Dan Headed the "Oriole" for the Harbor.
The Battleship Boys'
First Step Upward
OR
Winning Their Grades as
Petty Officers
By
FRANK GEE PATCHIN
Illustrated
THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY
Akron, Ohio —— New York
Made in U. S. A.
Copyright MCMXI
By THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY
PRINTED IN THE
UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. Sighting the Shooting Star II. Whaleboats to the Rescue III. Bombarded by Big Guns IV. Looking Death in the Face V. The Loss of the Tompion VI. The Red, White and Blue VII. Putting the Enemy Out VIII. Sam Gets a Pig's Foot IX. Lowering the Flag X. His Narrow Escape XI. On the Anchor Watch XII. Obeying His Orders XIII. The Battle of the Dinghies XIV. Ordered to the Sick Bay XV. Before the Summary Court XVI. A Surprise, Indeed XVII. At Torpedo Target Practice XVIII. Hard and Fast Aground XIX. A Trying Moment XX. Dan Before the Board XXI. In the Racing Gig XXII. An Exciting Moment XXIII. The Act of a Hero XXIV. Conclusion
Illustrations
Dan Headed the "Oriole" for the Harbor . . . . . . Frontispiece
The Battleship Boys Swung Into the Chorus.
The Battleship Boys' First Step Upward
CHAPTER I
SIGHTING THE SHOOTING STAR
"Green light off the starboard bow, sir."
The voice came from the black void far above the navigating bridge of the battleship "Long Island."
"Where away?" demanded the watch officer on the bridge.
"Two points off starboard bow, sir."
"What do you make her out?"
"Don't make her out, sir," answered the red-haired Sam Hickey, who was doing lookout duty on the platform beside the number one searchlight.
"Do you still see her!"
"No, sir."
The watch officer gazed through his night glass in the direction indicated, but was unable to pick up a light of any sort. The "Long Island" was plunging through a great gale, which she was taking head on. White-tipped seas, backed by solid walls of water were sweeping the bridge more than forty feet above the level of the sea. Even the red-haired boy clinging to the rail far above the bridge was now and again nearly swept from his feet by the rush of water that enveloped him.
A sixty-mile gale was sweeping the Atlantic seaboard, with the wind shrieking weirdly through the huge cage masts, whose tops were lost in the darkness above the ship itself. Every man on deck was clinging to stanchion and rail in momentary danger of being swept overboard.
"You must have been mistaken," shouted the watch officer.
"No, sir. It was a light all right, sir," shouted Sam Hickey in a confident tone.
"What did it look like?"
"It looked like a shooting star, sir."
"What was it?"
"It was a shooting star, sir."
A half articulated exclamation of disgust from the officer on the bridge reached the ears of the lookout.
"It shot right up from the sea, sir."
"What's that?"
The question was hurled up at Sam with almost explosive force.
"The star shot right up from the sea, sir."
Now, the watch officer on the bridge of the battleship knew full well that shooting stars shoot downward, not upward. He knew also that with a sky overcast as was this one, with the clouds hanging low, no shooting star could be made out, even granting that one had fallen.
"Boatswain's mate!" roared the officer.
"Aye, aye, sir," answered a hoarse voice somewhere from the depths below.
"Turn out the top watches. Man the tops on the jump!"
"Aye, aye, sir."
Loud words of command floated up from below and a moment later a group of sailors dashed up to the bridge, rubbing their eyes sleepily. Without awaiting a word of instruction, they began running up the iron ladders of the cage masts and were quickly lost to view.
The watch officer raised his megaphone, pointing it up into the air.
"Look sharp two points to starboard. See if you can pick up a light. Keep your eyes open. Boatswain's mate!"
"Aye, aye, sir."
"Station men all the way up the mast to pass the word down in case any lights are made out. I'll never hear the word shouted from up there in this howling gale."
"Aye, aye, sir."
"Green light four points off the starboard bow," howled Sam Hickey.
"Green-light-off-the-starboard-bow," sang a chorus of voices from somewhere far up in the steel mast.
"Man in the top says it's a rocket, sir," was passed down from mouth to mouth.
"Aye, aye, I saw it," answered the watch officer. "Pass the word up to hold the watch. Messenger!"
"Aye, aye, sir."
"Run for the captain's quarters. Tell his orderly we have sighted green rockets off the starboard bow. We have made out no other lights, but there is a ship in trouble off there."
The messenger saluted and was away in a twinkling, racing along the slippery superstructure, guided only by his knowledge of the ship, for he could not see a half dozen feet ahead of him.
The word was passed to the commanding officer by the latter's orderly, and in an incredibly short time the captain emerged from his cabin, fully clothed, his uniform covered by shining black rainclothes.
He quickly made his way to the navigator's bridge, arriving there only a few minutes behind the messenger.
"What's this, Mr. Brant?" he demanded sharply in the ear of the watch officer.
"Signal rockets, sir."
"You are sure of this!"
"Yes, sir. Half a dozen men aloft have sighted them. I saw one flash myself."
"Where away?"
"Four points off the starboard bow the last time we sighted the light, sir."
"How are you heading?"
"East southeast, three quarters, sir."
"Hold the helm steady until we see if we can make out another signal. Up aloft, there!"
"Aye, aye, sir."
"Look sharp for lights. Report them quickly and make sure the word is passed down. Pass the word back after it reaches me, so that you may be sure I have it."
"Aye, aye, sir."
An interval followed, during which only the roar and shriek of the gale were heard. Then all at once the red-haired boy's voice sounded above the storm.
"Shooting star again, three points——"
"What's that?" roared the commanding officer.
"I mean—I mean I sighted the green rocket again, sir," explained Sam Hickey lamely.
"Don't you know——"
"I caught the flash of it, sir," spoke the watch officer. "It was as Seaman Hickey said, three points off the starboard bow this time."
"Starboard, two points!" commanded the captain.
"Starboard two points," repeated the quartermaster on duty at the wheel, giving the steering wheel a sharp turn. "She's on the mark, sir."
"Hold it."
"You think it is a wreck, sir?" questioned the watch officer.
"I know no more about it than do you. Naturally it is some vessel in distress, else they would not be making distress signals. You say you caught only the flash—you did not get a sight of the rocket itself?"
"No, sir. I saw the flash, that was all."
The captain glanced up into the darkness.
"She should be ten miles away, then. We ought to be heading about dead on, if your sight was correct. Full speed ahead, both engines."
The throb of the engines far below them rose to a steady purr. The "Long Island" plunged ahead, lurching more violently than before. It was an unsafe speed in such a sea, but perhaps there were human lives at stake off there in that wild swirl of water, and if so it was the first duty of an American seaman to go to their rescue, however great the peril to himself and crew might be.
"There she goes again," shouted the lookout up by the searchlight.
"I caught it that time. The vessel lies dead ahead. Hold your course, quartermaster."
"Aye, aye, sir."
"Ord'ly, turn out the executive officer. Tell him to order the boat crews and the first and second divisions out. Be quick about it."
"Aye, aye, sir."
Boatswains' whistles trilled faintly from the depths of the battleship; boatswains' mates roared out their commands, piping the men from their sleep, and a few minutes later the superstructure was thronged with half-clad figures. Every man of them was soaked to the skin the instant he reached the deck, but unmindful of this every eye was peering into the black mist ahead, the men anxiously questioning each other as to the cause of their being piped out.
No one seemed to know, but older heads shrewdly suspected that somewhere off ahead was a sister ship in dire distress.
"Boatswain's mate!" again came the warning call of the watch officer.
"Aye, aye, sir."
"Pipe all hands to stations."
Once again whistles trilled. The entire crew of the battleship was being called to stations, for again the
"We must be nearing the place, Mr. Coates," shouted the captain in the ear of his executive officer. "Keep a sharp lookout now. We don't want to have a collision with an old water-logged hulk in this gale. We should run an excellent chance of going to the bottom ourselves."
"Yes, sir," agreed Mr. Coates, as, raising his megaphone, he warned all lookouts to be on their guard.
Sam Hickey, proud in the consciousness that he had been the first to sight the signals of distress, was scanning the troubled seas with keen eyes, from which now and then he brushed the salt brine with an impatient hand.
"If I could see, I'd see," he complained to himself. "I wonder if they have turned out Dan. He knows where I am anyway. There she blows!" suddenly shouted the red-haired boy.
"He's sighted a whale," laughed a young midshipman.
"What do you mean?" roared the captain.
"Light dead ahead, sir. Rocket again, sir."
"Aye, aye," was the answer from the bridge.
The officers there had plainly seen the signal rocket this time, and the green ball seemed to shoot up into the clouds from directly beneath the bow of the "Long Island." The battleship was at that moment riding a mountainous swell, while the vessel from which the signal had been fired was wallowing in the trough of the sea far below. It seemed as if the battleship must slide down the steep wall of water and crush the vessel laboring in the hollow so far beneath them.
"Port your helm!" commanded the captain. "Slow speed astern, starboard engine. Hold her there!"
"There she is, sir," shouted the executive officer, leveling his night glass on the sea valley.
"What do you make of her?"
"Not much of anything. I see faint lights aboard, but that is all."
"Number one searchlight there," called the captain.
"Aye, aye, sir," answered the sailor in charge of the light.
"Throw a light off the port quarter and see if you can pick up that ship."
"Aye, aye, sir."
An instant later a broad shaft of light pierced the blackness of the night. The beam of light traveled slowly about, finally coming to rest on an object in the sea some distance ahead. On this object the officers focused their night glasses.
"Four-masted schooner, sir," called Sam Hickey from his elevated position beside the searchlight.
"All sticks standing?"
"No, sir."
"No, she has only two poles standing now, sir," spoke up the executive officer. "She seems to be in a bad way."
"Steady her," commanded the captain.
"She's steady," answered the quartermaster at the wheel of the battleship.
"Slow both engines ahead."
The "Long Island" was rolling more heavily than before, now and then giving a violent lurch, forcing every person on deck to cling to whatever support was nearest to him. Otherwise men might have been hurled overboard and lost in the tumbling sea.
By this time the schooner was fairly well outlined by the battleship's searchlight, but the lookouts were unable to make out any signs of life on board the distressed ship. They felt sure, however, that the schooner was on its last legs, and that it was a question of moments, perhaps, before she would take her final plunge.
"All depends upon what she is loaded with, as to how long she lasts," decided the captain of the battleship.
"She is flush with the water," answered the executive officer. "I should say she must be loaded with lumber. She would have been down long ago, otherwise."
"I think you are right, Mr. Coates. Hail them with the megaphone as soon as you think you can make them hear. We are to the windward and your voice should carry."
"Schooner ahoy!" shouted the executive officer.
There was no answering word from the disabled schooner. The distance at which the battleship was compelled to keep for its own safety, to say nothing of the roar of the gale, made communication by word of mouth impossible. At this moment another rocket from the schooner seemed to emphasize the necessity for immediate help.
Turning toward the men assembled on the gun deck, the captain addressed them:
"Battleship crew there! A ship is sinking hard by.
"Volunteers are wanted to man the whaleboats. It is a dangerous mission. All who are willing to volunteer, step forward."
Every man within hearing distance stepped forward, and a crew was quickly chosen. Sam Hickey and Dan Davis were among the twenty-four men who scrambled into the two boats.
Other sailors took their places by the ropes that controlled the raising and lowering of the life boats. The executive officer, now standing on the superstructure, watching the sea and his own ship, was awaiting the moment when, in his judgment, it would be most safe to launch the whaleboats. Not a man in the two boats spoke even in a whisper. They had cast aside their storm clothes, being clad only in trousers and jumpers.
"Get ready."
"Toss oars," commanded the coxswain of each boat.
Every man raised his oar upright.
"Let go the falls," commanded the executive officer.
The two whaleboats struck the sea with a mighty splash.
"Cast off! Go!" shouted the two coxswains, at which the men fell to their oars with a will. But those in the number two whaleboat either had not been quick enough, or else a wave had caught them unawares. Their frail craft was picked up on the crest of a wave and hurled with mighty force against the side of the ship, the smaller boat instantly going to pieces. In a second, thirteen men were struggling in the boiling sea, fighting desperately for their lives.
CHAPTER II
WHALEBOATS TO THE RESCUE
"Number one whaleboat, there! Go on! You'll be dashed to pieces if you try to rescue them," shouted the executive officer, as the boat holding Dan Davis turned about, bent on rescuing the drowning sailors.
"Cast the life buoys!"
Life lings shot over the side of the battleship, grasped by eager hands, and one by one the unfortunate sailors were pulled on board, some with arms or legs broken from being dashed against the iron sides of the battleship. A quick roll call showed that every one of the boat's crew was accounted for.
Sam Hickey had not been injured.
"Man the cutter with a fresh crew," commanded the captain from the bridge, where he was directing operations.
Sam was the first man to run up the ladder and take his place in the boat. No effort was made to turn him out. Three others, who had been in the unfortunate boat, were close at his heels, while the rest of the crew was made up of fresh volunteers.
"Man the oars more quickly this time," shouted the captain from the bridge.
The cutter was swung out and slowly lowered by the falls. At command the boat was let go, striking the sloping side of a wave which carried the boat some distance from the ship, so sure had been the judgment of the executive officer, who had given the command to let go.
At the command "oars out," the oars were quickly slipped into place. There was no loss of time now in obeying orders.
"Give way!" commanded the coxswain, at which the heavy cutter's bow raised clear of the sea and the boat began plunging toward the disabled schooner. The latter lay a long distance from the ship, the battleship's commander not daring to draw closer for fear of smashing into the sinking vessel, so strong was the sea.
In the meantime the sailors in whaleboat number one were bending to their task, their boat drawing slowly toward the distressed ship. It required heroic effort to drive the boat through
The whaleboat was the first to reach the lee side of the disabled schooner. The windward side of a ship is the side on which the wind is blowing; the lee side, is the opposite side, and is therefore the more quiet. In a storm a ship is always approached, if possible, on the lee side.
"What ship is that?" called the officer in charge of the small boats.
"The 'Oriole.'"
"Where from?"
"Rio de Janeiro. Cargo of mahogany."
"Pass a line."
A rope shot over the whaleboat and was quickly made secure. Slowly the whaleboat was pulled as close to the schooner as it was safe to go. At the command of the officer in charge, half a dozen sailors climbed up the rope and leaped to the deck of the "Oriole."
Dan Davis was the first man over the rail.
"How many persons have you on board?"
"Twenty men, a woman and a child. The latter are my wife and daughter," the master of the craft informed him.
The woman, lashed to the deck house, was clinging to her child, a girl of some seven years.
Without further questioning, Dan sprang for the deck house, at the same time motioning to another jackie to come to his assistance. Together they cast off the lashings; and, grasping the woman and child, led them toward the lee quarter of the ship.
By this time the cutter also had succeeded in making its way alongside, and the men of the crew of the "Oriole" began clambering over the side of the vessel in the effort to reach the life boats.
"Stand back, you men!" commanded Dan, thrusting two sailors aside as they crowded the woman and the little girl, nearly precipitating them into the sea.
One of the men attempted to strike the Battleship Boy, and was instantly knocked down for his pains. A second man came at Dan, but at that instant the red-haired Sam Hickey was projected at their very feet, where he had been thrown by a lurch of the ship as he was clambering over the rail. Sam sprang to his feet and made short work of the second sailor.
"Help me get the woman and child over," shouted Dan.
The woman was first lowered into the boat by means of ropes; then came the girl. As Dan lifted her, she laid an arm confidingly about his neck.
"Please, man, won't you save Tommy?" she called in his ear.
"Tommy?"
"Yes."
"Where is he?"
"Down in the cabin. Tommy is sick, he is. Please; that's a good man."
"Ahoy, down there, let some one catch the girl when I throw her."
Then, addressing the officer in charge of the boat, he said: "If you don't mind, sir, you need not wait for me. There's someone else below, I hear. I'll go for him and then I'll catch the other lifeboat."
The girl was safely caught, and, acting on Dan's suggestion, the officer ordered the oarsmen to give way together.
"Cutter, wait for me!" cried the lad, dashing along the lee side on his way to the cabin. The master of the "Oriole" had already gone over the side, and was now on the way toward the battleship, with his wife and daughter and nearly a dozen exhausted sailors from the schooner. Unfortunately for Dan, the officer in charge of the cutter did not hear Dan's shout, but a few moments later gave the command to return to the battleship, Sam being in the boat.
"Hello, Tom!" shouted Dan, half running, half falling down the companion way into the main corridor of the schooner's cabin.
He stumbled into water that reached above his knees.
"Tom! Tom!" he cried.
There was no response. Dan dived into the little cuddy. The cuddy lamp was burning, swaying widely with each roll of the ship, shedding a faint light over the stuffy room, for everything had been closed up tightly to keep the water that was now everywhere in the ship from drowning out the master's quarters.
A sewing basket, with a half-completed piece of work beside it, lay on the table, while two bunches of bananas hung suspended from the rudder casing.
Dan Davis was dimly conscious of observing all these peaceful signs, though his mind was upon other things.
Once more he raised his voice.
"Tom!" he shouted with all the strength of his lusty lungs.
"Git out, you lubber!"
Dan actually jumped. The voice had seemed to be right at his ear. The voice was hoarse and jeering. The Battleship Boy glanced about him quickly, but could see nothing that looked like a human being.
"That you, Tom?" he demanded.
A shriek of wild laughter was the answer to his question.
Glancing up among the beams, Dan Davis gave a gasp. He understood.
"A parrot! Hello, Tom, is that your name?" he questioned.
The parrot laughed shrilly.
"So you are the Tom I came down here to rescue, are you? Well, this is a nice kettle of lobster! But you shall be rescued, just the same, Mr. Thomas—Mr. Thomas, what's your other name?"
"Lubber," answered the bird of brilliant plumage.
Dan grabbed the cage. Searching hastily about, he found a skirt, which he bound about the cage, knowing that the bird would surely be drowned on the journey to the ship unless the cage were well protected. Tom protested by sundry screeches and unseemly language, to all of which Dan gave no heed.
"We must get out of here. The boat will get tired of waiting for us, and we're not going to stay here and drown," said Dan.
The lad, having bound the cage to his satisfaction, ran up the companionway. As he reached the deck a great wall of water swept over him, a ton or more of it pouring down the open hatchway ere he could get it closed. For a moment he held on desperately, unable to see or hear, for the water that enveloped him.
The wave passed and Dan staggered toward the stern, holding to the rail that was now half submerged under a foaming sea.
"Lifeboat, there!" he called as he neared the stern.
There was no response to his summons. Dan repeated his call, but his voice sounded weak and feeble in the roar of the storm. At last he reached the stern and, during a lull in the rush of water, peered over. The cutter was not there. Running to the other side, he looked over, but he saw nothing but a waste of tumbling sea.
For a moment the Battleship Boy stood clinging to the rail in a dazed sort of a way. Then the truth dawned upon him.
"They have gone back to the ship without me," he groaned. "I have been left on a sinking ship. Even if they discover my absence it will no doubt be too late to come to my rescue before this old tub goes down. Tom Lubber, it begins to look as if you and I were bound for Davy Jones's Locker at a twenty-knot gait."
"Git out," jeered the parrot.
CHAPTER III
BOMBARDED BY BIG GUNS
Dan was cool under the dreadful situation in which he found himself. His mind was clear and active now. He felt no sense of fear.
Glancing about, he finally located the battleship, though he was able to see it only when the schooner rose on some mighty swell. The ship appeared to be far away, but from her forward cage mast a broad beam of light was being thrown down on the water. After a time Dan made out a speck on the water near the warship.
"That's the cutter," he muttered. "Thank goodness, they have not been swamped. I wonder what became of the other boat? They must have gotten aboard before this. But how came the cutter to go away and leave me so soon, I cannot understand."
Dan did not know that his warning to the cutter to wait for him had not been heard by the coxswain of the latter boat, the lifeboat having pulled away
Once the big searchlight fell across the wave-swept decks of the "Oriole," hovered there a moment, then was quickly withdrawn.
"The boats are safe on board, I guess," decided Dan. "The ship is moving. They are going away. I am left. I guess I had better go below or I shall be swept into the sea. As it is, I shall not have very long to wait for the end, judging from the way the schooner is listing. Good-bye, old 'Long Island,'" muttered the boy, saluting, as he fixed his eyes on the spot where he figured the stern of the battleship should be. Then all was shut out in a blinding wave that swept the deck of the disabled craft.
When the wave had passed, Dan was gripping the deck house, gasping, for he was almost choking with the salt water he had swallowed. He was still clinging to the bird.
"Come, Tom, we had better go below," he said, quickly raising the hatch, letting it fall over him with a bang as he leaped down into the corridor that led to the cuddy. But, quick as he was, a flood of salt water poured down with him. For a moment Dan seemed to be swimming in it.
"Tom Lubber, it strikes me that the safest place for you, just now, will be in your old billet up there. If you are going to be saved, I guess some one else will have to do it. I do not seem to be an entire success as a life saver."
The bird-cage was placed on its hook, after which the lad stripped the covering from it, bringing from the parrot a chorus of protests and scornful epithets.
Dan curled up on a bunk, leaning against a bulk-head. He was dripping wet, but to this he gave no thought. He did not even realize that such was the case. He was wondering how long it would be ere the old schooner would take a plunge to the bottom of the ocean.
"It must be a long way to the bottom," decided the Battleship Boy. "I shan't know when we reach there, anyway, so what's the odds how far it is? Perhaps it would be better for me to jump overboard and put a quick end to it. Yet," he reflected, "while I am alive I am alive. I guess that's good sense, and it gives me an idea."
For several moments the boy was lost in deep thought.
"If the rudder is still in place I may be able to do something that will ease matters a little. Of course I do not know how much water there is in the hold. Perhaps the bottom has been burst open, and all that is keeping us together is the lumber. I'm going to make an investigation, at any rate. I wonder if they have discovered my absence on board the battleship?"
They had not discovered his absence. In boarding the battleship with the rescued crew the whaleboat had been wrecked, as had its mate in starting out. One of the rescued men was drowned in the sea just as he was reaching for a rope that had been cast to him by a sailor on the deck of the warship.
For a time there was great excitement on board the battleship. At last, however, all hands were hauled aboard. The cutter's crew and passengers were landed without disaster, the daughter of the master of the "Oriole" looking upon the whole affair as a most delightful experience.
After the rescued sailors had been cared for by their comrades on the battleship, and the master's family made comfortable in one of the cabins of the captain, the latter made his way to the bridge.
"Let us get under way now, Coates," said the captain, addressing the executive officer. "I don't like to lie near that floating hulk there any longer than I am obliged to."
The ship began to move.
"I'll tell you what, Coates, I believe we had better break her up, don't you?"
"The schooner, sir?"
"Yes."
"An excellent idea. Shall I do it?"
"Yes. Use the seven-inch port battery."
"Boatswain's mate!" roared the executive officer.
"Aye, aye, sir."
"Turn out the seven-inch starboard gun crews. Order them to take their stations and stand ready with six rounds of solid shot."
"Aye, aye, sir."
The orders were quickly transmitted to the gun crews by the mate. The men went to their stations on a run. This was an opportunity that delighted the hearts of every jackie on board. It was something more than the ordinary target practice. It was, in reality, battle practice. Ammunition was quickly hoisted to the seven-inch gun turret, and, taking a wide circle, the ship began swinging back toward the spot where the "Oriole" had last been seen. The searchlights were playing over the mountainous seas in search of her.
"There she is, four points off the starboard bow, sir," shouted a lookout.
"What is the range, Mr. Coates?" asked the captain.
"About four thousand yards."
"Better make it three."
The outlines of the schooner could be faintly made out by focusing the searchlight upon her.
"Within the range, sir."
"Very well, when you are ready."
A bell buzzed in the starboard seven-inch forward turret, while an indicator told the waiting gun crew that the doomed ship lay three thousand yards from them. An instant later a projectile had been shoved into the big gun, the breech closed and the gun pointer crawling to his station, was sighting the piece on the ghostly outline of the "Oriole."
"Fire!"
The battleship heeled ever so little, followed by a report as if the ship had blown up.
Again the bell in the turret buzzed.
"Aye, aye, sir," answered the gun captain.
"An excellent shot," came the information in the voice of the executive officer. "You shot away the foremast. The schooner lies very low in the water. You will have to depress your gun a little more this time, or wait until the target rises on a swell. Drill her this time."
"Aye, aye, sir; we'll drill her."
"Boom!" roared the big seven-inch, as it hurled the second heavy projectile straight at the unfortunate schooner.
"Fair hit," shouted the executive officer in a tone of exultation.
"Hit her hard, sir?"
"Dead amidships. Smash another in the same place and you'll have her on the way to Davy Jones's ditty box."
Again the forward starboard seven-inch spoke.
"Miss," came the warning. "Poor work. Cease firing and give the after turret's crew a chance."
"Aye, aye, sir."
The after-turret's crew sprang to their work with a shout of joy. In an incredibly short time after receiving the command, their weapon began to roar, shot following shot, as if they were engaged in record target practice for the silver cup.
"Hit," came the call down the speaking tube after each shot. Projectile after projectile landed in the hull of the doomed schooner.
"There she goes!" cried the captain, catching a faint glimpse of the "Oriole" as she slipped down a great sloping hill of water. "That's the last of her."
"Shall we give her another round, sir?"
"No; cease firing. She is no doubt broken to pieces by our shot by this time. You do not see her, do you?"
"No, sir. The searchlight doesn't seem able to find the schooner."
"Then we need trouble ourselves no further about her. It's a good job, Coates," smiled the captain, rubbing his palms together in keen satisfaction. "We have rescued the crew of a disabled ship in one of the worst gales that I ever saw on the Atlantic coast. We have lost none of our own men and only one of the seamen belonging to the schooner. Of course I'm sorry that he was lost, but we did all that human beings could accomplish."
"We did, sir."
At that moment the captain's orderly approached.
"What is it?" demanded the captain, observing that the orderly wished to say something to him.
"Seaman Sam Hickey asks permission to speak to the commanding officer, sir."
"What does Seaman Hickey wish to say to me?"
"He did not say, sir."
"I will see him."
Sam, his red hair standing straight up, for he was hatless as well as coatless still, approached the captain, came to
"Well, lad, what is it?"
"I have not seen my friend Dan Davis since the boats returned, sir," he said.
"What's that?"
"I find that Davis did not return in either the whaleboat or the cutter. He went back to save some one that the girl begged him to save. I've made inquiry and learn that the somebody was a miserable parrot."
"Seaman Davis on that schooner?" demanded the captain in a startled voice.
"Yes, sir, I think so, sir."
"And we have shot the decks from under him with our seven-inch guns!" groaned the captain.
He immediately ordered that the searchlights try again to pick the schooner up. But no search revealed her. By reason of the violence of the gale, the battleship, for her own safety, had been compelled to steam some distance away. But she lay to throughout the night, and only when the early daylight revealed nothing of the schooner was she headed for the Delaware Breakwater.
CHAPTER IV
LOOKING DEATH IN THE FACE
We left Dan curled up in a bunk, wondering how long it would be before the schooner would go to the bottom.
"What's that?" exclaimed Dan, starting up from the narrow berth on which he was sitting.
He had heard a crash and felt a jar that was different from the shocks he had been experiencing for the last half hour.
Suddenly the Battleship Boy leaped from the berth, splashing into the water knee deep, as another shock, more violent than the other, set the doomed schooner trembling from stem to stern.
"Another mast has gone by the board," he groaned.
"Bang!"
The sound was accompanied by a ripping and rending of woodwork as if the vessel were being torn apart by some strange, wonderful power.
"I can't stand this any longer. I've got to go on deck and find out what is occurring, even if I am swept overboard. I'm not going to die down in this hole anyway. It's no way for a jackie in Uncle Sam's Navy to end his life. Tommy, you'll have to get along the best way you can. Good-bye if I do not see you again."
There was a note of regret in the Battleship Boy's tone, as his glance lingered half regretfully on the ugly face of the parrot.
"Lubber!" retorted the indignant parrot.
"I guess I am all you accuse me of being," answered Dan with a mirthless laugh.
Running up the companionway he crouched under the hatchway, listening in order to determine whether a wave were washing over the ship or just leaving the stern. Having decided on this, the lad quickly threw open the hatch and sprang out on deck.
A cold blast of salt spray smote him full in the face. Dan cleared his eyes and glanced about him inquiringly. He was able to see but little of deck or mast, but he felt quite sure that only one of the latter had been left standing.
There was a sudden angry flash off to port.
"Lightning," muttered Dan. "We're going to have a thunderstorm to add to my other troubles."
No sooner were the words out of his mouth than the ship received a shock so sudden and violent as to throw the boy flat on his face on the deck.
"That's the time we were struck," he cried, springing up.
Indeed the "Oriole" had been struck, but not in the way that Dan Davis thought. Instead of being struck by lightning another projectile from the seven-inch gun had torn its way through the stricken schooner.
Dan never had been under fire; in fact, he never had taken part in target practice, so he knew little of what big-gun fire was like.
A beam from a searchlight smote his face.
"The 'Long Island'!" he fairly shouted. "They're coming back for me. Tom," he yelled, poking his head in through the hatchway, "they're coming after us. We shall yet be saved."
"Get out!" answered the parrot in a shrill screaming voice.
Dan dropped the hatchway, straightened up and shading his eyes as he gazed off across the waste of waters. Just then he caught sight of another of those sharp flashes that he had taken for lightning. This time he saw that the flash had come directly from the battleship itself. At the same instant he experienced another of those terrific shocks, this one sending him staggering to the rail.
The truth suddenly dawned upon him.
"They are shooting at me!" he gasped. "But why are they doing that terrible thing?"
Dan pondered over this for a full moment.
"I know," he cried. "They are trying to sink the schooner, to get her out of the way, so that no other ship will run into her in the darkness. Well, I certainly am in a fine fix. Not being able to drown myself in a respectable way, the ship has come to my help by shooting at me. I wonder what gun they are doing it with? It must be the twelve-inch, judging——"
"Bang! Crash!"
"There she goes again."
The schooner heeled until the lad was sure that she was going to turn turtle. The Battleship Boy felt a shiver running up and down his spine.
"If I had a light I might signal them and attract their attention. I don't believe they are able to pick me up with the searchlight. If they saw me they surely would not keep on shooting at me."
Dan hastened to the cabin below. There was not a lantern to be found so he grabbed up the cuddy lamp and ran to the deck with it. The instant he reached the deck the wind blew the light out.
The boy put the lamp down on the deck and crept over to the port rail which was the side nearest to the distant battleship.
Once more the seven-inch gun let go, the projectile going just a little high and cutting a gash in the deck as it went screaming over, losing itself in the sea off to starboard somewhere.
"About six feet nearer, and my name would have been Dennis," muttered the lad.
He remembered, afterwards, that he had not experienced any feeling of fear. The sensation of being under fire, and that with the knowledge that a battleship was trying to sink the vessel under him, filled him with awe and curiosity. Dan found himself wondering just how long it would take for the guns of the warship to put the schooner under. Had she not been loaded with lumber the schooner no doubt would have gone down under the first projectile that struck her.
"My, but those boys can shoot," he muttered with a feeling of pride. "Ah, that one went too high. Lower, lower!" fairly screamed the boy.
"Crash!"
"That's the time you did it," he shouted exultantly, picking himself up from the deck, his clothing torn, his body scratched from the splinters that the projectile had rained over him in a perfect shower. "A few more shots like that and you'll have her. But I'm glad there isn't any flag flying here. I'd have to take it down. I couldn't stand it to see them shooting at the Stars and Stripes."
The next shot tore away a large section of the rail on the port side, and seemed at the same time to have twisted the ship about.
But Dan was clinging to a stanchion, which fact saved him from being again thrown to the deck.
"I guess they must have decided to cease firing," he said. "I hope they haven't given it up. I know I shall be disappointed. How I wish I were at that gun! Wouldn't it be fun! I believe I could shoot as straight as they do. But——"
Dan did not finish the sentence. There came a report more terrific than those that had preceded it. The stanchion to which the lad bad been clinging suddenly doubled over, striking him on the head, felling him to the deck. The schooner lurched heavily, and, settling over on her starboard side, slipped slowly down a great sloping hill of water into a deep hollow of the sea. But Dan Davis lay still. The blow on his head had been a cruel one, the iron stanchion having been struck by a projectile from one of the seven-inch guns and bent double.
The first gray streaks of the dawn were shooting up from the angry sea when Dan opened his eyes again. His first sensation was that of choking. He was,
The lad's first thought was that he was drowning. Soon, however, he managed to get his eyes open sufficiently to examine his surroundings.
There was gray, turbulent water wherever the eye roamed, a waste of foaming sea, here and there heaping itself into great dark piles that seemed to tower higher than the masts of a ship.
"It's a wonder I'm alive," exclaimed the Battleship Boy, as he began extricating himself from his uncomfortable position. "The sea is not nearly so high as it was last night, and this old craft is still on its legs. That is the most surprising thing about the whole business."
Dan got to his feet, but he was very unsteady. His first business was to look over the ship and make up his mind how badly she had been hurt by the fire of the battleship. Wreck and ruin greeted him on every hand. The decks were a mass of tangled wreckage, broken masts, twisted stanchions and knotted ropes. In several places the decks were ripped wide open, the lumber beneath them split and torn into shreds.
Peering over the side, the lad discovered a jagged hole in the hull, through which the water rushed with every roll of the ship.
The "Oriole" was lying well over on her side, threatening every instant to complete the job by turning over entirely. Dan surveyed the ship with critical eyes.
"I see now what has saved me. It is the lumber. The schooner was so far down in the sea, too, that the shots from the battleship could do her little serious damage. I wonder why they ceased firing. They must have thought we were sinking. Well, anyway, I'm still afloat, I wish I could see the sun so I could guess where I am."
Dan consulted the compass critically, learning that the battered hulk was headed southeast. He tried the steering wheel, making the discovery that the ship's rudder had not been torn off. He uttered an exclamation.
"I wonder if I could do it?" he muttered. "The land lies somewhere to the southwest. I know we are not far from the coast, for we sighted a lighthouse yesterday afternoon."
The stump of a mast was still standing, the stick having broken off about thirty feet from the deck.
Dan, after a moment's reflection, ran below. Wading about in the cuddy and storeroom in water up to his armpits, he found that of which he was in search. He staggered to the deck, dragging a jib sail after him. It was no slight effort to carry the heavy canvas, but the lad accomplished it.
Now his purpose became evident. After great exertion he managed to climb the slippery mast, carrying a block and tackle with him. The roll of the ship made his task doubly difficult, but Dan pluckily held on, weak and lame as he was. He knew no such word as "fail." When he set about a certain task he did so with perfect confidence in himself. He knew he should succeed.
"There. I'm not a half-bad sailor, after all," he cried, dropping to the deck.
His next duty was to carry a rope from the sail that he had fastened to the stump of the mast, back to the steering wheel, first having passed the rope through tackle that he had made secure to a stanchion. Taking it all in all, he had accomplished something that would have been a credit to a much more experienced seaman.
But Dan had not quite finished with his preparations. He was eyeing the heavy mast that lay lengthwise of the deck, amidst a tangled mass of ropes and stays.
Procuring an axe from the deck house he cut the mast free; then, rigging some tackle, he worked with the stick until at last he had dumped it over the stern into the sea. Before doing so, however, he had made fast a line to it, securing the line at the stern of the schooner before launching the spar. The "Oriole" steadied considerably under the influence of the dragging spar.
"Now, for the experiment!" cried Dan almost joyously. "I don't know, but perhaps the minute I get some wind in the sail the whole outfit will turn turtle. At least, that will be better than waiting for the ship to do so of her own accord."
He drew the sail taut, after a long, comprehensive glance over the deck, at the same time crowding the wheel over to port. Then followed a minute of anxious suspense. The sail slowly filled, the shattered bow gradually swung about. With a "splash, splash, splash!" the battered hulk of the wrecked, shot-riddled "Oriole" began to move.
"Hip, hip, hurrah!" shouted Dan Davis. "Right side up with care! Now, if we don't get any worse weather, we'll land somewhere, even if it's on the rocks."
Dan decided upon the course that he would follow if he could, and, watching the compass, held the "Oriole" to that course as closely as possible.
All during that day the sea continued gray and angry, the clouds hung low and the sea gulls swept screaming by him, bound for still water. Dan remained steadfast to his vigil, watching sea and sky and sail with keen, observant eyes. He could not tell how fast he was traveling, but so long as the schooner was under motion he did not care particularly. There was no sight of land, but still he might be within three or four miles of the coast and yet be unable to sight it, for the "Oriole" was low in the water.
Now and then, as the schooner rose on a swell, he would catch sight of a wisp of smoke on the far-off horizon, showing that steamers were working their way up or down the coast.
Dan began to feel faint and hungry. He decided to look for food. Lashing the wheel he went below and began his search in the dark, water-logged interior of the ship.
"Git out!" shrieked the parrot.
"I'm going to, just as soon as I find a cracker."
The parrot shrieked with rage, which caused the Battleship Boy to laugh almost happily.
After some searching about the lad came upon a tin case of hard tack that had not been water-soaked. A piece of this he gave to the parrot, the rest being stuffed into his own pockets. Then Dan returned to his wheel.
It was late that afternoon when the lad caught sight of something ahead in the distance that attracted his attention instantly. He sprang up to the broken rail, and, supporting himself by a twisted stanchion, peered into the midst of the spray.
"Land ho!" he shouted. "I think I see a light house."
Dan danced about the deck gleefully, for a moment, then grabbed the wheel.
"Gid-dap! You're a slow old poke," he jeered.
After a time he was able to make out the beacon more clearly.
"Somehow, that light house looks familiar to me," he muttered. "I know I have seen it before. Why, of course; I know where I am now. Hurrah! We're headed for the Delaware Breakwater. If I keep on in this way I'll be in Philadelphia—in the course of time," he added with a broad grin.
As Dan Davis and his derelict craft drew nearer and nearer he discovered something else that caused him to gaze fixedly. What he saw was the towering cage masts of a battleship.
"Saved!" cried the Battleship Boy. "And it's the 'Long Island.' I know it is. Won't they be surprised to see me, though? They must have gone in there to get out of the gale."
The lad was swelling with pride. He had accomplished a great feat, and he knew it.
By this time glasses from the warship were being leveled at the strange craft that was to be seen floundering through the sea, headed for the harbor where the battleship was at anchor. The officer of the deck sent word to the captain, who was below, and the captain, after one look at the wreck approaching, sent for the executive officer.
"What do you make of her, Mr. Coates?" he questioned.
The executive officer took a long, searching look at the schooner, then turned wonderingly toward his superior.
"It's our schooner 'Oriole,' unless I am greatly mistaken, sir."
"You don't mean it?"
"I may be mistaken, but it looks very much like
"But we smashed the hulk of the 'Oriole,' Mr. Coates. We saw her go under."
"If we did she has pulled herself together and come back from Davy Jones's Locker to a certainty. There's a man at the wheel, sir. I believe that is Seaman Davis."
"Send a boat's crew out to meet her at once."
A cutter was quickly launched. By this time the rails of the battleship were crowded with jackies. The word had been passed around that the strange craft was none other than the schooner that officers and crew supposed they had broken to pieces in the gale the night before.
Officers, through their glasses, saw the cutter run alongside the schooner. Then, with the lone mariner on board, they began the return trip to the battleship. The cutter came alongside, a few minutes later, and Seaman Daniel Davis ran up the sea ladder, leaped through the rope railing and came to attention before the commander of the battleship.
The instant his salute was returned, Dan ran to the port side of the after deck, where stood a child, clinging to its mother's hand.
"Young lady," he said, "I've brought your parrot to you. But I must say he has about the worst disposition of any parrot that I ever knew."
Dan handed the parrot over to the eager hands of the child.
"Lubber!" shrieked the parrot, making a vicious grab for the Battleship Boy's hand.
The jackies of the "Long Island" set up a mighty cheer that was heard far off on the mainland, wafted there by the quarter gale that was still blowing. At the same time one by one the officers strode forward, grasping the hand of the plucky lad, showering him with congratulations. Dan Davis had performed a feat that would be talked of on shore as well as on the high seas for a long time to come.
"Ord'ly," called the captain sharply.
"Aye, aye, sir."
"Tell the master-at-arms to see to it that Seaman Davis gets a warm meal, the best that the ship affords, and at once. Davis, you will draw a suit of clothes from the canteen at my expense. Yours are ruined. After that you will turn in and stay there till to-morrow morning."
Dan saluted gravely.
As the hulk of the "Oriole" would be dangerous to navigation, she was towed within the Delaware Breakwater and delivered to the proper authorities, and the passengers and crew of the ill-starred schooner went ashore.
CHAPTER V
THE LOSS OF THE TOMPION
That night being Saturday the crew gave a banquet in honor of the Battleship Boy, following it with an entertainment. There were songs, buck and wing dancing, a little playlet and a lively boxing bout.
Dan was dragged to the stage amid loud demands for a speech.
"Tell us how you did it," shouted the jackies. "Tell us all about it."
The Battleship Boy blushed furiously.
"Mates, I can't do it. I—I——" then Dan fled. They found him, an hour later, hiding in the twelve-inch gun turret.
The officers, however, felt a keen professional interest in the lad's accomplishment, and especially in the effect on the schooner of the big gun-fire. Hardly a man of all that crew of eight hundred men and officers ever had stood on the deck of a ship that was being bombarded by heavy projectiles.
Dan was summoned to the captain's quarters. There, in the presence of the senior officers, he related in a clear, comprehensive manner all that had occurred, describing in detail the shock when the projectiles hit the schooner; giving as nearly as possible the degree of list that had followed and the number of hits. His technical knowledge was a surprise to the ship's officers. Such knowledge was unusual in a seaman, showing, as it did, that the lad had used his eyes and his brain to good purpose since he had been on shipboard. As a matter of fact, Dan had been studying ever since his enlistment. He had spent all his leisure moments in studying the technical works with which the ship's library was equipped, asking questions of the petty officers, until he had informed himself far beyond his grade.
Both lads had by this time risen to the grade of full seamen, which carried with it a substantial increase in pay.
"What, in your opinion, prevented our fire from sinking the schooner?" questioned the captain.
"Why, the fact that the boat was loaded with lumber was all that kept her afloat, sir. Then, again, her hull lay so low in the water that the projectiles had no opportunity to do effective work. If you had elevated the seven-inch and dropped a projectile or so on the deck of the schooner, I might not have been here to tell you about what happened," added Dan with a suggestive smile.
The captain smiled at his executive officer.
"That is most excellent logic, Mr. Coates."
"Yes, sir."
"I think we shall have to make a full report of this to the Navy Department. Prepare a statement from what Seaman Davis has told us, together with any further technical information he may be able to give you. At the same time full credit should be given to Seaman Davis for his splendid work. Young man, I congratulate you. You are not unknown to me. I well recall other fine deeds on your part performed some time since. I trust you suffered no injury during your trying experience."
"No, sir."
"You are interested in guns?"
"Very deeply interested."
"But you have not been stationed at one of the guns?"
"No, sir."
"Would you like to be? Would you prefer to be a member of a gun crew?"
"It has been my ambition to join a gun crew, sir. I feel that I should do well in that position."
"Then you shall. Coates, will you be good enough to tell the ship's writer to enter Seaman Davis as a member of the starboard seven-inch crew?"
"Yes, sir."
"Thank you, sir," answered the Battleship Boy, his eyes gleaming with pleasure. "I shall try not to be a discredit to the seven-inch, sir."
"You will not. That goes without saying."
"May I ask a favor, sir?"
"Certainly. What is it?"
"Will it be possible for my friend, Seaman Hickey, to have a place in that gun squad?"
"I think that can be arranged," answered the captain with an indulgent smile. "Has your friend also a desire to learn to shoot?"
"Yes, sir."
"His desire shall be gratified. And, as for you, Davis, continue in the way you have started and there is little doubt as to where you will eventually bring up. I shall watch your career with deep interest. I always take an interest in the young men who are striving to work themselves up. If I can be of assistance to you, at any time, communicate in the proper manner, and I shall be glad to do all I can for you."