THE DREADNOUGHT BOYS HAVE AN ADVENTURE.
The _Rhode Island_, the largest and fleetest of the big passenger
vessels plying Long Island Sound between New York and New England
ports, was ploughing her way through a wild, bitter night in the latter
part of March, down the narrow, tempestuous passage of water dividing
the mainland from the low-lying expanse of Long Island.
Although the snow swirled and the wind screamed through the vessel's
funnel stays and lofty wireless aerials as if it would root them
out, every window and porthole on her three lofty decks glowed with
a cheerful yellow light. The lively strains of an orchestra were
occasionally swirled away on the fierce wind, when the door of the main
saloon swung open to admit or give egress to a passenger.
The laboring vessel had run into the storm at sundown that evening,
and now, as she forged her way through the choppy seas off Point
Judith, she was, despite her great size, thrown and tossed about like
an empty bottle at the mercy of the seas.
As the vessel gave an unusually heavy plunge, the companion door once
more opened, and in the sudden flood of light that illumined the dark
decks for a brief interval, the stalwart figures of the two Dreadnought
Boys were revealed. Both wore heavy "service" overcoats buttoned up to
their chins, and these they secured more tightly about themselves as
they faced the storm.
Both lads were heavier, even more bronzed, and keener of eye than when
we saw them last. Their four months of vigorous training had, too,
given them a manly air of self-reliance.
"Wow!" exclaimed Herc, as the wind hit them full and square and gave
pause for a second even to their well-knit frames. "This is a hummer,
and no mistake, Ned!"
"Nothing to what we'll get when we go cruising under Uncle Sam's flag,"
laughed the other. "I tell you, Herc, that this isn't a circumstance to
the gales I've heard they get off Cape Hatteras."
"Why, what are you talking about?" rejoined Herc, pulling his cap
closer over his head of bright red hair. "This wind is worse than the
one that blew the roof off gran'pa's barn last New Year's eve, and that
was a hummer, if you like it!"
"Still thinking of the old farm and Lambs' Corners, eh?" laughed his
companion, with a hearty chuckle that sounded as if it came from the
depth of his full, deep chest and excellent lungs. "Well, now that
you're a full-fledged jackie, Herc, it's time to forget the stock and
the barnyard, and think of the big guns and the fighting tops."
"Well, anyhow," grunted Herc, as if to change the conversation,
"blowing as it is, I'd rather be out here than in that stuffy saloon,
for all the lights and the music and the dressed-up ladies."
"Same here," rejoined his companion. "Crickey! that was a lurch, if you
like! Hold on, Herc!" he shouted, as the other went sliding off across
the slippery deck, under the impetus of the plunge. "We don't want to
lose you just yet, you know. And, moreover, this is no skating rink,
but a passenger steamer carrying two new-fledged ordinary seamen----"
"Blamed ordinary!" grunted Herc, in parenthesis.
"From the Naval Training School at Newport to New York, to join their
ship, the U. S. S. _Manhattan_," went on Ned.
"Dreadnought, isn't she?" sputtered Herc, as a great, hurtling mass of
spray was flung aboard by the angry wind.
"That's right. The newest vessel in the navy. We're mighty lucky boys
to have got the berths."
"I agree with you," rejoined Herc, brushing his hand across his eyes,
where the tang of the salt water still stung him. "I'd be altogether
as satisfied as a woodchuck in a corn patch if only that fellow Hank
Harkins hadn't been detailed to the same squadron. He means to give us
trouble, Ned. I'm sure of it."
"I'm not afraid of any trouble that a bullying cad like Harkins can
make," was Ned's brisk reply. "Anyhow, he is detailed to duty on the
_Illinois_; and now, Herc, we've been standing here long enough. We'll
take a brisk walk around the decks, to get the cobwebs out of our
brains, and then we'll turn in--how's that suit you?"
"Fine," rejoined Herc, as the two young seamen started to circle the
swaying decks at a good brisk pace. "I'm as sleepy as Uncle Fred's
prize Berkshire after a bran mash."
Immediately on being passed at the New York recruiting office, the
lads, as we know, had been ordered to report at the training station at
Newport, where they had remained for the prescribed four months, being
given in that period a thorough schooling in the detail work of the
ordinary seaman in the United States navy. They had also gone through
setting-up exercises that had, even in that short period of time,
changed their physiques from the somewhat round-shouldered, slouching
aspect peculiar to country boys to the smart appearance and trim get-up
of Uncle Sam's sailors.
While in the school they had received a salary of seventeen dollars
and sixty cents a month, and as uniforms, food and washing were
all provided by the government, they had incurred no expenses, and
had a good part of their money in their pockets when they left the
training-school with their "papers" endorsed "Excellent" in red ink,
with a special "good-conduct" mention.
That afternoon they had embarked on the _Rhode Island_ for New York,
where the vessels of the North Atlantic squadron lay in the North
River, awaiting the command to leave for the naval base, at Guantanamo,
Cuba, for battle practice.
"Well, Herc," said Ned, after the two lads had circumnavigated the
slippery decks a few times, "let's turn in, for, if I'm not mistaken,
we have a trying day in front of us to-morrow."
As the boys were unlocking the door of their stateroom, which opened
directly onto the deck, the _Rhode Island_ gave a plunge that brought
her almost on her beam-ends, and sent Herc, who was balancing himself
as best he could, while Ned fiddled with the lock, careening full
against a tall, gray-mustached man of upright bearing, who was just
about to open the door of the stateroom adjoining the boys'.
Herc's heavy frame, with the added impetus given to it by the swerve of
the vessel, banged into the other with the force of a projectile, and
the two went struggling helplessly toward the scuppers.
Strive desperately as he would, Herc could not regain his balance, and
after waving his long, sinewy arms round a couple of times in a vain
effort to recover his equilibrium, he collapsed in a heap at the edge
of the deck. In his fall he brought down the dignified gentleman, who
in the meantime had been striving as hard as Herc to keep upright.
"I--I--I beg your pardon, I'm sure!" sputtered Herc, as he scrambled
to his feet and reached out a hand to assist the other to a standing
position. "It was quite an accident--as gran'pa said when Betsey, our
muley cow, kicked Lem Betts in the eye."
"Thank you, my lad," responded the other, accepting Herc's aid and
standing erect once more. "I am sure that, as in the case of your
grandfather's cow, the disaster was unintentional."
The boys, for Ned had by this time unlocked the door, and had been
taking in the embarrassing incident, regarded the tall stranger with
some interest. He was distinctly different from the ordinary citizen.
His skin was bronzed and weather-beaten, and, beneath his close-cropped
gray mustache, his mouth quivered humorously at poor Herc's obvious
embarrassment.
"Why," went on the object of their attention, regarding them in the
light which streamed from the open cabin door of the boys' stateroom,
"I see that you lads are both recruits to the navy. What ship, may I
ask?"
"The new Dreadnought _Manhattan_, sir," said Ned, proudly throwing out
his chest, as he always did instinctively when he mentioned the name of
the big fighting ship to which they had been assigned.
The gray-mustached man's eyes twinkled more than ever.
"The _Manhattan_, eh?" he repeated reflectively. "Well, in that case
we shall probably see more of each other. In any case, I thank you for
your assistance"--turning to Herc--"rendered after you had 'boarded' me
in such unceremonious fashion."
With a pleasant smile, he turned into his cabin, picking up as he did
so a suitcase which had been deposited by him at the stateroom door,
just before the unhappy Herc went careening across the deck.
"Say," whispered Herc, in an awed tone, as their new acquaintance
vanished into his room, "did you see the letters on the end of the
suitcase?"
"No," answered Ned sleepily, "I'm too tired to pay attention to
anything but that snug-looking bunk there."
So saying, he closed the door on the storm, and, seating himself on
the edge of a lounge at one end of the cabin, began to remove his shoes.
But Herc would not let the subject drop.
"Well, _I_ noticed them," he continued in the same awed voice, "and I
believe that we've got ourselves in bad right on the start."
"Why, what's the trouble, Herc?" inquired Ned, interested despite
himself in his red-headed companion's eager tone.
"Well," said Herc impressively, "it said 'F. A. D., Commander U. S.
N.,' on that suitcase, and it looks to me as if we had started our
career in the navy by an act 'of gross insubordination,' as they'd have
called it at Newport."
"How do you mean?" asked the sleepy Ned, stifling a yawn.
"Why, here am I, Herc Taylor, ordinary seaman, of Lambs' Corners, New
York, butting commanders about as if they were ninepins and I was a
bowling ball, that's all!" groaned Herc. "And that looks to me like a
first-class way to get in bad."
"Herc, you are incorrigible," groaned Ned; "and I agree with you. If
this adventure of yours doesn't turn out badly for both of us, I shall
be much surprised."