"Deck division turn out to swab down decks!" bellowed the boatswain's
mate.
The ship had poked her nose out into the open sea by this time, the
"Long Island" rising and falling gracefully on an easy swell.
"What did he say?" questioned Sam.
"I'll confess that I did not understand a word of it," answered Dan. "I
don't see why those mates cannot talk plain United States."
The command was followed by a bustling about the decks. Men hurriedly
brought out their deck swabs, implements somewhat resembling mops.
Others brought pails which they filled from the taps on deck, while
still others coupled hose to pipes along the sea gutters.
Sam felt a hand on his shoulder.
"What division are you in?" demanded a gruff voice.
"The deck division, sir."
"Then what are you doing here?" said a boatswain's mate that they had
not seen before, glaring at them.
"I--I don't know, sir," stammered Sam.
"Will you tell us what we are to do?" spoke up Dan. "You see, it is our
first day on board."
"Do? Do?" exploded the mate. "Get a swab and go to work; that's what you
are to do. What do you think this is, a liner where you can loll around
and look pretty?"
"We are ready to work, if you will show us. Where will we find swabs?"
questioned Dan.
The mate conducted them to a chest in which the swabs were kept.
"Take your swabs and hurry aft to the quarter-deck. That's your
station," he directed.
By the time the boys reached the quarter-deck their mates were already
at work, moving along swiftly, pushing their swabs ahead of them.
"Take off your shoes. What do you mean by coming here with your shoes
on?" demanded the mate.
Somewhat hesitatingly Dan and Sam removed their shoes and stockings,
rolled up their trousers and joined their fellows in scrubbing down the
decks.
Sam was surly. He plainly did not like the assignment.
"This is a tough job," he confided to his companion. "I didn't join the
Navy to make a washerwoman of myself."
"We have got to learn, old chap. We must take our turn. If we complain,
we are not fit for the service. You may be an admiral some day; who
knows?"
"An admiral? Huh! Nice chance I've got to become an admiral--admiral of
the scrub gang, you mean."
"Pipe down the guff," commanded the mate sternly.
"What's that mean?" muttered Sam.
"I think he means we are to stop talking."
For the next hour there was a steady splash, splash as the swabs worked
back and forth over the deck, the latter running rivers of water from
hose and pail.
"Well, how do you like Field Day?" questioned the mate who had first
instructed the lads in their duties.
It was after the mess hour and all hands were resting preparatory to
taking up the duties of the afternoon.
"What's a Field Day?" asked Sam.
"When all hands turn to to clean ship. You see, ships get in rather bad
condition, regarding cleanliness, after having been in port for some
time."
"Do the men like to clean ship?"
"They love it. Give a jackie a deck swab, put him in bare feet, and he
is happy."
"I don't see anything to get excited about in scrubbing decks," grumbled
Sam.
"You will after you have been in the service longer. By the way, the
smoke lamp is lighted. Fall to, lads."
"You mean----"
"Go take your smoke. Light up your pipes."
"We do not smoke, sir," replied Dan.
"No, we don't smoke," added Sam. "But we eat."
"That is all right. A great many of the boys do not smoke these days,
and it is a good thing. Now, in my time, everybody smoked. But things
have changed on the sea as well as elsewhere."
"Attention!" called a voice.
The boys stiffened instinctively. They did not know the reason for the
command, but experience had taught them that it was well to obey that
command whenever heard.
It was the captain who was approaching, on his way to the bridge.
His hand came up in salute as he glanced quickly at them.
"Carry on, lads," he said, whereat the Battleship Boys and their
shipmates resumed their interrupted conversation.
"You will find the Old Man a splendid officer and very kind to you
boys," said the mate. "I've been under him for ten years, and there
ain't a man in the world who's got a bigger heart than he, especially
for the jackies. He loves them, every one of them."
Soon after that, the boys went forward. Sitting under the shining
twelve-inch guns, either of which would carry an eight hundred pound
projectile twelve miles, they talked in low tones until the bugle
sounded the command to scrub decks again.
Throughout the afternoon, until eight bells, that is four o'clock, the
steady scrub, scrub, continued, the men now and then conversing in low
tones.
"How long does this scrubbing business keep up?" asked Sam when he met
the boatswain's mate later in the afternoon.
"Let's see; you enlisted for four years?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, that's it."
"What is it?"
"The scrubbing. We are always scrubbing aboard ship; that is, when we
are not painting. Do you like to paint?"
"I never tried."
"You will have a chance to do so to-morrow. We shall probably anchor off
the Delaware breakwater to-morrow morning; then all hands will turn to
and paint ship. Next to scrubbing decks the jackie is never so happy as
when he has a paint brush in his hands."
But Sam was doubtful. He decided that he would much prefer to be an
officer. When the day was ended both boys had appetites that would not
bear trifling with. Mess, that night, was a real meal so far as they
were concerned. Sam had a third helping of everything on the bill.
"Have some more canned Willie," urged a shipmate.
"Willie? Who's he?"
"Willie is meat."
"Red-head, you keep on eating that way your first day out, and Pills
will have a job putting you on your feet again," suggested another
sailor.
"I'll take the chance," mumbled Sam, his mouth full of food. "It won't
be the first chance I've taken in this line of duty, either. But who is
Mr. Pills?"
"'Pills,'" laughed the sailor, "is the doctor."
By the time supper had been finished the breeze had freshened
considerably and the "Long Island" was pitching heavily. The watch was
called on duty about this time, but being raw men the two boys were not
to have this duty put upon them just yet. Instead, they repaired to the
forward deck, where they lay down against the big gun turret, to rest
after their day's work.
The smoke lamp had been lighted, and many of their companions were
stretched about on the deck, smoking, telling stories or discussing the
latest news that they had heard while in port. In the lighted corridors
men might be seen sitting on the floor with their ditty boxes on their
knees, writing letters.
About this time, the band came out, electric lights were strung over the
deck on the starboard side, where the musicians would be protected from
the strong breeze, and chairs brought out for the players.
Soon the regular evening concert began. The voices of the sailors were
stilled; under the spell of the music many heads drooped, many tired
eyes closed for a few moments of delicious sleep.
"Isn't it glorious?" breathed Dan.
"It might be if things weren't so upside down," complained Sam.
"What's the matter? Aren't you feeling well?"
"I have felt better," answered Sam in a husky voice. "I guess I'll take
a walk."
His walk did not last long. Sam took a turn once across the deck, then
settled down beside his companion, holding his head between his hands.
"Why, Sam, are you really ill?" questioned Dan, his voice full of
concern.
"Ill? I think I'm going to die. Ugh!" Sam stretched out on the deck flat
on his back.
"Sam Hickey, I believe you are seasick," exclaimed Dan.
Sam's only answer was a long-drawn moan.