"He's going overboard!" roared a chorus of voices. "Nail him!"
They did "nail" him, but not a second too soon, and Kester was hauled
back into the ring amid a great uproar. Dan was standing in the center
of the roped enclosure, his face a bit more pale than usual, but in no
other way did he exhibit emotion. By this time Sam was at his side,
rapidly stripping the gloves from the hands of the victor.
"It was great--the greatest fight I ever saw in my life!" cried the
red-headed boy excitedly.
"It was not. It was tough, but I had to do it," replied Dan moodily. "I
just had to do it to save myself. He would have given me a terrible
beating had I not finished him. I saw that early, and tried to get him
to call it a draw. He refused, so there was nothing left for me except
to finish it right there. I am glad he did not go overboard. That would
have been terrible. Is he still unconscious?"
"I have been too busy to look," grinned Sam.
All at once the jackies seemed to have recovered from their surprise.
"Dynamite! Dynamite!" they roared.
Making a concerted rush at the Battleship Boy, they hoisted him to their
shoulders and began marching about the deck shouting and singing, though
Dan much preferred not to have his victory celebrated in this manner.
There was no restraining the jackies, however. From a raw recruit Dan
Davis had, in a few moments, won his way into the heart of every jackie,
except Kester, on board the "Long Island." Dan had suddenly grown from
boyhood to manhood in their estimation.
As soon as he could release himself from their hospitable shoulders the
lad made his way to the ring, where Kester's seconds had just succeeded
in restoring him to consciousness.
"I'm sorry, Kester. I hope I have not hurt you," said Dan in a tone of
deep concern. To this the fellow made no reply.
"Won't you shake hands with me and let us be friends?"
"No!"
"Bill, Bill, don't be a grouch--don't be a sorehead. Dynie licked you
fair and square," urged one of the man's companions.
"I'll even up with you for this, you--you cub!"
Dan drew himself up proudly.
"Very well. I have tried to do the manly thing. If you refuse to have it
that way, it surely is not my fault. But I give you fair warning. Keep
away and let me alone hereafter. Until you are willing to make friends,
I want nothing more to do with you. When you are, I shall be glad to
meet you half way."
"That's the talk, Dynie," chorused several voices approvingly. "You had
better not fool with the fire any more, Bill. It burns. You ain't in the
same class with that stick of dynamite. He's got you anchored with both
port and starboard anchors and the chains not half out."
"Please do not stir him up," begged Dan. "I am ashamed of myself for
what I have done as it is."
"What? Ashamed for licking the ship's bully?"
"Yes."
"Well, ain't that a joke, mates?"
The sailors laughed loudly. In the meantime, Kester's seconds had gotten
him up, and were helping him to a sheltered part of the superstructure,
where they assisted him to get into his clothes. The big man was still
very unsteady on his feet, and his face was streaked with blood from the
unfortunate nose.
"You'll have to go to Pills to get fixed up."
"Yes, my nose hurts."
Once more the surgeon was called upon to dress Bill Kester's face and
bolster up the flattened nose.
"You've been in a fight again, my man," rebuked the surgeon. "I shall
have to make a report of it to the captain. Who hit you!"
"Davis."
"It will go hard with him, then," muttered the surgeon. "That young man
must have an awful punch."
The surgeon's report was duly made to the captain. The latter called his
executive officer at once.
"See here, Coates, what's this about Kester having been in another
fight?" he demanded after the executive officer had responded to his
summons.
"It wasn't a fight, sir."
"Not a fight?"
"No, sir. That is, it was a boxing match on the forecastle. One of the
regular set-tos. It was all regular and proper, but it was pretty rough,
I understand."
"Who did it?"
"Ordinary Seaman Davis."
"The red-headed boy?"
"No, his friend."
"You don't mean to tell me that that slim youngster put a man of
Kester's build in such shape that he had to report at sick bay, do you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Why, I thought Kester was known as a bully?"
"He was, sir. He will not be any longer, I imagine."
The captain gazed at his executive officer; then, leaning back in his
chair, he laughed and chuckled to himself for a full minute.
While fighting and brawling were sternly suppressed on board the "Long
Island," the commanding officer believed that fighting men should be
allowed to fight under proper conditions. It had become an unwritten law
on board, therefore, that the jackies were to be allowed to settle their
difficulties with the gloves, sparring under a referee and with no
brutality. This enabled the sailor lads to enjoy many a fine sparring
match on the forward deck. In fact, bouts were put on regularly every
Saturday night. In doing this the men managed occasionally to pit
against each other men who had a grudge to settle. This made the sport
more real.
Kester had demanded the match with Davis, and the latter had no way to
avoid the meeting without laying himself open to a charge of cowardice.
Dan Davis was not a coward, neither was he a bully. He wished to be let
alone, and he had gone into the fight with reluctance, as the reader
already knows. Now that it was over, he was heartily ashamed of himself
for his part in the battle.
"Did any of our officers see the fight, Coates?" asked the captain.
"Yes, sir. Ensigns Brant and Cockrill watched it from the bridge. They
tell me it was perfectly regular. I made inquiry. They say the recruit,
Davis, put it over the big fellow like a deck awning, though the young
fellow evidently was reluctant to fight."
"I am glad to hear that."
"I think Kester was to blame for the previous trouble with the other
boy."
"No doubt. I shall make inquiry into that matter as well. I want to make
sure that that fellow is trying to stir up trouble on board. When I am
certain we will give him a quick trial and put him ashore one of these
days."
"You will take no official action on this last fight, then?"
"Certainly not, since you say it was entirely regular."
"It was, sir."
"Then there is nothing mere to be said. Candidly, between ourselves,
Coates, I'm more pleased than I know how to express that the young
fellow gave Kester a sound thrashing. By the way, I should like to look
that young man over."
"Very good, sir. Shall I send him to you?"
"No, not that way. I'll tell you what you had better do. Have both boys
assigned as my orderlies in turn. I want these new men to get an early
chance at orderly duty. It is a most excellent thing for them. Send
Hickey to-morrow."
"Very good, sir."
"I would rather have my own boys act as my orderlies than have the
marines do it."
The captain's orderly is supposed to stand outside the captain's door at
all times while the commanding officer is in his quarters. When the
captain moves to any other part of the ship his orderly follows at a
respectful distance, so as to be on hand to carry orders and to perform
such other small duties as the captain may command. It is considered an
honor to be chosen for the duty.
Soon after the finish of the fight Dan and Sam hurried to their quarters
to turn in. Sam was chuckling over his companion's great victory. Dan
surveyed him with disapproving eyes.
"Dan, I have always looked upon you as a nice, sisterly sort of a chum."
"Well?" questioned Dan, with a smile.
"You're a bloodthirsty wretch, that's what you are. Good night."
* * * * *
Late that night a full gale sprang up. Word of the weather conditions
was brought to the captain.
"Heave up the anchors and get under way at once," was the command. "Tell
the chief engineer to get ready as soon as possible. How many boilers
are fired up?"
"Six, sir."
"Have the fires put under the other two at once. We must put to sea and
ride the gale out there."
The captain quickly dressed and hurried up to the bridge. The spray was
dashing clear over the bridge, soaking everything and everyone on it. In
the meantime a boatswain's mate was bawling out his orders through the
ship, hurriedly turning out the various watches.
Dan and Sam were awakened by the heavy rolling of the ship. Both sat up
in their hammocks at the same instant.
"What's going on?" asked Dan as he heard men hurrying along the decks to
their stations.
"Maybe the ship is sinking," suggested the cheerful Sam.
"Nonsense!"
"I'm going to get up, anyway."
"You have no right to do so until you are piped down. You will be called
out if you are wanted."
"You mean to say that I can't get up if I want to?"
"Certainly not. You are supposed to stay in your hammock and get your
rest."
"Not if the ship is sinking!"
"Oh, that would be different. I guess we would all be getting out in
that event."
"Huh!" muttered Sam, lying back in his swaying hammock, listening to the
wind whistling through the cage masts far above them.
In a short time the ship was under way, moving slowly as she headed out
to sea. The storm was in no sense dangerous to the ship's welfare, but
it was safer to be out in the open until the gale should have blown
itself out.
When the men were piped out the next morning the Battleship Boys found
it difficult to keep right side up. Dan was unaffected by the rolling
and plunging, but Sam had little appetite for his breakfast.
The morning work having been finished Sam was accosted by the
master-at-arms.
"You will act as the captain's orderly to-day, Hickey," he said.
"Orderly?"
"Yes."
Sam did not know whether to be glad or sorry.
"Just before eight bells go to your quarters and put on your clean
clothes. See that you are ship-shape. I don't know why the commanding
officer wants you."
"Thank you, sir. I report at eight bells?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"I'll let you know. Wherever the captain chances to be at that moment.
Quite likely he will be at his breakfast. He is on the bridge at
present."
"What do you think of that, Dan?" demanded Sam slowly, confiding to his
companion the order that had just been given to him.
"I think it fine. It looks as if you had gotten into the captain's good
graces. I hope so. See that you perform your duties in a ship-shape
manner. Keep your head working all the time. I should call it almost a
promotion."
"I hope I don't get seasick," muttered Sam doubtfully. "This rolling is
awful."
An hour later, Sam Hickey made his way down the after gangway to the
captain's quarters, clad in a spotless white uniform, his braided white
knife-lanyard drooping gracefully across his chest and disappearing in
the pocket of the blouse.
"I've come to relieve you as the captain's orderly," announced Sam to
the marine, who was acting in that capacity.
The orderly returned the nod and hurried away, for he had not yet had
his breakfast.
Sam braced himself against a wall in the corridor with his eyes fixed on
the swaying curtain that shut off the room in which the captain was
breakfasting at that moment. The corridor was narrow and close, and Sam
soon grew restive. Espying a chair a little way from him, he helped
himself to it and sat down, crossing his legs.
Just then an officer came hurrying through the corridor.
"See here, my man, what are you doing there?" he demanded.
"Captain's orderly, sir," answered Sam, saluting.
"Get up! Don't you know an orderly is supposed to remain on his feet?
Never sit down when on duty. Stand at attention when the captain comes
out and remain that way until he has passed. After that, follow him."
"Aye, aye, sir."
The Battleship Boy peered after the retreating form of the officer.
"Seems to me they are mighty particular. I'd like to be up where I could
get some air. I wonder if I dare take a sneak to the deck for a whiff?"
Sam did not get the chance just then. It was well for him that he did
not, for he would have been severely punished for deserting his post had
he been discovered away from it. He started as a sharp command came,
from behind the curtain.
"Ord'ly!"
"Who's calling, I wonder?" muttered the boy.
"Ord'ly!" This time the command was given in a more imperative tone.
"I'll bet that is the captain. He's calling me. Yes, sir! I'll be right
there," shouted Sam, with delightful informality.
He started on a run for the curtained doorway. He did not slacken his
speed as he stretched out a hand to thrust the curtain aside. Sam was in
so great a hurry that he entirely forgot that under each watertight door
opening was an iron sill extending upward some eight inches.
Sam's toe caught the projection. Just then the battleship gave a great
lurch to port. This being the direction in which the boy was traveling
at that moment, it gave him added impetus.
The captain opened his eyes in amazement as Hickey's red-head shot
through the curtain.
The Battleship Boy covered about half the width of the cabin, barely
touching the floor with his feet, his arms beating the air wildly in his
fruitless effort to clutch something that was not moving.
Then the crash came.
Sam landed on his head and shoulders, skated along the slippery floor,
headed for the captain's breakfast table. He hit the mark squarely. That
is, he slid right underneath the table, at the same time turning over on
his back in an effort to stop his rapid flight.
Sam threw up his feet. The move was fatal. The captain's table was
lifted right up into the air. A crashing of dishes followed as the table
turned turtle. A shower of broken glassware rained down over the head of
the Battleship Boy followed quickly by the table itself.
Sam lay buried beneath the wreckage.
He did not move, not because he could not, but because he dared not. He
feared any movement on his part would mean the end of the world so far
as he was concerned.