Produced by Al Haines
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Frontispiece: Dan Headed the "Oriole" for the Harbor.]
The Battleship Boys'
First Step Upward
OR
Winning Their Grades as
Petty Officers
By
FRANK GEE PATCHIN
Illustrated
THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY
Akron, Ohio ---- New York
Made in U. S. A.
Copyright MCMXI
By THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY
PRINTED IN THE
UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
CONTENTS
I. Sighting the Shooting Star
II. Whaleboats to the Rescue
III. Bombarded by Big Guns
IV. Looking Death in the Face
V. The Loss of the Tompion
VI. The Red, White and Blue
VII. Putting the Enemy Out
VIII. Sam Gets a Pig's Foot
IX. Lowering the Flag
X. His Narrow Escape
XI. On the Anchor Watch
XII. Obeying His Orders
XIII. The Battle of the Dinghies
XIV. Ordered to the Sick Bay
XV. Before the Summary Court
XVI. A Surprise, Indeed
XVII. At Torpedo Target Practice
XVIII. Hard and Fast Aground
XIX. A Trying Moment
XX. Dan Before the Board
XXI. In the Racing Gig
XXII. An Exciting Moment
XXIII. The Act of a Hero
XXIV. Conclusion
Illustrations
Dan Headed the "Oriole" for the Harbor . . . . . . _Frontispiece_
The Battleship Boys Swung Into the Chorus.
Dan Parried the Blow With the Captured Boat Hook.
The Battleship Boys' First Step Upward
CHAPTER I
SIGHTING THE SHOOTING STAR
"Green light off the starboard bow, sir."
The voice came from the black void far above the navigating bridge of
the battleship "Long Island."
"Where away?" demanded the watch officer on the bridge.
"Two points off starboard bow, sir."
"What do you make her out?"
"Don't make her out, sir," answered the red-haired Sam Hickey, who was
doing lookout duty on the platform beside the number one searchlight.
"Do you still see her!"
"No, sir."
The watch officer gazed through his night glass in the direction
indicated, but was unable to pick up a light of any sort. The "Long
Island" was plunging through a great gale, which she was taking head
on. White-tipped seas, backed by solid walls of water were sweeping
the bridge more than forty feet above the level of the sea. Even the
red-haired boy clinging to the rail far above the bridge was now and
again nearly swept from his feet by the rush of water that enveloped
him.
A sixty-mile gale was sweeping the Atlantic seaboard, with the wind
shrieking weirdly through the huge cage masts, whose tops were lost in
the darkness above the ship itself. Every man on deck was clinging to
stanchion and rail in momentary danger of being swept overboard.
"You must have been mistaken," shouted the watch officer.
"No, sir. It was a light all right, sir," shouted Sam Hickey in a
confident tone.
"What did it look like?"
"It looked like a shooting star, sir."
"What was it?"
"It was a shooting star, sir."
A half articulated exclamation of disgust from the officer on the
bridge reached the ears of the lookout.
"It shot right up from the sea, sir."
"What's that?"
The question was hurled up at Sam with almost explosive force.
"The star shot right up from the sea, sir."
Now, the watch officer on the bridge of the battleship knew full well
that shooting stars shoot downward, not upward. He knew also that with
a sky overcast as was this one, with the clouds hanging low, no
shooting star could be made out, even granting that one had fallen.
"Boatswain's mate!" roared the officer.
"Aye, aye, sir," answered a hoarse voice somewhere from the depths
below.
"Turn out the top watches. Man the tops on the jump!"
"Aye, aye, sir."
Loud words of command floated up from below and a moment later a group
of sailors dashed up to the bridge, rubbing their eyes sleepily.
Without awaiting a word of instruction, they began running up the iron
ladders of the cage masts and were quickly lost to view.
The watch officer raised his megaphone, pointing it up into the air.
"Look sharp two points to starboard. See if you can pick up a light.
Keep your eyes open. Boatswain's mate!"
"Aye, aye, sir."
"Station men all the way up the mast to pass the word down in case any
lights are made out. I'll never hear the word shouted from up there in
this howling gale."
"Aye, aye, sir."
"Green light four points off the starboard bow," howled Sam Hickey.
"Green-light-off-the-starboard-bow," sang a chorus of voices from
somewhere far up in the steel mast.
"Man in the top says it's a rocket, sir," was passed down from mouth to
mouth.
"Aye, aye, I saw it," answered the watch officer. "Pass the word up to
hold the watch. Messenger!"
"Aye, aye, sir."
"Run for the captain's quarters. Tell his orderly we have sighted
green rockets off the starboard bow. We have made out no other lights,
but there is a ship in trouble off there."
The messenger saluted and was away in a twinkling, racing along the
slippery superstructure, guided only by his knowledge of the ship, for
he could not see a half dozen feet ahead of him.
The word was passed to the commanding officer by the latter's orderly,
and in an incredibly short time the captain emerged from his cabin,
fully clothed, his uniform covered by shining black rainclothes.
He quickly made his way to the navigator's bridge, arriving there only
a few minutes behind the messenger.
"What's this, Mr. Brant?" he demanded sharply in the ear of the watch
officer.
"Signal rockets, sir."
"You are sure of this!"
"Yes, sir. Half a dozen men aloft have sighted them. I saw one flash
myself."
"Where away?"
"Four points off the starboard bow the last time we sighted the light,
sir."
"How are you heading?"
"East southeast, three quarters, sir."
"Hold the helm steady until we see if we can make out another signal.
Up aloft, there!"
"Aye, aye, sir."
"Look sharp for lights. Report them quickly and make sure the word is
passed down. Pass the word back after it reaches me, so that you may
be sure I have it."
"Aye, aye, sir."
An interval followed, during which only the roar and shriek of the gale
were heard. Then all at once the red-haired boy's voice sounded above
the storm.
"Shooting star again, three points----"
"What's that?" roared the commanding officer.
"I mean--I mean I sighted the green rocket again, sir," explained Sam
Hickey lamely.
"Don't you know----"
"I caught the flash of it, sir," spoke the watch officer. "It was as
Seaman Hickey said, three points off the starboard bow this time."
"Starboard, two points!" commanded the captain.
"Starboard two points," repeated the quartermaster on duty at the
wheel, giving the steering wheel a sharp turn. "She's on the mark,
sir."
"Hold it."
"You think it is a wreck, sir?" questioned the watch officer.
"I know no more about it than do you. Naturally it is some vessel in
distress, else they would not be making distress signals. You say you
caught only the flash--you did not get a sight of the rocket itself?"
"No, sir. I saw the flash, that was all."
The captain glanced up into the darkness.
"She should be ten miles away, then. We ought to be heading about dead
on, if your sight was correct. Full speed ahead, both engines."
The throb of the engines far below them rose to a steady purr. The
"Long Island" plunged ahead, lurching more violently than before. It
was an unsafe speed in such a sea, but perhaps there were human lives
at stake off there in that wild swirl of water, and if so it was the
first duty of an American seaman to go to their rescue, however great
the peril to himself and crew might be.
"There she goes again," shouted the lookout up by the searchlight.
"I caught it that time. The vessel lies dead ahead. Hold your course,
quartermaster."
"Aye, aye, sir."
"Ord'ly, turn out the executive officer. Tell him to order the boat
crews and the first and second divisions out. Be quick about it."
"Aye, aye, sir."
Boatswains' whistles trilled faintly from the depths of the battleship;
boatswains' mates roared out their commands, piping the men from their
sleep, and a few minutes later the superstructure was thronged with
half-clad figures. Every man of them was soaked to the skin the
instant he reached the deck, but unmindful of this every eye was
peering into the black mist ahead, the men anxiously questioning each
other as to the cause of their being piped out.
No one seemed to know, but older heads shrewdly suspected that
somewhere off ahead was a sister ship in dire distress.
"Boatswain's mate!" again came the warning call of the watch officer.
"Aye, aye, sir."
"Pipe all hands to stations."
Once again whistles trilled. The entire crew of the battleship was
being called to stations, for again the commanding officer had seen the
warning signals shooting up into the sky. Powerful glasses were being
leveled at the black abyss ahead, but as yet the officers, of whom
there was now quite a group assembled on the bridge, were unable to
make out anything on the sea, save the mountains of water that were
leaping toward them.
"We must be nearing the place, Mr. Coates," shouted the captain in the
ear of his executive officer. "Keep a sharp lookout now. We don't
want to have a collision with an old water-logged hulk in this gale.
We should run an excellent chance of going to the bottom ourselves."
"Yes, sir," agreed Mr. Coates, as, raising his megaphone, he warned all
lookouts to be on their guard.
Sam Hickey, proud in the consciousness that he had been the first to
sight the signals of distress, was scanning the troubled seas with keen
eyes, from which now and then he brushed the salt brine with an
impatient hand.
"If I could see, I'd see," he complained to himself. "I wonder if they
have turned out Dan. He knows where I am anyway. There she blows!"
suddenly shouted the red-haired boy.
"He's sighted a whale," laughed a young midshipman.
"What do you mean?" roared the captain.
"Light dead ahead, sir. Rocket again, sir."
"Aye, aye," was the answer from the bridge.
The officers there had plainly seen the signal rocket this time, and
the green ball seemed to shoot up into the clouds from directly beneath
the bow of the "Long Island." The battleship was at that moment riding
a mountainous swell, while the vessel from which the signal had been
fired was wallowing in the trough of the sea far below. It seemed as
if the battleship must slide down the steep wall of water and crush the
vessel laboring in the hollow so far beneath them.
"Port your helm!" commanded the captain. "Slow speed astern, starboard
engine. Hold her there!"
"There she is, sir," shouted the executive officer, leveling his night
glass on the sea valley.
"What do you make of her?"
"Not much of anything. I see faint lights aboard, but that is all."
"Number one searchlight there," called the captain.
"Aye, aye, sir," answered the sailor in charge of the light.
"Throw a light off the port quarter and see if you can pick up that
ship."
"Aye, aye, sir."
An instant later a broad shaft of light pierced the blackness of the
night. The beam of light traveled slowly about, finally coming to rest
on an object in the sea some distance ahead. On this object the
officers focused their night glasses.
"Four-masted schooner, sir," called Sam Hickey from his elevated
position beside the searchlight.
"All sticks standing?"
"No, sir."
"No, she has only two poles standing now, sir," spoke up the executive
officer. "She seems to be in a bad way."
"Steady her," commanded the captain.
"She's steady," answered the quartermaster at the wheel of the
battleship.
"Slow both engines ahead."
The "Long Island" was rolling more heavily than before, now and then
giving a violent lurch, forcing every person on deck to cling to
whatever support was nearest to him. Otherwise men might have been
hurled overboard and lost in the tumbling sea.
By this time the schooner was fairly well outlined by the battleship's
searchlight, but the lookouts were unable to make out any signs of life
on board the distressed ship. They felt sure, however, that the
schooner was on its last legs, and that it was a question of moments,
perhaps, before she would take her final plunge.
"All depends upon what she is loaded with, as to how long she lasts,"
decided the captain of the battleship.
"She is flush with the water," answered the executive officer. "I
should say she must be loaded with lumber. She would have been down
long ago, otherwise."
"I think you are right, Mr. Coates. Hail them with the megaphone as
soon as you think you can make them hear. We are to the windward and
your voice should carry."
"Schooner ahoy!" shouted the executive officer.
There was no answering word from the disabled schooner. The distance
at which the battleship was compelled to keep for its own safety, to
say nothing of the roar of the gale, made communication by word of
mouth impossible. At this moment another rocket from the schooner
seemed to emphasize the necessity for immediate help.
Turning toward the men assembled on the gun deck, the captain addressed
them:
"Battleship crew there! A ship is sinking hard by.
"Volunteers are wanted to man the whaleboats. It is a dangerous
mission. All who are willing to volunteer, step forward."
Every man within hearing distance stepped forward, and a crew was
quickly chosen. Sam Hickey and Dan Davis were among the twenty-four
men who scrambled into the two boats.
Other sailors took their places by the ropes that controlled the
raising and lowering of the life boats. The executive officer, now
standing on the superstructure, watching the sea and his own ship, was
awaiting the moment when, in his judgment, it would be most safe to
launch the whaleboats. Not a man in the two boats spoke even in a
whisper. They had cast aside their storm clothes, being clad only in
trousers and jumpers.
"Get ready."
"Toss oars," commanded the coxswain of each boat.
Every man raised his oar upright.
"Let go the falls," commanded the executive officer.
The two whaleboats struck the sea with a mighty splash.
"Cast off! Go!" shouted the two coxswains, at which the men fell to
their oars with a will. But those in the number two whaleboat either
had not been quick enough, or else a wave had caught them unawares.
Their frail craft was picked up on the crest of a wave and hurled with
mighty force against the side of the ship, the smaller boat instantly
going to pieces. In a second, thirteen men were struggling in the
boiling sea, fighting desperately for their lives.