THE LOSS OF THE TOMPION
That night being Saturday the crew gave a banquet in honor of the
Battleship Boy, following it with an entertainment. There were songs,
buck and wing dancing, a little playlet and a lively boxing bout.
Dan was dragged to the stage amid loud demands for a speech.
"Tell us how you did it," shouted the jackies. "Tell us all about it."
The Battleship Boy blushed furiously.
"Mates, I can't do it. I--I----" then Dan fled. They found him, an
hour later, hiding in the twelve-inch gun turret.
The officers, however, felt a keen professional interest in the lad's
accomplishment, and especially in the effect on the schooner of the big
gun-fire. Hardly a man of all that crew of eight hundred men and
officers ever had stood on the deck of a ship that was being bombarded
by heavy projectiles.
Dan was summoned to the captain's quarters. There, in the presence of
the senior officers, he related in a clear, comprehensive manner all
that had occurred, describing in detail the shock when the projectiles
hit the schooner; giving as nearly as possible the degree of list that
had followed and the number of hits. His technical knowledge was a
surprise to the ship's officers. Such knowledge was unusual in a
seaman, showing, as it did, that the lad had used his eyes and his
brain to good purpose since he had been on shipboard. As a matter of
fact, Dan had been studying ever since his enlistment. He had spent
all his leisure moments in studying the technical works with which the
ship's library was equipped, asking questions of the petty officers,
until he had informed himself far beyond his grade.
Both lads had by this time risen to the grade of full seamen, which
carried with it a substantial increase in pay.
"What, in your opinion, prevented our fire from sinking the schooner?"
questioned the captain.
"Why, the fact that the boat was loaded with lumber was all that kept
her afloat, sir. Then, again, her hull lay so low in the water that
the projectiles had no opportunity to do effective work. If you had
elevated the seven-inch and dropped a projectile or so on the deck of
the schooner, I might not have been here to tell you about what
happened," added Dan with a suggestive smile.
The captain smiled at his executive officer.
"That is most excellent logic, Mr. Coates."
"Yes, sir."
"I think we shall have to make a full report of this to the Navy
Department. Prepare a statement from what Seaman Davis has told us,
together with any further technical information he may be able to give
you. At the same time full credit should be given to Seaman Davis for
his splendid work. Young man, I congratulate you. You are not unknown
to me. I well recall other fine deeds on your part performed some time
since. I trust you suffered no injury during your trying experience."
"No, sir."
"You are interested in guns?"
"Very deeply interested."
"But you have not been stationed at one of the guns?"
"No, sir."
"Would you like to be? Would you prefer to be a member of a gun crew?"
"It has been my ambition to join a gun crew, sir. I feel that I should
do well in that position."
"Then you shall. Coates, will you be good enough to tell the ship's
writer to enter Seaman Davis as a member of the starboard seven-inch
crew?"
"Yes, sir."
"Thank you, sir," answered the Battleship Boy, his eyes gleaming with
pleasure. "I shall try not to be a discredit to the seven-inch, sir."
"You will not. That goes without saying."
"May I ask a favor, sir?"
"Certainly. What is it?"
"Will it be possible for my friend, Seaman Hickey, to have a place in
that gun squad?"
"I think that can be arranged," answered the captain with an indulgent
smile. "Has your friend also a desire to learn to shoot?"
"Yes, sir."
"His desire shall be gratified. And, as for you, Davis, continue in
the way you have started and there is little doubt as to where you will
eventually bring up. I shall watch your career with deep interest. I
always take an interest in the young men who are striving to work
themselves up. If I can be of assistance to you, at any time,
communicate in the proper manner, and I shall be glad to do all I can
for you."
Dan rose, for they had invited him to be seated when he first entered
the cabin. He came to stiff attention, saluted and, when the
commanding officer waved his hand, the Battleship Boy executed a smart
right-about-face and marched from the room.
On the following morning Dan and Sam were marched to the quarter-deck
with the seven-inch starboard gun crew at muster. They were proud
boys, too, and, after quarters, they proceeded directly to their
station, where they spent the forenoon receiving instruction under the
captain of the gun's crew.
Dan fondled the great gun almost affectionately. It already had become
a thing of life to him, for had not this same gun been thundering away
at him, hurling projectiles at him in a determined effort to sink the
ship under him, only a few hours before?
"Rather be at this end than the other, wouldn't you?" questioned Sam
Hickey, with a grin.
"Yes; now that I have had time to think the matter over, I believe I
prefer this end," laughed Dan. "It was not so bad, though. You see, I
never had been under fire before, and I was interested. It was a new
experience."
"One that few of us have had," spoke up the gun captain.
"I know I should have run away if I had been there," decided Sam, with
a thoughtful shake of the head.
"Where would you have run to?" demanded Dan, at which there was a laugh
all around.
Sam was sitting on the deck of the turret, industriously at work
polishing the brass tompion with which the end of the gun is plugged to
keep out the sea water.
Finishing his task, he turned up the tompion and sat down on it, as
with chin in hands he listened to the conversation.
"Makes a good seat, eh?" he grinned, as he saw the eyes of the gun
captain upon him.
"You will not think so if you damage the tompion. Get off from it. Do
you know what those things are worth?"
"'Bout a dollar and a half," answered Sam rather contemptuously. "I
could buy enough to fit the ship with on a month's pay."
"You could, eh?"
"Yes."
"You will have a chance to buy one if you are not careful. Those
tompions cost twenty-five dollars apiece, and I ought to know, for I
dropped one overboard once and it was checked up against me."
Sam uttered a low whistle of surprise, then very gingerly carried the
brass plug outside and inserted it in the muzzle of the big gun. As he
did so Sam half turned his head, finding himself looking into the eyes
of a dark-faced fellow, who was lounging against the rail.
"Hello, Blackie," greeted the red-haired boy.
The dark-faced boy scowled. He was one of two Hawaiians who had joined
the ship about the same time that the Battleship Boys had come aboard.
One of the Hawaiians was very dark and the other almost white, so the
jackies named them Black and White, these names being easier of
pronunciation than were the real names of the men.
As it chanced, both Black and White had been shifted from the
seven-inch gun crew to make room for Dan and Sam, while the Pacific
Islanders were set to scrubbing decks and doing general work about the
ship.
The men did not dare rebel, but they had been ugly ever since the
change had been made, and Sam's grin did not tend to make Black any the
less ugly.
"I said 'hello,'" repeated Sam.
Still the Hawaiian made no reply. He simply scowled--scowled until his
face was ridged with sharp wrinkles.
"Don't you know how to salute, my man?" urged Sam, with the superior
air that he had seen some officers employ.
"Me know."
"Then salute your superior."
"No salute you. You nothing but red-head."
"Oh, that's it, is it? Because I'm a red-head you won't salute me?
Well, let me tell you, I had a sight rather have a red head than some
other colors that I know about."
Sam turned on his heel and strode into the gun turret without another
word. He did not realize that he had made an enemy of the dark-skinned
Hawaiian, an enemy who would never forget to do him an injury. Perhaps
Sam would not have cared had he known.
A few moments later the gun captain emerged from the turret and stood
leaning over the rail of the ship, looking into the water, one hand
resting lightly on the muzzle of the seven-inch gun. Suddenly his hand
slipped and went right into the muzzle.
The gun captain withdrew the hand with a surprised look on his face.
"What's this?" he muttered. "What did that red-head do with the
tompion, I wonder!"
He glanced about the deck, and, failing to discover the brass gun plug,
hurriedly entered the turret where Sam was now engaged in polishing the
bright work on the gun butt.
"Hickey!"
"Yes, sir."
"What did you do with that tompion after you polished it?"
"The plug, you mean?"
"Yes."
"Why, I put it back where it belongs."
"Where, I asked you?"
"I stuck it in the gun."
"Come out here."
The gun captain led Sam to the outer deck, and, taking hold of the
boy's arm, pointed to the muzzle of the seven-inch.
"Do you see any tompion in that gun?" he demanded.
"N-n-n-no," answered Sam hesitatingly.
"Now, tell me where you put it."
"I told you once. I put it in the muzzle. Where did you think I put
it!"
"I did not think. But it is now my opinion that you dropped it
overboard."
"I did nothing of the sort," protested Hickey indignantly.
"You were the last man to handle the plug, were you not?"
"Y-e-s."
"Where is it?"
"I--I don't know."
"That will cost you twenty-five, young man. You will no doubt be put
on the list for a reprimand, if not worse. That's all I've got to say
to you."
Sam stood with both hands thrust in his trousers' pockets, gazing
absently off to sea.
"Almost a whole month's pay gone to grass," he muttered. "Shoot the
whole business!"