PUTTING THE ENEMY OUT
By this time every officer and man on the battleship "Long Island" knew
Dan Davis and Sam Hickey by name as well as by sight. But the lads
bore their honors well. Neither of the boys sought to take advantage
of the favor he had gained. If anything, the boys toiled harder than
ever. They worked with the formidable seven-inch gun during all the
hours that were allotted to this work.
During the rest hour Dan and his companion would ordinarily be found in
the turret, examining the gun and its carriage, quizzing each other to
test their knowledge, committing to memory the name and use of every
part of these complicated instruments of war.
Late one afternoon, when the men were supposed to be at play on the
forward deck, the captain was passing through on his way to his
quarters, when he heard voices in the turret and peered in there.
He saw Dan and Sam stripped to their undershirts, working the big gun
and going through with their own examination. Dan was trying to
explain to his companion the theory and practice of
range-finding--learning the distance and location of the enemy. From
that they drifted into the question of sighting the big guns, elevation
and other technical subjects beyond their years and experience.
The ship's commander smiled proudly. After a few moments of listening,
he stepped inside.
"Well, lads, do you never rest?" he questioned, in a kindly tone, for
the commanding officer of the "Long Island" was a humane man, one who
had the interests of his men at heart to a degree possessed by few
commanding officers in the service.
The lads saluted but made no reply, as an answer was not expected to
the question.
"Are you studying--I mean in books?"
"Yes, sir," replied Dan.
"Where do you get your books?"
"From the ship's library, sir."
"I am afraid you are in need of some more advanced works than you will
find in the crew's library. If you will come to my quarters, this
evening after your mess, I will see what I can find for you. I think I
have some books that will be of use to you. By the way, I heard you
mention electricity once or twice. Do you know anything about that
branch?"
"A little, sir, but we are studying that as well," Dan replied.
"From books?"
"Oh, yes, sir. Besides this we are taking a course in electricity with
a correspondence school."
The eyes of the commanding officer twinkled.
"You are two very industrious boys. I am afraid not many of our boys
are following your example."
"Quite a few of them are, sir."
"May I ask what you are seeking to accomplish?"
Dan glanced up inquiringly.
"I mean as to the future. What do you hope to do with yourself?" asked
the captain.
"Naturally, sir, I hope to gain promotion when I have earned it," was
Dan's answer.
"Ah, yes; to be sure. You have ambitions to become petty officers.
Well, your prospects are good, young men, if you keep on in that way
you have been going. You will come below for the books as I suggested,
will you not?"
"Yes, sir; thank you, sir."
"As I have said before, whenever you wish advice or assistance, come to
me, through your immediate superiors, and you will find me ever ready
to aid you."
"Thank you, sir," acknowledged the boys, in chorus. The captain
saluted in answer to theirs; then, turning on his heel, left the turret.
"That's what I call a right smart gentleman," announced Sam Hickey,
with an emphatic nod of the head.
"The captain is a magnificent man. We are lucky, old fellow, in being
under such a commander. I'd face powder and bullets any day for him."
"Say, Dan."
"Yes."
"He invited us to call on him, didn't he?"
"Well, yes; something like that, though not in a social sense. That
would be impossible."
Sam pondered.
"Do you know I'd give a month's pay if the rest of the bunch could see
me sitting in one of those mahogany chairs in the Old Man's quarters,
with my feet on his dining room table."
"Sam Hickey, I am ashamed of you. You ought to be ashamed of yourself,
to say a thing like that! Suppose the commanding officer had overheard
those words, instead of what he did overhear. What would you have done
then?"
"What would I have done? Why, I'd have slipped out through the gun
port, and left you to square things with him," answered the resourceful
Sam.
"You're hopeless," muttered Dan. "And, another thing, before you talk
of giving a month's pay remember that you have nearly a month's pay
charged against you for the loss of the tompion."
"That's so. I'm going to ask the captain about that. Maybe, when he
hears my side of the case, he will remit the fine. It's a shame to
make me pay it."
"Don't be a baby. Be a man and take your medicine like a man," advised
Dan, as he pulled on his jacket and prepared to leave the turret.
That evening they reported at the captain's quarters, as they had been
directed. While, in this instance, the lads remained standing, their
commanding officer talked with them as if they were really his equals;
that is, as if there were no social barriers erected between them.
The longer they remained in the service the more the Battleship Boys
came to realize that the gulf between officers and men was not nearly
so wide as it had been painted. The officer worked by the side of his
men in the grime and dirt, and at all times made the comfort of the
jackies his personal care. Strict forms, however, had to be lived up
to for the sake of discipline.
On the following morning, when the two boys reported to turret number
four, where they were stationed, the gun captain lined up his men and
looked them over after roll call.
"What we need in this crew, just now, is gun pointers. Those of you
who have tried that work aren't worth the powder to blow you through a
ventilator. What we are going to do I'll confess I don't know. Here
we are, within four weeks of battle practice, and not one of you could
sight a gun so that it would send a ball through a barn if the barn
were leaned up against the muzzle. Do any of you who haven't tried
think you can sight a seven-inch gun!"
"I used to shoot woodchucks with a shotgun, sir," Sam Hickey informed
the gun captain.
The gun crew laughed loudly.
"Bosh!" exploded the gun captain.
"I can shoot, sir," insisted Sam.
"I'd be afraid to have you get near a bag of powder with that fiery
head. It's a wonder you don't blow up with spontaneous combustion.
You will, one of these times, if you don't look sharp."
A pugnacious look flashed into Sam Hickey's eyes, but he dared not make
a retort to the gun captain.
"Davis, do you think you could learn to sight a gun?"
"Yes, sir; I think so."
"You'll get the chance. We will give you a try-out this morning. All
hands line up for dotter practice."
"What's dotter practice?" asked Sam.
"Sh-h-h," warned Dan. "Haven't you learned what that is yet?"
"No."
"Dotter practice is target work in miniature. Listen! The gun captain
is going to explain it to us."
"Some of you understand the dotter," began the gun captain. "For the
benefit of those of you who do not I will explain. The dotter is a
little contrivance on the gun, which enables you to shoot at a target
and proves your marksmanship. By looking through the finder you will
see a little target that moves up and down like a ship at sea. When
the crossed wires of your finder are right on the target you pull the
trigger. A black spot will appear on the target--a dot, showing where
your shot struck if you have hit the target at all. We call it a
dotter because it makes a dot where it hits."
"And the dotter makes you dotty," muttered Sam under his breath, yet
loudly enough so that the man next to him heard it. The fellow laughed
aloud, bringing down a sharp rebuke from the gun captain.
"Hickey, try your hand at the dotter."
Sam climbed up to the little platform on the right side of the gun,
winking at his companions as he did so.
"What shall I do now?" he questioned, taking his place.
"Sight through the finder. I'll set the target going."
"Yes, I see it. I'm afraid that thing will make me seasick if I keep
on looking at it," declared Hickey, looking up at the instructor.
"Attend to your practice!"
"Bang!"
Sam leaped up into the air. His head came into violent contact with
the deck above him.
"Ouch!" yelled the red-headed boy, as he collapsed in a heap on the
deck.
Sam had unwittingly pulled the trigger, firing the cap that bad been
provided to explode the dotter, thus making the miniature target work
the more realistic.
"Did something hit me? I--I thought the seven-inch had gone off,"
stammered the boy, pulling himself to his feet and rubbing his head
where it had hit the ceiling.
"Just like a landlubber," growled the gun captain. "You'll make a fine
gun pointer, you will."
"I--I didn't know the thing was going off," complained Hickey.
"I suppose, if we were to fire the piece in earnest, you would jump
overboard," sneered the captain. "Get up there, now, and do it right,
if you want to stay in this division."
Sam took his place once more, the gun captain giving him suggestions
and directions as to how to catch the moving target when it was moving
upward as a ship does in riding a great swell.
"Bang!"
Sam had pulled the trigger, but this time he had done so intentionally.
Instinctively the lad jumped, grinning sheepishly as he noted the
smiles on the faces of his companions of the gun crew.
"Well, what is your score?"
"Score?"
"Yes. Did you hit the target?"
"I don't know."
"Look at the target."
"I see a fly speck over by the edge of the target," spoke up Sam.
"That is where your shot struck. Had you been shooting at a battleship
you might have raked her stern, but I reckon you would not have done
her very great damage. However, it was not a half-bad shot for a
landlubber. Number three, take your place."
The man indicated made an even worse shot than had Hickey, though he
had been practising with the dotter for three weeks.
"You never will do at this work," decided the gun captain. "About all
you will be good for will be to clean bright work and pass along
ammunition. Davis, let's see what you can do."
Dan was all expectation. He could hardly wait for his turn at the gun.
"You understand how to work it?"
"I think so."
"Take your time. Make sure of your mark, then let go quickly. You
will find in actual target work, or in shooting at an enemy, that a
fraction of a second's delay will ordinarily roll the target out of
your range. Better to shoot a second too soon than a second too late."
Dan was peering through the sights, his eye fixed on the pin-head
opening. One hand crept slowly to the trigger. It rested there for a
few seconds without a tremor. His nerves were steady and true.
"Bang!"
"What luck?"
"Squarely in the center. That's what I should call a bull's eye,"
announced Dan Davis triumphantly. "Am I right, sir?"
"Yes; you hit the mark all right. It may have been a chance shot."
"I think not, sir. I will see if I can do it again."
Dan applied his eye to the finder. An instant's hesitation, then there
followed the sharp report of the dotter.
"Once more in the center, sir. Shall I fire again?"
"No. You've sunk the ship, young man. You have put the enemy out of
business. You are not only going to make a splendid gunner, but you
are far above the average already."
Ere Dan could express his thanks the bugle blew, piping gun crews down
to other duties.