[Illustration]
“I SUPPOSE, Captain,” said Dr. Hartel to Allan, “that if we have war—”
“If we have war!” cried Allan; “we _must_ have war. They have blown up
one of our battle ships!”
“Well,” said the Doctor, quietly, “we don’t know that yet. And I should
hardly say that we must have war. War is a very serious business.”
“I think we ought to make it very serious for the other side,” insisted
Allan, heatedly.
“It would be very serious for both sides,” said the Doctor. “I was going
to say that I supposed you would want to go to the front with your
camera. There seems to be no doubt of that.”
“I should rather go with a gun,” said Allan.
“With your kodak on your shoulder?”
“You are making fun of me, father.”
“I hope you don’t wish me to take you seriously.”
“No,” interposed Edith; “no one shall take him seriously. The idea! If
he talks war like this, we’ll lock him up in the dark-room.”
“With nothing to eat but pyro and hypo,” laughed Mrs. Hartel.
“Look out!” pursued the Doctor, with a twinkle in his eye, “or the
Captain may indignantly resign his commission.”
“Anyway,” said Allan, “if I was a few years older, I’d join Company K.”
The fate of the _Maine_ and the prospect of war entirely changed the
current of photographic enthusiasm at the club. The boys, especially,
turned unanimously to war themes. Owen had made some pictures at the
Brooklyn Navy Yard when he first had his camera. He had a picture of the
_Boston_ taking coal, and another showing the terrible twin guns in the
forward turret of the _New York_. At the second lantern show in
February, Major Mines displayed the mechanism of some of the rapid-fire
guns, and had a capital plate showing the disappearing gun at Sandy
Hook. The pictures were all quite warlike at this February meeting.
At the March meetings there came pictures of the forts in the harbor,
camera sketches by Mr. Thornton from the State Camp at Peekskill the
year before, and Mrs. Creigh’s picture made on the deck of the _Maine_.
Then came the declaration of war, the thrill of Dewey’s victory at
Manila, the capture of the first sea prizes, the stir and excitement of
recruiting. Big McConnell joined Company K.
Hazenfield broke out with all sorts of flags. Little McConnell boasted
that he hoisted the first flag in the town; though this seemed to be a
matter of debate, since Allan had swung out the Hartel flag immediately
after breakfast on reading of the actual declaration of war.
[Illustration:
“The ‘sky scrapers.’”
]
For the next six months a large proportion of Allan’s pictures had flags
in them. Indeed, there was a great deal of flag in everything for a
time. When Allan was in New York in July and looked up at the “sky
scrapers,” the sky seemed full of flags.
Of course the boys of the club lamented that they could not be at the
front. The next best thing was to go to the camps; and this they did,
and found the soldiers so accustomed to cameras that being photographed
seemed to cause them no uneasiness or resentment whatever.
[Illustration:
A “snap” at a cruiser.
]
The chief trouble, Allan found, was that he had to promise a good many
prints to different soldiers who stood for him or helped him with groups
and camp scenes. He had learned that promising prints is one of the most
entertaining features of photography, and that keeping the promises is
one of the most troublesome. However, a soldier seemed to deserve a
print if he wanted it, and Allan never promised prints with more of
genuine willingness than during the exciting weeks of the war.
It was at the Hempstead Camp that Allan, McConnell, and Owen found Big
McConnell, who had become a corporal, and who was glad to show the boys
around.
“I’m dead tired of this show,” grumbled Big McConnell. “I wish they’d
send us somewhere. The rations are spoiling my naturally sweet
disposition. You didn’t happen to see the pie-woman, did you, as you
came in?”
“No,” said Allan.
“I’m looking for her about now,” went on Big McConnell. “I need pie, I
do.”
“Doesn’t the cook give you pie once in a while?”
“Pie?” shouted Big McConnell. “Well, I guess not. I wish you could
photograph the slush we had for dinner. You would need an orthochromatic
plate and a microscopic lens.”
“Did you finish the box mother sent down?” asked Little McConnell.
“Finish it?” His brother looked down in dramatic disdain. “Young fellow,
I was eating the nails in the cover before eleven o’clock the next day.”
“I wonder what makes you so hungry?” said Little McConnell.
The Corporal pointed across the field where the second battalion was
drilling. “That, for one thing. Did you ever stop to think how heavy a
musket is, and how many times its weight doubles in an hour’s drill?”
Across the company street Corporal Dacey was showing his cousin Cora how
to hold a musket, and they all laughed at Cora’s brave attempt to ignore
the weight of the weapon.
[Illustration:
“How to hold a musket.”
]
Over by the Y. M. C. A. tent Big McConnell found the pie-woman, and they
all went to work on pie of various denominations.
“What kind is yours?” asked Owen of the Corporal.
“I don’t know,” grunted Big McConnell, his mouth full. “All pie tastes
alike to me. What’s the Captain doing?”
This meant Allan, who had slipped off with his camera. McConnell, who
went to reconnoitre, reported that Allan was taking a group of soldiers.
The Corporal looked out. “The old guard,” he said.
“What is the ‘old guard’?” asked Owen.
“They are changing the guard,” replied the Corporal. “This is the guard
that has just come off duty. I shouldn’t think there was light enough
left for a picture.”
The day had almost gone, and in half an hour the boys were on the train
again on their way back to New York, where the newsboys were shouting
about battles, and the papers had stupendous news eight inches high.
“I hear,” said Owen, “that our smoky powder is making it awfully hard
for anybody to get good bombardment pictures.” Allan thought it would be
hard to report a bombardment from the ship that was doing the
bombarding. “But I can’t see,” he said, “why they shouldn’t get good
shots from the boats that were looking on.” “I tell you what I’d like to
have had,” said McConnell, “and that was a good chance at that Matanzas
mule when the shell hit him!”
[Illustration:
“‘The old guard.’”
]
Both Allan and McConnell were greatly interested in the war-ships, and
read news of their doings with particular attention. When the victorious
ships of Sampson’s fleet returned northward, the club hired a launch and
went down the river to see and picture the inspiriting naval parade. The
scenes in the bay and up the river to Grant’s tomb furnished material
for one of the most beautiful lantern displays the club ever held.
Allan determined to make a special trip to see and to photograph the
_Oregon_, of which he was a great admirer, because “the bull-dog of the
navy” seemed to embody so much of what was most American in the United
States battle ships. When the _Oregon_ and _Iowa_ afterward came out of
dry dock, and were ordered away to Manila, Allan and McConnell started
off early one morning for Tompkinsville, Staten Island, off which town
the war-ships were to anchor.
It happened, however, that the _Iowa_ had not yet come into the bay,
though the _Brooklyn_ was there, and the boys recognized the graceful
prow of the _Gloucester_, the plucky little converted yacht that had
figured so prominently and creditably at the sinking of Cervera’s fleet.
It was the _Oregon_, however, that the boys most wished to see more of,
and to photograph at close quarters.
The boatmen at Tompkinsville had been charging high prices since the
fighting ships had anchored off shore, and the boys were a little
discouraged in their first inquiries.
In the midst of their discouragement a sailorish-looking man on one of
the docks asked them if they wanted a cheap boat. This was precisely
what the boys did want, and they indicated the fact to the
sailorish-looking man, who thereupon lifted his finger and motioned to
the boys to follow him.
The boys followed their guide for some distance and finally reached a
low-roofed shop where a man with a pipe was scraping an oar. This man
had a dory, but he would not rent it unless he went with it. “I’ll tell
you what I’ll do,” he said, “I’ll row you around all the ships for a
dollar.”
“No,” said Allan, “that’s too much.”
[Illustration:
“The graceful prow of the _Gloucester_.”
]
“Too much!” cried the man who had a dory, “why, I have been getting a
dollar and a half a trip. What did you expect to pay?”
“I expected to pay about fifty cents an hour,” admitted Allan. “And an
hour was all we wanted.”
“Well, I’ll be losin’ money,” said the man; “but call it seventy-five
cents.”
The boys finally agreed to these terms and were soon afloat with the
dory, the man pulling at the oars and asking questions about the
cameras.
“Sakes alive!” he said, “but there’s been camera cranks around here. It
must be lots of fun, though.” There was a strong tide and the man had to
bend hard at the oars while Allan and McConnell adjusted their cameras
and peeped at the war-ships with the aid of their finders.
It was rather a misty morning. There was a peculiar silvery light on the
water and the ships looked queerly on the shadow side next the shore.
The _Gloucester_ was dainty and trim. To make the glimpse of her more
entertaining, a message arrived on a launch, and within five minutes the
anchor had been lifted and she steamed away, evidently toward the
Brooklyn Yard. The _Brooklyn_, with the shot-hole in her smoke-stack
(carefully pointed out by the man of the dory), floated quietly at her
moorings. There was bustle on the _Oregon_—and it was washday,
evidently.
“I wonder,” said Allan, resentfully, “why they always have their wash
out when a fellow wants to make pictures?”
The man of the dory laughed. He couldn’t explain it, he said.
“How near do you want to get?” he asked. “I want a good full-length
picture,” said Allan. “I think we are far enough away from her now if
you will pull south a little ways.”
When they had pulled south for a short distance Allan found that the
three hundred feet of the _Oregon_ required a long range, and the man
swung the bow again to the east.
They had made several shots from their seats; but Allan now stood on the
forward seat, the man slowing down again as Allan got the range.
“I’ll steady you,” said McConnell, bracing Allan and watching the
_Oregon_ as her lines swung into favorable view.
“Click!” sounded the camera, and Allan rolled the film for another shot,
this time getting an almost perfect profile of the ship.
“Now, McConnell, I’ll steady you.”
“Oh, never mind,” said McConnell, confidently; “I think I could stand
better alone.”
“Pull up a few strokes,” Allan suggested to the oars-man, for the tide
was carrying them north. “Better let me hold you, McConnell.”
But McConnell, who was studying his finder, protested that he was all
right. And he did make a successful shot with no more assistance than
Allan’s one hand at his back—assistance which he seemed to feel that he
might have done without. Yet his confidence, if it had not been too
great when he occupied a place on the seat, made him reckless in the
moment of his success; for in stepping down his foot slipped, and the
quick turn which he made to save himself sent him into the bay.
[Illustration:
“‘I’ll steady you,’ said McConnell.”
]
Allan sprang forward to reach McConnell, and the boatman tugged at the
oars in the moment of confusion when he did not realize on which side of
the stern the boy had fallen. There was a stir among the jackies in the
starboard bow of the _Oregon_.
“I’m all right!” shouted McConnell.
Allan had caught an oar from the boatman’s hand and now held it within
McConnell’s reach.
“I don’t want that!” laughed McConnell, as he swam to the side of the
dory. But he consented to let the boatman and Allan lift him over the
side.
“Pull ashore!” said Allan to the boatman. “We must get these clothes dry
somehow.”
“Well, we had all we wanted everyway, didn’t we?” said McConnell, trying
to wring some of the water out of his clothes. “Wasn’t it good that the
camera dropped into the boat!”
Allan had scarcely noticed what became of the camera. He had a feeling
of being responsible in some degree for McConnell’s mishap, and realized
that the wet clothes must be removed at the earliest possible moment,
for it was a cool morning that threatened a chill.
As the boatman pulled under the bow of the _Oregon_, there was a shout
from some of the jackies, and McConnell waved his hat, which the boatman
had recovered with his oar.
“And so,” said McConnell to his mother that afternoon, “we went to the
boatman’s shop and he rubbed me down with a dirty, rough towel, and put
my clothes to dry by the stove while I sat on a stool with Allan’s coat
and an old pair of overalls on, and something like a boat sail wrapped
around me. Then Allan got me a cup of tea and a sandwich from a
restaurant. It was great fun; and we’ve got all the ships!”
Allan’s report was somewhat different, naturally, but it was fully as
enthusiastic in the matter of the pictures of the famous ships.
As for McConnell, he dried off so thoroughly in the boatman’s shop that
he suffered not a whit from his ducking.
“There’s no harm in a salt-water wetting,” he said, “and I got a good
snap-shot at the war-ships, anyhow.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------