LOWERING THE FLAG
"Colors! Fall in for colors!" shouted petty officers in different
parts of the ship as the bugle blew its warning notes.
Sam Hickey limped into place with the gun squad, and awaited the order
to march.
"Colors," means the formalities that are observed at sunset on
shipboard, consisting of impressive ceremonies when the Stars and
Strips are lowered from the after flagstaff. The ceremony of colors,
however, is never observed when the ship is under motion, but only when
the vessel is at anchor.
Just before the moment when the sun was to set, the different
divisions, in charge of midshipmen and ensigns, were marched to the
quarterdeck with measured step; then, facing toward amidships, they
banked themselves on each side of the deck. Behind the jackies, next
to the starboard and port rails, were the marines, carrying their
rifles.
Grouped aft on the starboard side was the band, its members resplendent
in white and gold uniforms.
Between these lines of color stood the captain and his executive
officer, facing the Flag that was lazily fluttering in the soft evening
breeze.
All was silence, the only sound being the water lapping the steel sides
of the battleship.
"Attention!"
The bugle blew a few short notes. The Flag began creeping slowly down
the after flagstaff, with every eye fixed on the ensign as it fluttered
toward the deck.
Instantly upon the Flag's reaching the deck, the band broke forth into
"The Star Spangled Banner." The hearts of the Battleship Boys swelled
with patriotism, and the strains of the national anthem seemed to bring
a deeper shade to the rows of tanned, manly faces lined up in solid
ranks on the quarter-deck of the battleship "Long Island."
"Attention! First division, right face! Forward march!"
The command was repeated for the other divisions. Snare drums rolled,
the band changed to a livelier tune, to which each division marched off
in steady lines, one division following the other. Soon all had
disappeared, save a group of officers who remained chatting on the
quarter-deck. These, too, soon turned and went below for the evening
mess.
The day's work was done for all except those who were to go on watch
duty for a two-hour trick.
Mess finished, Sam went out to the forward deck to growl at the jackies
who had been responsible for the pig's foot on his own right foot. The
pig's foot hurt him, and the lad limped painfully.
While Sam was forward Dan got out his ditty box, to which, by this
time, he had become as much attached as were the other sailors to
theirs. From the box he drew a recent letter from his mother, which
the Battleship Boy, sitting on the steel deck under a wall lamp in a
corridor, read over several times. It seemed a long time to Dan since
he had left her at Piedmont, and had gone on to New York to enlist in
the service of his country.
"I think I must know this letter by heart," mused Dan, folding the
letter and tenderly laying it away in the precious ditty box. Then,
fixing up his fountain pen, he began writing industriously, using his
elevated knees for a desk, on which he had laid his writing pad.
"I have written in more comfortable places than this, but I never had
more to say than I have this time," he said.
Mails were not very regular on shipboard, and sometimes it was a matter
of weeks before a single mail was put over the side.
Dan was still writing, an hour later, when Sam came along looking for
him.
"Oh, here you are, eh?"
"Yes."
"Writing a book?"
"No, I'm writing to mother. Is there any word you would like to send
to the folks at Piedmont?"
"You might say hello to Mrs. Davis for me. If they'd let a fellow
change his mind in this business, you'd see me back there to-morrow.
What are you writing to her?"
Dan smiled quizzically.
"If it were anyone else who asked me that question I might tell him it
was none of his business."
"But you don't dare tell me that, hey?"
"Maybe, Sam," answered Dan with a good-natured laugh.
"All right; what you are telling her?"
"Want to know very much?"
"I shouldn't have asked you if I didn't."
"Very well; I'll tell you, You know I have something more than two
hundred dollars laid up with the paymaster----"
"Yes; aren't you afraid the Jack-o'-the-Dust will run away with it?"
"Hardly. Even if he does, the Government would make the amount good."
"What you going to do with the money?"
"I was about to tell you. That is what I am writing to mother about.
I am sending the money to her."
"All of it?" interrupted Sam.
"Yes, of course. Why not?"
"You're a good sport, you are."
"I am telling her to go buy a lot out on the Perkins road. That amount
will just about purchase one. Then, as fast as I earn more money, I
tell her, I will send it to her, and by next summer she will have
enough to go on and build a house. Mother will have a home of her own
then, and I'll feel much better when she has."
"How much does a house cost in that neck-o'-the-woods?"
"Well, I should say that eight hundred dollars will put up a very fair
place. At least, it will satisfy us. Why do you ask?"
"I was thinking. Say, did you hear about my pig's foot?"
"Your pig's foot?"
"Yes."
"I don't know what you mean."
"I've got one on my right foot."
"I haven't the least idea what you are talking about."
"You would have, if you'd got a pig's foot. It's a lot different from
a rabbit's foot, and don't you make any mistake about that."
"Somebody gave you a pig's foot, for luck, eh? I never heard they were
lucky."
"Oh, yes; they gave it to me, all right. Here, look at this."
Sam pulled off a shoe and stocking, exhibiting his freshly tattooed
foot.
"Well, what do you think of that?" marveled Dan.
"Not much," growled Sam.
"Who did it?"
"Old Pin Head--No, I mean old Needle Johnson."
"Why did you let him do that, Sam?"
"Let him? I didn't. The whole forecastle sat on me, and tied my foot
up to a stanchion, while the head butcher performed the operation. I
can hardly walk. But I forgot to tell you. Those black-faced fellows
from the other side of the world sailed into me as if they wanted to
eat me up. I don't like that pair a little bit, Dan."
"Imagination, Sam. Just because they are a little darker than we are,
you do not like them. That is foolish."
"That's just the trouble. If it was only skin deep I wouldn't give a
rap. The trouble with those fellows is that the black goes all the way
through. I'll bet they are black clear to the bones. If Pills ever
has to cut either of them open for anything I'm going to take a peek."
"I am surprised at you, Sam," chided Davis.
"You needn't be. You'll find, one of these days, that I am right. But
how about that house and lot?"
"If you keep on talking to me, hammocks will be piped up before I
finish my letter."
"Go on with your writing. I'm mum." Sam sat down and was soon lost in
deep thought.
"There," announced Dan finally. "I guess that's all I can write
to-night. I've done eight pages. That's pretty good for a sailor."
"I never wrote as much as that in all my life--that is, I never wrote
as much as that in letters. Say, Dan."
"Yes."
"Do you mind if I say a few words to Mother Davis at the end of your
letter!"
"Of course, you may. Mother will be delighted."
"All right. You go outside and take a walk for your health. I can't
write with anybody looking at me. It makes me nervous."
"Too bad about your sensitive nerves," retorted the other with a laugh.
"All right; I'll go out. Do not be long, for it is nearly hammock
time."
Leaving Sam grumbling about having to go to bed at nine o'clock, Dan
strolled out on the deck.
"Dear Mother Davis," began Sam, "I want to tell you that your Dan isn't
the only jackie who has money. I've got two hundred dollars, too. But
I haven't any mother. The two hundred isn't any good to me. I've been
thinking of giving it to the government some of these times, for they
could use it where it would do some good. I've got a new idea, now.
I'm going to send the two hundred to you, along with Dan's. You start
that house right away, and, by the time all the money is used up, Dan
and I will have some more for you. We're getting too rich. If Dan
kicks about it, you know how to stop him. P. S. I'm a real sailor,
now. I've got a rating and a pig's foot. The rating made me glad, but
the pig's foot hurt worse than having a tooth pulled. Lovingly, Sam."