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Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
[Illustration: A FEW STROKES BROUGHT HIM ALONGSIDE THE FLOAT, AND HE
SCRAMBLED UP ITS WET SIDES.
Page 209]
THE DREADNOUGHT BOYS ON BATTLE PRACTICE
by
CAPTAIN WILBUR LAWTON
New York
Hurst & Company
Publishers
Copyright, 1911,
by
Hurst & Company
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A RED-HOT STOVE AND DESTINY 5
II. "WE'RE GOING TO JOIN THE NAVY" 17
III. UNCLE SAM GETS TWO RAW RECRUITS 28
IV. THE DREADNOUGHT BOYS HAVE AN ADVENTURE 42
V. TWO LADS WITH THE "RIGHT RING" 51
VI. A COWARD'S BLOW 62
VII. "WE ARE PART OF THE FLEET" 70
VIII. HERC TAKES A COLD BATH 83
IX. A NAVAL INITIATION 98
X. NED HOLDS HIS COUNSEL 106
XI. BREAKING TWO ROOKIES 116
XII. A BULLY GETS A LESSON 126
XIII. HERC LEARNS WHAT "THE BRIG" IS 136
XIV. A PLOT OVERHEARD 143
XV. ORDERED AFT 154
XVI. A BIT OF PROMOTION 163
XVII. JIU-JITSU VS. MUSCLE 171
XVIII. THE BOYS GET ACQUAINTED WITH BIG GUNS 183
XIX. IN THE MIDST OF PEACE 192
XX. HERC A LIVING TARGET 200
XXI. AFLOAT AND ASHORE 212
XXII. A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE 223
XXIII. A JACKIE AGAINST WOLVES 231
XXIV. IN THE PULSIFERS' HANDS 242
XXV. THREE MINUTES OF LIFE 253
XXVI. A BLUFF CALLED 264
XXVII. A STRANGE RETURN 273
XXVIII. A HIT WITH CHAOSITE 282
XXIX. THE STUFF A JACKIE'S MADE OF 292
The Dreadnought Boys On Battle Practice.
CHAPTER I.
A RED-HOT STOVE AND DESTINY.
"Isn't it a dandy picture--the real thing--just as I've always imagined
it. Herc!"
Ned Strong wheeled from the gaudily colored lithograph he had been
admiring, and turned to a red-headed youth of about his own age--almost
eighteen--who stood beside him in the postoffice and general store at
Lambs' Corners, a remote village in the Catskill mountains.
"It's purty as a yearling colt," responded the lad addressed, examining
once more, with an important air of criticism, the poster in question.
The lithograph had been tacked up only the day before, but by this time
half the boys in the neighboring country had examined it.
The poster represented a stalwart, barefooted jackie, in Uncle Sam's
natty uniform, standing on the flying-bridge of a battleship and
"wig-wagging" the commanding officer's messages. The bright-red signal
flag, with its white center, which he wielded, made a vivid splash
of color. In the background a graphically depicted sea, flecked
with "whitecaps," was pictured. As a whole, the design was one well
calculated to catch the attention of all wholesome, adventurous lads,
particularly two, who, like our new acquaintances, had never seen any
water but the Hudson River. Indeed, as that majestic stream lay twenty
miles from their home, they had only set eyes on that at long intervals.
"Look how that ship seems to ride that sea--as if those racing waves
didn't bother her a bit," went on Ned, dwelling on the details of the
poster, which was issued to every postoffice in the land by the Bureau
of Navigation.
"And look at the sailor," urged Herc Taylor, Ned's cousin. Herc had
been christened Hercules by his parents, who, like Ned's, had died in
his infancy, but Herc he had always been and was likely to remain.
"What's he waving at--sea-cows?"
"See here, Herc Taylor, this is serious. Wouldn't working for Uncle Sam
in a uniform like that on a first-class fighting-ship suit you better
than doing chores? How would a life on the ocean wave appeal to you,
eh?" inquired Ned, with rather a mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes.
"First-rate," rejoined Herc. "It makes me think of those sea
stories--those you are so fond of reading, Ned, 'Frank on a Gunboat,'
and the rest."
"I guess a modern Dreadnought is a whole lot different to the vessels
on board which Frank fought," smiled Ned; "but I must admit that that
picture has put some queer notions into my head, too."
"For instance, what?" demanded Herc, in whose eyes there was a glimmer
which would have said plain as a pike-staff to those who knew him that
the red-headed lad had come to some sort of determination.
"For instance, that I'd like to be a sailor for Uncle Sam, and work my
way up, like some of those admirals and naval heroes we've read about!"
exclaimed Ned, with considerable animation.
"Shake!" cried Herc; "that's what I've been thinking of ever since I
saw that picture----"
"Which was ten minutes ago," put in Ned.
"Never mind; you haven't been looking at it any longer, and I can see
that you are as hard hit by the idea of joining the navy as I am,"
briskly interrupted Herc.
"I don't know but what you are right, Herc," rejoined Ned thoughtfully.
"I've been thinking that if we go on as we are, we will be doing the
same old round of duties on grandpa's farm ten years from now, just as
we are doing to-day. Things don't change much in the country, as you
know, while in the navy----"
Ned stopped, but his glowing face and sparkling eyes finished the
speech for him.
"While in the navy, bing! bang!--Promotion.--Fire the
guns!--Target!--Good shot!--First mate!--Medal!--Introduction to the
president.--Up in the fighting-top.--Down in a submarine.--Bottom of
the sea.--Top of the mast--whoop!" exploded Herc, in a way that he had
when he was excited. It was for all the world like listening to the
detonations of an exploding package of firecrackers.
"Well, the poster here _does_ say that there are a lot of good chances
for promotion," soberly put in Ned, who had been examining the text
below the lithograph with some attention, while Herc had been
exploding. "I've a good mind to try it, Herc," he concluded suddenly.
"Count me in on that, too," heartily rejoined his cousin, giving a
few impromptu steps of what he declared was a sailor's hornpipe;
"and when we're both admirals we'll come back here and astonish the
natives--including Hank Harkins."
"Who said Hank Harkins?" growled a harsh voice from the rear of the
store, for the postoffice was tucked away in one corner of the Lambs'
Corners Emporium, in which, it was the boast of its proprietor, you
could buy anything from a needle to a gang-plow.
As the words reached the boys' ears, a tall, hulking youth, of about
their own age--shouldered his way through the knot of loungers gathered
about the stove--for it was December, and cold.
"I'll thank you two to keep my name out of your conversation," growled
the newcomer, as he lurched up to the cousins.
"Oh, we'd not use it unless we had to," rejoined Herc, facing round,
his red hair seeming to bristle like the hackles on the back of an
angry dog. "Since you were mean enough to persuade your father to
post his land against us so that we could not take the short cut to
the store, we are not likely to want to discuss your points,--good or
otherwise--promiscuous."
"See here, Herc Taylor," glowered Hank, who had considerable reputation
in the village as a bully, and had sustained his renown as a hard
fighter and wrestler in many a tough contest, "I don't know what you
mean by promiscuous----"
"No, I didn't think you would," grinned Herc cheerfully.
"But I want to tell you here and now, that if I have any more of your
impudence, I'm going to lick you, and lick you good," concluded the
bully; his enmity to the two boys, who lived on an adjoining farm to
his father's, not at all allayed by Herc's aggressive tone and evident
contempt.
"And I want to tell you that we don't want anything to do with you,"
retorted Herc; "we're mighty particular about our company."
"You young whelp, I'll have to teach you some manners," grated Hank
angrily, edging up threateningly toward the red-headed youth, who, for
his part, did not budge the fraction of an inch.
"You'll be a teacher who never studied then," retorted Herc hotly, as
he turned away to join Ned, who had been regarding the disputants with
narrowed eyes, but had said nothing so far. He knew Hank Harkins for
a bully, and believed him to be a coward at heart, but he had no wish
to get into a fistic argument with him in a public place like Goggins'
store and postoffice.
But by this time a number of the loungers about the stove had become
attracted by the raised tones of Hank and Herc and crowded around the
two; and Hank, nothing loth to having an audience, proceeded to give
Herc what he elegantly termed a "tongue-lashing."
"So far as posting our farm went," he sputtered vindictively, "you know
why that was done, to keep you two from pot-hunting over it. Killing
every rabbit you could and pulling down walls to get them out. Why,"
exclaimed Hank, turning to the auditors who stood with gaping mouths
in various interested postures, "those two fellows made a hole in our
south wall that let our whole herd of milch cows through, and----"
He stopped short at a sudden interruption.
"That's a lie." The words came from Ned Strong.
"Yes, you know it is. You pulled down that wall yourself and then to
escape getting in trouble with your father you blamed us for it,"
snapped Herc.
The bully's face twitched. He grew pale with anger and his rage was
none the less because he knew Herc's charges to be true.
"Call me a liar, will you?" he gritted out, springing at Ned with
considerable agility, considering his hulking frame and general
appearance of clumsy strength.
"Take that!"
Smack!
The bully's big hand landed fair on Ned's cheek, bruising it and
raising an angry crimson mark.
Unwilling as Ned was to fight in such a place, the insult was too
maddening to be allowed to go unnoticed by any one but an arrant
coward; and Ned was far from being that.
Before Hank had gathered himself together from the force of his
unexpected blow, the quiet Ned was transformed from his usual docile
self, into a formidable antagonist. His eyes blazed with anger as he
crouched into a boxing posture for a breath, and then lunged full at
Hank Harkins, who met the lighter lad's onslaught with a defiant sneer.
So quickly had it all happened that no one had had time to say a word,
much less to interfere. Paul Stevens, the owner of the store, was out
in the granary at the back helping a farmer get a load of oats onto his
wagon.
The loungers, nothing averse to having the monotony of their unceasing
discussions of the crops and politics interrupted in such dramatic
fashion, fell back to give the battlers room. Not one of them, however,
dreamed of but one issue to the battle and that was that Ned Strong
was in for a terrible thrashing; but, as the seconds slipped by, and
several blows had been exchanged between the two, it began to appear
that Ned was not going to prove such an easy prey as had at first
seemed manifest.
Hank Harkins himself, who had been surprised at any resistance from
Herc's cousin, began to look uneasy as Ned, instead of going down
before the perfect hail of blows the bully delivered, skillfully
avoided most of the lunges and contented himself with ducking and
dodging; only changing his tactics now and then to deliver a blow when
he saw a favorable opportunity.
"Good boy, Ned," breathed Herc, as he saw his companion wading into
Hank Harkins in such surprising style.
Even the loyal Herc had not hitherto dreamed that beneath Ned's quiet
personality had been hidden such ability to take care of himself.
Hank, after the first few minutes, was breathing heavily, and the sweat
began to pour off his face. A pampered, only son, he never did much
hard work about the farm, whereas Ned's muscles were trained fine as
nickel-steel by hay-pitching, wood-sawing and other strenuous tasks.
His training stood him in good stead now.
Overmatched by Hank, he undoubtedly was, but his hard frame was
the more enduring. Hank's punches, terrific enough at first, began
gradually to grow weaker, more particularly as most of them had been
wasted on empty space.
Finally Hank, perceiving that he was reaching the end of his rope,
clenched his teeth and, with set face and narrowed eyes, made up his
mind to end the fight in one supreme effort.
He hurled himself on his lighter antagonist like a thunderbolt, but
Ned, with a skillful duck, avoided the full fury of the onslaught, and
rising just as the bully launched his blows into thin air, caught his
lumbering opponent full under the chin.
Swinging his arms, like a scarecrow in a windstorm, the bully plunged
backward under the effective blow.
"Hurray for Ned Strong!" shouted Herc ecstatically, as the bully's big
frame reeled staggeringly backward.
The next minute, however, his delight changed to a groan of dismay as
Hank, unable to control himself, crashed, full tilt, into the stove.
With a deafening clatter, like that of a mad bull careening round a
tinware shop, the heater and its long pipe, came toppling in a sooty
confusion to the ground. Red-hot coals shot out in every direction.
In the midst of the wreckage sprawled the unlucky bully, his features
bedaubed with black. Through this mask his look of puzzled rage at
his defeat came so comically that Ned and Herc could not restrain
themselves, but, even in the face of the disaster to the store stove,
burst into uncontrollable fits of laughter. In the meantime some one
hurled a bucket of water on the coals, and the bully was drenched.
The onlookers, their risibilities also tickled by the downfall of the
bully, and the noisy demolition of the stove, joined in the merriment
and the laden shelves of the store were echoing to a perfect tempest of
laughter when suddenly the rear door opened and Paul Stevens entered. A
look of dismay appeared on his lean features as his eyes lighted on the
wreckage.
With him was another figure whose unexpected appearance caused the
boys' faces to assume almost as dismayed a look as the countenance of
the storekeeper.
"Grandfather!" gasped Ned, as his eyes encountered the angry glare of
the newcomer's pale orbs.
"Yes,--grandfather," snapped the other, whose weather-beaten face was
adorned with a tuft of gray hair on the chin, in the style popularly
known as "the goatee."
"What have you got to say in explanation of this?"
As he rasped out this query in a harsh, rusty voice like the creaking
of a long disused hinge, old Zack Strong pointed to the wreckage. From
the midst of it was rising the bully, plentifully besmeared with soot,
but doing his best to maintain a look of injured innocence.