IN THE THICK OF THE FIGHT
The methods of strategy by which the German Navy, or a large part of it,
was tolled out of its impregnable hiding place the Navy boys did not
learn till long afterwards. But Phil, at least, half realized that the
German High Command believed that the way to shelling the British coast
by her great naval guns was at last opened.
The Allied fleet moved on a certain day and at a certain hour, and with
the open sea as its destination. It was a calm and utterly peaceful sea
through which the _Kennebunk_ sailed with her sister ships.
The high bow of the superdreadnaught crashed through the seething
waters. Her lookouts traced the course of each tiny blot upon the
distant sea-line.
Suddenly, out of the north, appeared a scout cruiser, her funnels
vomiting volumes of dense smoke that flattened down oilily upon the sea
in her wake. Her stern guns spat viciously at some craft of low
visibility which followed her.
Immediately everybody aboard the _Kennebunk_ forgot the other ships of
the squadron. The enemy was in sight, and the work would be cut out for
every man aboard the superdreadnaught.
The cruiser came leaping toward the fleet, her signal flags fluttering
messages. A gun boomed on the flagship. Bugles shrilled from every deck
of the _Kennebunk_.
Messages were wigwagged from ship to ship. But aboard the _Kennebunk_
there was just one order that interested every one.
"Clear decks for action!"
The divisions responded to the notes of the bugle with a snappiness that
delighted the officers on the bridge. As they had gone through the
manoeuvres a thousand times in practice, so now they faced the enemy
with the same precision.
Ventilators, life-lines, parts of the superstructure and deck woodwork
came down and were stowed in their proper place. Boats dropped from
their davits, were hurriedly lashed together, their plugs pulled, and
left to sink, riding attached to sea anchors formed of their own spars
and oars. "Cleared for action!" when reported to the commander meant
exactly that! Not a superfluous object in the way of the activities of a
fighting crew.
"Battle stations!"
The four friends from Seacove knew exactly where they were to be all
through the battle--if they lived. Whistler knew that he was to stand in
the corridor of the handling-room for Turret Number Two, until he was
called to relieve some wounded or exhausted member of his gun crew. His
immediate order was to "stand by."
Every other individual aboard the _Kennebunk_ had his station, from the
firemen shoveling tons of coal into the fiery maws of the furnaces to
keep the indicator needles of the steam-gages at a certain figure, to
the range-finders high up in the fighting-tops, bending over their
apparatus.
In the turrets the officers fitted telephone receivers to their heads.
The gunners, literally "stripped for action" to their waists, their
glistening, supple bodies as alert as panthers, crouched over the
enormous guns.
Up from the sea appeared the great fighting machines of the enemy. They
could not run away this time. Inveigled into range of the Allied ships,
the Hun must fight at last!
A word spoken into a telephone from the conning tower to one of the
fighting tops! Then, an instant later, to Turret Number One! A roar that
shook the ship and seemed to shake the very heavens, while the flash of
the fourteen-inch rifle blinded for a second the spectators!
A cheer rose from all parts of the ship, even before the tops signaled
a hit. After that the men fought the ship in silence.
Alone in the corridor, Whistler Morgan felt that it would be easier to
be on active duty in this time of stress. Yet he had been taught that
his station was quite as important as that of any other man or boy
aboard.
Through the half open door of the handling room he heard other men
loading powder bags and shells upon the electric ammunition hoist that
led to the turret above.
Suddenly the whole ship staggered. A deafening explosion, different from
that of the guns, shocked him. An enemy shell had burst aboard the
_Kennebunk_!
"Relief!"
Whistler sprang through the corridor and up to the gun deck. Was the
call for him?
He stopped to look at a perspiring gun crew. They worked the gun with
the precision of automatons. Wherever the shell had burst it had not
interfered with the firing of the huge guns of Number Two Turret.
Another enemy shell burst inboard of the _Kennebunk_. There was a hail
of bits of steel and flying wreckage. Whistler stood squarely on his
feet and began to breathe again.
If he was afraid he did not know it!
One of his mates fell back from position. It was not Torry, as Whistler
immediately saw. The man's shoulder dripped blood from a raking wound.
Had it been Torry, Phil knew he would still have stepped forward, just
as he was doing, and have calmly taken the place of the wounded man.
"Keep it up, boys!" grinned the wounded one. "I'll be back soon's the
doc gives this the once over."
The work went on. Shell, powder, breech! Ready all! A moment while the
captain's finger trembled on the trigger button. Then the hiss of air as
the breech swung open, yawning for another charge.
The thousand-pound shell, hurtling through the smoke-filled air, found
the vitals of the _Kennebunk's_ immediate enemy. It scarcely shocked
Whistler when he peered out to see that vast mountain of steel burst
open amidships. She sank in seconds, and the _Kennebunk_ steamed on to
attack a second monster of the deep.
The battle continued. Moments seemed longer than minutes; minutes
dragged by like hours. The wonder of it all was that so much damage
could be done in so short a time.
Ships that had cost months of labor to build settled and disappeared
beneath the surface in a few minutes. And their crews? Best not talk
about them.
History will relate in detail and with exactness, the story of this
fight. The superdreadnaught, so shortly off the ways, endured her
baptism of fire, coming through the battle scarred but victorious. Alone
she sank two of the enemy.
Her own casualty list was small. But it was some hours after the battle
before Philip Morgan made sure that his three friends were safe. Repairs
and other necessary work took up the attention of the crew until long
past nightfall, although the battle itself had lasted just under two
hours.
Then Phil found Al first, for they had fought in the same turret. They
went to look for the younger boys, and came across an agile little chap
with his head done up in bandages, working with a deck-washing crew aft
of Turret Number Three, which had been wrecked by a Hun shell.
"It's Ikey!" shouted Torry. "What's the matter with your head, Ikey?"
"Don't say a word," said Ikey, shaking his bandaged head. "The doc used
all the gauze he had left aboard after binding those up that was really
hurt."
"But you've got some kind of a wound, haven't you?" demanded Whistler.
"Oi, oi! I ought to have, eh? But it's only that boil I had coming on
the back of my neck. You remember? Somehow the head got knocked off of
it and it was bleeding. So the doc grabbed me and bandaged me like
this," he added in a much disgusted tone.
It was Michael Donahue who proudly showed himself later with his arm in
a sling. He had actually got a piece of shell through the flesh below
his elbow. The others were inclined to scorn his wound as they did
Ikey's boil.
"That'll do for you fellers," said Frenchy proudly. "By St. Patrick's
piper that played the last snake out of Ireland! I've shed me blood for
Uncle Sam! That is something you garbies haven't done. And, oh,
goodness! Ain't I hungry--just!"
* * * * *
Because of the repairs necessary to the _Kennebunk_ she was ordered
home; but to the delight of the four Navy boys they, with Hertig and Mr.
MacMasters, were not to go with her.
The _Colodia_ was now one of the destroyer fleet chasing German
submarines in the Bay of Biscay. They were ordered to meet the destroyer
at a certain English port and would rejoin their old comrades and
continue their training under Lieutenant Commander Lang.
Much as they disliked leaving their comrades on the superdreadnaught,
active service, and of a new kind, was ahead of them, as will be related
in the next volume of this "Navy Boys Series."
"We can't kick," declared Torry. "We got into the Navy to work, not to
loaf. We've seen a good deal of service, and of several different kinds.
But there is always something new to learn."
"Sure!" agreed Ikey. "I've wrote my papa and mama that although I ain't
an admiral yet, I'll be something or other before I get home."
"True for you!" exclaimed Frenchy. "But just what you'll be is hard
telling, Ikey. Even that old witch of the island couldn't foretell your
finish, I bet."
"That reminds me," said Whistler. "Mr. MacMasters told me he read in
an American paper that he just got hold of that they have arrested Franz
Linder, the spy. He will be tried for blowing up the Elmvale dam. And
I guess we had something to do to getting evidence that will convict
him. The ensign says we will have to give our testimony about the
infernal machine before Captain Trevor before the superdreadnaught
leaves this port for home."
"Say!" said Torry with energy, "hasn't this been a great old cruise?"
And his three mates emphatically agreed.
THE END
The Young Reporter
Series
By HOWARD R. GARIS
12mo. cloth, illustrated and with full colored jacket
Fascinating stories of great mysteries and extreme perils--the life of a
daring young reporter for a metropolitan daily, written by one who was
himself a reporter for sixteen years.
THE YOUNG REPORTER AT THE BIG FLOOD
Or the Perils of News Gathering
THE YOUNG REPORTER AND THE LAND SWINDLERS
Or The Queer Adventures in a Great City
THE YOUNG REPORTER AND THE MISSING MILLIONAIRE
Or A Strange Disappearance
THE YOUNG REPORTER AND THE BANK MYSTERY
Or Stirring Doings in Wall Street
THE YOUNG REPORTER AND THE STOLEN BOY
Or A Chase on the Great Lakes
THE YOUNG REPORTER AT THE BATTLE FRONT
Or a War Correspondent's Double Mission
GEORGE SULLY & COMPANY
Publishers New York
Joe Strong Series
12mo. cloth, colored jacket and illustrated
Vance Barnum is a real treasure when it comes to telling about how
magicians do their weird tricks, how the circus acrobats pull off their
various stunts, how the "fishman" remains under water so long, how the
mid-air performers loop the loop and how the slackwire fellow keeps from
tumbling. He has been through it all and he writes freely for the boys
from his vast experience. They are real stories bound to hold their
audiences breathlessly.
JOE STRONG, THE BOY WIZARD
Or Mysteries of Magic Exposed
JOE STRONG ON THE TRAPEZE
Or The Daring Feats of a Young Circus Performer
JOE STRONG, THE BOY FISH
Or Marvellous Doings in a Big Tank
JOE STRONG ON THE HIGH WIRE
Or A Motorcycle of the Air
JOE STRONG AND HIS WINGS OF STEEL
Or A Young Acrobat in the Clouds
JOE STRONG AND HIS BOX OF MYSTERY
Or The Ten Thousand Dollar Prize Trick
JOE STRONG, THE BOY FIRE-EATER
Or The Most Dangerous Performance on Record
GEORGE SULLY & COMPANY
Publishers New York
* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes:
Obvious punctuation errors repaired.
Page 47, "swifty" changed to "swiftly" (the swiftly approaching)
Page 62, "swifty" changed to "swiftly" (he described swiftly)
Page 93, "saluate" changed to "salute" (trying to salute)
Page 131, "U-Boat" changed to "U-boat" to conform to rest of text
Page 144, "agan" changed to "again" (again and again)
Page 151, "overwhelmn" changed to "overwhelm" (threatened to
overwhelm)
Page 156, "sharts" changed to "charts" (marked on the charts)
Page 157, "finshing" changed to "fishing" (so the fishing boats)
Page 191, "Frency" changed to "Frenchy" (demanded Frenchy excitedly)