I
The _Dirigo_ was a one-hundred-and-twenty-two foot gunboat, spick and
span from the Cavite yard--lithe as a panther, swift as a petrel, gray
as the mists off Hi-tai-sha--and she was his very own. The biggest,
reddest day in all his twenty-three years of life was when the Admiral's
order had come to leave the _Ohio_, where he had acted as a sort of
apotheosized messenger boy and general escort to civilians' fat wives,
and to proceed at once to Shanghai to assume command of her, provision
and await further orders. It had cost him nine dollars and seventy-five
cents to cable the joyful news adequately to his mother in Baltimore,
and although the family resources were small--his father had died a
lieutenant commander the year before--she had cabled back a "good luck
and God bless you" to him. He only got as an ensign a paltry one hundred
and twenty-eight dollars per month, and out of it came his mess bills
and other expenses, but for all that he had enough to go down Nanking
road and buy his mother a handsome mandarin cloak--Harry Dupont was
going back on leave--and then to invite all the fellows he knew in
Shanghai harbor to a jamboree at the club. It was going on at the time
this story opens, boisterously and uproariously as befits the blow-out
of a twenty-three-year old ensign who has just received his first
command. The older civilians, who were drinking their comfortable
"B & S" on the veranda, merely shrugged their shoulders as an impromptu
refrain rose louder and louder to the pounding of bottles and the jingle
of silverware.
Here's to the Kid and the _Dirigo_,
He's off for a cruise on the Hwang-ho!
The officers of the squadron, not wishing to spoil the fun, slipped off
to the billiard room or the bridge tables, or strolled back to the bar.
Most of them had letters to write for the American mail, which would
leave the following morning, and more than one sighed as he glanced
toward the upper veranda from below the club house. They knew how many
and how long the years would be before any of those boys would be called
"captain"--well, let them enjoy themselves! What was the use of
croaking? There were compensations--of a sort. Even if one's people
_were_ all on the other side of the globe or migrating from boarding
house to boarding house in a vain endeavor to keep up with the changes
in the billets of their husbands and fathers, one was still an officer
of Uncle Sam's navy.
So reflected Follansbee, executive officer of the flagship _Ohio_, which
had slipped into Woosung, ten miles below Shanghai, just as the sunset
gun on the forts was echoing over the closely packed junks along the
water front, and while the boy was engrossed to the extent of total
oblivion with the club steward over the decoration of his dinner table
and the choice between various highly recommended brands of Scotch and
Irish. Follansbee was a good sort, who had already waited thirty-five
years to get his battleship and was waiting still, and he had seen Jack
Russell, the boy's father, die the year before at Teng-chan of a
combination of liver and disappointment, all too common among naval
officers in the East. Follansbee's own liver was none of the best, but
he had cut down on the drink, and, anyhow, his wife was coming out on
the _Empress of India_ next month. He hoped to God the _Ohio_ wouldn't
be ordered to Sulu or some place impossible for her to follow him. That
boy of Russell's--he liked that boy, he was all to the good; knew his
place and kept his mouth shut. Follansbee wasn't going to butt in and
spoil his fun. It would do him good to get a little drunk. He remembered
when he got _his_ first gunboat--thirty years ago. Whew! Follansbee
stared up at the veranda, then sighed again and started down the _bund_.
Shanghai harbor was alive with light. The murmur of the city rose and
fell on the soft, fragrant air, shockingly penetrated every now and then
by the discordant shrieks of swiftly hurrying launches. The _bund_ was
crowded with coolies, some toiling with heavy loads, others pulling
their 'rikishas. Here and there flashed the colored lanterns of
pedestrians. Beyond the junks lay many cruisers sweeping the starlit
night with their quickly moving searchlights. Then one of these took him
bang between the eyes and he stumbled and fell against some one coming
up the walk.
"Where the deuce--!" shouted a clear young voice angrily. Then the note
changed. "I beg pardon, sir--these confounded lights--I didn't see you
at all."
Follansbee returned the midshipman's salute.
"Don't mention it!" he growled. "But what are you doing ashore? I
thought you had the deck."
"I did, but I'm trying to find Russell. The Admiral wants him. I took
the ship's launch to the _Dirigo_ and they said there he was ashore and
hadn't left any word, only that he'd be back late. Have you seen him?"
"Can't you _hear_ him?" inquired Follansbee laconically.
A figure in white duck loomed suddenly into view on the veranda rail
waving a bottle and shouting at the top of his lungs:
"I've got command of the _Dirigo_
An' I'm off for a cruise on the Hwang-ho!"
followed by a tremendous chorus accompanied by cracking glass and
unearthly yells.
"Do I!" exclaimed the midshipman under his breath. "Is that him?"
At that moment a searchlight illumined the figure in question and the
midshipman answering his own question, "Yes, that's him," scrambled on
up the steps.
Follansbee wondered how long it would take to deliver the Admiral's
order and felt his way gingerly through the crowded street.
When the midshipman burst panting upon them they were standing on their
chairs with their arms around one another's necks shouting the swinging
chorus of
"The good old summer ti-i-me!
Oh, the good old summer ti-i-me!
For she's my tootsie-wootsie in
The good old summer ti-i-me!"
"Come on up! There's plenty of room on my chair!" cried the boy
excitedly, at sight of the midshipman, "we've only just begun." His
face was very, very red and his eyes were very, very bright.
"Oh, the good old summer time!
Oh, the good old----"
"Here, what's the matter with you? Let me alone! What?"
He dropped his arms and climbed soberly enough down to the veranda floor
while his comrades continued their refrain.
"Orders! From the Admiral! Is he here? I didn't know that the _Ohio_ had
come in. With you in a jiffy."
"Don't wait," urged the midshipman, "it's important!"
The boy turned white.
"It isn't--bad news?" he asked apprehensively.
"No, no," answered the other quickly, remembering the news the boy had
had the year before. "Just orders."
"Well, I won't spoil their fun," said the boy, echoing the sentiments
earlier expressed by Follansbee. "Back in a minute, fellows: I've got to
telephone! On with the dance, let joy be unrefined!"
While they slipped through the door the chorus changed again, and as the
boy seized his cap, sprang down the steps and started for the launch
landing, high above and behind him, he could still hear them singing:
"Here's to the Kid and the _Dirigo_,
He's off for a cruise on the Hwang-ho!"