The Battleship Boys at Sea; Or, Two Apprentices in Uncle Sam's Navy

CHAPTER XV—A BAD BANGED-UP BULLY

The lad went about his duties in a thoughtful mood that afternoon.

Dan, by his close attention to duty, his manly bearing, his enthusiasm, had attracted the attention of his superiors. Their eyes were frequently upon him, which was a distinct gain for Dan, in view of the fact that the battleship’s crew consisted of nearly eight hundred men beside her forty officers.

Dan did not know that he was being observed, nor would it have affected his conduct in the least had he known it. He had made up his mind to be an officer some day. He felt confident that this great thing would come to pass. But the goal seemed a long way off at the moment, when, with paint brush in hand, he painted and painted from morning until night, varying his occupation late in the day by grabbing up his deck swab, and, in bare feet, joining the deck division in scrubbing down decks.

Being a sailor by instinct, the Battleship Boy did not consider any work that he had been ordered to do beneath him.

At sunset, that night, the bugle blew for “colors,” meaning the formalities always observed in lowering the Flag at sunset when the ship was at anchor. This was the first time Dan had had an opportunity to see “colors” since he came aboard, for the ship had been under way constantly.

A few moments before the sunset hour the different divisions marched aft to the quarter-deck, each division in charge of a midshipman or an ensign. Coming to a halt, the divisions faced midships, banked on each side of the quarter-deck.

Grouped aft on the starboard side was the band. In the center stood the captain, with his executive officer, facing the Flag, and with the marines drawn up just back of the jackies.

A deep silence pervaded the deck.

“Attention!”

The Flag slowly fluttered toward the deck, every face being turned toward the stern, every eye fixed on the Flag as it crept slowly downward.

As the Flag reached the deck the band struck up “The Star-Spangled Banner.” The heart of every jackie on the quarter-deck swelled with patriotism, the strains of the national anthem bringing a deeper color to the rows of tanned, manly faces lined up in solid ranks on the quarter-deck of the battleship “Long Island.”

“Attention! First division right face. Forward, march!”

To the rhythmic tap of the drum the ship’s company began marching from the deck in steady lines, one division following another, until all had disappeared save a group of officers who stood chatting on the quarter-deck.

The day’s work was practically done for all except those who were on watch duty. All hands repaired to the evening mess, and for an hour there was quietness on board ship.

Dan asked permission to visit his companion in the brig that evening. The permission was abruptly refused. During the rest of the evening the lad was unusually silent, and as soon as hammocks were piped up, he hurried off to bed, but not to sleep, for his thoughts were with Hickey down in the brig. Had he but known, there was little cause for worry. Sam was not fretting, but was sound asleep on his hard bed.

On the following morning, during the hour when the smoke lamp was lighted, Dan was pacing the forward deck. His righteous indignation over the wrong that had been done his chum was welling up within him until it momentarily threatened to overmaster him, resulting in some act that would bring punishment on himself as well.

Kester had risen from where he had been lounging on deck smoking his pipe. Dan had not observed him. The lad was too fully occupied with his own thoughts to give heed to what was going on about him.

All at once he became aware that some one was speaking to him.

“How’s your red-headed friend this morning?”

Dan glanced up quickly, to find himself face to face with Bill Kester.

He eyed the bully with a steady gaze.

“Don’t want to speak to me, eh?”

“No. I shall be very much obliged if you will keep away from me. If you don’t, I am afraid I shall forget myself.”

Kester laughed long and loud.

“Forget yourself! Ho, ho, ho! That’s a joke—the funniest thing I ever heard. You think you can bluff Bill Kester, do you?”

“I never bluff.”

“You’d better not.”

Dan clenched his fists, but started to move away. He dared trust himself no further, for his wrath was rising to the danger point, yet there was nothing in his calm manner to indicate that such was the case.

Kester stepped in front of him.

“See here, you landlubber, them high and mighty airs don’t go down with me, and you’ll find they don’t. You’ve got a few things to learn on shipboard——”

“I shall have to find some one else to teach me, if I have,” retorted Dan sharply.

By this time other eyes had been attracted to them.

“I reckon Bill is trying to pick a row with Davis,” said one.

“Let them go. It will do the boy good to get a trimming.”

Kester’s eyes narrowed.

“Oh, you will, eh?”

“That is what I said. Do you wish me to repeat it? I will do so, if your hearing is not good.”

“I said, how’s your red-headed friend this morning?” growled the bully, his chin protruding pugnaciously.

“Ask the master-at-arms if you wish to know. I am not obliged to answer your questions. There is no use in trying to be courteous with you. You wouldn’t understand it at all.”

“You take that back, or——”

“Look here, Kester,” hinted Dan, a new light appearing in his eyes. “Red-head, as you call him, may be easy, but don’t monkey with DYNAMITE. That’s all I’ve got to say to you.”

“You throw it at me, do you? What you need is a good licking, and that’s what you’re going to get. I’ll run both you landlubbers out of the service. I’ll trim your jib right now and make the job complete.”

Dan gazed at him calmly, and as he stood there facing the big man the Battleship Boy appeared almost frail beside the other and more powerfully built man.

“What is it that you propose to do? Don’t keep me waiting. I have things of more importance to attend to.”

Kester took one step forward, making a sudden, vicious pass at Dan Davis’s head. He followed it quickly with another blow with the left hand.

By this time several jackies had started up.

“Quit it, Bill. Can’t you pick somebody of your own size to fight with? If you can’t we’ll do the job for you. We’ll——”

The speaker paused suddenly. All at once things began to happen that caused them to pause in open-mouthed wonder.

Both the bully’s blows had landed on thin air. Davis had deftly side-stepped out of harm’s way. The lad paused for one brief instant, poising on his toes, then he leaped straight at the husky sailor.

The men said afterwards that they could not tell which was Bill and which was Dan Davis. The air was full of flying fists, and above the shouts of the sailors was heard the sound of heavy blows.

The jackies yelled and shouted their appreciation. Such a lively set-to they had not seen in many a day.

At at once Bill Kester sat down on the deck with a resounding bump, while Dan Davis stood with a calm smile on his face, gazing down at the astonished bully.

Then the sailors discovered that which set them wild with enthusiasm. Both of Kester’s eyes were blackened and rapidly swelling, and were almost shut. His lips were puffed out to twice their natural size and on the right side of his head he wore a “beautiful” cauliflower ear.

Bill was dazed. He had been through many hard-fought battles, but never had he quite met with as sure and quick disaster as in the present instance.

“I—I’ll fix you for this,” he snarled, getting to his feet, groping for the companionway, which he could not see, for by this time his eyes were shut by the swelling.

“Why not do it now!” suggested Dan. “There is no time like the present, and besides we may not get another chance.”

“I can’t see, or I’d——”

“Let me help you.”

To the amazement of the delighted jackies, Dan took the bully by the arm and courteously assisted him to the gun deck.

“Here, you men,” he said. “Help Bill down to the sick bay. He’s just bumped into something hard.”

Dan returned to the deck, where the sailors crowded about him to congratulate him, but Dan would have none of it. He got at his work as soon thereafter as possible, but he felt sure there would be trouble—that he would be disciplined for his action.

“Anyway, I’ve got even for that blow he gave Sam,” muttered the lad.

He was right in his surmise. Trouble did follow. Both Bill Kester and Dan Davis were called before the mast at one o’clock that afternoon.

This time there were several witnesses, all of whom had volunteered to testify in behalf of the Battleship Boy. There were three petty officers among the number, and, to Dan’s surprise, two commissioned officers who had chanced to see the whole thing. Each assured the captain that Davis had acted purely in self-defense.

The captain consulted Kester’s record and nodded his head.

“I sentence you to three days in the brig on bread and water, with no full rations during that time,” announced the captain. “The next time I will make it thirty days.”

“Davis,” he continued, turning to Dan, “I am fully satisfied that you acted wholly in self-defense. No marks will be placed against you.”

Secretly the captain was well pleased that the bully had gotten such a sound drubbing. The man’s face was a sight. The plasters over the nose plainly located the spot where Sam Hickey’s fists had landed, while the eyes, lips and “cauliflower” ear testified to the power of Dan Davis’s muscular punches.

“Remember, however, Davis, that fighting is discouraged aboard ship. Fighting will be severely dealt with in all instances. Providing a man is acting in self-defense, with no fault on his own part, that fact will be considered in passing upon any disturbance that he may become involved in. You understand thoroughly, do you not!”

“Yes, sir,” answered Dan, saluting.

“You are a new man. Be guided wholly by your officers. When in doubt consult them.”

Kester was led away to the brig to serve his sentence. Sam heard them coming along the corridor. Stepping to the door of his cell he peered out through the grating. A grin spread over his face as he caught sight of the woebegone figure of Kester.

“Hello, Bill,” he jeered. “Who have you been thumping?”

The bully made no reply, and a moment later the cell door clanged behind him.

CHAPTER XVI—RECEIVING A CHALLENGE

Walls were painted white, floors red, jackies both red and white. Dan and Sam—the latter having been released from the brig after serving his sentence—not belonging to a gun crew, were put to work in a corridor on this occasion. They were in great good humor, having gained the distinction of being ordered to report for wig-wag signal duty during the mine practice, both being experts with the signal flag. The boys were talking over their good fortune when the captain came hurrying through. Instantly the boys came to attention.

“Good morning, lads,” greeted the commanding officer.

“Fresh paint beside you, sir,” warned Dan.

“Very careless of me not to have observed it. I see I have gathered quite a quantity of it already,” he added, examining his trim braided blouse that was now streaked with white.

“May I speak, sir?” asked Dan.

“Certainly, my lad. What is it?”

“Let me rub the paint off while it is still fresh?”

“How?”

“This way, sir.”

Dan examined the sleeve of his jacket critically. Having found a clean place he approached the captain and began rubbing his own sleeve over the soiled spot on the sleeve of the commanding officer. This done he went at the left side of the blouse where there was a larger blotch of white. In a few moments he had so thoroughly cleaned the blue blouse, by rubbing it violently with the goods of his jacket, that all traces of the white paint had disappeared.

Dan stepped back, saluting respectfully.

“Why, you have taken it all off, but you will have the trouble of cleaning your own jacket.”

“I shall have to do that anyway, sir.”

“Thank you, my lad.”

The captain saluted and passed on.

“That boy is as graceful and self-possessed as if he had spent years in the service. I must keep my eye on him. I predict that he will be doing something worth while some of these days.”

Dan’s face was flushed. He was pleased with himself. Sam glanced over at him and winked gravely.

“I wish I knew how to do things the way you do,” he said. “Somehow my feet and hands don’t fit the rest of my anatomy. I’m a thickhead and a landlubber, all in one.”

“You are all right, if you would only think so,” replied Dan.

After the noonday mess the boys were resting on the forward deck when Sam called the attention of his companion to a group of sailors on the port side, leaning against the rail engaged in earnest conversation. The spokesman was no other than Bill Kester. Bill was gesticulating. A sailor appeared to be opposing him in something.

“I wonder what’s up?” mused Dan.

“Quarreling again, I guess,” decided Sam, rising and strolling forward where he leaned over the bow of the ship, gazing thoughtfully down into the turbulent sea. Now and then a thin shower of spray would mount high in the air and dash over him, the anchored ship having swung about until its bow was headed into the half-gale that was blowing up the coast.

After a time two jackies strolled over to where Dan was sitting, and leaned indolently against the forward twelve-inch turret.

“How’s the shipmate to-day?” inquired one.

“Very well, thank you.”

“Feeling fit as a fiddle, eh?”

“Never better, though I do feel as if I had been eating paint all my life. I’m all red on the outside and white on the inside. My walls do not need any more dressing,” laughed Dan.

“Then we’ve got a proposition to make to you.”

“A what?”

“Proposition.”

“What is it?”

“It’s usual on shipboard, when one party gets a grouch on against another, to meet according to rules and fight it out.”

“Well, what of it?”

“How’d you like to fight, matey?”

“No, thank you,” Dan replied, with considerable emphasis, the memory of his previous trouble still being fresh in mind. “Whom do you want me to fight?”

“We haven’t said we wanted you to fight anybody. We ain’t very strong on having you fight somebody. Somebody wants to fight you, and we’ve been appointed a committee to come over and consult with you.”

“Some one wishes to fight me, is that it?” questioned Dan.

“That’s about it, shipmate.”

Dan gazed at them inquiringly.

“Who?”

“Bill Kester.”

“I might have known it.”

“It’s only fair to tell you, Mr. Dynamite, that he’s about the scrappiest scrapper on board the ‘Long Island.’ We’ve been thinking of getting one of the men from aboard the ‘Michigan’ to come over and whale the daylights out of him some of these days. He’s got to get it before he’ll quit picking trouble with other folks. You’re under-size and lighter than Bill, even if you did lay him out the other day. But because of your size you’ve got a right to refuse, if you want to,” continued the sailor.

It was plain, however, that he secretly hoped Dan would accept the challenge to do battle with the ship’s bully.

“No, boys, I have had one fight, though it wasn’t much of a fight after all. You know what happened? I was called before the mast and let go with a warning. Next time they would put me ashore and tell me to go home. I wish to stay in the service. When I fight, let it be under the Flag I serve.”

“Nothing of the sort. Bill will be telling, all over the ship, that you are afraid to meet him, and maybe he’ll call you a coward. Of course we fellows know you ain’t, Dynie.” (“Dynie,” since Dan’s first outburst with Kester, had become a favorite nickname for the boy.)

“He had better not,” Dan made answer in a low, tense voice, a dull flush suffusing his cheeks. “If he does that, I may be tempted to use a marline spike on him.”

“Then you’d sure get out of the service,” replied the sailor.

“You tell him to keep away and let me alone. If he doesn’t I’ll defend myself, as I did before, that is, if I can. I am not looking for trouble, but I’ll face it if it comes.”

“Shall we tell him that?”

“Tell him by all means, if you think best. He does not interest me at all.”

“You think it over, Dynie. We’ll talk with you later. We’ll tell Bill something to satisfy him till you make up your mind.”

“I have made up my mind. I won’t fight.”

The committee returned to the group, where they talked for some moments, Dan observing that Kester was scowling more ferociously than usual and his voice rising higher.

“He’s a quitter! He’s a coward!” exclaimed Bill.

Dan rose hastily and walked away.

“Trouble seems to be getting right in my way. If I don’t try to push it out of the way I fall over it. What’s a fellow to do?”

“What’s wrong, Dan?” questioned Sam, overtaking his companion at that moment. He had observed Dan’s troubled face.

“Oh, nothing much. They want me to fight that fellow Kester.”

“Have they told you so?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Just now. Two of the boys came to me to ask if I would fight him.”

“What did you say?”

“I told them I wouldn’t do it, unless he forced me to do so in self-defense, and that then I’d use a marline spike on him.”

Sam shook his head thoughtfully.

“It doesn’t seem to surprise you any,” complained Dan.

“No, I can’t say that it does. I had suspected something of the sort was in the wind. Are you afraid of him, Dan?”

“Afraid of him?”

“Yes.”

“No, I am not afraid of him,” answered the lad in a quiet voice. “But I have had my little lesson through your fate, you know. Bread and water don’t agree with my digestive organs. Why, what do you think would happen to me were I to get mixed up in that sort of a row?”

“Nothing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I hear that when men on board these ships have a misunderstanding, they are permitted to fight it out under proper conditions.”

“They do?”

“Yes. But the battles, I have heard, don’t amount to much. The fighters are provided with boxing gloves and the fight is more of a boxing match than a battle. When it has gone far enough it is stopped, the winner being the one who has scored the most points. One of the men was telling me about it. It isn’t very different from the boxing matches you used to take part in when we were in the High School, is it?” suggested Sam.

“No,” answered Dan somewhat doubtfully. “But this Kester is a loafer, and I do not like to trust him. I am not timid, but I want to win promotion in the service.”

“The others will see that you have fair play.”

“You advise me to meet him then?” questioned Dan.

“Of course I do. I wish he had challenged me to fight him. I owe him one.”

“I am surprised at you, Sam. You forget you have recently been in trouble for fighting and now you turn around and urge me to go in for a bout with a fellow who intends to knock my head off if he is able to do it.”

“Not a fight, a boxing match, Dynie,” grinned Sam.

Dan laughed.

“A nice gentlemanly, hand-shaking sort of a bout, eh? Well I’ll see.”

“Are you going to meet him?”

“I will let you know in a few minutes whether I shall or not.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Find out where I am at first,” answered Dan, turning away and hurrying below. He went directly to the quarters of the boatswain’s mate, and, after calling out his own name at the door, was told to enter.

“What is it, my lad?”

Dan briefly related the story of the proposition that had been made to him to fight Kester. The mate listened gravely until he had finished.

“Well, what are you going to do about it?”

“That is what I have come to ask you, sir. You told us to consult you when we were in doubt or needed advice.”

“I certainly did.”

“I am in need of advice right now—very much in need of it, sir.”

“There is bad blood between you two, is there not?”

“You might call it that. I cannot say that I have any feeling either way. You know my chum was sent to the brig for having a mix-up with Kester. I might share the same fate.”

“Tell me the details of that trouble. I have not heard the inside.”

Dan did so briefly.

“The coward!” muttered the boatswain’s mate, upon hearing how Kester had knocked Sam Hickey down. “Meet him, by all means.”

“But, sir, shall I not be disciplined for so doing?”

“No, lad. Fighting, it is true, is severely punished on board the ships of the Navy, but boxing is encouraged. We are all fighting men; therefore we should all know how to fight, under proper regulations. You will get fair play; the men will see to that.”

“I think I shall be able to take care of myself,” smiled Dan. “I want to be sure that I shall not get into disgrace, that’s all.”

“No danger. But I do not like to see a boy so young pitted against an experienced man like Kester. It isn’t fair. However, if you are greatly overmatched, the bout will be promptly stopped. You will have shown your grit.”

“Thank you very much. You have relieved my mind.”

Dan made his way back to the forecastle where he found Sam waiting for him.

“Well, how about it?”

“It’s all right. I will meet him if the terms are satisfactory. Will you be my second, Sam?”

“Of course. You do not have to ask that. I’ll go consult Kester’s seconds now.”

Later on Sam rejoined his companion.

“How is it going to be carried off?” questioned Dan.

“The men are going to pick out a referee. You and Kester are to box with eight ounce gloves until the referee stops you, or either of you decide you have had enough. You will get a fair show, the boys say. They won’t stand for Bill’s punishing you brutally. They admire your pluck in meeting him. If you could thrash him, Dan Davis, I’d be willing to go to the brig again, and feed on bread and water for a month.”

“I’m lucky if I do not get there myself,” grinned Dan. “When is it to take place?”

“At seven bells this evening, half-past seven. There goes the bugle. We must get at our painting again.”

CHAPTER XVII—PROVING HIS COURAGE

As for Dan Davis, he appeared not to be troubling himself in the least about the coming battle. He went about his work cheerfully, ate his usual supper and, while the smoke lamp was lighted after supper, wandered about the forecastle chatting with his shipmates happily, without once referring to the coming contest.

At a little after seven o’clock three jackies began stretching a rope about a portion of the deck on the starboard side, while two others were rigging some electric lights over the spot.

Dan paused with hands behind his back, watching the work curiously.

“You had better get ready,” suggested a tar. “The thing comes off sharp at seven bells.”

“I have nothing to get ready.”

“You want to put on your fighting togs, don’t you?”

“What fighting togs?”

“Your trunks.”

“No. I’ll box as I am. I don’t have to go in like a professional pugilist.”

“You’ll be at a disadvantage, then.”

“That will be my lookout, thank you.”

Upon glancing about the lad observed that there were no officers in sight. There was a reason for that, though he did not know it. The officers had been fully informed of what was to take place that evening, and hence discreetly kept away from the forecastle. However, there was, unknown to the others, a commissioned officer standing behind the weather cloth on the navigator’s bridge.

The particular officer was an ensign, and when the hour for the boxing match approached he was joined by a brother officer. They peered down on the active scene below with keen interest. Being in a deep shadow they were unobserved by the men on the forward deck.

Kester had not yet made his appearance, and the jackies shook their heads as they saw Dan strolling about, chatting and joking with a shipmate.

“That’s the fellow,” said one of the ensigns to his companion, at the same time pointing to Dan.

“Seems pretty light to match with a man of Kester’s build, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, that is what I think. The boy has a steady eye, however. He seems a likely lad, but of course he can’t win the match.”

“Wasn’t he up for something the other day?”

“No, that was his friend, Hickey. The latter got two days in the brig for a row with this same Kester. I heard the captain saying, this evening, that he doubted the boy’s being to blame for that after all. He has heard something since about that affair.”

“You aren’t worrying about it, are you?” laughed his companion.

“Not particularly. I do not like to see injustice done, just the same. I should not be fit to be an officer if I felt otherwise. There comes the other one, now.”

“The fellow Kester?”

“Yes.”

Bill Kester was clad in a pair of short trunks and canvas shoes, with a red handkerchief about his neck. He hopped into the ring, taking his seat in a corner, having chosen the one that suited him best.

A moment later the referee that the men had chosen entered the ring.

“Davis!” he called sharply.

There was a movement outside the ring.

“Here,” answered Dan, pausing in his conversation with a jackie.

“Get into the ring, if you are going to.”

Dan climbed through the ropes, smiled and nodded to the referee, then stood awkwardly twirling his white cap.

“Take your corner.”

The lad walked over and sat down. For the first time, he observed the scowling Bill Kester in the opposite corner, and Dan’s eyes took on a gleam of amusement as he noted the strips of plaster on his opponent’s nose, the swollen lips and discolored eyes.

“Are you going to fight in that costume?” demanded the referee of Dan.

“Certainly, unless there is objection.”

“I know of none. Kester, do you object to Davis’s boxing with his clothes on?”

Kester grinned and shook his head. Two pairs of gloves were passed through the ropes to the referee, who examined them inside and out.

“Want to look at these, Bill?”

Bill did. He scrutinized them even more carefully than had the referee before passing them back.

“Davis, look them over,” said the referee, turning to the boy’s corner.

“You say they are all right, do you not?”

“Of course.”

“Then why should I look at them? I am willing to take your word, I guess.”

Nods of approval followed this announcement.

“Put on your gloves.”

Dan threw off his jacket, tossing it outside the ropes, turned up his trousers then sat down, extending his hands for the boxing gloves.

“The youngster either doesn’t know what he is going up against, or else he has a lot of confidence in himself,” muttered one of the officers on the bridge.

Both men tried their gloves by opening and closing their hands, after which they sat up, glancing at the referee expectantly.

“This is to be a fair battle, mates,” began the referee. “The one who commits a foul loses the match, and maybe he might get worse if the foul is very foul. The rounds will be three minutes each, with a minute’s wait between. No striking in the clinches, but either party is free to hit his opponent in the breakaway. Do you both understand?”

The men nodded.

“I guess that’s about all, then. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” answered Dan and Kester in chorus.

“Shake hands and begin.”

Bill Kester bounded to the center of the ring, but Dan rose methodically. Stepping slowly forward he extended his glove, grasping the hand of his opponent. No sooner had the lad dropped the hand than Kester launched a terrific blow at the Battleship Boy’s head. It missed by the narrowest margin. Dan felt the glove brush his cheek ever so lightly, but he had instinctively thrown his head to one side as he realized that it was coming his way, thereby escaping the blow.

He danced awkwardly back out of the way. Kester sprang after him, aiming blow after blow at the head of his slender antagonist. How they missed knocking the boy out the spectators were unable to say, but somehow the lad managed to escape being hit, though his awkwardness made them groan in sheer sympathy for him.

“It’s a shame. The boy doesn’t know how to fight,” cried a voice.

“Let him alone. He’s got to learn some time. One punch won’t hurt him. It will do him good.”

Sam, however, shrewdly suspected the reason for his companion’s poor showing. Dan was nervous. Sam knew that it was not because of the boy’s fear of the man before him. It was rather the consciousness that so many eyes were fixed upon him. It was a case of real stage fright.

“I hope he gets over it before it is too late. Brace up, Dan! What’s the matter with you, anyway?”

Dan heard the voice of his chum, but it sounded far away to him. He would have given almost anything could he, too, have been far away at that moment.

Bang!

The boy’s head was suddenly jolted backwards. Dan seemed to have heard his neck crack. He wondered if it were broken. Kester had gotten through his guard, but the blow had landed on Davis’s forehead. The boy sprang back, now, stepping about more quickly and skillfully, though his head swam dizzily. Bill made a rush at him. Escape seemed hopeless, for Dan was standing back against the ropes.

Dan suddenly ducked, however, under a powerful right-arm swing, and danced to the center of the ring, at which the crowd yelled and shouted their appreciation.

“That’s the way to do it. Now hand him one!”

“Time!” called the referee. The round was ended. The men retired to their corners, where they were fanned and their faces bathed by their seconds.

“Do something this time,” begged Sam. “You are not half boxing. What is the matter with you to-night?”

“I don’t know. I guess I needed that punch. It made my head swim, but it woke me up. I’ll do better this time.”

“Give him a punch in the plexus, Bill,” advised one of the latter’s seconds. “He doesn’t guard himself there at all.”

“Never mind. I’ve got the fellow’s measure,” answered the bully. “It will all be finished up and done to a turn before we end the second round.”

“Time!” summoned the referee.

Kester sprang into the ring full of confidence, but Dan, to the surprise of everyone, sat calmly in his chair. Kester hesitated, a triumphant gleam appearing in his eyes. Suddenly he made a rush at his opponent’s corner, and all at once the Battleship Boy leaped to his feet. His right fist shot out and then his left. Both blows landed squarely on his adversary’s sore nose, bringing two plainly audible grunts from the big man.

Kester threw one hand to his nose. As he did so, Dan planted a swift, powerful blow, this time in his adversary’s stomach. The force of it sent Bill staggering half way across the ring.

The spectators fairly yelled themselves hoarse.

“You’re all right, Dynamite! You’ll be a champion some day, when you wake up.”

But Bill was boxing again. The blows on his nose had enraged him beyond endurance. With a yell of rage, he charged his slender opponent, leading out his right for the lad’s face. The latter blocked the blow, side-stepping out of harm’s way, where he stood awaiting the other man’s further efforts.

“Why don’t you follow him up?” shouted Sam, who, by this time, was wildly excited. His face was flushed, and his eyes were sparkling with joy over his companion’s good showing in this round.

Dan made no effort to follow Kester up. The lad had his own ideas, and now he appeared to be fully aware of what he was doing and what he hoped to do.

Kester came back, sparring cautiously. He landed two light blows on the boy’s shoulder, which Dan returned with right and left over the heart. He seemed purposely not to have put much force into the blows. He felt that he had inflicted enough injury on his antagonist, and hoped he should have to do so no more.

The spirit of battle had taken full possession of Kester, however. He was determined to knock his young opponent out. He was exerting every effort to that end.

All at once, in a rapid exchange of blows, the big man clinched, throwing his full weight on Dan’s shoulders, with the evident intention of tiring the boy out.

“Break!” cried the referee.

Kester dropped one hand to his side, the other remaining on Dan’s shoulder. Like a flash the big man’s right came up with a terrific hook on the boy’s jaw. It laid Dan flat on the floor some distance away.

“Foul!” roared the crowd. “He struck in the clinch.”

“Time!” announced the referee. The three minutes were ended.

“It’s a foul. Give the fight to the boy,” shouted the jackies, jumping about excitedly, with difficulty restraining themselves from leaping into the ring and inflicting quick punishment on the bully who had committed the foul.

Kester had taken his corner, but when he saw the temper of the spectators he grew ill at ease.

Dan, in the meantime, had been dragged to his own corner by Hickey, who was now using every effort to bring his companion back to consciousness. This he soon succeeded in doing. Though Dan was dizzy and trembling, he smiled bravely.

“You win the fight on a foul,” announced the referee.

Davis shook his head.

“You do not wish to claim the foul?”

“No; I could not think of it.”

“You wish to go on with the match?”

“Yes, unless Kester is willing to call it a draw.”

“Not much,” growled the bully. “We’ll fight!”

“Good for you, Dan,” whispered Sam, while the spectators were shouting their approval. Even if Dan were defeated, now, the Battleship Boy had won the admiration and respect of his shipmates. He had established his reputation on board the “Long Island” for all time for bravery.

“I thought this was to be a boxing match,” muttered Dan.

“It is.”

“I call it pretty close to a prize fight. That was an awful wallop he gave me. I can feel it yet.”

The call of “time” interrupted the conversation. Once more the contestants faced each other in the center of the ring. Dan still was a bit unsteady on his feet as the result of the blow that had knocked him down. He exhibited not the slightest indication of excitement, however, and though suffering great pain, he was cool and calm, presenting a smiling face to his adversary.

Kester suddenly rushed him and Dan rushed Kester. They met with a bang, neither giving ground to the other for several seconds. The big man was the first to back away. Dan’s sole object in life now appeared to be to land his eight-ounce gloves on the unfortunate nose of his antagonist. He played for the nose with all the skill and cunning that he possessed. In the meantime Bill was reaching wildly for the younger man’s stomach, upon which he seemed unable to land, and getting a bang on the nose nearly every time he attempted it, much to his disgust.