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

“Carry on again.”

The apprentice gripped the rope rather more cautiously this time, measured his distance, and with head well inclined forward, so that he might not hit the ceiling again, he gave a mighty leap.

Sam did not stop when he reached the hammock, however. He kept right on. The hammock turned over, spilling the bedding and mattress out. But this was not all that had happened. Hickey had lost his grip on the rope. The result was that he struck the floor on the other side, flat on his back.

The floor was of cement, and the shock of the fall was severe. Sam managed to save his head, however, and sat up rubbing himself, red of face and thoroughly disgusted.

“Clumsy!” complained the officer.

“Yes, sir; but you see I’ve never had to go to bed that way before.”

“Try it again.”

“If it’s all the same to you, sir, I think I should prefer to sleep on the floor.”

This reply brought another sharp reprimand from the officer. But their instruction in slinging hammocks was over and they turned to other matters.

CHAPTER V—TRYING OUT THEIR GRIT

“Yes, that’s your measure all right. I didn’t give you away this morning. Neither did my friend, but it wasn’t because we loved you. No, Blinkers, it was because we wanted to wait for the proper moment to give you the worst thrashing you ever had in your life. Don’t bother me now; I want to go to sleep.”

The first night of their stay at the training station passed uneventfully. At the sound of the bugle, on the following morning, all hands started up suddenly. Sam Hickey muttered drowsily and turned over.

“Get up, thickhead!” jeered Flink, giving the lad a vicious dig with his fist.

“Wha—wha——” demanded Sam sleepily.

“Turn out, old chap,” called Dan. “Didn’t you hear the bugle?”

Sam suddenly bethought himself of his duty, but he did not give thought to the fact that he was in a hammock. He thought he was in bed. Without opening his eyes he started to get out in the usual way.

The result was inevitable. Sam once more flattened himself upon the hard cement floor underneath his billet. He was awake without further urging.

“Say, Dan, how long did we enlist for?” he demanded.

“Four years.”

“Oh, help!” moaned Sam, pulling himself together and starting for the shower bath with his clothes under his arm. At the door of the bathroom he paused long enough to shake his fist at Flink.

“Blinkers, I remember now, something hit me this morning before I got my eyes open. Much obliged. That’s another score you’ll have to answer for when the day of reckoning comes around.”

Flink grinned sarcastically, as he climbed down from his hammock and prepared to follow to the bathroom.

Breakfast that morning was more interesting. There were all of fifty boys in the mess of barracks A, all of whom marched across the grounds to the mess hall, the newcomers bringing up the rear in a straggling line.

“I guess we are not making much of a showing,” grinned Dan. “Our fire company at home could beat the alignment of this bunch. But see how those boys up ahead are marching.”

“Yes; nobody would think they were going to breakfast,” replied Sam, with a hand slyly laid upon his stomach. “I have a goneness here that nothing except a hot breakfast will satisfy.”

Practically the first duty of the day was drill. The apprentices were instructed in the rudiments of company drill. Led by a drum and bugle corps, they marched back and forth across the field in the sunlight, with the sparkling waters of the bay almost at their feet. Dan Davis had had some experience in drilling, and he proved himself an apt pupil.

After the drill the boys were marched to the drill hall, where they were given guns and instructed in the manual of arms.

“This is something like,” grinned Sam, who was thoroughly at home with a gun in his hand. “I’d like to take this piece out and hunt woodchucks with it. I’ll bet it’s a dandy for chucks.”

“Wouldn’t it be likely to blow them off the face of the earth?” questioned Dan, with a smile.

“It might that.”

“Attention!” commanded the officer, who had caught the faint sound of voices. “No talking in the ranks.”

The lads subsided instantly.

“We will now have a little physical drill, and after that a cock-fight,” announced the officer.

Dan and Sam glanced at each other in surprise.

“Going to have a rooster fight?” whispered Sam. “They’re real sports up here, after all.”

“Sh-h-h,” warned Dan. “I think it must be something else. They wouldn’t have rooster fights here.”

The officer was explaining to them the various movements in the physical drill, calculated to give the boys a powerful physique as well as great suppleness. He described the movements as “full sweeps,” “body circles” and “side stoop,” which latter Sam characterized as the back porch movement. These, after being executed, were followed by a hurdle race.

When the announcement was made that this would be next on the program the boys could scarcely repress a cheer. But the hurdle race was not to be the harum-scarum, go-as-you-please contest that they had been in the habit of playing. Instead, it was an orderly, systematic race in which the line formation was supposed to be kept throughout.

However, the lads went at it with a will. The variety of the work kept them constantly interested. There was not a dull or tiresome moment in all that morning’s work, the instructor leading them from one thing to another until the faces of the apprentices glowed and their eyes sparkled with excitement and pleasure.

“Halt!”

The movements had come to an end for the day.

“Next will be a cock-fight. You young apprentices may not understand the game, so we will let the older men go through a brief battle while you look on.”

The plan of the game was for the boys to form in two lines some ten paces apart and at the command “hop,” they were to hop forward on the left or right foot as the case might be and attempt to bowl their adversaries over.

“I’ve played that game,” whispered Sam. “Let me get into it and I’ll show them a cock-fight that will make the fellows green with envy.”

“Fall in, apprentices!” came the command.

The lads obeyed with alacrity.

“Do you see the Pennsylvania Dutchman over there on the other side?” whispered Sam.

“Yes.”

“Well you watch Pennsy. I’m going to pluck that rooster’s tail feathers, or my name isn’t Sam Hickey.”

“Be careful that you do not do anything that will bring a reproof. You will get a mark against you, if you do.”

“Don’t you worry. The marks will be on Blinkers, not on me.”

“Attention!”

The boys straightened. There was a grin on the face of Sam Hickey, and had one been an observer, he would have noticed another on the face of Louis Flink.

“Right foot, hop!”

Fifty apprentices began hopping across the floor, some losing their balance and measuring their length upon the drill floor at the first jump.

Sam did not appear to be noticing the adversary he had picked out. Neither did Flink seem to have Sam in mind. However, all at once both boys made a sudden turn. They lunged toward each other like two human projectiles.

The impact of their bodies when they came together, was heard all over the drill room and the lads bounded back, hopping in a circle, for several seconds, to catch their balance.

Once more they came together, followed by a rebound of greater force than before.

“Too much for you, eh?” laughed Dan, as he hopped by his companion.

“He’s tougher than I thought, but I can stay on my feet as long as he can, though my hopper weighs a ton at this minute.”

The men were falling out rapidly now, here and there one toppling over, another touching the floor with his free foot or grasping a pillar for support. All such were ruled out of the game.

After five minutes the battle had narrowed down to Sam Hickey and Louis Flink.

“I’ve got you now, Blinkers,” announced Sam, with a grin.

“No talking,” commanded the officer. “Hands at sides and keep fighting until one of you is down.”

“Look out, I’m coming,” warned Flink in a low tone.

“Thank you; so am I,” returned Sam.

Neither boy swerved, but, as they neared each other, they turned so that their shoulders met, sending them far apart again. By this time, the officers and assembled apprentices had become deeply interested. They realized that this cock-fight was different from anything they ever had seen. Two gladiators of the pit were before them, and, providing there was no interference from the officers, there was excitement ahead.

The petty officers in charge so far lost themselves in the unusual battle as to overlook the fact that the apprentices were not only talking, but urging on the contestants and giving them suggestions.

It was noticeable, however, that the sympathy of the crowd was with the red-headed, freckle-faced boy, Sam Hickey. Sam’s face wore a broad grin. No matter how hard a rap he might get the grin remained. If he was the least bit angry he kept the fact well hidden.

Flink, on the other hand, was getting more and more angry as the minutes passed. He had reckoned on making short work of his opponent, but found that the raw-boned country boy was as hard as nails, and not to be downed except by superior strength, nor to be frightened by a bluff.

Back and forth the two boys hopped, smashing together, bounding apart, dancing about each other in circles, sparring for an opening as it were. Thus far each had proved himself too wary for the other.

Hickey, either through design or accident, had been crowding his opponent toward the broad doorway on the west side of the drill room. But, if there was a motive in the action, no one appeared to understand it. Now, Sam was hopping about his adversary so rapidly that Flink was forced to keep spinning until he was giving a very good imitation of a top. So ludicrous were his movements that the apprentices shouted with laughter. At the same time Sam was darting in and out, but not landing on Flink at all. His sole purpose now appeared to be to confuse the other man.

Flink was growing weary. The onlookers noticed that his movements were becoming slower and slower. Sam had observed this already, and his eyes lighted triumphantly.

The dark-faced apprentice had spun himself about until he was just opposite the open doorway, a few paces from it, when Hickey uttered a loud grunt and hurled himself upon his opponent.

At that moment, Flink’s back chanced to be toward Hickey. Sam landed in the small of the other’s back with irresistible force.

Flink shot toward the door, the apprentices setting up a howl, followed by a cheer. But their merriment died on their lips. Lieutenant Commander Devall, the executive officer of the station, attracted by the noise in the drill hall, had hurried down the walk to ascertain the cause of the disturbance. His trim, white-clad figure appeared in the doorway, just as Louis Flink was making his flight.

Flink hit the executive officer with great violence, the two landing on the cement walk outside, with the apprentice on top.

Beyond the narrow walk was a steep bank leading down almost to the water’s edge. On over the bank rolled the apprentice and the lieutenant commander, each making desperate efforts to save himself.

It was a most undignified position for a lieutenant commander to find himself in, to say nothing of the unpleasantness of going over a bank with a raw apprentice on top of one.

“They’re over!” shouted a voice.

Dan sprang forward to the quartermaster, saluting.

“May I go over and help them, sir?”

“Yes. Make haste.”

Dan sprang out through the doorway and down the bank.

CHAPTER VI—IN THE MIDST OF THE BATTLE

“The men were holding a cock-fight under orders, sir.”

“Ah, I see. Who is that apprentice?”

“I believe his name is Flink, sir.”

“Who threw him out?”

“My friend, Hickey, sir.”

“Very well; you may go.”

Dan made his way around the base of the embankment, and a few moments later joined his companions in the drill hall, where he saluted his superior, fell in and began his practice work once more.

Sam’s face was as solemn as he could make it. Flink, on the contrary, when he rejoined the squad, was scowling angrily. He was dust-covered, his face smeared and altogether he presented a most ludicrous sight.

They were once more being put through the manual of arms when a messenger approached the quartermaster. A brief conversation ensued.

The quartermaster ran his eyes down the line.

“Hickey, fall out!” he commanded.

The red-haired boy did so.

“Do not lose your temper. You are going to be called down. Be respectful and use your head,” warned Dan in a whisper, as Sam stepped back from the line.

“Report to the executive officer in the chief yeoman’s office on the balcony above,” commanded the quartermaster.

“Aye, aye, sir,” replied Sam, with a salute.

He made his way up the stairs, and at the door of the office gave the orderly his name. After a moment the orderly reappeared, motioning Sam to follow him.

The lad walked into the private office of the executive officer, where he stood twisting his hat in his hands awkwardly. The executive officer eyed him disapprovingly.

“What’s your name?”

“Samuel Hickey, sir.”

“How long have you been here?”

“One day, sir.”

“You are the man who threw the man Flink against me, are you not?”

“Yes, sir,” answered Sam, making a great effort to suppress the grin that curled the corners of his mouth.

“Tell me how it happened?”

“We were having a cock-fight, sir.”

“Yes; go on.”

“They were all down except the fellow Flink and myself. We were fighting it out. He was a pretty tough proposition, and I had a hard time of it.”

“You employed no unnecessary roughness?”

“I was not very gentle about it, sir,” answered Sam truthfully. “I was trying to bump him over.”

“And you did not care particularly how hard you hit him?”

“I hit him as hard as I could every time, sir.”

“There is bad blood between you and this man, is there not?”

Sam looked surprised. He was not aware that the executive officer knew anything about that.

“I don’t like him, sir, if that is what you mean.”

“Why not?”

“I would rather not say, sir.”

“Has he done anything to you?”

“I can’t say, sir.”

“You mean you will not?”

“I would rather not, sir.”

“Young man, you are new here, else I should be inclined to treat you with great severity. I am satisfied that you threw the man Flink out of the drill hall with malicious intent. That, of itself, is sufficient to merit calling you before the mast for examination and sentence. I do not wish to do that, in view of the fact that you do not fully understand the ways of the school. But discipline must be maintained. I will see to it that no marks are laid against you in this instance. However, as soon as you have finished your routine, you will take an extra duty tour of two hours, carrying a rifle. You will so report to your commanding officer.”

“Yes, sir,” answered Sam meekly. “What do I do with the gun?”

“Carry it. You will receive your instructions from the quartermaster. Return to your company.”

Sam saluted and walked back to the drill hall. He did not feel particularly humiliated, well knowing that, while he was to blame in a way, the other fellow was more so.

“What happened?” whispered Dan as Sam fell into line once more.

“I got mine.”

“Punishment?”

“Yes.”

“What kind?”

“Extra duty tour—with a gun. I’m glad he told me to carry a gun. I can amuse myself with the gun. I wish he had told me to load it and go woodchuck hunting.”

Dan looked a bit troubled, but Sam took his punishment good-naturedly.

An hour later, found him tramping up and down the drill ground in the hot sun, with a rifle slung over his shoulders. He had not been there long before he saw Louis Flink approaching him, the latter having been sent to quarters on some mission or other.

Sam pretended not to see him until Flink halted before him with a stealthy glance to the rear to make sure that he was not observed.

“Hullo, red-head. Got what’s coming to you, didn’t you!” sneered Flink.

“That’s where you’ve got the best of me Blinkers. You haven’t got what is coming to you yet, so you have something to look forward to. Go on about your business before I put down this gun and thrash you. Go on!”

Sam made a move toward his tormentor, whereat Flink made haste to get out of the way. From a safe distance he taunted Sam until he saw a blue-coated figure approaching. Flink hurried on about his business, Sam taking up his steady march.

The figure, which proved to be that of a lieutenant whom Sam had not seen before, came on, but the boy did not appear to see him. He was too busy marching apparently, to heed even an officer. But Sam was suddenly called to his duty by a sharp command.

“Halt!”

Instinctively the lad stiffened.

“Attention! Young man, do you not understand what ‘attention’ means?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then what is that gun doing on your shoulder?”

“I—I don’t know, sir.”

“Don’t you know that you should come to present arms when an officer passes?”

“No, sir. No one ever told me that before.”

“Don’t you study your Handy Books?”

“Yes, sir, but I have been here only a day.”

“Present arms!”

Sam came to a present.

“Carry on!” came the sharp command, after which Hickey again shouldered his weapon and began his measured pacing back and forth. The lieutenant passed on, Sam gazing after him with a scowl upon his face.

“I hope to get to be an officer some of these days. Won’t I make the rest of the bunch step around lively? I don’t seem to be able to do anything to suit anybody.”

For the next two hours the lad continued his extra duty tour, this time, however, keeping a sharp lookout for approaching officers. No officers showed themselves in his vicinity. Now and then a group of apprentices would pass with the invariable greeting, “Hullo, red-head!”

To this Sam made no response. He was determined to take his medicine and show himself to be a man, even if he was being punished.

At last the sky became overcast. Dark clouds began sweeping in from the sea, swirling and tumbling riotously.

“It looks like rain,” decided the red-headed boy, halting long enough to gaze anxiously seaward. “I wonder whether they are going to keep me here all the rest of the day?”

The storm broke with a suddenness that he had never before observed, for Hickey never had had any experience with coast storms. The lightning seemed to be everywhere, followed by peals of thunder and deafening crashes, as if the coast artillery were at work the whole length of the Atlantic seaboard.

“It looks like rain,” reiterated the apprentice, shifting his rifle to the other shoulder. “I shouldn’t be surprised if that bolt struck somewhere. I should feel badly if it were to hit Blinkers, for I want to get a crack at him myself. I guess——”

Sam Hickey did not finish what he was about to say. A blinding flash reflected the buildings of the station in the dark waters of the bay. When the thunder had died away in a rumbling echo Sam was not in sight. He lay in a little depression of ground, half immersed in a puddle of water.

How long he lay there he did not know, but gradually he began to realize that he was very wet. He tried to open his eyes, but the rain dashing into them almost blinded him.

“I must be drowned,” he decided; then he resolutely pulled himself together, struggled to his feet and began hunting about for his rifle. That weapon, when finally he found it, was a sorry-looking object.

“Well, well, I wonder what happened,” muttered Sam. “I know—the thing has been struck by lightning.”

The barrel of the rifle, he found, was twisted out of shape, the stock was hanging in splinters, while some parts of the weapon had entirely disappeared.

Sam viewed the wreck ruefully.

“I expect I’ll get about ten years in the brig when they see that,” he wailed. “They’ll have me in jail for life, first thing I know. Who’d ever think a streak of lightning could cut up such pranks as these? I remember, now, the thing did feel awfully hot before I went to sleep.”

Sam considered for a moment, gazed longingly off to the roof of barracks A, faintly visible above a rise of ground. Then, shouldering his ruined rifle, he began plodding up and down again, the rain beating on him in blinding, drenching sheets.

Every little while, he would glance hopefully toward the barracks, where he knew all hands were snug and dry in their white suits, perhaps having a good time. His discontent was added to when he heard the bugle blow for the midday mess.

“There, I’ll lose my dinner,” complained Hickey. “I knew something serious would happen before the day was over. I wonder if they have forgotten me?”

“They” had. But now the roll was being called as the apprentices formed for the mess. About that time the sun came out, and Sam discovered an officer in a rain coat rapidly approaching him. It was Lieutenant Commander Devall. The officer had his eye on the boy long before reaching him.

“What does this mean?” he demanded, gazing with surprise at the mud-covered, torn uniform and the twisted, ruined rifle on the shoulder of the plodding figure of Sam Hickey.

“My rifle was struck by lightning, sir,” answered the lad, coming to a present arms.

CHAPTER VII—THE RED-HEADED BOY’S SURPRISE

He examined the weapon critically, Sam standing at attention, expecting every moment to be severely rebuked.

“When did this happen?”

“About an hour ago, sir.”

“You were hurt?”

“I don’t know. I was laid out. I guess I would have drowned if I hadn’t come to when I did,” answered the lad, forgetting to add the “sir.” The lieutenant commander appeared not to observe the slip.

“You regained consciousness, and have been on your extra duty tour ever since?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Come with me.”

Sam wonderingly followed his superior officer to barracks A. The officer led the way right into the mess hall. Looks of surprise greeted the appearance of the couple, which soon gave place to broad grins, for Sam Hickey at that moment was the most disreputable figure possible to imagine.

“Attention!” called the petty officer in charge of the mess when he saw the lieutenant commander entering.

Dan saw at once that something had happened, yet he could not understand it at all, unless Sam had been in a fight. That was the first thing that occurred to Davis.

All hands had risen to their feet, and had come to attention at command.

“Mr. Coda,” said the lieutenant commander sharply, “you assigned this man to extra duty, did you not?”

“Yes, sir,” answered the quartermaster. “Acting on your command, as delivered to me by the man himself.”

“Exactly. How long did he tell you he was to remain on duty?”

“Two hours, sir. I was to give him his orders when the tour of extra duty was ended, sir.”

“Do you know how long he has been on duty?”

“About four hours, I think, sir.”

“Exactly,” answered the line officer dryly.

“The storm came on and I lost sight of this man. There were three other extra duty squads out in different parts of the grounds. These I rounded up, but I will confess that I entirely forgot the man Hickey, sir,” continued the quartermaster, saluting as he spoke.

“After mess, report to my office. I have something to say to these men now.”

“Are they to carry on, sir?”

“By no means until I direct them to do so. What I have to say should be heard standing.”

“Very good, sir.”

“Men,” began the lieutenant commander, running his eyes over the brown faces of the apprentices, “I am very glad to be able to give you an object lesson. I hope every man of you will keep it in mind for the rest of his career in the Navy.”

The officer paused, glancing at the attentive faces before him.

“It is in reference to this young man, Hickey. He was assigned to extra duty for a slight offense. The offense, I am now satisfied, was without intent to violate any rule of discipline, and the punishment was intended more to point a moral than otherwise. Hickey was told to patrol his tour until relieved by the quartermaster. Those were your orders, Mr. Quartermaster, were they not?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hickey walked his tour over his time. A severe storm came up, but still he walked. He was obeying orders. Thunder and lightning even could not swerve him from doing that. Then Hickey was struck down by a bolt of lightning. You see his rifle, or what is left of it.”

The lieutenant commander took Sam’s gun from him, and, stepping over toward the others, held it out for their inspection. The boys looked at the twisted weapon, then at Sam Hickey. Amazement was written on their faces.

“Hickey was struck as well, as that mark on the left cheek will prove to you. He fell in a puddle of water, where he lay half-drowned, until finally he regained consciousness. I wonder how many of you here would not have started for cover as fast as he could run? I hope none of you would have done so. Hickey did not run, either. Instead, he straightened out his broken, ruined weapon as best he could, came to a right shoulder arms and began his tour of duty once again. I have not the least doubt that he would have continued all night had he not been relieved. He was obeying orders. As I have said before, not even lightning could swerve him from that. Young men, that is the kind of man the United States Navy wants—men who will obey orders, who will carry them out, no matter what may happen; who will do their full duty as long as there is a breath left in them. Quartermaster, are there any marks against this boy?”

The petty officer consulted the records.

“No, sir. He has been here a very short time, sir, hardly long enough to get any.”

“Very good. You will see to it that his name is placed on record and read out in General Orders. Hickey, you will be appointed apprentice gunner’s mate, your promotion to take effect immediately. It will not, however, continue after you go aboard a ship on a regular detail. The appointment is for the Training Station alone. It carries with it a slight increase in pay. You have made a good beginning, and I shall look for you to continue. Do so, and your rise in the United States Navy will be rapid. You are relieved from duty for the rest of the day. Carry on, men!”

Mess being over, the quartermaster, as directed, repaired to the office of the lieutenant commander to receive the reprimand that he supposed was in store for him. He was right. The lieutenant commander was very severe upon the quartermaster for the latter’s failure to relieve Hickey at the proper time. The quartermaster, in his turn, had nothing but words of regret and apology, and was dismissed with a word of caution for the future.

CHAPTER VIII—ON THE RIFLE RANGE

“Good boy!” breathed Dan. “I am proud of you. Fine! I knew you would show them the material you are made of when you got the chance. Were you really struck by lightning?”

“I don’t know. I think it must have been the thunder clap that hit me, though I didn’t hear it. But wasn’t that gun a sight? Nearly tore the clothes off my back in the bargain.”

“Burn you anywhere?”

“I guess not.” Sam turned his palms up mechanically and opened his eyes in amazement. They had been burned by the electric fluid until they were black to the finger tips.

“Waugh!” he exclaimed. “Good thing it didn’t do that to my face, or I’d look just like the Pennsylvania Dutchman.”

Sam, having his liberty, made a trip to the town that afternoon. It was his first trip there since arriving at the Training School. First, however, he procured his new rating badge and, after consulting with a petty officer, sewed it on his sleeve. Sam strutted around for some time after that, holding up his arm so that he might feast his eyes on the red-lined rating mark. He felt very proud of it, and his companion, Dan Davis, was no less proud of him.

In the town Sam found many other apprentices on liberty, and at their invitation he joined them, spending the rest of the afternoon in wandering about. They made him tell about his experiences in being struck by lightning that morning, which Sam did with more or less relish.

“I imagine it was almost like being in a battle, fellows,” he said.

“If you got a clip like that in battle, I reckon you wouldn’t be bragging about it afterwards,” suggested one.

“I’m not bragging about it,” protested Hickey indignantly. “What’s the matter with you? Besides, I’m an officer, now, and officers don’t have to brag. They do things that speak for themselves.”

“Hear him talk! He’s got a swelled head already,” jeered one of the party. “You’ll have a chance, to-morrow, to see whether you are any good or not.”

“What do you mean?”

“Can you shoot?”

Sam grinned.

“Don’t make me laugh. I can shoot the eyes out of a spud as far as I can see it.”

“What’s a spud?” piped a voice.

“You a sailor, and don’t know what a spud is?” scoffed Sam. “A spud is a spud, otherwise known as a potato. I am surprised at your ignorance.”

“Louis Flink says he’s going to clean up the whole crowd of us, to-morrow, when we get to shooting.”

“Shooting?”

“Yes.”

“Shooting at what?”

“Targets.”

“Are we going to do that?”

“Sure, and the ones who make the best scores will be promoted, I understand. The officers always do that. They are going to try out the apprentices, to see who is good enough to qualify for the sharpshooting record of the station.”

Hickey’s eyes glowed. As soon as possible thereafter he excused himself. Boarding a street car, he returned to the station.

“What do you think, Dan?” questioned Sam, as soon as he had gotten his chum off away from the others.

“Well, what is it? Been getting into more trouble, young man?”

“Not I. It’s news, and you’ll say it’s real news when you hear it.”

“Well, I am listening,” smiled Dan good-naturedly.

Sam’s face was flushed with excitement, for this had been an eventful day for him.

“Tell me all about it?”

“We are going to shoot to-morrow,” whispered Sam in a stage whisper loud enough to be heard a dozen yards away.

“Shoot what?”

“Target work.”

“You don’t say?”

“Yes,” chuckled Hickey. “We won’t do a thing to the targets, will we?”

“I don’t know about you, but as for myself I never thought I was much of a marksman. Of course, I have done some shooting, but there are boys here who have done much more, I guess. What’s the range?”

“I haven’t heard. But, being an officer, perhaps I might ask some one.”

“Do not presume too much on your promotion,” warned Dan. “You are only a very little officer. You may lose that rating if you are not careful.”

“Then I’ll get struck by lightning again, and get another one,” answered Sam confidently.

That night the boys swung themselves up into their hammocks, full of anticipation of what lay before them on the following day. It seemed as if they had no sooner gotten to sleep than the bugle sounded the reveille.

They were up and at their shower baths, laughing and chatting, a few minutes later. A happier, more care-free lot of hardy, brown-faced young fellows it would be difficult to find.

The early morning duties were quickly disposed of, for the word had been passed along that they were to take their first turn at the targets that day. Some of the boys who had never handled a gun before were more curious than those who had. The latter, however, were no less anxious to be at it. When the command, “Fall in for target practice,” was given, all hands felt like setting up a shout of joy. They restrained themselves, knowing full well that such a demonstration would bring swift and sure punishment.

After they had lined up, the officer in charge ordered certain of the men to fall out, they being wanted for other work. There were disappointed ones among these, but these were told they would be given their chance later in the week, as very many men could not be accommodated at one time. The target practice was to last nearly a week, two hours a day being devoted to it during this time.

All preparations having been made, the men were marched to the armory where they were equipped with their rifles and ammunition for the day.

The apprentices were to fire five rounds apiece, each day, only the average for the week to count.

“Keep your nerves steady, and don’t try to do anything fancy, just because you are an officer,” warned Dan.

“You squint through your own sights; I’ll look after mine,” retorted Sam.

Immediately after arriving at the range, the shooting began, one man taking a shot, then giving place to another.

Dan took his place and fired. He missed. Sam followed, a few numbers later, and he also missed. But when it came the turn of Louis Flink he made a bull’s-eye the first shot. Flink favored the two boys with a sarcastic grin as he stepped aside to give the next man a chance.

The Battleship Boys had adjusted their sights in the meantime, and with their next shots they, too, each made a bull’s-eye. When the five rounds had been fired it was found that Flink was one point ahead of them.

The lads were disgusted with themselves. On the following day the score was the same; that is, each of the two boys made center every time and so did Flink. Their only hope now was that he might make a miss, but this he evidently had no intention of doing, for he shot with rare judgment and coolness.

“I’ve got a good notion to break him up by saying something to him to-morrow,” Sam confided to his companion that night.

“I should be ashamed of you, if you did,” rebuked Dan.

“Ashamed of me? Why?”

“Because it would be an unsportsmanlike and a cowardly trick. If we cannot outshoot Blinkers, as you call him, we shall take our medicine like men. It seems he’s the better man at the butts.”

The last day of the target practice arrived. It was Saturday morning when the boys started out for the shooting grounds. The targets stood out strong and clear in the morning sunlight, against the big mound of earth before which they had been placed. By this time the shooting of the three boys had aroused no little interest among the others of the apprentices, and even the officers began to feel more than ordinary interest, for such shooting was not usual among the rookies in their early days.

The range had now been extended to three hundred yards. It was safe to predict that the story of the week would be changed at this range.

The firing began almost at once, the men with lower scores competing first, it having been decided to let the three leaders take their turns at the butts after the others had finished.

“Keep your eyes open,” suggested Dan. “Get your range well, for we mustn’t miss a shot to-day.”

“We’re beaten anyway,” complained Sam.

“Stop it. You’re a fine sailor, you are. We are not beaten. We are never beaten until the last shot has been fired, and even then we won’t run up any white flag. See that Flag over there?”

“What flag?”

“The one on the staff—the Stars and Stripes.”

“Sure.”

“Well just imagine you are under that, and that those targets over against the hill are enemies shooting at the Flag. What would you do to them?”

“You know what I would do to them if I could—I’d put them every one out of business.”

“That’s the talk! Well, they are enemies—our enemies. You must put them out of business.”

“All right; I’m it. I’ll drill them in the eyes. You watch me when I go to bat.”

The firing, which had been going on for the past hour, suddenly ceased.

“Leaders shoot off scores,” came the command.

“It’s our turn,” nodded Dan. “Keep cool.”

“I’m as cool as the hot sun will allow me to be, but I wish they would let me take off my jacket. I’ll ask them.”

“No, no, no,” protested Dan.

“Flink take your place.”

The dark-faced Pennsylvanian, a confident smile on his face, took his place toeing the mark. He took careful aim, pulled the trigger and lowered his weapon to his waist line.

“Bull’s-eye,” wig-wagged the signal man at the butts.

“Davis!” called the officer in charge.

Dan stepped to the mark, stood for a moment gazing off at the range. Then, raising his gun, he took aim and fired without loss of time. The onlookers thought he had missed, for his shot was apparently carelessly executed.

“Bull’s-eye,” came back the wig-wag signal.

A number of officers of the post had gathered to see the shooting, and a murmur of comment ran over the little throng.

“Hickey!”

“To the bat!” muttered Sam under his breath, taking his place. Hickey took long and careful aim, lowered his gun for a free look at the target then raised the weapon again. At last he fired.

He too, made a bull’s-eye.

One round had been fired and without a single miss on the part of any one of the three contestants. This was continued for three more rounds with no change in the result.

Excitement ran high. Nearly every apprentice on the grounds was hoping that either the red-haired boy or his companion might win. Flink had few admirers, though all gave him full credit for what he had accomplished so far in the contest.

This time Dan was called to the mark first, the officer in charge varying the routine for some reason of his own.

Dan scored a bull’s-eye.

Flink came next. This time he shot with less caution than before, and missed. Sam, however, made a bull’s-eye.

“Tied, sir. Shall they shoot it off?” asked the quartermaster, saluting the commandant of the station.

“Shoot it off,” was the reply.

“Aye, aye, sir. Leaders take their places for another round.”

Flink was called to the mark first. He was plainly nervous. Perhaps his nervousness was not lessened by the glimpse he caught of Sam Hickey’s face. Sam was grinning broadly, but he could not be accused of attempting to interfere with Flink, because he was not looking at him. Sam was looking at Dan at that particular moment.

Flink took his sight, then pulled the trigger with a nervous finger.

“Miss,” came the wig-wag signal.

Dan took his place and fired. He made a bull’s-eye.

Sam came next. As before he took a great deal of time in preparation.

“He’s posing,” muttered Dan. “He might better attend to his business.”

However, Sam Hickey knew what he was about. If he missed, he would have the satisfaction of knowing that it was not through carelessness.

At last he seemed satisfied as to his position, arriving at which decision, he lost no time in bringing the rifle to his shoulder and pulling the trigger.

“Bull’s-eye!”

A great shout went up from the apprentices. Discipline, for the moment, was swept aside. Even the officers smiled approvingly as their young charges threw hats high in the air, yelling lustily, shouting the names of their champions. Dan Davis and red-haired Sam had outshot them all. As it had grown late, there was no time for the two friends to shoot it off. Between them, it was a tie.

CHAPTER IX—BETRAYED BY A STREAK OF RED

In the meantime, Sam and Dan had been progressing rapidly. They had learned many things. First, they had perfected themselves in signaling, splicing, knot-tying and seamanship, so far as was possible in the limited time at their disposal. The Battleship Boys by their application, hard work and keen minds, had won the respect of their officers as well as of their own associates. The frequent cruises about the bay and down Long Island Sound of the “Boxer” had given them practical experience and agility; for by this time Sam and Dan were able to cling to a yard arm in a rolling sea with out being in the least disturbed. They were as agile aloft as if they had been at sea in sailing ships for years.

And now they were just completing their course. A week remained for them to put the finishing touches to it. Already they were looking forward with keen anticipation to the day when they should receive their summons to join a ship. This might not come for some time, but on account of their high standing they were reasonably certain that they would be chosen with the first detail of their class that went out.

During all this time, however, the Battleship Boys had been subjected to petty annoyances that both troubled and mystified them. Perhaps they may have had some slight suspicion as to the cause of their troubles, but if so, there was no definite clue on which to base their suspicions.

First, something was found wrong with the mechanism of Hickey’s rifle. Then next, Dan’s Krag rifle was discovered at inspection to be in a sad state of neglect. The inspection officer said it was quite evident that the gun had not been cleaned in weeks.

For both these offenses the lads were disciplined, not seriously, but enough so that the lesson might be impressed upon their minds.

Dan and Sam held many quiet talks over these incidents. Sam was for going to one of their superior officers and voicing their suspicions, but of this Dan would not hear.

“We have got to prove ourselves men, no matter if we do get some bad conduct marks by so doing. And, besides, these things that have happened to us may be the result of a mistake. For instance, you remember that rifle on account of which I was ordered to do extra duty?”

“Yes,” nodded Hickey.

“Well, that wasn’t my gun at all. It was some one else’s Krag.”

“Then some one else took yours?” questioned Sam, with rising color.

“Yes, but I think perhaps that was a mistake.”

“It wasn’t any mistake at all,” snapped Sam, “and I’m going to keep my eyes open. I’ll get even with the fellow who is trying to get us into trouble—I’ll get even with him before we leave the station, if I lose my job doing it.”

That afternoon there was to be a battalion drill, and, after the morning’s work, all hands hurried to quarters to get into their bright, clean white uniforms. It was the one time in the week when the apprentices were given an opportunity to show themselves at their best. Many people came out from town for this regular Thursday afternoon drill, when every apprentice at the station appeared on parade, with flags waving, bands playing, the sunlight glistening on polished weapons.

“This will be our last drill here, I hope,” glowed Dan, as all preparations having been made, the lads hurried out and falling in, started for the drill ground, marching by fours.

All went well until the company in which the two boys were marching had swung into line. Then there came a sudden command:

“Halt!”

The petty officers in command ran their eyes over the line in some surprise. They did not understand what it meant. They knew, however, that something had gone wrong.

The executive officer was standing to the rear of the line, at some distance, while the battalion was going through its evolutions. His observant eyes had suddenly caught sight of something that filled him with amazement and indignation.

Quickly striding down to the line, the men facing away from him, he called the chief quartermaster to him.

“Take those men out of line.”

“Which ones, sir?”

The executive officer, pointed, and then the petty officer saw that which also amazed him. A moment more and he had tapped both Dan and Sam on the shoulder.

“Fall out!” he commanded.

They obeyed promptly, but wonderingly.

“Report to your quarters, and remain there in detention.”

The boys saluted and moved away.

“Now, will you tell me what this means?” demanded Dan.

“That’s what I was trying to find out. We haven’t done anything.”

They had reached their quarters when, all at once, Dan uttered an exclamation.

“What is it?” demanded Sam.

“Look at yourself.”

“What’s wrong with me?” growled the freckle-faced boy.

“Take off your jacket and you’ll see.”

“You had better take off your own while you are about it,” replied Sam, opening his eyes wide as he gazed at his companion.

With one accord they stripped off their jackets, uttering exclamations of anger as they did so.

The backs of the jackets were streaked with bright red until they resembled the bars of the American Flag, which they no doubt had been intended by the perpetrator of the outrage to represent.

Sam examined his jacket critically; then, glancing up, he met the eyes of his companion.

“Red ink,” nodded Sam. “I’ll bet the eagle will scream now.”

“Who could have done it?”

“The question is not who could have done it, but who did do it.”

“We shall be held responsible, in any event. I see ourselves losing our ratings and perhaps missing our detail to a ship. Come, let’s get into some decent clothes before one of the officers gets here.”

They quickly changed their uniforms, laying out the ruined ones, backs upward ready for the inspection that they felt sure would soon follow.

In this surmise they were right. The drill over, the quartermaster, accompanied by the executive officer, Lieutenant Commander Devall, appeared at the boys’ quarters.

Dan and Sam came to attention as the officers entered.

The latter fixed their eyes upon the garments laid out on the floor of the quarters. Lieutenant Commander Devall picked up one of the jackets, examining it closely.

“How did this happen?” he demanded, eyeing Sam sternly.

“I do not know, sir.”

“The garment has plainly been inked. How does it happen that you did not notice this when you put on your uniform?”

“We dressed in a great hurry, sir,” spoke up Dan. “As you will observe, it is quite dark in here. It seems as if we ought to have noticed that something was wrong, but we did not.”

Lieutenant Commander Devall pondered for a moment.

“You have no idea who could have done this thing, men?”

They did not answer.

“Search the quarters, quartermaster.”

The lads stood looking on with troubled faces as the petty officer began his search. The Battleship Boys did not know what the lieutenant commander expected to find, and as a matter of fact he probably had no definite idea himself.

Sam moved over to where his bag stood, having observed that it was open. As he drew the cord down tightly he chanced to glance at the bag standing beside it. Hickey uttered a smothered exclamation. What he had seen was a smear of red at the mouth of the canvas bag.

“May I open this bag, sir?” he asked, saluting.

“For what?”

Sam pointed to the streak of red.

“Open it!”

One by one the lad drew out the neatly folded garments from the sea bag, the officers scrutinizing these keenly as they were withdrawn and placed on the floor.

At the very bottom of the bag Sam came upon an object which he quickly drew out, holding it to the light, with a triumphant grin on his face. He nodded to Dan as he did so.

The object was a towel. It was streaked with red, as if some one had wiped his hands upon it. In fact, finger marks were plainly visible all over it.

The executive officer snatched the cloth from the boy’s hands.

“Whose bag is this?” he demanded sharply.

“I’ll look up the number, sir,” answered the quartermaster.

At that moment a figure darkened the doorway. It was Flink. The instant he saw the officers in the quarters his hand mechanically came up in salute.

A ray of sunlight slanted across the hand as he stood there. Sam caught his breath sharply, then an eager look overspread his face. He hesitated a moment; then, springing over to where Flink was standing, Sam grabbed the hand, jerking it sharply down, examining it briefly in the few seconds that elapsed ere Flink could resist.

“Attention!” commanded Lieutenant Commander Devall. “What does this mean?”

“If you will examine this man’s hand, I think you will understand, sir,” answered Sam, saluting.

The lieutenant commander stepped over to Flink.

“Let me see your hands. Palms up!”

The palms were smeared with red.

“Is that your sea bag yonder?”

Flink nodded.

“So, you are the man who is responsible for this, are you? What have you to say for yourself?”

The apprentice hung his head, making no reply.

“You are released from quarters, Davis and Hickey. I begin to understand a few of the things that have happened here. Quartermaster, place this man under arrest. Turn him over to the master-at-arms with instructions to lock him in the brig.”