NED HOLDS HIS COUNSEL.
The chief boatswain's mate was a far more awe-inspiring officer, in the boys' eyes, than any they had so far met. They both knew enough of the navy to realize that he and his subordinate were the class of petty officer with whom they would come most in contact during their early period of enlistment.
This dignitary on theManhattanwas a fierce-looking personage, but the boys were to learn that as the sailors say, his "bark was worse than his bite."
"Hum, recruits," he said as he looked the two boys over.
"He certainly is giving us a sizing-up," whispered Herc.
The ears of the boatswain's mate were sharper than the boys had imagined.
"Yes, Iamsizing you up," he said with emphasis."I'm thinking that you look like pretty good material."
"We mean to do our best, sir," rejoined Ned.
"That's right. That sort of ambition will carry you far. But are you not the two boys who fell overboard a short time ago?"
"I fell, and he jumped after me," corrected Herc.
"How did it happen? An accident, wasn't it?"
"Not exactly an accident," rejoined Ned.
"What then? You mean it was done on purpose?"
"I'm afraid so," was the quiet reply.
"Who did it?"
"We would prefer not to say now, sir," replied Ned in the same repressed tone.
"You mean you intend to attend to the matter in your own way?"
"Something like that," admitted Ned.
The officer looked sharply at him.
"It is my duty to warn you, my lad, that all such matters should be confided to your superior officer, and you should abide by his advice. However, unless you commit some breach of discipline, I have no concern in the affair. I must tell you, however, that I heard from some of the menthat Kennell had something to do with it. Is he the man you suspect of causing the trouble?"
"I had rather not say," rejoined Ned quietly.
"Very well, as you wish it; only recollect what I have told you. Now, follow me, and we will look over your quarters. Of course, you are familiar with hammock-slinging, and all that appertains to it?"
Herc rubbed his head with a grin.
"I've got some bumps here yet that serve to remind me of my first efforts to climb into one."
"Answer me 'yes' or 'no,' please; do not try to say anything more."
"I was just explaining," muttered Herc, not heeding Ned's warning look.
They were soon assigned two places, side by side, in which they might sling their hammocks. The space devoted to the jackies' sleeping quarters was well forward under the superstructure and lighted by electric lights. It was well ventilated, and aisles of steel pillars ran in every direction. From these the hammocks were slung.
"I will now show you something of the ship, so that you may be familiar with your floating home," said the boatswain's mate; "follow me."
"I wish he'd show us some supper," whispered Herc. "I'm about as empty as a dry well."
"Never mind," rejoined Ned; "we shall soon be summoned to eat, I expect."
The boatswain's mate took them through much the same maze of steel-walled passages and heavy doors as had the messenger. After descending three decks and traversing the stern of the ship, they were shown the mighty tiller and the mechanical apparatus connecting with the wheel-house, where the steam-steering gear was installed. Then they were hurried along forward. Not, however, before the officer had shown them the emergency steam-steering gear, far below the water-line, which could be used in case a shot disabled the guiding apparatus above decks.
Forward they were conducted up steel steps onto the gun deck, and thence to a passage under the bridge and chart room, from which they emerged onto the edge of a sort of steel "well," sunk immediately below the center of the bridge.
"There are the fire-controls," said the officer, pointing down into the "well" at a lot of shapeless apparatus swathed in heavy, waterproof cloth. "We keep the range-finders and other apparatuscovered while we are in port or in a damp climate."
"The fire-controls?" echoed Herc, with half a suspicion that his unfortunate head was coming in as the subject of more joking. But it was not, as the next remark of the boatswain's mate showed him.
"The gunnery officer is seated in that well, with two orderlies, at battle practice, or in actual warfare," he explained. "He is screened there from the enemy's fire; but, through narrow slits cut in the steel, he sees what is going on about him, and telegraphs the range and directs the fire. His commands are transmitted to the gun-control room electrically, and thence to the turrets."
The boys listened with deep interest.
"We will now go below again and look at the gun-control room," said the boatswain's mate, as he trotted off once more.
"He must be made of the same material as the ship," groaned Herc, as the two boys followed him.
As before, they traversed innumerable passages, passing several officers on the way, whom they, of course, saluted. In each case the salutationwas returned by a brief touch of the officer's fingers to his cap rim.
"If you'd ever get lost here, you could wander round for a week without finding your way out," grumbled Herc.
"Not much chance," laughed their guide; "every part of the ship, huge as it is, is visited at least once a day by some officer. Not a corner is allowed to escape notice."
Suddenly the boatswain's mate plunged downward through a very narrow square opening, which seemed almost too small to admit his body.
The boys followed, though for a moment they had been quite startled at his sudden disappearance.
"This is a part of the ship no stout man can ever hope to penetrate," said their guide, as he clambered down a steel ladder, which the opening, through which he had crawled, led to.
"I should say not," muttered Herc, squeezing through. "It doesn't speak very much for navy food," he added to himself, "if all the sailors can squeeze through such a place as this."
At the bottom of the ladder they found themselves in a small chamber, looking not unlike thecentral office of a telephone exchange. It was quite hot, owing to its proximity to the boiler room.
Everywhere wires ran, with head-pieces, like those worn by operators, dangling from them. Small bells were affixed to the steel bulkhead, and a system of tiny signal lights was arranged above them.
"This is the place from which the fire is directed after the commands have been sent from the fire-control well," explained their guide. "As you see, it works like a telephone exchange. In action, an officer and four men are stationed here to attend to the signals."
"Are we under the water-line now?" asked Ned breathlessly.
"We are now twenty feet below the surface of the river," replied the boatswain's mate.
"Then, if the ship was sunk in action, the men down here would not stand a chance to escape?" queried Ned.
"No; they probably would not know that the ship had been struck till they saw the water come pouring in on them."
"Say, Ned," whispered Herc.
"What?"
"There's one job in the navy that I don't want."
"What is that?"
"To be stationed down here."
"No danger of that," laughed Ned. "Only the most expert of the crew—men to whom gunnery is a science, are assigned to these posts."
A visit to the wireless room, which was set snugly in the superstructure between the two forward and the two after funnels, completed the lads' tour of their new home.
"Now, I have done all I can for you," remarked the boatswain's mate, as he parted from the boys on the forward deck, "the rest lies in your own hands. The only part of the ship you have not seen is the magazines. As there are two and one-half million dollars' worth of explosives stored there, we naturally keep them private."
Lounging about with the other tars on the forward deck the boys found their friend, Tom Marlin. He had already heard about the accident which had resulted in Herc's involuntary immersion and Ned's voluntary ducking.
"I'm glad that you boys kept your heads," he said, after the boys had recounted their experiencesand suspicions to him; "the 'old man' is very much averse to fighting; although on some of the ships of the fleet they allow the men to meet under proper conditions and fight out their grievances with boxing gloves."
"We have no intention of letting Kennell go unpunished, though," promised Ned indignantly. "Why, for all he knew, he might have drowned Herc here."
"You'd better steer clear of Kennell," warned another sailor, who had come up with three companions at this moment; "he's a dangerous man, and could eat both you kids for breakfast, without sauce or salt."
"I'm not so sure of that," breathed Ned truculently, smarting under the sense of the mean trick that had been played on his friend; "and, perhaps, before this cruise is over, he may have a chance to try."
This conversation took place on the forward deck, in the short lounging interval allowed the sailors between afternoon "setting-up" drill, and the supper bugle, which is sounded at 5:30.
As Ned voiced his intention of squaring things up at some future time, the brisk notes of the summons to the evening meal cut short furthertalk, and as the chiming of "three bells" mingled with the bugle's notes, the jackies descended on the mess-tables like a flight of locusts on a wheatfield. They were served with cold roast ham, potato salad, boiled potatoes, canned peaches, bread and butter, and steaming tea.
"Ah," sighed Herc, as his nostrils dilated under the odors of appetizing food, and his eye fell on the long rows of tables, spread with plates, knives and forks, with a cup at each man's elbow, "this is a lot more interesting to me right now than all the underground subways in the navy."
BREAKING TWO ROOKIES.
A fresh breeze, tossing up the foamy white caps; fleecy clouds, scurrying by overhead; and, on the sparkling sea, spread in a long formidable line, the North Atlantic squadron, steaming "in column," bound for the battle practice at Guantanamo. Between each of the huge battle bulldogs, glistening wetly with the tossed-up spray, a perfect distance was maintained—as accurately as if the space between each ship in the long line were fixed permanently; yet the squadron was reeling off twenty knots an hour on its way to tropic waters.
On the fore-deck of theManhattan, which, leviathan as she was, pitched heavily in the huge Atlantic swells, stood the two Dreadnought Boys; but a big change was manifest in the ruddy-headed Herc's smiling features, since he sat down to supper the night before the squadron sailed.
Ned regarded his chum with a smile at the other's woe-begone look.
"Cheer up, Herc," he said. "It will soon be over, you know. Sea-sickness does not last long."
"A good thing it doesn't," groaned the unfortunate Herc, "or I'd be finished with earthly woes by this time. O-oh-oh-oh!"
The exclamation was forced from Ned's cousin as theManhattangave an extra heavy pitch which sent the salt foam flying in a wet cloud over the port-bow.
It was the second morning following the fleet's departure from New York. The night before, after a day of agony, poor Herc had been hoisted into his hammock by three sailors, and now, in the early dawn, he was undergoing once more all the torments of the day previous. Ned, on the contrary, seemed unaffected by the motion of the ship in the heavy sea-way, and had escaped the toll old Neptune demands from most neophytes.
"Here, you boys," bluffly snapped a boatswain's mate, approaching the boys; "what are you doing here?" It was not the same petty officer who had shown them about the ship.
"Beg pardon, sir," said Ned, respectfully saluting,"but we haven't received any assignments yet."
"Well, lay hold of a swab and get to work."
"A swab, sir?"
"It sounds what I feel like," groaned Herc.
"Yes, a deck-mop, if you like that term better. No idlers allowed here."
"My friend here, is pretty sea-sick, sir," ventured Ned respectfully.
"Never mind; a little work will do him good—work and a good breakfast——"
"Breakfast oh-o-o-oh!" from the luckless Herc.
"Come, hammocks have been piped down for five minutes. Have you stowed yours?" demanded the boatswain's mate sharply.
"Yes, sir," replied Ned, who had performed this office both for himself and for his friend.
"Well, you will turn to with the first deck division and scrub decks."
"Very well, sir," said Ned, starting forward to where he saw a number of jackies, armed with swabs, preparing to begin the first daily task on a man-o'-war. Scrubbing and painting and cleaning brasswork are a Jackie's chief tasks at sea.
"But hold on a minute—your boots."
The boatswain's mate glared downward disapprovingly.
"Have I lost those, too?" moaned Herc.
"Take off your boots, at once. Footgear is not allowed while scrubbing decks."
"Very well, sir. Come, Herc, we must go forward."
Followed by Herc, Ned made his way to the fore superstructure, where swabs were being served out. After a little inquiry, he found his "station," and guided the half-dazed Herc into his place in the scrubbing line. Soon they were at work on one of those tasks which may seem menial, but which every boy who enters Uncle Sam's navy must learn to do without complaint.
"I didn't leave home to scrub floors," muttered Herc indignantly, his disgust getting even the better of his sea-sickness; "is this a sailor's chore?"
"Never mind, Herc; look at it from this angle—in scrubbing decks you are helping to keep your five-million-dollar home clean."
"I'd give five million dollars to be ashore," groaned Herc, a fresh paroxysm sweeping over him.
Suddenly the sharp cry of "Attention!" rang along the decks.
The scrubbing squads straightened up stiffly, and came to the position of salute.
It was the captain, making an early tour of inspection with the executive officer of the ship, Lieutenant-Commander Scott. Behind him came his orderly and a messenger. Altogether, it was quite an impressive little parade.
Ned thought that the captain, whom he had last seen quelling the onrush of the crazed stokers, glanced at him with a flash of recognition. He knew enough, however, not to betray by the flicker of an eyelash that he had ever seen his commander before.
As for Herc, he was fortunately, perhaps, past paying attention to anything.
"Tell the men to carry on," Ned heard the captain say to the boatswain's mate in charge of his scrubbing squad, as the officers passed by.
"Carry on," thought Ned; "what on earth is that?"
"Come; carry on!" said boatswain's mate sharply to Ned as the boy still stood at attention, having received no order to resume work.
Ned looked at him inquiringly, and the man saw the lad was puzzled.
"Carry on. Go on with your work," he said, and Ned at once understood the hitherto mysterious order.
Breakfast followed the swabbing-down work, and Herc, who felt somewhat revived, managed to swallow a few mouthfuls. Not enough, however, to completely restore him, and a shipmate, seeing his despondent condition, advised him to visit Pills.
"What is that?" asked the astonished boy.
"It isn't a 'what,' it's a 'he'," explained the man; "Pills is the doctor."
"Well, if there's a doctor on board, I certainly want to see him," agreed Herc; and, at seven-thirty, together with several other men, suffering from real or imaginary ills, he sought out the ship's doctor, who gave him some remedies, which soon made the boy feel all right. In fact, an hour later Herc and Ned found themselves consigned to a painting squad, working, side by side, on the big forward turret which housed the twelve-inch guns.
Beside them was another blue-jacket and oldTom, their acquaintance of their first day of naval life.
Ned felt a thrill, as, in his bosn's chair, he dangled on the side of the turret close to the glistening barrels of the huge guns, which could hurl a ponderous weight of metal, an 870-pound projectile, almost ten miles. He wondered if he would ever attain his present ambition, which was to serve on the crew in the big forward turret, the one he was then engaged in painting a dull-slate color.
Conversation is allowed among blue-jackets at work if they are discreet enough not to make their tones too loud, and relapse into silence when a petty or a commissioned officer happens along. Thus Ned and the convalescent Herc found time to ask many questions concerning the ship. Naturally, the talk drifted, as they worked, to the turret on which they were toiling.
"If I tell you boys a secret can you keep it—teetotal abstinence?" asked old Tom suddenly.
"You had better not confide in us, if you don't think so," rejoined Ned somewhat sharply.
"Oh, no harm meant," hastily put in Tom; "and at that, it isn't so much of a secret. It'sbeen hinted at in the papers, and maybe you may have heard of it. Have you?"
"Why, how can we tell unless we know what it is?" questioned Ned, with a laugh.
"Well," confided old Tom seriously, and lowering his voice—though by this time the third man on their side of the turret was painting at some distance from them—"well, inside this here turret is one of the new Varian guns. They are the invention of Henry Varian, of Boston——"
"The inventor of that new explosive?" breathed Ned.
"Exactly; Chaosite, they call it. Well, this here gun is specially built to handle this explosive, but it's never been tried yet; and—here's the secret—Varian himself is to join us in Cuba and direct the firing tests of it. While the papers have got hold of the fact that we have the gun on board, none of them know that it is to be tested on this battle practice, or that Varian himself is to meet us at Guantanamo."
"How do you come to know all this?" asked Ned.
"Why, I'm the stroke-oar of the captain's boat—when he uses it—which isn't often, nowadays,"lamented old Tom, who hadn't much use for "steamers" and gasoline launches. "Well, when we was at Key West, I rowed him ashore—helped to, that is—and I overheard him talking to this fellow Varian himself about the gun. I wasn't eavesdropping, you understand; just overheard."
"That's mighty interesting," mused Ned; "of course, I have read of the government's experiments with Chaosite. It is supposed to be, I believe, the most powerful of all explosives yet discovered. It's great to think that we are on board the first ship to try it under actual battle conditions."
"I wish we could get on the crew of that gun," put in Herc. "I'd like mighty well to see just how that Chewusite acts when it's touched off. Regular Fourth of July, I guess. Pop-boom-fizz! Up in the air!—stars!—bang—down comes the stick!"
As Herc spoke, in his newly recovered vitality, he swung his pot of slate-colored paint about, to illustrate his meaning. As ill-luck would have it, the wire handle was not oversecurely fastened, and off flew the receptacle of the pigment with which the turret was being covered.
"Oh, crickey! Now I've done it!" groanedHerc, as he felt the bucket slip from the handle and go hurtling down.
The next moment Ned echoed his chum's exclamation of dismay, as he saw what had occurred.
To make matters worse, at that very moment the redoubtable Kennell was passing beneath the turret, on his way aft to clean some brasswork, and had turned his face upward, preparatory to flinging some jeering remark at the two Dreadnought Boys.
The contents of the unlucky pot of paint fell full on his sneering features, blotting them out in a sticky cloud of gray pigment!
A BULLY GETS A LESSON.
For a moment the big form of the paint-covered bully swayed about blindly and helplessly. Then, dashing the paint from his eyes, he emitted a roar like that of a stricken bull.
Jackies at work near at hand, who had seen the accident, gazed at Herc, who had by this time slid to the deck—in a sort of pitying way. They knew Kennell too well to suppose that he would let such an occurrence—even if it were an accident—pass by unrevenged.
"I'm sorry, Kennell; it was an accident," exclaimed Herc, one hand extended, and the other gathering up the loose end of his work-blouse; "here, let me wipe some of it off with this."
He stepped forward, with the intention of doing all he could to repair the damage he had unwittingly caused, but Kennell, with an angry sweep of his arm, waved him furiously back. Toincrease the bully's rage, some of the men near at hand began to laugh.
"My! what a lovely complexion the kid has when he's all rouged up!" laughed one.
"Kennell's got his battle-paint on," jeered another.
It was easy to see that none of the men particularly regretted the accident to the bully, whom none of them had any particular reason to love.
From their suspended bosn's chairs, Ned and old Tom watched the scene with some apprehensions. Ned was a shrewd enough reader of character to know that the affair could hardly end by Kennell's peaceably accepting Herc's apology; while old Tom knew Kennell's nature too well to entertain any doubt that the young seaman was in for a terrible trouncing.
"You—you—red-headed clod-hopper!" grated Kennell savagely through his mask of "war-paint," when he found his voice. Somehow, he looked so ludicrous, showing his teeth, like a snarling dog, through his panoply of pigment, that Herc, to save his life, could not have restrained himself from bursting into a hearty laugh.
"I—pardon me, Kennell; oh, ha! ha! ha! ha!I—I'm awfully sorry. Please accept my apologies. It was, ha, ha, ha, ha! an accident—really it was. Won't you forgive me?"
Herc held out his hand once more. As he did so, Ned shouted a sharp warning from above.
It came too late.
Kennell's mighty arm shot out with the speed of a piston-rod, and its impact, full on Herc's laughing face, carried the boy crashing against the side rails.
"Take that, you pup, as a starter!" hissed Kennell "and I'm not through with you yet, either. I'll keep after you two whelps till you slink out of the service."
Herc, half-stunned, clambered to his feet, and stood swaying for a moment, as if he were about to keel over altogether. He rapidly pulled himself together, however, and fixed a furious gaze on Kennell, who stood glaring at him with an upcurled lip and narrowed eyes.
Echoing the bellow that Kennell had let forth when the paint obscured his vision temporarily, Herc threw himself into a boxing attitude, and sprang straight for his opponent. It was the onslaught of a wild-cat on a bull.
"Take that, for tripping me overboard, youbig coward," he snapped, as he aimed a terrific uppercut at the ship's bully.
The unexpected blow caught Kennell with the force of a young battering-ram. Full on the point of his blunt jaw it landed, and raised him a good foot off the deck. He came crashing down like a felled tree, in a heap at the foot of the turret's barbette.
He lay there, seemingly senseless, while the ship plunged onward, and a thin stream of red began to trickle from his head and spread over the newly whitened deck.
Herc gazed down at his handiwork in consternation.
What if he had killed the man? Kennell lay there so still that it seemed reasonable to suppose that his life might be extinct. The stream of blood, too, alarmed Herc, who had struck out more on impulse than with any well-defined idea of knocking out the ponderous "Kid Kennell."
"Kennell, Kennell!" he breathed, bending over the prostrate man. "Speak! Are you badly hurt?"
"Leave him alone, matey," counseled old Tom, who, with Ned, had slid down from the turret-side. "He's a long way from dead. He's justasleep for a few minutes, and only got what was coming to him."
"Oh, is he all right?" questioned Herc, much relieved.
"Sure; it would take a harder punch than you've got to hurt 'Kid' Kennell seriously," put in a sailor at Herc's elbow; "but Heaven help you when the kid gets about again."
"Why?" asked Herc simply.
"Why? Oh, Lord!" groaned the sailors mirthfully, "why, red-head, he'll pound that ruby-colored head of yours into the middle of next Fourth of July or pink calves'-foot jelly."
"Carry on, men! Carry on!" exclaimed a boatswain's mate, coming round the barbette at this moment.
"Why, what's all this?" he exclaimed the next minute, as his eyes lighted on the recumbent and paint-smeared figure of Kennell, and the flushed faces and anxious eyes of Ned and Herc.
"It's Kennell, sir; he's knocked out," volunteered one of the jackies.
"So I see. Who has so grossly violated the rules of the service as to have been guilty of fighting?"
All eyes rested on poor Herc, who, coloring upto the roots of his colorful thatch, said, in a low voice:
"I have, sir."
Though the lad's tone was low, his voice never quavered.
"What you—Recruit Taylor—fighting?" queried the amazed boatswain's mate, who was no stranger to the record of the redoubtable Kennell, and inwardly marveled at what sort of fighting machine Herc must be to have laid him low.
"Yes, sir; I'm sorry to say that I have," replied Herc, looking his superior straight in the eyes.
At this juncture the officer of the deck hastened up. From his station amidships he had noted the sudden cessation of all activity forward. He had at once hastened to see what had occurred to stop the monotonous clock-work of the routine duties aboard.
"What's all this, Stowe?" he shot out sharply at the boatswain's mate, as his eyes took in the scene.
All the jackies had come to attention as the officer hurried up, but at his sharp command of:
"Carry on, men!" the work had gone forward,apparently as before, although, as my readers will judge, the men had one eye on their work and another on the scene that now transpired.
"Why, as well as I can make out, sir, this young recruit here, sir—Taylor, sir—has been fighting with Kennell, here, sir, and——"
"Seemingly knocked him out," snapped the officer, as Kennell began to stir. He sat up, blinking his eyes like a man who has been summoned back from another world.
As the bully rose, the officer—a young man with a good-natured face—suddenly coughed violently and turned to the rail. His shoulders heaved and his handkerchief was stuffed up to his face.
The boatswain's mate gazed at him apprehensively. He thought his superior had become suddenly ill. As a matter of fact the sight of Kennell's puzzled countenance, blinking through the paint and vital fluid, with which his features were bedaubed, had been too much for the officer's gravity, and he had been compelled to turn away or suffer a severe loss of his dignity by bursting into a roar of laughter.
Finally he recovered himself, and turned, witha still quivering lip, which he bit incessantly, toward the battered Kennell and the others.
"What explanation have you to make of this?" he demanded of Herc, in as unshaken and stern a voice as if he had never suffered the loss of an ounce of his gravity.
Poor Herc saluted and shuffled uneasily from one foot to another.
"Oh, I know he'll make a mess of it," thought Ned to himself. "I wish the regulations would allow me to speak up for him."
"Come, sir; what have you to say?" reiterated the officer, as the sorry-looking Kennell got slowly to his feet. He glowered menacingly at Herc, as recollection of what had occurred began to come back to him.
"Why, sir, that young cur——" Kennell began.
"Silence, sir!" roared the officer; "I'll attend to you when your turn comes."
"I was painting the side of the turret," began Herc; "and, quite by accident, the handle of my painting pail came off. Unfortunately, this man happened to be passing below and the stuff doused him, just like a sheep at dipping time, and——"
"Attention, sir! Never mind your comparisons.Proceed. You have not yet accounted for the extraordinary condition of this man's countenance."
"Why, sir,that'sthe paint," sputtered Herc, as if astonished at the officer's simplicity.
"Exactly. I understand. You say that such a thing was an accident. Possibly, it was. But how do you account for the fact that the man Kennell was lying insensible at the foot of the turret, with that cut over his eye?"
"I did that, too, sir," admitted Herc ruefully.
"What, you cut his eye like that?"
"No, sir; I guess that he must have done that when he fell. I just gave him a sleep wallop——"
"Attention, sir! Use more respectful intelligible language," said the lieutenant, suddenly becoming much more interested in some object on the far horizon; so much so that he had once more to turn his back on the Dreadnought Boys, the boatswain's mate and the open-mouthed jackies. In a minute he faced round again, as grave as before.
"I hope you are not sea-sick, sir?" began Herc solicitously, for he had observed the officer's handkerchief at his mouth. The lad could not imagine that a scene so serious to him could appearludicrous to any one else. "If you are, Pills, the doctor, I mean——"
"Silence, sir! You need disciplining. You admit, then, that you hit this man?"
"Yes, sir, but he——"
"Silence! Answer 'yes' or 'no,' please."
"Well, 'yes'," admitted Herc.
"Why in the great horn-spoon doesn't he ask him if Kennell hit him first?" groaned Ned, regarding the examination from a prudent distance.
"This case calls for a full investigation," snapped the officer; "fighting aboard a man-o'-war is one of the most serious offenses an enlisted man can commit. Messenger!"
"Sir!"
"Get the master-at-arms, and request him to come forward and report to me at once."
"Aye, aye, sir!"
The messenger sped aft on his errand, while a dreadful silence ensued, which even the irrepressible Herc had not the courage to break.
Evidently something dire was about to happen to him.
HERC LEARNS WHAT "THE BRIG" IS.
In a few minutes the messenger returned with the master-at-arms, who saluted the officer of the deck, who in turn gravely saluted him. Herc, feeling that he should do something, saluted each of them in turn, concluding his respectful motions with a deep bow.
Neither officer, however, paid any more attention to the lad than if he had been carved out of wood.
"Master-at-arms!" began the officer.
"Yes, sir," responded the master-at-arms, bringing his heels together with a sharp click.
"There has been a flagrant breach of discipline here, which it is my duty to report to the captain at once. You will place this man, Ordinary Seaman Taylor, under restraint, and arraign him at the mast at one o'clock with the other prisoners."
"Yes, sir," nodded the master-at-arms, edging up to the dismayed Herc.
"Kennell, if you wish to prefer a complaint against this man Taylor, you may," went on the officer.
"I do, sir, certainly," said Kennell earnestly, through the paint that smothered his face; "but first, sir, I should like to clean this mess off, sir."
"You will be relieved from duty while you do. Carry on, men."
The officer of the deck faced about and walked aft; no doubt to acquaint the captain with the details of the occurrences on the forward deck.
"Come, wake up," said the master-at-arms to Herc, who was in a semi-stupor at the horrifying idea that he was under arrest. "Come with me."
"What! I'm to be locked up?" gasped Herc.
"Yes, in the brig."
In an instant the recollection of the boys' conversation with old Tom on the day they joined the ship flashed into Herc's mind. So then "the brig" that the old tar had been so reluctant to talk about, was the place in which they locked up malefactors and disgracers of the service, of whom it seemed he was one. Poor Herc felt ready to drop with shame and humiliation as—under the eyes of the hundreds of jackies going about their various tasks—he was marched aft by themaster-at-arms. There was only one drop of relief in his bitter cup. It came when Ned pressed forward, at the risk of being severely reproved.
"Never mind, Herc, old fellow," he breathed. "I know you were in the right, and I'll see that Kennell gets what's coming to him, if it's the last thing I do."
"Come, sir! carry on," snapped the master-at-arms, who had pretended not to notice the first part of this conversation, being a really kind-hearted man, although bound by discipline, just as is every one else in the navy; "you must know it is a breach of discipline to talk to prisoners."
Prisoners!
Poor Herc groaned aloud.
"Come, come," comforted the master-at-arms, "it isn't as bad as all that. I am confident that you can clear yourself. Besides, it is your first offense, and you are a recruit, so perhaps the old man will be easy on you."
"It isn't that, so much as it's the disgrace of being arrested like this," burst out Herc.
"Oh, well, you shouldn't go to fighting, then," remarked the master-at-arms, pulling open a steel-studded door and thrusting Herc before him into a narrow passage, lighted by electric bulbs,down one side of which was fitted a row of steel-barred cells.
"We're a bit crowded," he remarked, "so I can't give you a cell to yourself. When a ship puts to sea out of a port there are generally a lot of men to be disciplined. Those who have overstayed their leave, and so forth. Therefore, I'll have to put you in here."
He opened a door as he spoke, and pushed Herc into a cell in which two other men were already seated on a narrow bench which ran along one side.
"You'll get a full ration at eight bells, for which you are lucky," remarked the master-at-arms; "the others get only bread and water."
Clang!
The steel door swung to, and Herc, for the first time in his life, was a prisoner.
It did not make the experience any the less bitter to know that he was a captive and disgraced through no fault of his own, unless it had been from his exuberant swinging of the paint-pot in the enthusiasm of his newly-acquired "sea-legs."
The Dreadnought Boy, despite his unpleasant situation, was naturally inquisitive enough to gaze about him on his surroundings. The cell itselfwas a steel-walled apartment about twelve feet square with no other furnishings than the narrow bench, which also was of steel. It was lighted by an electric bulb, set deep in the ceiling and barred off, so that it could not be tampered with by a meddlesome prisoner. The walls of this place were painted white. The floors red. It was insufferably hot and stuffy, and the songs of a group of roisterers confined in another cell, which broke forth as soon as the master-at-arms departed, did not tend to make the environment any pleasanter.
"So this is the brig," mused Herc, "well, they can have it for all I want with it. It's not much better than the hog-pen at home."
One of Herc's fellow prisoners, who had been sitting sullenly on the bench, now arose and began to pace back and forth. His companion did likewise. They had not paid the slightest attention to Herc hitherto, but now one of them spoke.
"What you in for, kid?"
"I guess you'll have to ask the master-at-arms," rejoined Herc, who was not prepossessed by his questioner's appearance. He was a heavy-set, low-browed man, with a pair of black eyebrowsthat almost met in the center of his forehead, giving him a sinister aspect. His companion was slight, and long-legged, with a delicate—almost an effeminate—cast of features.
"Oh, well, if you don't want to talk you don't have to," growled the heavy-browed man. "Say, Carl," he went on, turning to his companion, "this is a nice, sociable cellmate they've given us, isn't it?"
"You attend to your own affairs, Silas," snarled the other, who did not seem to be any more amiable than his heavy-browed friend; "leave the kid alone. We've got trouble enough of our own, haven't we?"
"Hum, yes; but overstaying leave isn't such a very serious matter, and think of the reward that's ahead in store for us. Only this cruise, and——"
"Hush!" broke in the one addressed as Carl, with an angry intonation; "you must be a fool to talk like that in front of the kid," he went on in a low undertone.
"Pshaw!" snarled the other in the same low voice, however. "He's just a country Reuben, with the hayseed still in his hair and the smell ofthe hog-pen on him—like that one we gambled with in New York—Hank Harkins—wasn't that his name?—on the old 'Idy'."
"Just the same, it's well to be prudent," counseled the other, and fell once more to his pacing of the cell.
As for Herc, to whom all this, including the reference to Hank, had been, as Carl had guessed, so much Greek, he laid down at full length on the bench. As he had not had more than a few winks of sleep during his seasick night, he soon dropped off into peaceful slumber, despite his uncomfortable couch and serious position.
How long he slept, he did not know, but he woke with a start, and was about to open his eyes, when he suddenly closed them again and feigned deep slumber.
He had heard something being discussed by the two men with whom he shared the cell that set his pulse to stirring and his heart to beating a wild tattoo.
The boy realized that the safety of one of the United States' greatest naval secrets lay, for the time being, in his hands.
A PLOT OVERHEARD.
"Say, didn't that boy move?"—the prisoner that Herc knew as Carl put the question.
The lad heard rapid footsteps pace across the narrow cell, and felt the hot breath of one of the men in his ear as he lay still and feigned slumber as best he could, although his heart beat so wildly he was sure its agitation must have been audible to the two men.
Apparently, however, his ruse succeeded. The men were satisfied that he was wrapped in slumber, for, with a growl, the one that had bent over him said:
"He's off; sound as a top."
"A good thing," rejoined the other, "both for us and for him."
It was Carl who spoke, and the tone in which his soft, refined voice uttered the words left the Dreadnought Boy no room to doubt that if the two plotters had imagined he had overheard themthey would have done something exceedingly unpleasant to prevent their secret being betrayed. As it was, however, they seemed to feel no uneasiness and resumed their conversation.
"The yacht will be waiting at Boco del Toros, about ten miles above Guantanamo Bay," continued the black-browed man. Herc recognized his bearlike growl. "All we have to do when we get the plans is to steal aboard and sail. Her captain will be prepared for us, and will take us on board when we give the signal."
"Then all that we will have to do will be to waylay Varian," said Carl in his soft way, which, mild as it seemed, yet impressed Herc with the same sense of chill as if the cold muzzle of a revolver had been pressed to the nape of his neck.
"That's it. An easy way of earning ten thousand dollars, eh?"
"Yes, if—if we don't get caught."
"No fear of that," laughed the black-browed man; "at any rate, if we are it will be our own fault. But I see no chance of a slip-up. Varian sails from New York to Havana on a vessel of the Ward line. He will put up at a hotel at Guantanamo. We are to meet the others ashore,and if all goes well we'll finish our business in a few hours. If not——"
"Well, if not, we'll have to get what we're after from the captain himself, and that's going to be difficult and perhaps fatal for him."
"Well, I've taken longer chances than that for less money," laughed Carl's companion. "Lucky thing they didn't look back into our records, or they'd have found out a thing or two which would have made us very undesirable subjects for Uncle Sam's navy. Likewise Kennell, I guess. I'd 'a' hard time to get him to join, but a golden bait will catch the shyest fish."
Carl gave a high-pitched chuckle, almost a giggle, but the two worthies instantly lapsed into what seemed sullen silence as the key of their jailer grated in the lock of the bulkhead door.
As for Herc, he judged that his best and safest course was to emit a loud snore, which he did. So well was his slumber simulated that the master-at-arms who had entered, accompanied by two orderlies carrying the prisoners' food, exclaimed in an astonished tone:
"That youngster must be an older hand than I thought him. He's actually sleeping like a baby."
Herc pretended to feel very sleepy when the master-at-arms shook his shoulder and indicated a smoking dinner of cornbeef and cabbage, flanked by bread and butter and a big mug of coffee.
"Here, wake up and eat this," commanded the officer; "you ought to be alive to your luck. The other prisoners only get full rations once a day. They have to dine on bread and water."
The boy stretched his arms as if he was only partially awake, and, after what he judged to be a proper interval of feigning sleepiness, fell to on his hot dinner. Empty as he was, the food heartened him up wonderfully, despite the scowls that his two companions leveled at him as he ate. When the master-at-arms arrived, just before two bells—one o'clock—to take his prisoners to the tribunal at the mast, Sam felt better prepared to face his ordeal than he had a few hours previously.
The captain's "court" convened just forward of the stern awnings, and a little abaft the towering "cage" aftermast.
The "old man," in full uniform, with a sword at his side, Lieutenant-Commander Scott, and several of the officers stood in a little group chatting,as the prisoners were brought aft. All wore side arms and what the Jackie calls "quarter-deck faces"—meaning that they looked as stern and uncompromising as flint.
"I guess I'll get life," muttered Herc to himself, as he heard the stern doom, of stoppage of five days' pay and ten days in the brig, without future shore leave, pronounced on three sailors who had been found guilty of coming on duty in an intoxicated condition, at New York.
"You men are to understand that the United States navy has no place for men who wilfully indulge in such practices," the captain had said, with blighting emphasis, as the men trembled before him. "Clean men, clean-living men is the material the government wants, and such as you are better out of the service. The navy is better off without you if you go on as you have been doing."
Herc felt his cheeks blanch as pale as had the countenances of the guilty ones as he heard this stern speech.
Next came the turns of the two men who had shared the same cell with him.
"Carl Schultz, ordinary seaman, and SilasWagg, ordinary seaman," read the captain's yeoman who acted as a sort of "clerk of the court."
"What's the offense?" asked the captain.
"Overstaying their shore leave four hours, sir," was the rejoinder.
"Any previous bad record?"
"No, sir. I have found none," volunteered the master-at-arms.
"Men," said the captain, in the same icy tones as he had used toward the three intemperate prisoners, "you are guilty of a serious offense. In the navy regularity should be a watchword with all of us. It may seem to you that to overstay your leave by four hours was but a small matter, and that you yourselves would not be missed among eight hundred or more men. Yet every one of the crew and each of your forty-two officers has a niche of his own to fill. We are all cogs in the same great machine, servants working for the good of the same government.
"If any one of us is derelict in his duty, he is not only derelict to himself and to his officers, but to his country and his flag. Always bear that in mind. As this is your first offense, and your officers tell me you are hard-working men and good seamen, I shall dismiss you with a reprimand.But mind," he added sternly, "if either of you is brought before me again I shall not prove so lenient. Carry on."
With grateful faces, the two men hastened off forward.
How Herc longed to tell of what he had heard in the cell! But he dreaded to make himself appear ridiculous by reciting what might seem an improbable story, cooked up by one who already rested under a cloud, so he said nothing.
In fact, he was not allowed long to entertain these thoughts, for hardly had the two worthies who had shared his cell made the best of their way forward, before the yeoman, in a voice that affected Herc much as a sudden plunge into ice water would have done, shouted out:
"Ordinary Seaman Taylor!"
The story of Herc's knocking out the bully had already spread through the ship—a place where gossip travels as swiftly as through a small village—and the officers and the few men whose duties brought them near to the "court room"—eyed Herc curiously as he stepped forward, with head bared, holding himself as erect as possible. He saluted as he clicked his heels together with painstaking precision. His heart beat fast andthick, however, and there was an anxious look in his eyes as he faced his inquisitors.
Herc was a brave boy, full of pluck and grit; but the ordeal before him might have caused a stouter heart than his to quail.
"Master-at-arms, what do you know about this case?" asked the captain, as Herc stood rigid, twisting his cap in his big hands.
The master-at-arms rapidly rehearsed what he knew of the affair, and then the captain turned to his executive officer.
"Mr. Scott, there is a complainant in this case, is there not?"
"Yes, sir," was the reply. "Mr. Andrews, who had the deck this morning, so reported to me."
"Able Seaman and Gunner Ralph Kennell is the man, sir," said Lieutenant Andrews, stepping forward.
"Very good. Where is this man Kennell?"
"Here, sir," said Kennell, stepping forward in his turn.
His face shone with soap, which yet had not been able wholly to eradicate the traces of slate-colored paint with which he had been shower-bathed. Over his left eye a big bit of plastershowed where "Pills" had patched him up. Beneath the same eye a dark bruise was beginning to spread. His jaw was also woefully swollen where Herc had landed his effective blow.
"Now, Kennell," began the captain, who was perfectly aware of the bully's record, and marvelled as much as his officers how such a slim lad as Herc could have inflicted such injuries on him; "now, Kennell, tell us in as few words as you can what occurred this morning between you and Ordinary Seaman Taylor."
"Well, sir," began Kennell sullenly, "I was making my way aft to clean brasswork, sir, when this man here, sir, drops a pot of paint on my head, sir, out of pure malice, as I believe, sir."
"Never mind what you believe. What happened then?"
"Then, when I protested, sir," went on Kennell, "he climbs down from the turret he was a-painting, sir, and strikes me."
"Where?"
"Right by the forward twelve-inch turret, sir."
"You mean your eye, don't you?"
"Well, sir, he struck me all over, sir," complained Kennell.
"And you had done nothing to him?"
"Nothing, sir."
"Very good. You may stand aside. Taylor, what have you to say to this story?"
"Not much, sir, except that it is a fabrication," said Herc indignantly, his fear at the officers swallowed in his wrath at Kennell's lying tale. "It is true I dropped the paint on his head. That was accidental, however. So far as his injuries go, I believe that he got the cut over his eye when he fell against the turret. He hit it an awful whack, sir." Herc grinned broadly at the recollection.
"No levity, please. You are to understand this is a serious matter. Who struck the first blow?"
Herc hesitated. It was no part of his ideas of what was right to tell tales on a fellow seaman, and yet Kennell had lied cruelly about him. Suddenly his mind was made up.
"I had rather not say, sir," he said at length in a low tone.
"What! Are you aware that this is a confession of guilt, or equivalent to it?"
"Perhaps so, sir, but I cannot say," repeated Herc stubbornly.
"Very well, then," said the captain in his most dignified tones, "I shall have to inflict a heavierpunishment on you than I would otherwise. You are one of the two recruits whose gallant conduct on theRhode Islandcaught my favorable attention. I am therefore doubly reluctant to punish you. But the discipline of the service must be upheld. Seemingly, you are screening some one. You must learn that your officers are to be obeyed, and also the regulations. No regulation is more mandatory than that forbidding fighting and unseemly conduct on the ships of the United States Navy. I shall therefore sentence you to two days in the brig with prison rations. Master-at-arms!"
"Sir!"
"Carry on!"
The officer saluted, and a few minutes later poor Herc was once more in his steel cell. This time he occupied it alone, however.
"Well, two days is not such a very long time," mused Herc philosophically; "and I expected at least two months, by the way that captain talked to me. I'm in here now, but let that old 'dog Kennel' look out for me when I'm foot loose again!"
ORDERED AFT.
"Mr. Scott," said Captain Dunham, turning to his lieutenant-commander, "ask Mr. Andrews to step here a minute, will you?"
"Yes, sir," responded Mr. Scott, and a minute later Lieutenant Andrews respectfully saluted Commander Dunham.
"Andrews, I'm not altogether comfortable about giving that lad two days in the brig. The fellow Kennell I have heard is a most unconscionable bully, and, moreover, I am favorably inclined to both those lads. I saw their mettle well tested on theRhode Island, as I told you gentlemen the other day. Have you heard any details of the matter which you could not relate officially at the inquiry?"
"Yes sir, I have," said Mr. Andrews straightforwardly. "I learned a short time ago, from a boatswain's mate who arrived on the scene shortly after Kennell had been knocked out, that youngTaylor, instead of being the aggressor, had, as a matter of fact, been attacked by Kennell a few minutes after he had extended his hand and offered an apology for an unavoidable, if annoying, accident."
"Hum, hum!" mused the captain; "then it seems that there has been a miscarriage of justice here. But why, in the name of the old Harry, couldn't the young fellow have acquainted me with the full details of the case."
"I suppose, sir, that he was unwilling to inform on his shipmate. You know that 'snitchers,' as they call them forward, are not encouraged in the navy."
"No, Andrews, no. But I hate to think I have done the lad an injustice—even if unwittingly."
"I should not worry about it, sir," put in Andrews. "It will not hurt the youngster to get a sharp lesson in naval discipline which he won't forget in a hurry."
"Perhaps you are right," mused the captain; "but I should be unwilling to spoil what I am sure is a fine disposition by over-harshness. As for that man Kennell, I have been his commander on another ship of the fleet, the oldMassachusetts. I am sure he is a trouble maker, and I amgoing to have a sharp eye kept on him. If I can detect him attempting to stir up trouble among the men, I shall visit my wrath on him pretty sharply."
"And rightly, too, sir," agreed Andrews. "So you have decided to let young Taylor serve out his sentence?"
"I think so, yes—for one day, anyway," rejoined the commander. "As you say, it will be a good lesson, though a sharp one. I intend, however, to put both those lads on a good detail as soon as Taylor is released. It will be by way of compensation for what I feel is a partial injustice."
Thus it will be seen that, while naval officers outwardly have often to "ship a quarter-deck face" and deal out what may seem harsh measures, yet they are, with few exceptions, kindly, humane men, with an adoration for their flag and country that amounts to fanaticism, and, moreover, a kindly feeling toward the men serving under them. It is somewhat hard, though, to administer the exact measure of justice among eight or nine hundred high-spirited, healthy young animals like the average American tar.
"Well, lad, the smoke lamp is lighted. Light up and forget your troubles."
Old Tom paused as he passed Ned during the rest hour, after the jackies' noonday dinner.
"Thanks. I never smoke," responded the boy, whose troubled face showed that he was still worrying over Herc's disgrace. In fact, Ned took his companion's position to heart much more keenly than did Herc himself, who, knowing in his own heart that he was not to blame, set to work to make the best of it.
It was the day following Herc's imprisonment, and already the squadron had passed into the Gulf Stream, and the warm air of the tropics was about the mighty fighting ships.
That morning the flagship had signalled to the squadron that white uniforms were in order, and very trim and neat the jackies looked in their snowy garments, as they lounged about the decks. Some were smoking and chatting, some writing letters, and others playing checkers, chess or cards, or absorbed in some book in a quiet nook.
As Ned, who was leaning over the rail, gazed downward at the foam flying past the vessel's side, he found never-failing amusement in watching the great flocks of flying fish that fled shimmeringfrom the yellow patches of "gulf weed" as theManhattan'smighty bow nosed into them.
"For all the world like a covey of partridges scared up in the woods at home," thought Ned to himself.
"Ordinary Seaman Strong?" asked a sudden voice behind him.
Ned turned swiftly, and saw the captain's orderly facing him.
"Yes, I'm Strong," he said.
"Come with me," directed the orderly.
Ned had been long enough on a battleship now to obey without hesitation or question when an order was addressed to him.
The lounging jackies regarded him with some interest as he passed among them.
"The pal of the red-headed lad is going to get a wigging now."
"Two of them upon the carpet in two days. They won't last long in the service."
These are samples of the comments that were bandied about as the boy passed along behind the orderly, somewhat troubled, in fact, in his own mind as to what could be the reason of the sudden summons to the captain's cabin.
Old Tom spoke up indignantly as he heard the remarks:
"A whole lot of you young varmints will still be scrubbing decks, and cleaning brasswork, and doing your regular trick in the brig after shore leave, when them two young fellows is wearing chevrons!" he snapped.
The old salt was a privileged character, and did and said pretty much as he liked among the men; but his remark aroused some resentment among those about him.
"How about you, old Growler?" asked a gruff voice. "How is it you never rose from the scrub stations?"
"'Cos I was a fool like you when I was young," snarled old Tom, as the sailors exploded in a shout of laughter at the discomfiture of the venturesome spirit that had essayed to "bait" old Tom.
"Better leave Tom alone, Ralph," shouted one of the card players; "he's too sharp for you."
"Yes, he presumes on his gray hairs to do as he likes," snarled the other, who was none other than Kennell. "It's a good thing for him he's got a bald head."
"Well, I don't need a pot of paint to cover it,anyhow!" laughed old Tom, at which there was another tornado of laughter; and Kennell, with a black look on his face, rose to his feet and made his way to another spot, one where he was less likely to encounter such a sharp tongue as old Tom's.
"Confounded old fool!" he muttered to himself as he went, "I'd like to finish up him and those two kids at one stroke! I'll do it, too, if I get a chance."
In the meantime Ned, at the orderly's heels, had traversed several of the memorable narrow, steel-lined corridors, and at last found himself in front of heavy green plush portieres, beyond which lay, as he guessed, that hallowed spot, the captain's cabin.
The orderly knocked softly at the polished mahogany door frame.
"Ord'ly, sir," he announced.
And a minute later:
"Ordinary Seaman Strong, sir."
"Send him in," came the pleasant, mellow voice of the captain.
Ned subdued an inclination to take to his heels, and entered, looking as calm as he could.
"A moment, Strong," said the captain in a pleasant voice. "I'll be through here in a minute."
Ned stood stiffly at attention and gazed about him out of the corners of his eyes while his commander wrote busily, dipping his pen from time to time in a massive silver ink-stand. The commander's quarters, although on a fighting ship, were as luxuriously appointed as the library in any mansion ashore. The fittings were all dark mahogany, relieved, here and there, with maple-wood, on which the soft lights glowed and shone. As in the officers' cabins, there was no porthole, the armor at this part of the ship precluding any such device. Thick glass, let into the quarter deck above, however, admitted light.
"Ord'ly!"
"Sir!"
The orderly sprang into view, like a familiar spirit, from behind the curtain where he had been standing at attention.
"Take these general orders to Mr. Scott!"
"Yes, sir!"
The galvanic orderly saluted and was off like a shot.
"I wonder if that fellow is equipped with springs?" mused Ned, "or if he is galvanized daily, or merely wound up by clockwork?"
"Well, Strong."
The captain was gazing at the boy quizzically.
Ned saluted stiffly, and stood straighter than ever at attention, waiting for what was to come.