THE FIGHTING ENGINEER.
That night I slept but little. Strange as it may seem, I could not get
Commodore Dewey’s face out of my mind. I thought of him continually,
with his trim naval uniform and well-polished sword and scabbard. He
was certainly a splendid specimen of an American naval gentleman.
“Why don’t you go to sleep,” asked Dan, who roomed with me at his home.
“You’ve been tumbling and tossing for a couple of hours. Was that
encounter with the Chinamen too much for you.”
“No, I was thinking of Commodore Dewey, Dan.”
“What! Why, I was thinking of him myself. Say, do you know, Oliver,
that his flagship, the _Olympia_, is one of the finest cruisers in our
navy?”
“I have never seen her.”
“I saw her once, a few months ago. She is immense; and so are the other
ships under his command, especially the _Boston_.”
“That’s only an aggravation--if a fellow can’t board her.”
“Do you really and truly want to enlist?”
“If we are going to have war I would like to see some of it. My
grandfather fought in the Mexican War and my uncle was killed at
Lookout Mountain, in our Civil War. So, you see, I’ve got fighting
blood in me. Besides, if Commodore Dewey goes to the Philippines----”
“We may get a chance to retrieve our fallen fortunes?”
“Exactly, Dan. I wouldn’t like any better fun than to give those Manila
Spaniards what they deserve for placing us under arrest.”
“I am with you there, Oliver. But”--Dan gave a deep yawn--“let’s go to
sleep now,” and in a minute more he was in the land of dreams, while I
was dreaming in another way, of a proud-looking warship, with myself
behind a long gun, in a cloud of smoke, fighting as I had never fought
before, for the honor of the glorious Stars and Stripes.
The next day was a busy one for Dan and an idle one for myself. In the
afternoon I met several American sailors from the _Boston_, another of
Commodore Dewey’s squadron, and being in a talkative mood they filled
me up with tales of gallantry on shipboard, and sent me back to Mr.
Holbrook’s place more determined than ever to enlist on the _Olympia_
or the _Boston_.
That evening Mr. Holbrook, Dan, and I held a long talk, lasting until
midnight. It was on the subject of our being able to join those on
board of the American squadron, provided that squadron sailed for
the Philippines. Mr. Holbrook did not care greatly to let us go, but
thought that perhaps it would do no harm to let each get a taste of
life in the navy.
“I will take you out to the squadron myself and see if I can gain a
personal interview with either the commodore or the captain,” he said,
and so it was decided.
My heart bounded wildly over the prospect. Somehow I felt it “in my
bones” that I would join the navy, and so it turned out, to cut a long
story short. We went over in a small boat which Mr. Holbrook hired,
and were accorded a long interview by both the commodore and the
kind-hearted Captain Wildes of the _Boston_.
As Lieutenant Todd had said, the Asiatic Squadron had orders to leave
Hong Kong, and was bound for Mirs Bay; so, if we were to go along, no
time was to be lost in preparing for our departure. We accordingly
hurried back to Dan’s house with all speed, packed our valises, and
came back by nightfall.
I had been on a warship before, but the _Boston_, on which we were
placed, with her steel decks, heavy military masts, and long guns
interested me greatly. We soon made ourselves at home, and before we
left Mirs Bay, on that never-to-be-forgotten trip to Manila Bay, both
of us knew the craft from stem to stern.
We found the crew truly American--“to the backbone”--as Dan expressed
it. One old gunner, named Roundstock, took a great interest in us, and
told us a great deal about the squadron.
“We’ve got four cruisers and three gunboats,” he said. “They are as
fine as you’ll find ’em anywhere, although, to be sure, we are turning
out ships better and better every day. If we meet those Spaniards we’ll
give ’em a tough tussle, and don’t you forget it!” And he shook his
head to show that he meant what he said.
As we were not exactly enlisted for the cruise, we had not to attend
the numerous drills on board, although we trained at the guns and with
small-arms, and I took many a trip below to the engine rooms. In the
engine rooms I met Bill Graves again, he having been transferred from
the flagship. He scowled at me silently, and when I attempted to talk
to him, turned his back and walked away.
“That fellow has no use for you,” observed Dan, when I told him about
Graves.
“I believe you there. But it is silly for him to get mad simply
because I showed him how to fix up the launch engine.”
“He is jealous of you, especially as Commodore Dewey complimented you
on your work, Oliver.”
The second night on board of the man-o’-war proved a nasty one, and
it looked as if we would have to pull up anchors and move out of the
bay, for fear of having a sudden wind send us ashore. Yet Commodore
Dewey hated to get too far from shore, for he was awaiting final orders
before sailing in quest of the Spanish fleet.
“This is enough to make one sick,” I observed to Dan. “I would rather
sleep on shore to-night.”
Bill Graves was passing us at the time, and a sneer showed itself on
his lip.
“You’re a fine landlubber to be on one of Uncle Sam’s men-o’-war,” he
sniffed.
The remark nettled me, and I swung around quickly and caught him by the
shoulder.
“See here, Graves,” I said. “I have no quarrel with you, but if you
want to act nasty let me tell you that you had better take care.”
“Humph! Do you think I am afraid of you?” he blustered.
“I’ll let you know that you can’t bully me, that’s all. I want you to
keep your remarks to yourself.”
“I’ll say what I please.”
“Not about me.”
“Won’t I? Who will stop me?”
“I will.”
“Go and blab, I suppose?”
“No; I’m not of the blabbing kind.”
“Do you mean to say you’ll fight?”
“Perhaps I will.”
“You whipper-snapper!” he cried in a rage. “Take that for a lesson!”
He struck out heavily, and had I not been on the alert I would have
caught his fist on my nose and gone down. But I leaped to one side and
his hand merely grazed my shoulder.
By this time my blood was up, and, leaping in, I landed one blow
on his chest and another on his mouth, which latter drew blood and
loosened two of his teeth. I had taken several lessons in the art of
self-defense and these now stood me in good stead. My blows sent him
staggering up against a gun, where he stood gazing at me in bewildered
astonishment.
“Wha--what did you do that for?” he spluttered, spitting out some blood.
“I warned you to take care,” I answered coolly.
“A mill! A mill!” cried half a dozen jack tars standing by, while Dan
came running up to learn what the row was about.
“Don’t fight, Oliver,” said my chum, in a low voice. “They’ll lock you
up in the brig, if you do.”
“He began it, Dan. I only defended myself. If he----”
I had no time to say more, for, watching his chance, Bill Graves leaped
in again, this time hitting me on the cheek, a blow that almost floored
me.
“Take that!” he hissed. “I’ll teach you!”
“A man against a boy! That aint fair!” was the cry from several sailors
and gunners. “Let up, Graves.”
“I won’t let up. He’s too fresh, and I’m going to teach him his place.”
By this time I had recovered and was standing my ground once more.
Again the engineer came on, but as he struck out I parried the blow and
let drive first with my right fist and then my left. Both blows landed
on his chin, and over he went like a ten-pin struck down on an alley.
“Graves is down!”
“Those were two neat blows, eh?”
“That boy knows how to take care of himself, I take it.”
Such were some of the remarks which passed around. Half stunned, Bill
Graves arose slowly to his feet and looked around sheepishly. Without
giving him time to get his second wind I confronted him.
“Have you had enough, or do you want more?” I demanded.
“I--I--don’t you hit me again,” he stammered.
“Have you had enough?”
“I don’t want to fight--it’s against the rules of the ship.”
“Then what did you want to start it for?”
“I didn’t start it; you started it yourself,” he muttered, and before
I could say more hurried away and out of sight in the direction of the
engine rooms.