Two Boys of the Battleship: or, For the Honor of Uncle Sam

Life aboard a battleship is very much a matter of routine, with the same thing occurring at the same time every day, save when unexpected drills, such as collision drill, or fire drill, are held, no notice being given of these. This is done to keep the men ever on the alert.

“Well, we’re off!” exclaimed Ned, as he and Frank, with the others of the crew, stood on deck, while the Georgetown steamed slowly out of New York harbor one day. “We’re off!”

“And I wonder what will happen before we get back again!” suggested Frank.

“Maybe there’ll be a war!” cried Ned, his eyes sparkling.

Frank shook his head.

“I don’t believe I want one,” he said slowly. “I’m not afraid, but – ”

“Yes, I know,” answered his brother.

Though Frank and Ned did not actually take part in a war, they were destined to see some fighting, and to see the destructive work of the big guns when fired at what really was an enemy. But of that, more later.

And so, out to sea went the battleship, with our friends aboard. Now began the real work of a man-o’-warsman. Reveille was sounded on a bugle at 5:30 every morning. That meant that every enlisted man who had not been on guard the night before, must jump out of his hammock, lash it up, and prepare himself for breakfast. There was no lagging – no taking a few more “winks,” for only fifteen minutes was allowed for clearing the decks of hammocks. Then coffee or cocoa was served, with bread, or, if the men preferred it, hardtack. And very good this was, too, not like the kind you read of in old-fashioned books, mouldy and full of worms. It was clean and sweet.

Half an hour was allowed for this early meal, and it could be followed by a smoke for those who indulged in tobacco. Frank and Ned did not, however.

At 6:30 all hands were summoned to clean ship. It might seem that this need not be done every day, but it has to be attended to, for a battleship is almost like a small town, and there is always something to be done. The men are told off into divisions, and each man has a certain “station,” the cleanliness of which he is responsible for. Each division, or squad, of men has a certain specified amount of work to do in cleaning ship. One division may have to scrub part of the deck, another will be given boats to clean and make ship-shape, and another will have paint work or brass or copper fittings to polish.

It might be mentioned that following the early morning cup of coffee each man is required to wash his own clothes, for cleanliness is one of the cardinal points in the navy. And matters are so arranged that the cleaning of the ship stops in time for the men to make themselves neat for the breakfast, which is served from 7:30 to 8:15 A. M. For this the men are always in uniform, the nature of their clothing depending on the climate they are cruising in.

As was mentioned, the two brothers had their hammocks slung near that of Hank Dell. Nine o’clock is the hour when all blue-jackets must be in their hammocks, unless allowed to stay up for some entertainment, of which there are many aboard the ships.

At 7:30 A.M. on the first day out, when Frank and Ned went to sling their beds, in readiness for the night, Frank saw Hank near Ned’s lashed hammock.

“Guess you’re making a mistake, aren’t you?” said Frank. “That isn’t yours.”

“Oh, that’s so!” exclaimed Hank, with affected surprise. “I’m a bit green about things here. Mine’s over on this side,” and he went to his own sleeping quarters.

Frank thought no more about it at the time, but slung his own hammock. Ned, coming down a few minutes afterward, did the same. Then, as the time was free up to nine o’clock, the brothers went on deck to enjoy the air, for the day had been hot.

“Say, it’s simply great, isn’t it?” remarked Ned, as he gazed off over the heaving waters, silvered by the moon.

“Couldn’t be better,” declared Frank. “It’s the best life ever!”

The signal came for turning in, and the men, rather regretfully perhaps, went below.

As Ned sprang up into his hammock it gave way with him, and down he came with a crash, turning over so that he fell on deck, off the mattress, bruising himself painfully.

“Hurt?” asked Frank, hurrying to his brother’s side.

“Oh, not so much but that I can stand it,” was the grim answer.

Some little commotion was caused by this accident, and a number of the men laughed, Hank seeming to find much pleasure in the occurrence. An officer came along.

“What’s going on here?” he asked sternly.

“My hammock gave way with me, sir,” reported Ned, saluting.

“Did some one pull it down?”

“I don’t think so, sir.”

Frank, who had been bending over the end of the hammock, gave a startled cry.

“The ropes have been cut!” he exclaimed.

CHAPTER XIII – TARGET PRACTICE

For a moment silence followed Frank’s startling announcement. Then the officer asked:

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, sir,” replied Frank, “that the ropes of my brother’s hammock were partly cut through, so that when his weight came on them they gave way. That is how it happened.”

“Are you sure?”

“You may look for yourself, sir.”

In the gleam of the incandescent deck lights Frank held out the end of the hammock where the ropes were joined to the canvas. Ned had limped to one side and sat down, for his leg pained him.

“You are right,” said the officer, after a quick inspection. “Who cut those ropes?” he asked, sternly.

Of course no one answered. Probably the officer did not expect that any one would. He looked about at the circle of jackies, some of whom were grinning broadly. Frank looked angry – Ned had a pained look on his face.

“If I find out who did this,” went on the officer, “I’ll make him smart for it. Turn in, all of you! I’ll have another hammock assigned to you,” he remarked to Ned. “Do you need medical assistance?”

“No, sir. Thank you. I think I’ll be all right.”

The officer wheeled about and marched off, and a little later one of the sailors, who had charge of the store room, came and told Ned where he could get a hammock.

“I’ll get it,” offered Frank. “You take it easy.”

“Oh, I’m not so badly off as all that.”

“Well, save yourself all you can. I’ll get the hammock.” And Frank did. As he came back with it he heard Hank saying to some one:

“Well it happened all right, didn’t it?”

“What happened?” asked Frank, quickly, a suspicion growing rapidly in his mind.

“None of your business! I wasn’t talking to you,” was the sharp retort.

“I’ll make it my business,” said Frank, as he slung Ned’s hammock for him.

“Here you! Quiet down back there!” came the orders from a petty officer, as he heard the talking.

Ned limped as he made his way across the deck to his new hammock, and Frank had to help him up into it.

“Queer sort of game,” murmured the younger lad, as he settled himself comfortably on the mattress. “Who do you suppose cut those ropes?”

“Don’t you know?” asked Frank.

“I can’t imagine.”

“It was that bully, Hank, of course. I saw him monkeying near your lashings when I made up, but I didn’t think, then, that he was up to any tricks. But I’ll pay him out all right.”

“Say, don’t get into trouble on my account,” begged his brother.

“Oh, I won’t get into any trouble, don’t worry,” was the answer. “But I’ll pay him back all right,” Frank murmured as he leaped up into his swinging bed.

Neither Frank nor Ned rested well that night. Ned on account of the pain in his hip, and Frank because he was wondering why Hank, or any one, for that matter, should have such a grudge against him or his brother as to cut the hammock ropes.

“I guess Hank, who did it, just wanted to play a mean trick,” thought Frank. “But I’ll have it out with him just the same. He needs a lesson!”

Ned groaned as he tried to get out of his hammock the next morning.

“Stiff?” asked Frank, who tumbled out at reveille.

“Dead lame, I’m afraid. I’ll have to report sick, I guess.”

“Well, maybe you’d better. No use taking any chances.”

“It’s tough luck,” said Ned. “And I wanted to be in for target practice, too,” for it had become known that the day would be given over to that drill.

“Never mind,” Frank consoled him. “You’ll have your chance later.”

So while Frank, with the others, went through the early morning duties, Ned did not. Of course his absence was noted by the officer in charge of his division, who each day inspected the men under his charge and made a report to the executive. In turn Ned’s name reached the captain as not being at his post, but that was merely a matter of routine.

At 8:30 each day, aboard the battleships, there is what is known as sick-call. At that time all who are not well must consult the medical officer. But Ned could not do this as he could only limp, so he was taken on a stretcher and it was found that he was suffering from a severe bruise. He was sent to the hospital, where he was told he would have to stay in bed for two or three days.

And so Ned missed the first target practice, which was with three-inch guns. Frank told him about it afterward.

“Oh, well, that isn’t so bad, if it was only three-inch guns,” remarked the invalided lad. “I was afraid I’d miss the big ones.”

“They come later,” Frank remarked.

“Say, Frank,” whispered Tom Dawson, one of the recruits from Norfolk, to Ned’s brother a little later, “do you know who it was cut the ropes of the hammock?”

“I have my suspicions,” was the answer.

“Well, I can tell you for sure. It was that sneak, Hank Dell. He’s boasting of it now!”

“I was pretty sure he did. What was his object?”

“I guess he wants you and your brother to shift to some other mess. There are a couple of tough friends of his that he wants to berth alongside of him in your places.”

“Well, he’s welcome to have them as far as I’m concerned,” Frank said, “but he needn’t have gone that way about it. I think I’ll have to take it out on him.”

“I would,” advised Tom. “Some of us will stand by you. We don’t like Hank any too well. Slip down below right after afternoon drill, and there’ll be a clear place where you can see how well he can handle his fists.”

“I’ll do it,” agreed Frank.

Boxing is encouraged among the blue-jackets, and Frank was an adept at it. He had seen Hank in action, and realized that he, too, could put up a good fight.

Afternoon drill began at 1:30 o’clock, and on this occasion consisted of a talk on projectiles, and practice in sighting the big gun, and in firing a dummy charge. It was over at three, and Frank slipped below. Some of those in the secret followed him.

Just how it had been brought about Frank did not know, but in a secluded place on a lower deck he found a number of his friends, and there, also, was Hank with a few of his cronies. Hank did not wait but swaggered up to Frank and said:

“I understand you have been sayin’ things about me.”

“What things?” asked Frank, coolly.

“About slicin’ the ropes of your brother’s hammock.”

“I said I thought you cut them – yes.”

“Well, if I did, what are you going to do about it?”

Frank’s answer was to strip off his middy blouse, an action followed by Hank. The others formed a ring about them, and soon the fight was on. It was scientific, in a way, until Frank, with a feint, caught Hank unawares, and landed a good blow on one eye.

Then Hank lost his head and struck out wildly. He lost control of himself, and Frank easily got through his guard, planting several effective blows.

“I – I’ll pay you for that!” spluttered Hank, as his lips swelled and one eye partly closed. He struck out wildly, and did manage to hit Frank on the face. It was a stinging blow, and hurt. But Frank knew he could not hope to come off scathless.

Then it was give and take for awhile, until Frank saw his chance, and aimed a sharp uppercut at Hank’s chin. It caught the bully squarely, and almost lifted him off his feet. He staggered back, and would have fallen had not one of his chums caught him.

“I – I’ve had enough!” he muttered.

“Don’t try to cut down any more hammocks,” said Frank, as he went to wash himself, for a scratch on his cheek was bleeding.

“Oh, you haven’t heard the last from me – not by any means,” threatened Hank. But Frank did not worry.

The next day when Hank reported for early morning inspection his condition, as well as that of Frank, attracted the attention of the officer in charge of the division.

“How did you get that black eye?” he asked of Hank.

“Why, sir,” was the grinning answer, “one of the fifteen-inch rifles recoiled and struck me.”

“Very good!” was the grim and understanding comment. “And you, Arden – how about your scratches?”

“The – er – the goat mascot, sir.”

“I see. A new fact in natural history – a goat with claws.”

Of course, fighting was forbidden, but it went on just the same, and it was winked at to a certain extent when not too flagrant. So the incident was closed, as far as the ship authorities were concerned.

A few days later Ned was able to report again for his duties, and after that Hank was transferred to another division, berthing in another part of the ship.

“Well, I’m glad he’s gone,” Ned remarked. So were many others, for the red-haired recruit was not generally liked.

When the Georgetown had been at sea about a week, it was announced one morning directly after sick-call that great gun drill would be held.

“And it’s with projectiles, too!” cried Ned. “Cracky, but I’m glad. You’re in the forward turret with me, Frank.”

“Yes, and I hope our ear drums don’t crack. They make an awful racket, those fifteen-inch rifles.”

Preparations for the drill went on. It had been gone through with many times before, though not always with charges of powder and projectiles, so the men knew the routine.

Frank had been detailed on this occasion as gun-pointer, which meant that he was to fire the gun when it was sighted at the target. Ned was helping with the ammunition and powder, which came up into the turret on a hoist, or elevator, from the magazine below.

“Are you all ready?” asked the officer in charge of the forward turret.

“All ready,” was the answer.

“Watch yourselves, then. Try to make a record,” he added.

“Aye, aye, sir!” answered Frank, who stood at the telescope sight, ready to look for the big canvas target which would soon be towed into range.

CHAPTER XIV – A BRAVE ACT

Target practice with our big guns aboard a battleship is rather an important occasion, as it is not often done. It is too expensive to fire away hundreds of pounds of powder and projectiles, the cost of which runs into the thousands. But it must be done occasionally.

When it is done, in order to get as nearly as possible to actual war conditions, it is customary to have the unexpected happen. That is to say, the target, which is a big square of canvas on a float, is towed by some other ship, and where or when it is to appear is not known to the men who work the guns. This is to make them quick and resourceful.

“Watch out now, men,” advised the officer. “Arden, keep your wits about you. Remember there is quite a swell on to-day, and allow accordingly when you point the gun.”

It might be stated here that the big guns are moved and controlled by machinery, but the machinery is under the fingers of the pointer and his assistants. By a simple movement of a lever the gun can be shifted up or down or from side to side. And probably all know that elevation is one of the most important matters in firing.

If a gun is taken, or for that matter a bean-shooter, and some projectile is fired or blown through the air, it will be noticed that it goes in a straight line for only a short distance. Then it begins to curve down and fall. This is due to loss of energy, and to the attraction of gravitation.

Now if the gun be held, say, exactly parallel to the earth’s surface, it will be noted that the projectile will go a certain distance. Lower the gun, and it will not go so far. Raise it and the bullet (or bean, if the trial is made with a bean-shooter) will go much farther. And it is this angle of fire that is most important.

By computation it is possible to know at just what angle or inclination to point the gun in order to send its projectile to a certain point at a known distance away. And in order to find this distance it is necessary to use what are called range-finders.

These are something like telescopes, but the science known as triangulation is brought into use, also. So a range-finder on a battleship can in a short time signal to the gun-pointer just how far away a certain hostile ship or a target may be. When the gun-pointer knows the distance, he knows just how much to elevate or depress his gun in order to make the projectile come somewhere near the object at which he is aiming.

“All ready now. I think we’ll get the range soon,” said the officer in charge of the turret where Ned and Frank were stationed.

Every one was on the alert. The lads stood at attention. Into the breech of the big gun had been put the steel projectile, and back of that the powder, hundreds of pounds of it. Frank stood ready to press the trigger, which would detonate the primer and explode the charge. In front of him was the telescope sight, and at his fingers’ ends were the controls that would move the gun whichever way he wished. Ned stood at the ammunition hoist.

A shrill whistle sounded in the turret. The officer in charge listened.

“The range is thirteen thousand yards,” he said. An observer in a crow’s-nest on one of the masts had sent in this information. The target was just coming into view, and through the range-finder the distance was quickly computed.

“Aye, aye, sir!” answered Frank in response to the officer. Then he bent down to peer through the telescope sight.

“Can you see it?” asked the officer.

“Not yet – there it is!” cried Frank, suddenly.

“Fire when you sight it properly.”

There was a moment’s hesitation. Then Frank’s finger pressed on the lever that would send the great projectile on its way.

Such a crash followed that every one was deafened for a moment, in spite of the fact that every man in the turret stood on his toes to lessen the shock, and had his ears stuffed with cotton. The great gun recoiled, the back action being taken up by shock-absorbers, however. A sharp, acrid smell filled the turret. Smoke drifted in. Men staggered back and opened their mouths for air. It seemed as if ten thousand thunder claps had been made into one.

Then came a silence.

“Do you think you hit it?” asked Ned, and his voice sounded so strange, after the great crash, that nearly every one laughed.

“Silence!” called the officer in charge.

Again came a whistle through the speaking tube.

“Yes!” answered the listening officer. “A hit? Good! You made a hit the first try!” he shouted to Frank. “Try again.”

Frank blushed with pleasure. But one would never have known that his cheeks reddened, for he was black with grease and oil, having been engaged in going over the mechanism before he made the shot. The smoke was gradually blackening every one.

No sooner had the gun recoiled and moved back into place again, than compressed air rushed automatically into the breech and barrel, to drive out any slow-burning pieces of powder that might possibly ignite the next charge when it was inserted.

“Once more!” called the officer in charge, as up came the supply of powder and the projectile. Ned and his mates shoved them into the gun, and again the breech was closed with a clang.

“Listen for the range,” directed the officer. “They may try to fool us.” For in order to get as nearly as possible to actual war conditions, the target-towers were often instructed to run a zigzag course, sometimes close to, and again far away from the firing ship.

Once more came the signal into the turret from the range-finder.

“Eight thousand yards!”

“Whew!” commented the officer. “They’re running in on us.”

“Have to lower the gun,” commented Ned.

As has been said, in order to reach a far distant point, a gun must be elevated more than to hit a mark close by.

“Down she goes!” Frank exclaimed, as the mechanism depressed the muzzle.

“Can you sight the target?” asked the officer.

“Sight she is!”

“Then fire!”

“Fire!” echoed Frank.

Again came that belch of smoke and acrid smell, the recoil of the gun, the trembling turret and the rush of compressed air as it blew out the burning particles of powder.

Powder that is used in big guns is not like the old-fashioned black powder. It is highly explosive, but some of the “grains” are in sheets, perforated like a piece of Swiss cheese, and as large as your palm. Some is in long sticks, like large macaroni. Other is in brown hexagons, two inches across. You can safely touch a match to some of this powder and let it burn as you hold it. It is when it is confined, as in a gun, and the gases from it can not escape after its sudden detonation, that it exerts its explosive force.

So the target practice went on, the young blue-jackets taking turns at sighting and firing the gun. But no one bettered Frank’s record of shots though Ned came close to it. It was hot work in the turret. The boys were stripped to their waists, and even then they were wet with perspiration and blackened with smoke and oil.

Finally there flashed into view on the turret signal device the words “cease firing.” The practice was over. And then, just how it happened no one could tell, there was discovered on the iron floor of the turret a burning mass of powder that was slowly flaming. And worse than that, this burning powder was near a large charge that had been hoisted up but not used.

“Look!” cried Ned, frantically.

“Run out!” shouted Frank, aware of the danger of an explosion.

“Clear the turret!” yelled the officer. “Out, every one of you!”

The explosion was imminent. The officer stood at the entrance as the lads rushed out. Frank was the last, being preceded by Hank Dell. As the latter hurried he slipped and fell, striking his head on a steel projection. With a moan he rolled over unconscious.

The next instant, though the explosion might occur any moment, Frank stooped over, and catching up in his strong arms the body of the unconscious bully, he bore him from the turret, though, had he wished, Frank might have leaped across the prone form to safety.

“Quick!” cried the officer, as he leaped after Frank to help him. But there was no need. Frank had carried out his enemy.

The next instant there was a big flash of fire, and a dull report that threw Frank with his burden down to the deck.

CHAPTER XV – ORDERED SOUTH

At first more than one thought a terrible explosion had taken place, and the general alarm was sounded. But it was not half so bad as it seemed.

Ned, who, with horror-stricken eyes, had seen his brother fall, was relieved to see him slowly get up and help lift Hank to a more comfortable position. From the interior of the gun turret, however, a mass of yellow smoke poured. But it quickly blew away, and an inspection on the part of the officers showed that no great damage had been done. It was a mass of imperfect powder that had exploded, and the force was not great. Then, too, it had not been closely confined, and the force was distributed over a large area, not being strong at any one point.

“But young Arden didn’t know that when he stopped to pick up Dell,” said the officer in charge. “Young man, I want to congratulate you on as brave an act as I’ve seen in a long time!”

“Oh, it wasn’t anything,” protested Frank, blushing. His blushes could be seen now, for this was some time later, and he and the others had washed. Hank, who had received a bad cut on his head by the fall, was sent to the hospital, though he had regained consciousness, and was not badly hurt.

“It was a plucky act,” went on the officer. “But it only goes to show of what stuff Uncle Sam’s jackies are made of.”

The effects of the explosion were soon cleared away, and an investigation started to ascertain how it had happened. But it was one of those unaccountable things that frequently occur on even the most perfectly-manned battleships. Fortunately, no serious damage had been done, and no one hurt except Hank, and his injury was due to a slip and fall that might have occurred even when he was swabbing down the deck.