A WILD GOOSE CHASE.
A howl of disappointment went up from the crew.
"Oh, if she was only within range," cried "Hay," smiting the breech of
the five-inch rifle with his hand. "Just one shot, just one shot."
"Guns' crews will remain at stations," ordered the first lieutenant from
near the ladder. "Stand by, men. Be ready for instant action."
"Hurray! the old man won't give it up," cheered "Stump," under his
voice. "That's the stuff. Now, if only that measly fog lifts and we get
a trifle nearer, we'll do something for the old flag."
The minutes passed slowly. It was heartbreaking work, this waiting and
watching, and there was not one of the "Yankee's" crew but would have
given a year's pay to have seen the mist lift long enough to bring us
within range.
Suddenly, just as the fervent wish was trembling on our lips, "Hod
Marsh," who was near the port, cried out joyfully:
"She's fading, fellows, she's fading!"
Like a theatre curtain being slowly raised, the mist lifted from the
surface of the water. Little by little the expanse of ocean became
visible, and at last we, who were watching eagerly, saw the hull of a
steamer appear, followed by masts and stack and upper rigging. An
exclamation of bitter disappointment came from Tommy. "Durned if it
ain't an old tramp!" he groaned. "Fellows, we are sold."
And so it proved.
The fog lifted completely in the course of an hour and we secured a good
view of our "will o' the wisp" of the night's chase. It was a great
lumbering tramp, as high out of the water as a barn, and as
weather-stained as a homeward-bound whaler. She slouched along like a
crab, each roll of the hull showing streaks of marine grass and
barnacles. There was little of man-o'-war "smartness" in her make-up, of
a verity.
For several days the "Yankee" cruised up and down the coast between
Delaware Breakwater and Block Island. Many vessels were sighted, and on
two occasions it was considered expedient to sound "general quarters,"
but nothing came of it. We finally concluded that the enemy were
fighting shy of the vicinity of New York, and all began to long for
orders to the southward.
Drill followed drill during these waiting days. Target practice was held
whenever practicable, and the different guns' crews began to feel
familiar with the rapid-fire rifles.
The men, accustomed to a life of ease and plenty, found this first
month's work an experience of unparalleled hardship.
Their hands, better fitted for the grasp of pen and pencil, were made
sore and stiff by the handling of hawsers, chains, and heavy cases.
Bandages on hands, feet, and, in some cases, heads, were the popular
form of adornment, and the man who did not have some part of his anatomy
decorated in this way was looked upon as a "sloper," or one who ran away
from work. For how could any one do his share without getting a finger
jammed or a toe crushed?
The work that was done, too, during this month of cruising along the
coasts of Long Island and New Jersey was hard and incessant. Drills of
all kinds were frequent, and sleep at a premium.
The "Yankee" at this time was attached to the Northern Patrol Fleet, of
which Commodore Howell was the commander. It was her business to cruise
along the coast from Block Island south to Delaware Breakwater, and
watch for suspicious vessels. This duty made constant movement
necessary, and unwearying vigilance on the part of the lookouts
imperative.
Rainy, foggy weather was the rule, and "oilers" and rubber boots the
prevailing fashion in overclothing. Sea watches were kept night and day;
half of the crew being on duty all the time, and one watch relieving the
other every four hours.
The watch "on deck" or on duty on a stormy night found it very tedious
waiting for the "watch below" to come and relieve them. The man who
could tell a story or sing a song was in great demand, and the man who
could get up a "Yankee" song was a popular hero. The night after our
wild goose chase, described in the last chapter, the port watch had the
"long watch"; that is, the watch from 8 p.m. to midnight, and from four
to eight the next morning--which allowed but four hour's sleep.
It was raining and the decks were wet and slippery. The water dripped
off the rims of our sou'westers in dismal fashion, and the fog hung like
a blanket around the ship, while the sea lapped her sides unseen. Our
fog-horn tooted at intervals, and everything was as damp, dark, and
forlorn as could be.
A knot of men were gathered under the lee of the after deckhouse,
huddled together for warmth and companionship. There was "Stump,"
"Bill," Potter, and a number of others.
"Say! can't any one sing, or tell a yarn, or whistle a tune, or dance a
jig?" said "Bill" in a muffled tone. "If some one does not start some
kind of excitement I will go to sleep in my tracks, and Doctor 'Gangway'
says I mustn't sleep out of doors." His speech ended in a fit of
coughing and a succession of sneezes.
"Here, 'Morse,' give us that new song of yours," said "Steve," as
another oilskinned figure joined the group. "Morse" and "Steve" were our
chief song writers. Each sat on a quarter six-pounder, one on the
starboard, the other on the port. "I will, if you chaps will join in the
chorus," answered "Morse." "No, thank you," he added, as some one handed
him an imaginary glass. "_Nature_ has wet my whistle pretty thoroughly
to-night." "Stump," in his most impressive manner, stepped forward, and
in true master-of-ceremonies style introduced our entertainer. He was
enlarging on the undoubted merits of the composer and singer, and had
waxed really eloquent, when a strong gust of wind blew the water that
lodged in the awning squarely down his neck. This dampened his ardor but
not our spirits.
"Morse," like the good fellow he was, got up and sang this song to the
tune of "Billy Magee Magaw":
When the "Yankee" goes sailing home again,
Hurrah! Hurrah!
We'll forget that we're "Heroes" and just be men,
Hurrah! Hurrah!
The girls will giggle, the boys will shout,
We'll all get a bath and be washed out,
And we'll all feel gay when
The "Yankee" goes sailing home.
The city bells will peal for joy,
Hurrah! Hurrah!
To welcome home each wandering boy,
Hurrah! Hurrah!
And all our sisters and cousins and girls
Will say "Ain't they darlings?" and "_See_ the pearls!"
So we'll all feel gay when
The "Yankee" goes sailing home.
Our patrolling cruise will soon be o'er,
Hurrah! Hurrah!
We'll be happy the moment our feet touch shore,
Hurrah! Hurrah!
And "Cutlets" and "Hubbub" and all the rest
May stick to the calling they're fitted for best,
But _we'll_ all feel gay when
The "Yankee" goes sailing home.
Even "Bill" was able to find voice enough to shout "Good!" and give
"Morse" a resounding slap on his wet oilskinned shoulder. The song
voiced our sentiments exactly, and cheered us a lot. None of us believed
that "Our patrolling cruise would soon be o'er," however, and hardly a
man would have taken his discharge had it been offered to him that
moment. We had put our names to the enlistment papers and had promised
to serve Uncle Sam on his ship the "Yankee" faithfully. We had gone into
this thing together, and we would see it through together. Still we
would "All feel gay when the 'Yankee' goes sailing home."
"That reminds me of a story," began Potter, when "Long Tommy," the
boatswain's mate of the watch, interrupted with, "Potter, take the
starboard bridge. I will send a man to relieve you at the end of an
hour." So Potter went forward to relieve his mate, who had stood an hour
of lookout duty on the starboard end of the bridge.
He went forward, swaying with the motion of the ship, his oilskin
trousers making a queer, grating noise as one leg rubbed against the
other, and "Stump" said, "I'll bet he won't stay with us long; he talks
too much." A prophetic remark, as future events proved.
The group broke up after this. Some who were not actually on lookout
duty went into the hot fire room, and after taking off their outer
clothing, tried to snatch a few winks of sleep. The "watch on deck" was
not allowed to go below at night, so the only shelter allowed us was the
fire room and the main companion-way. The latter could hold but a few
men, and the only alternative was the fire or "drum" room, into which
the heat and gas from the furnaces ascended from the bowels of the ship,
making it impossible for a man to breathe the atmosphere there for more
than half an hour at a time. The after wheel-house was sometimes taken
advantage of by the more venturesome of the boys, but the risk was
great, for "Cutlets" was continually prowling around, and the man found
taking shelter there would receive tongue lashings hard to bear, with
abuse entirely out of proportion to the offence.
A little before twelve o'clock we heard the boatswain's pipe, and the
long drawn shout, "On deck all the starboard watch," and "All the
starboard watch to muster." So we knew that we would soon be relieved,
and would be able to take the much-needed four hours' sleep in our
"sleeping bags," as "Hay" called them. The starboard men came slowly up,
rubbing their eyes, buttoning their oilskins, and tying their
sou'westers on by a string under their chins as they walked.
"Hurry up there, will you?" calls out a port watch man, as the men of
the other watch sleepily climb the ladder. "Get a move on and give us a
chance to get out of this beastly wet." A sharp retort is given, and the
men move on in the same leisurely way. The men of both watches are
hardly in the best of humors. It is not pleasant to be waked up at
midnight to stand a four hours' watch in the rain and fog, nor is it the
most enjoyable thing in life to be delayed, after standing a four hours'
watch in the rain, realizing all the time that each minute of waiting
takes that precious time from the scant four hours' sleep.
But finally "all the watch" is piped, and we go below and flop into our
hammocks, to sleep as soundly and dreamlessly as babies. A sailor will
sleep like a dead man through all kinds of noises and calls, but the
minute his own watch is called he is wide awake in an instant, from
sheer force of habit.
So when the boatswain's mate went around with his pipe, singing out as
he dodged in and out among the swinging hammocks, "On deck all the port
watch," each of us jumped out of his swaying bed and began to climb
into his damp clothes and stiff "oilers." We then made our way through
the darkness, often bumping our heads on the bottom of hammocks, and
earning sleepy but strongly worded rebukes from the occupants; colliding
with stanchions, and stubbing our toes on ring bolts and hatch covers.
All arrived at length, formed an unsteady line on the forecastle deck,
and answered to our names as they were called by the boatswain's mate.
So began another day's work on one of Uncle Sam's ships.
It was Sunday, and after a while the fog lifted and the sun came out
strong and clear. All the men who were off duty came on deck to bask in
the sun, and to get dried and thawed out.
"Steve" poked his uncombed, sleepy head through the "booby" hatch cover.
"Well, this is something like! If the 'old man' will let us take it easy
after inspection, I won't think life in the navy is so bad after all."
"Well, inspection and general muster and the reading of the ship's bible
will take up most of the morning," said gunner's mate "Patt," as he
emerged from the hatch after "Steve," wiping his grimy hands on a wad of
waste, for he had been giving the guns a rub. "And if we don't have to
go chasing an imaginary Spaniard or lug coal from the after hold
forward, we'll be in luck," he continued.
"What about the 'ship's bible'? What is 'general muster'?" queried half
a dozen of us.
"Why," said "Patt," "the ship's bible is the book of rules and
regulations of the United States Navy. It is read once a month to the
officers and crew of every ship in the navy. The officers and crew will
be mustered aft--you'll see--the deck force and engineer force on the
port side, the petty officers on the starboard side forward, the
commissioned officers on the starboard side aft, and the marines
athwartships aft. This forms three sides to a square. See?"
"I don't see the use of all this," broke in the irreverent "Kid." "Do we
have to stand there and have war articles fired at us?"
"That's what, 'Kid,'" replied "Patt," good-naturedly.
"After all hands have taken their places," continued our informant, "the
'old man' will walk down the galley ladder in that dignified way of his,
followed by the executive officer. 'Mother Hubbub' will then open the
blue-covered book that he carries, and read you things that will make
your hair stand on end and cause you to consider the best wording for
your last will and testament." "Patt" was very impressive, and we stood
with open mouths and staring eyes.
"When old 'Hubbub' opens the book, all hands, even the captain, will
take off their hats and stand at attention. Then the war articles will
be read to you. You will learn that there are twenty-seven or more
offences for which you are liable to be shot--such as sleeping on post,
desertion, disobedience, wilful waste of Government property, and so
forth; you will be told that divine service is recommended whenever
possible--in short, you are told that you must be good, and that if you
are not there will be the deuce to pay. Then the captain will turn to
'Scully' and say, 'Pipe down,' whereupon 'Scully' and the other bosun's
mates will blow a trill on their pipes, and all hands will go about
their business."
So concluded our oracle.
"Gee whiz!" said the "Kid." "I nearly got into trouble the other night,
for I almost dozed when I was on the buoy. I'm not used to getting along
on eleven hours' sleep in forty-eight yet," he added, apologetically.
We all looked forward to "general muster" with a good deal of interest,
and when it occurred, and the captain had inspected our persons,
clothes, the ship, and mess gear, we decided that "Patt's" description
fitted exactly, and were duly impressed with its solemnity.
We found to our sorrow that we of Number Eight's crew were not to enjoy
sunshine undisturbed, but were soon put to work carrying coal in baskets
from the after hold forward, and dumping it in the bunker chutes.
This work had been going on almost every day, and all day, since we left
Tompkinsville. The coal was in the after hold and was needed in the
bunkers forward, so every piece had to be shovelled into bushel baskets,
hoisted to the gun deck, and carried by hand to the chute leading to the
port and starboard bunkers. A dirty job it was, that not only blackened
the men, but covered the deck, the mess gear, the paint work, and even
the food, with coal dust.
Number Eight's crew had been at this pleasant occupation for about an
hour, with the cheerful prospect of another hour of the same diversion.
"Hay" was running the steam winch, "Stump" was pulling the baskets over
the hatch coaming as they were hauled up by the winch, and the other
five were carrying.
"Say, this is deadly slow, tiresome work," said "Flagg," who was
carrying with me. "I'd give almost anything for a little excitement."
The last word had scarcely been uttered when there came the sounds of
'commotion on deck. A voice cried out in sharp command, the rudder
chains creaked loudly, the ship heeled over to starboard, and then we
who were at the open port saw a long, snaky object shoot out from the
edge of the haze and bear down upon us.
"My heaven!" shouted "Stump," "it's a torpedo boat!"
The commotion on deck had given us some warning, but the sudden dash of
the long, snaky torpedo boat from out the haze came as a decided shock.
For one brief moment we of the after port stood as if turned to stone,
then every man ran to his quarters and stood ready to do his duty. With
a cry, our second captain sprang to the firing lanyard. Before he could
grasp it, however, the officer of the division was at his side.
"Stop!" he exclaimed authoritatively.
The interruption was fortunate, for, just then, a swerve of the oncoming
torpedo boat revealed a small flag flying from the taffrail staff. It
was the American ensign.
The reaction was great. Forgetting discipline, we crowded about the port
and laughed and cheered like a lot of schoolboys. Potter, in his joy and
evident relief, sent his canvas cap sailing through the air. A rebuke,
not very stern, however, came from the lieutenant in charge of the
division, and we shuffled back to our stations.
"Cricky! what a sell," exclaimed the second rifleman, grinning. "I was
sure we had a big job on our hands this time. I'm rather glad it is one
of our fellows after all."
"I'm not," spoke up young Potter, blusteringly. "What did we come out
here for, hey? I say it's a confounded shame. We might have had a chance
to send one of the Spaniards to the bottom."
"It may be a Dago after all," suggested "Bill," glancing from the port.
"The flag doesn't mean anything. They might be flying Old Glory as a
_ruse de guerre_. By George! That craft looks just like the 'Pluton.'"
We, who were watching, saw Potter's face lengthen. He peered nervously
at the rapidly approaching torpedo boat, and then tried to laugh
unconcernedly.
"You can't 'string' me," he retorted. "That's one of your Uncle Samuel's
boats all right. See! they are going to hail us."
A bell clanged in the engine room, then the throbbing of the machinery
slackened to a slow pulsation. The rudder chains rattled in their
fair-leaders, and presently we were steaming along, with the torpedo
craft a score of yards off our midships.
On the forward deck of the latter stood two officers clad in the uniform
of the commissioned service. One placed a speaking trumpet to his lips
and called out:
"Cruiser ahoy! Is that the 'Yankee'?"
"You have made a good guess," shouted Captain Brownson. "What boat is
that?"
"'Talbot' from Newport. Any news? Sighted you and thought we would speak
you."
Our commander assured them that we were in search of news ourselves. The
"Talbot's" officers saluted and then waved a farewell.
The narrow, low-lying craft spun about in almost her own length, a
series of quick puffs of dense black smoke came from the funnels, and
then the haze swallowed up the whole fabric.
We were left to take our discomfiture with what philosophy we could
muster. When "secure" was sounded we left our guns with a sense of great
danger averted and a feeling of relief.