust forward by the master-at-arms.
“State your case,” commanded the captain.
“I was standing on the gun deck, facing forward, sir, when this man Hickey comes along and hits me with the deck swab.”
“He hit you with the deck swab?”
“With the handle, sir.”
“Where did he hit you?”
“On the gun deck, sir, aft the eight-inch gun.”
“I should say by your appearance that you had been hit on the nose instead of on the gundeck,” replied the captain, without the suspicion of a smile on his face.
“Yes, sir, he hit me on the nose, sir.”
“How could he do that when your back was turned toward him?” demanded the captain sharply.
“Somebody cried, ‘Look out,’ and I turned, sir. Then I got it.”
“What did you do?”
“I slapped his face, sir.”
“And what did the prisoner do?”
Sam’s lips contracted a little upon his being referred to as “the prisoner.”
“He hit me on the nose with his fist, right on the sore spot, sir. He knocked me clean off my feet, tumbling me up under the breech of the eight-inch, sir.”
“Then what happened?”
“I went to the surgeon, sir, to get myself fixed up.”
“You were not the aggressor in any way?”
“Sir?”
“You are quite sure you did not start the trouble?”
“How could I, when my back was turned, sir?”
“I did not ask you that; I asked you whether you were or not. Answer yes or no.”
“No, sir.”
“That will be all for the present. Samuel Hickey, step forward.”
The Battleship Boy moved three paces to the front, looking the commanding officer squarely but respectfully in the eyes.
“You have heard Kester’s story. What have you to add to it, if anything?”
“I hardly think the story will stand any more adding to, sir,” replied the boy, with a faint smile. The captain appeared not to notice the subtle fling in Sam’s answer.
“You will tell me, in as few words as possible, how the row started.”
“We had finished scrubbing decks, sir. I had been seasick and was going forward on a run, carrying my deck swab. Somehow it caught this man between the legs and upset him, sir.”
“How did he get the wound on his nose, if that is true?”
“He must have hurt himself in falling.”
The explanation sounded very lame to all who heard it, though, as the reader knows, it was wholly within the facts.
“You mean to tell me you did not strike him at all?”
“Oh, yes, sir, I struck him. I hit him as hard as I could.”
“Where did you hit him?”
“Plumb on the nose, sir.”
“What excuse have you to offer for assaulting a man who already, according to your own admission, was injured?”
“He called me a liar, sir; then afterwards he called me a coward. I couldn’t stand that, sir.”
“Is that all?”
“I think so, sir.”
“Oh, why doesn’t he tell the captain about Kester’s having knocked him down,” groaned Dan, who had, from a prudent distance, been an interested listener to the examination.
“You have admitted that you struck the man; you have admitted that you inflicted the wound which, it appears, is of more than ordinary seriousness, as it may cause his disfigurement for life.”
Sam made no reply to this. None seemed to be called for under the circumstances. Somehow he felt that he had made out a very bad case for himself. He had told nothing but the truth, and not all of that, so far as his own vindication went, and yet he knew he had been placed in a false light.
“I’m in wrong, but I’ve got no one except myself to blame for it,” thought Sam.
The captain consulted with his executive officer for a moment. Then turning to the prisoner he said, gravely:
“Hickey, you are guilty of a very serious breach of discipline. You are a new man on board ship. Were it not for that fact I should be much more severe. I am inclined to be lenient with you under the circumstances. You will understand that punishments are wholly impersonal. They are punishments because some rule has been violated. Discipline must be maintained.”
“Yes, sir,” answered Sam meekly.
“Silence!” warned the master-at-arms.
“I hope you will not forget the lesson. Control your temper. Unless you are able to manage your own temper you will never be fit to manage other men. You will have to conquer yourself before you can look for promotion in the service.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You will be placed in the brig for two days, on bread and water, with one full ration in the middle of the second day. And, Kester!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Your record in the past has not been any too good. I trust I shall not hear of your getting into further trouble. You have been long enough in the service to know how to keep out of mischief.”
The captain motioned to the master-at-arms to remove the prisoner.
Sam Hickey, with head erect, saluted his superior officers, faced about, marching steadily ahead of the master-at-arms, on his way to be punished for an offense that he felt sure he had not committed.
“I wish I’d hit Kester harder, while I was about it,” Hickey muttered.
“I’m sorry, lad, but discipline is discipline,” remarked the petty officer as he clanged the door of the brig on Hickey.
“It’s all right, Mr. Master-at-Arms. There’s one consolation; I don’t have to scrub decks for the next two days, anyway. That’s some relief.”
Sam threw himself down on the steel floor, where he promptly went to sleep.