ORDERED TO THE SICK BAY
A light came dancing over the long, even swells, sending up a shower of
spray as it smashed into the white crests of the swells.
It was whaleboat number one from the battleship.
"Sing out!" commanded the officer in charge of the boat.
"Dinghy, ahoy!" shouted the seaman who was standing braced in the bow
of the whaleboat, scanning the waters ahead.
There was no response to his hail.
The seaman put down the megaphone that he had been using, and, raising
his telescope, swept the waters.
"Boat, sir, two points off the port bow," sang the lookout.
"Coxswain, lay your course two points to port."
"Aye, aye, sir."
The whaleboat headed for the speck that the lookout had made out
through his glass. In a few minutes the whaleboat had drawn up
alongside.
"She's empty, sir."
"Do you make out the other boat?"
"No, sir."
"I think I see her," said the officer. "Train your glass dead abeam to
starboard."
"Yes, sir, that's the other dinghy. She's drifting."
"Then something has happened to those men. Lay to, men. Pull for all
you're worth. They may be drowning while we are lying here. Coxswain,
look alive."
"Aye, aye, sir."
The oars hit the water as one, and the heavy, sharp-pointed whaleboat
sprang away, taking a long leap over the waves with every powerful
stroke of the oars.
"Her side is stove in, I think, sir," announced the lookout.
The officer in charge made no reply. He was gazing at the bobbing
dinghy through his night glasses.
"Steady there, coxswain. We don't want to run her down. Come up on
the lee side and draw in slowly. She rides as if she were loaded. We
shall find men aboard the dinghy, unless I am much mistaken."
They drew alongside slowly.
"Out boat hooks!"
The whaleboat made fast to the drifting dinghy. No sooner had they
done so than the officer leaped lightly aboard.
"Here they are. Lend a hand here, men. Be careful you don't upset
her. The dinghy is half full of water."
Willing hands quickly transferred Dan Davis and the two Hawaiians to
the whaleboat. Dan was half unconscious, while his two prisoners were
wholly so.
"Take the dinghy in tow. Pick up the other one on your way, but be
quick. Seaman Davis is wounded. I don't know how seriously, but he
looks to be in pretty bad shape."
The men needed no further urging. In a few minutes they were on their
way back to the ship, towing both small boats behind them.
"There's the other whaleboat, sir," announced the lookout.
"Hail them. Tell them to turn about and return to ship," directed the
officer.
The lookout did so.
As they approached the side the battleship's rails were seen to be
lined with officers and men. Dan, by this time, was sitting up and the
prisoners were coming around slowly.
"Did you get them all?" called the executive officer.
"Yes, sir."
"Are they all right?"
"Pretty well knocked out, sir."
"Pull alongside the starboard gangway. Need any help?"
"No, sir; I think we can manage them. But we need the doctor right
away. Seaman Davis is hurt."
"No, no," protested Dan. "I'm all right. I want to report. I'm not a
baby, sir."
"I should say you are not."
Dan was permitted to stand up as the whaleboat drew up to the starboard
gangway. Waiting until the boat rose on a swell he grasped a
stanchion, swinging himself to the platform of the gangway by sheer
grit, for he had little strength left. He poised on the landing
planking, still clinging to the stanchion. A jackie ran down the
gangway, extending a helping hand.
"Never mind me. I'm all right, shipmate," said the boy pluckily.
Directing all his strength to the task, the Battleship Boy climbed the
gangway. Never before had the stairs seemed so long to him. At last
he reached the quarter-deck.
"You are hurt, my lad," exclaimed the captain, starting forward.
"Surgeon, here!"
Dan's face was covered with blood, while the white jacket was stained a
deep crimson clear down to his duck trousers.
All at once he started forward unsteadily. He had espied the officer
of the deck, the one whose command he had nearly lost his life in
obeying.
"Sir, I beg to report that I have overhauled the dinghy and captured
the men."
The boy came to attention, saluting stiffly, for it hurt him to raise
his hand to his forehead.
"Very good, Seaman Davis."
"Take that man to the sick bay," commanded the captain. "Don't you see
that he is barely able to stand on his feet? How about those other
men? Are they seriously hurt?"
"I think not, sir," answered the surgeon, who had made a quick
examination of the Hawaiians.
"Then give them attention. Master-at-arms, if the surgeon decides that
they are fit, lock them in the brig. As soon as all hands are in
condition we will have a quick examination."
The islanders proved to be in a more serious condition than had at
first been supposed. Acting upon the surgeon's orders, they were taken
to the sick bay, where their wounds were dressed and they were put to
bed, with a guard placed over them.
Dan's wounds were washed and dressed and his head bandaged. The cut on
his forehead where the sharp edge of the oar had struck it was deep and
wide, the oar blade having gone clear to the bone, while the lad
himself was weak from loss of blood.
"You are lucky that you did not sustain a fracture," decided the
surgeon, as, with nimble fingers, he sewed the flesh together. "You
will turn in and sleep here to-night."
"I can't do that, sir."
"Why not?"
"I am on the anchor watch, sir. I'm under orders."
"Anchor watch nothing; you'll remain here."
"I am sorry, sir, but I cannot do so until I am relieved at eight
bells. If they do not want me on watch they will tell me so. I am all
right now. I feel fine."
The surgeon grunted.
"Very well; but I shall tell the captain that you are unfit for duty.
You have lost more blood than is good for you."
Dan left the sick bay, the surgeon watching his unsteady steps as the
boy made his way down the dimly lighted corridor.
A group of officers were gathered on the quarter-deck discussing the
exciting incidents of the evening, when the Battleship Boy made his
appearance there.
"I report for duty, sir. I am ready to finish my watch, sir," he said,
saluting the officer of the deck.
The officer of the deck looked the boy over, who, with bandaged head
and pale face, presented a woebegone appearance.
"I thought you were ordered to the sick bay?"
"I was, sir, to have my wounds dressed."
"From your appearance I should say that was the place for you, not the
quarter-deck."
At that juncture the captain strode across the deck.
"Davis, what are you doing here?" he demanded.
"Finishing my watch, sir," answered the boy, saluting.
"Did I not order you to the sick bay?"
"You did, sir, but you did not order me to stay there."
"I do so now, then. You will report at the sick bay at once, and
remain there until you are released by the surgeon." The command was
delivered sternly.
"Aye, aye, sir," answered the Battleship Boy, saluting.
"Boatswain's mate, order out another man to take Seaman Davis' watch
until eight bells. Come here, my lad."
Dan had started away to obey the captain's command. At that he turned,
retracing his steps.
The captain laid a hand on his shoulder.
"My lad, I am proud of you. I know you would much prefer to remain on
deck and do your duty as you see it. There is another side to this
matter, however. Your duty just now lies in getting yourself into
shape for the morrow. You are in no condition to work. You have done
quite enough for one day."
"I feel perfectly well, sir."
"I know you think you do, but turn in and get a good night's rest. I
shall require your services further in this matter, if you are able to
get up in the morning. That will be all."
Dan saluted and walked off, but it was evident, from his hesitating
steps, that he was reluctant to do so.
"That boy is all nerve," nodded the captain. "He has more pluck than
any two men on this ship, and that is saying a good deal. Ord'ly, tell
the surgeon I desire to speak with him when he is at leisure."
"Yes," agreed the executive officer. "Davis and his red-headed friend
are both a credit to the service."