Sam's billet was next to that of Louis Flink. The former was not aware
of this until that night, when the lads turned in at the sound of the
bugle. So close were their hammocks that either boy might have reached
out and touched the other. Sam had turned in after several disastrous
attempts and much quiet grumbling. Dan caught the knack of it more
quickly, and so did Flink.
"Say, freckles, you're a thickhead," jeered Flink.
"I'd rather be a thickhead than a Pennsylvania Dutchman, any day,"
retorted the freckle-faced boy. "There's some hope for a thickhead, but
there isn't any for you."
"I'll settle with you some other time," sneered Flink. Both were
speaking in low tones, knowing that they would get at least a rebuke,
were any of the officers to overhear them.
"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.