THE STUFF A JACKIE'S MADE OF.
Hastily the gunnery officer scribbled a note and handed it to Herc.
"Here, my man, take this to Captain Dunham," he said, thrusting the
paper into Herc's hand.
The red-headed boy was off like a flash, and a second later the
captain, who had already witnessed the signaling of the successful hit,
was reading the details of the wonderful results achieved with the new
gun.
He detained Herc several minutes while he asked him numerous questions
about the handling of the gun, all of which the boy answered so
intelligently as to bring nods of approbation from the group of
officers surrounding the commander of the _Manhattan_ on the vessel's
flying bridge.
By the time Herc started back for the turret, the _Manhattan_ was close
upon the second target.
"I've got to hurry," thought the boy, quickening his pace.
But before he had more than reached the midship section of the
Dreadnought another mighty shock set her stout frame aquiver, and Herc
knew another shot had been fired.
"Another hit!" he heard a shout go up an instant later. "We've got the
_Idaho_ folks lashed to the mast. They missed the first target."
But even as the cry reverberated along the decks there came another
sound that struck terror to the heart of the Dreadnought Boy.
It was a heavy, smothered explosion that seemed to come from within the
turret itself. At the same instant great clouds of yellow-colored smoke
began to roll from the top ventilators.
"It's a flareback!" Herc heard old Tom shout. "Heaven help the poor
souls in there!"
A flareback!
What the words meant Herc knew only too well. In the poisonous fumes of
the burning Chaosite, vomited backward from the big gun's breech, there
was quick, sure death.
Suddenly the small door in the barbette of the turret opened, and four
half-crazed, reeling men staggered out, bearing a limp form of a fifth.
It was Jim Cooper, the gun-pointer, they carried. Blackened and almost
unrecognizable as the men were, the look of blank horror on their faces
burned itself into Herc's mind.
"Where's the lieutenant and Mr. Varian? Where's Ned Strong?" the
jackies shouted, as they crowded round the staggering men. The
survivors could only wave their limp arms back toward the inferno from
which they had emerged.
"B-b-blown to b-b-blazes!" gasped one in a choked voice.
All at once, and before Captain Dunham and the officers could reach
the scene, a red-headed figure ripped off its blouse, and, wrapping it
about its head, plunged on all fours into the small door from which the
smoke-blackened five had emerged.
It was Herc Taylor.
"Stop that man!" shouted Captain Dunham, as he arrived, just in time to
see Herc vanish in the smoke.
An ensign plunged forward. Half a dozen bluejackets followed him.
"No, stop! Come back!" shouted the captain. "Enough lives have been
sacrificed."
Reluctantly the men came back. Tears rolled down the ensign's face
as he begged to be allowed to enter the turret. But the commander was
firm. No more lives would he have thrown away. For that Herc was doomed
to the same death as it seemed sure had overtaken the officer, Mr.
Varian and Ned Strong, seemed a definite certainty.
[Illustration: Captain Dunham himself caught Ned Strong as he fell.]
"Signal the flagship of the accident, Mr. Scott," ordered the captain,
whose face was set and white, but whose voice was steady as if he were
issuing a routine order.
"Aye, aye, sir."
The executive officer issued the necessary orders.
A second later the boom of the _Idaho's_ gun sounded.
Another miss.
"The _Manhattan_ wins the meat ball!" shouted some jackie far back in
the throng of anxious-faced, pallid men.
"Stow that, you lummox!" growled old Tom, and his admonition was echoed
angrily by a dozen tars. It would have fared hard with that jackie if
they could have laid hands on him.
The minutes rolled by and still there came no sign from within the
turret.
An ensign, despatched below by the captain, had reported that not a
single spark had dropped down the hoist.
"Gentlemen, that means that there was a hero in that turret!" exclaimed
the captain. "Before death came he closed those doors and in all
probability saved the ship."
The others nodded. It was not a situation in which words seemed
appropriate.
From the turret ventilators little smoke was now issuing. If any of the
four men inside that steel-walled trap remained alive, they stood a
fighting chance now.
Suddenly the jackies set up a roar.
From the turret door there staggered a black, weird figure; its clothes
hung in shreds and blood streamed from a dozen cuts and bruises. In
its arms this reeling figure carried another scarecrow-like form, the
latter half-naked, like its bearer.
The first figure turned toward the dumfounded group of officers with
a ghastly attempt at a smile on its blackened face, and then pitched
forward with its burden.
Captain Dunham himself caught Ned Strong as he fell. Mr. Scott, the
executive officer, as swift to act as his commander, had at the same
instant seized hold of the limp form of Lieutenant Timmons, which the
Dreadnought Boy had dragged from the jaws of death.
The doctor, a strange, soft light on his face, was still bending over
his so strangely restored patients, when another roar came from the
jackies. They seized each other and capered about like lunatics, and
not an officer checked them. Temporarily the _Manhattan_ housed a mob
of cheering, yelling maniacs.
For through the turret door there now emerged a second figure, but this
one bore a head of fiery red above his sooty countenance.
It was Herc, and with him he dragged out the collapsed figure of the
inventor.
The Dreadnought Boys had beaten the flareback at its own grisly game.
From the scorched lips of Lieutenant Timmons, who, besides a few burns
and the effects of the severe shock, had, like the others, miraculously
escaped injury, the captain that evening heard the whole story.
The flareback had come like a bolt from the blue while the gun crew,
still cheering Jim Cooper's second hit, were reloading.
The officer had felt himself blown back across the turret and smashed
against the steel wall. The place was filled with acrid smoke and
yelling, terrified men. Through the smoke glowed the blazing fragments
of Chaosite that had been spurted back out of the gun.
Dimly the officer had seen Ned Strong stagger through the smoke toward
the doors of the hoist, which were open preparatory to receiving
another load. At the same time Lieutenant Timmons was trying with
all his might to reach the same goal. He fell before he attained his
object, however, and the last thing he knew was that he saw Ned seize
the lever that swung the safety doors together and then collapse in a
heap.
The inventor had fared much as had the officer, except that he
succumbed to the fumes more quickly. He had managed, however, to
open the ventilators to their full capacity by seizing, with his
last conscious movement, the control that elevated them. This action
undoubtedly contributed in large measure to saving the lives of those
imprisoned in the death trap, for even Jim Cooper recovered, and a
court martial later acquitted Lieutenant Timmons of all blame.
* * * * *
The joy that ran through the fleet when it was learned that not a
single serious injury had resulted from the accident on the _Manhattan_
may be imagined. Battle practice, which had stopped for that day, was
ordered resumed on the morrow. But before that occurred another event
happened which marked the end of one of the boldest attempts on record
to steal one of Uncle Sam's most jealously guarded secrets.
The squadron was at anchor that evening, and retreat had just blown,
when the wireless operator of the Dreadnought sought Captain Dunham
with a paper in his hand.
It was a wireless from the launch sent after the Pulsifers and their
gang, and reported that the yacht had been intercepted and boarded, off
Boco del Toros, and that all the miscreants were captured.
The captain himself it was who sought out Ned and Herc, in the sick
bay, and communicated the news to them. Both boys had been placed on
the "binnacle list" under their protests; but, gritty as they were,
they had been ordered to the ship's hospital peremptorily.
The rest of the gun crew shared their retreat, though each and every
one of the rescued men declared that he was fit and able for duty.
As a matter of fact, however, all of them had had a severe shock, and
it was some days before they finally recovered and were about again
receiving the congratulations of their shipmates. In the meantime
battle practice went on, and the _Manhattan_ eventually won the
"meat-ball."
The boys received the news of the capture of the Pulsifers with a
cheer, feeble but sincere. The summary court martial called to decide
the cases of Carl Schultz, Silas, and Hank Harkins was convened the
next day, when the crest-fallen prisoners were brought back on board.
Schultz and Silas broke down under questioning and confessed that they
were escaped prisoners, and were returned to the Illinois authorities
to serve out life sentences for the murder of an old farmer near
Springfield many years before.
Ralph Kennell was sentenced to serve ten years in a government
penitentiary and to be dishonorably discharged from the service.
Hank Harkins escaped with a dishonorable discharge, on the boys'
intercession for him. As for the Pulsifers, they were given over to the
Federal authorities, and are now serving long terms at the Federal
prison in Atlanta, Georgia. Simultaneously with the discovery of the
plot, the Baron vanished from Washington, leaving a disappointed and
mystified fiancée. It was never learned for just what government the
Pulsifers had been engaged in their work of spying and bribing.
How Hank Harkins got mixed up with the plotters he explained to the
court martial. He had fallen into Schultz's and Silas' company in New
York and gambled much of his money away to them. Afraid to write home
for more, he had cast about for a way to recruit his finances, and when
Schultz and Silas suggested that he join them in the work they had
undertaken for the Pulsifers, he willingly agreed.
A few days after Ned and Herc were once more up and about--for they had
been "binnacled" while the above events transpired--they were summoned
aft to the captain's cabin, and told that on the return of the fleet
to American waters they were to report to the Secretary of the Navy at
Washington without delay. This event occurred in the early part of June.
The two lads, brown-faced and alert, but somewhat alarmed at the
prospect of encountering such a mighty personage as the Secretary of
the Navy, called at the department, according to instructions, and
sent in their names.
"Send them right in," came a hearty voice, although there was a long
row of visitors ahead of the Dreadnought Boys.
"And so you are the two lads that Captain Dunham thinks more about than
any bluejackets in the service," began the secretary, a keen-faced,
slender man, with a bristly black mustache and kindly, penetrating
eyes. "These are the lads," he went on, turning to a portly man with a
gray mustache and a pleasant smile, who stood behind him.
The stout man stepped forward, and as he did so the boys were struck
with an air of dignity he bore about him, which was even more
impressive than that which hedged the secretary about.
"My lads," he said, "I have heard with interest and deep admiration
of your bravery, and, better than that, your cool-headedness when the
accident that imperilled every soul on the _Manhattan_ occurred. Had it
not been for the pluck of one of you, a disaster which would have been
historic in its horror might have occurred. I refer to your action in
closing the safety doors, Strong.
"And you, Taylor"--Herc turned as red as his own thatch--"you are also
deserving of the highest praise. Your action in entering what seemed
a certain death trap was heroic in the extreme. The United States
Government is proud of you both, and I am authorized to pin upon you,
as unfading mementoes of your conduct, these."
From two blue plush cases the portly man with the kind smile drew two
gold badges which he pinned on the breast of each Dreadnought Boy.
They were the coveted medals of honor.
"I know that you will wear them with the highest appreciation of their
significance. I congratulate you both."
The portly man turned to the secretary with a smile.
"I think that is all, Mr. Secretary," he said.
"I believe so, Mr. President," said the secretary, rising and opening
the door.
The boys' eyes fairly popped in their heads. Herc's amazement actually
overcame his sense of discipline.
"Oh, sir, was that the President himself?" he quavered, as the
secretary returned to his desk.
"It was," smiled the secretary, "and he was here at his own special
wish. He ordered a detailed report made of your actions to him and
investigated your case carefully. You young men have been rarely and
highly honored. And now one thing remains to be done. You have received
the highest honor the navy can confer for heroism displayed in line
of duty. The government has for actions like yours a more substantial
reward. I present you with these two purses, each containing a hundred
dollars in gold."
The boys stammered their thanks somehow, while the room seemed to
whirl round them. How they ever got out once more on to the sunlit
Pennsylvania Avenue they often discussed afterward, but never arrived
at any satisfactory conclusion.
"I guess we flew," Herc always says; "I know I felt as if I was walking
on air."
The Dreadnought Boys had a two weeks' furlough before rejoining the
fleet. They spent part of this in New York, seeing the sights, not
forgetting a visit to the office where they had enlisted, and a portion
of it in the old village, where, as may be imagined, they were the
"heroes of the hour." Old Zack still exhibits a dented Canadian dime
with which Ned presented him as a souvenir. The village band, not to
be behindhand, learned to play a series of strange discords declared by
them to be the navy's own, particular march, "Nancy Lee."
And so, with their hearts overflowing with patriotism, and a fixed
determination ever to serve the flag and their country with an
unflagging devotion, we will for the present take our leave of the
Dreadnought Boys.
But many adventures, stranger and more fraught with peril than any
through which they had yet passed, were ahead of them. A career in the
navy is, even in "the piping times of peace," one full of excitement
and action, and in their immediate future the boys were to realize this.
Life on board a torpedo-boat destroyer is a strange one in many ways,
and the boys, in their coming experience on such a craft were destined
to have this borne in on them. Their adventures on one of Uncle Sam's
sea-tigers in a strange country and among strange people will be
related in full in the next volume of this series, THE DREADNOUGHT BOYS
ABOARD A DESTROYER.
THE END.
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Dreadnought Boys Series
BY
Capt. WILBUR LAWTON.
Modern Stories of the New Navy.
Cloth Bound Price, 50¢ per volume.
The Dreadnought Boys on Battle Practice.
How many times have you paused to gaze provided you live in a maritime
town of course, at Uncle Sam's grim, gray sea-fighters swinging at
their anchors, or steaming majestically by? Haven't you thought then
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soon set themselves on a footing. From that moment on adventures come
thick and fast. At target practice Herc-by a mean trick of his enemy
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THE DREADNOUGHT BOYS ABOARD A DESTROYER.
The adventures of two young men of wars-men on board one of the
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The part the boys played in the revolution which threatened to bankrupt
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The excitement of warfare on sea and land, the thrill of sustained
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The Motor Rangers' Lost Mine.
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Naturally, as one would judge from the title, the lost mine, which
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This is a brisk, vigorous, snappy, story in which winter
sports--snowshoeing, skating, rabbit hunting, and such--are features.
In the tale Rodney Grant, a young Texas cowboy, appears at Oakdale and
attends the academy, being adjudged an imposter by the New England
lads, who entertain a mistaken notion that all Texans swagger and
bluster and talk in the vernacular. As Grant is quiet and gentlemanly
in his bearing and will not, for some mysterious reason, take part
in certain violent sports, they erroneously imagine him to be a
coward; but eventually, through the demands of necessity and force of
circumstances, the fellow from Texas is led to prove himself, which
he does in a most effective manner, becoming, for the time being, at
least, the hero of the village. This is a story of vigorous, healthy
boys and their likes and dislikes; it is brimming over with human
nature and, while true to real life, is as fascinating as the most
imaginative yarn of adventure.
* * * * * *
Transcriber's note:
Retained some inconsistent spacing and hyphenation from the original
(e.g. "postoffice" vs. "post office" and "flagship" vs. "flag-ship").
Retained some hyphens from the original that might better be dashes
(e.g. "er-er," "Herc-by").
Page 30, changed "exam-ing" to "examining" ("examining the prospects").
Page 59, italics around "I mean business" are inconsistent with italics
around "mean business" in accompanying plate; this inconsistency is
retained from the original.
Page 79, changed "gasolene" to "gasoline" for consistency ("darted
light gasoline boats").
Page 109, changed "steam-stearing gear" to "steam-steering gear."
"Aboard a Destroyer" ad, added apostrophe to "citizens' interests" and
changed "predecssor" to "predecessor."