The Dreadnought Boys on Battle Practice

by John Henry Goldfrap

  CHAPTER XXIX.

  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 thepaper into Herc's hand.

  The red-headed boy was off like a flash, and a second later thecaptain, who had already witnessed the signaling of the successful hit,was reading the details of the wonderful results achieved with the newgun.

  He detained Herc several minutes while he asked him numerous questionsabout the handling of the gun, all of which the boy answered sointelligently as to bring nods of approbation from the group ofofficers surrounding the commander of the _Manhattan_ on the vessel'sflying bridge.

  By the time Herc started back for the turret, the _Manhattan_ was closeupon 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 theDreadnought another mighty shock set her stout frame aquiver, and Hercknew 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 anothersound that struck terror to the heart of the Dreadnought Boy.

  It was a heavy, smothered explosion that seemed to come from within theturret itself. At the same instant great clouds of yellow-colored smokebegan to roll from the top ventilators.

  "It's a flareback!" Herc heard old Tom shout. "Heaven help the poorsouls in there!"

  A flareback!

  What the words meant Herc knew only too well. In the poisonous fumes ofthe burning Chaosite, vomited backward from the big gun's breech, therewas quick, sure death.

  Suddenly the small door in the barbette of the turret opened, and fourhalf-crazed, reeling men staggered out, bearing a limp form of a fifth.It was Jim Cooper, the gun-pointer, they carried. Blackened and almostunrecognizable as the men were, the look of blank horror on their facesburned itself into Herc's mind.

  "Where's the lieutenant and Mr. Varian? Where's Ned Strong?" thejackies shouted, as they crowded round the staggering men. Thesurvivors could only wave their limp arms back toward the inferno fromwhich 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 reachthe scene, a red-headed figure ripped off its blouse, and, wrapping itabout its head, plunged on all fours into the small door from which thesmoke-blackened five had emerged.

  It was Herc Taylor.

  "Stop that man!" shouted Captain Dunham, as he arrived, just in time tosee 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 beensacrificed."

  Reluctantly the men came back. Tears rolled down the ensign's faceas he begged to be allowed to enter the turret. But the commander wasfirm. No more lives would he have thrown away. For that Herc was doomedto the same death as it seemed sure had overtaken the officer, Mr.Varian and Ned Strong, seemed a definite certainty.

  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 wereissuing 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 inthe throng of anxious-faced, pallid men.

  "Stow that, you lummox!" growled old Tom, and his admonition was echoedangrily by a dozen tars. It would have fared hard with that jackie ifthey could have laid hands on him.

  The minutes rolled by and still there came no sign from within theturret.

  An ensign, despatched below by the captain, had reported that not asingle spark had dropped down the hoist.

  "Gentlemen, that means that there was a hero in that turret!" exclaimedthe captain. "Before death came he closed those doors and in allprobability saved the ship."

  The others nodded. It was not a situation in which words seemedappropriate.

  From the turret ventilators little smoke was now issuing. If any of thefour men inside that steel-walled trap remained alive, they stood afighting chance now.

  Suddenly the jackies set up a roar.

  From the turret door there staggered a black, weird figure; its clotheshung in shreds and blood streamed from a dozen cuts and bruises. Inits arms this reeling figure carried another scarecrow-like form, thelatter half-naked, like its bearer.

  The first figure turned toward the dumfounded group of officers witha ghastly attempt at a smile on its blackened face, and then pitchedforward with its burden.

  Captain Dunham himself caught Ned Strong as he fell. Mr. Scott, theexecutive officer, as swift to act as his commander, had at the sameinstant seized hold of the limp form of Lieutenant Timmons, which theDreadnought Boy had dragged from the jaws of death.

  The doctor, a strange, soft light on his face, was still bending overhis so strangely restored patients, when another roar came from thejackies. They seized each other and capered about like lunatics, andnot an officer checked them. Temporarily the _Manhattan_ housed a mobof cheering, yelling maniacs.

  For through the turret door there now emerged a second figure, but thisone bore a head of fiery red above his sooty countenance.

  It was Herc, and with him he dragged out the collapsed figure of theinventor.

  The Dreadnought Boys had beaten the flareback at its own grisly game.

  From the scorched lips of Lieutenant Timmons, who, besides a few burnsand the effects of the severe shock, had, like the others, miraculouslyescaped 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 smashedagainst the steel wall. The place was filled with acrid smoke andyelling, terrified men. Through the smoke glowed the blazing fragmentsof Chaosite that had been spurted back out of the gun.

  Dimly the officer had seen Ned Strong stagger through the smoke towardthe doors of the hoist, which were open preparatory to receivinganother load. At the same time Lieutenant Timmons was trying withall his might to reach the same goal. He fell before he attained hisobject, however, and the last thing he knew was that he saw Ned seizethe lever that swung the safety doors together and then collapse in aheap.

  The inventor had fared much as had the officer, except that hesuccumbed to the fumes more quickly. He had managed, however, toopen the ventilators to their full capacity by seizing, with hislast conscious movement, the control that elevated them. This actionundoubtedly contributed in large measure to saving the lives of thoseimprisoned in the death trap, for even Jim Cooper recovered, and acourt martial later acquitted Lieutenant Timmons of all blame.

  * * * * *

  The joy that ran through the fleet when it was learned that not asingle serious injury had resulted from the accident on the _Manhattan_may be imagined. Battle practice, which had stopped for that day, wasordered resumed on the morrow. But before that occurred another eventhappened which marked the end of one of the boldest attempts on recordto 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 Dunhamwith a paper in his hand.

  It was a wireless from the launch sent after the Pulsifers and theirgang, and reported that the yacht had been intercepted and boarded, offBoco del Toros, and that all the miscreants were captured.

  The captain himself it was who sought out Ned and Her
c, in the sickbay, and communicated the news to them. Both boys had been placed onthe "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 everyone 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, andit was some days before they finally recovered and were about againreceiving the congratulations of their shipmates. In the meantimebattle practice went on, and the _Manhattan_ eventually won the"meat-ball."

  The boys received the news of the capture of the Pulsifers with acheer, feeble but sincere. The summary court martial called to decidethe cases of Carl Schultz, Silas, and Hank Harkins was convened thenext day, when the crest-fallen prisoners were brought back on board.Schultz and Silas broke down under questioning and confessed that theywere escaped prisoners, and were returned to the Illinois authoritiesto serve out life sentences for the murder of an old farmer nearSpringfield many years before.

  Ralph Kennell was sentenced to serve ten years in a governmentpenitentiary 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 theFederal authorities, and are now serving long terms at the Federalprison in Atlanta, Georgia. Simultaneously with the discovery of theplot, the Baron vanished from Washington, leaving a disappointed andmystified fiancee. It was never learned for just what government thePulsifers had been engaged in their work of spying and bribing.

  How Hank Harkins got mixed up with the plotters he explained to thecourt martial. He had fallen into Schultz's and Silas' company in NewYork and gambled much of his money away to them. Afraid to write homefor more, he had cast about for a way to recruit his finances, and whenSchultz and Silas suggested that he join them in the work they hadundertaken for the Pulsifers, he willingly agreed.

  A few days after Ned and Herc were once more up and about--for they hadbeen "binnacled" while the above events transpired--they were summonedaft to the captain's cabin, and told that on the return of the fleetto American waters they were to report to the Secretary of the Navy atWashington without delay. This event occurred in the early part of June.

  The two lads, brown-faced and alert, but somewhat alarmed at theprospect of encountering such a mighty personage as the Secretary ofthe Navy, called at the department, according to instructions, andsent in their names.

  "Send them right in," came a hearty voice, although there was a longrow of visitors ahead of the Dreadnought Boys.

  "And so you are the two lads that Captain Dunham thinks more about thanany bluejackets in the service," began the secretary, a keen-faced,slender man, with a bristly black mustache and kindly, penetratingeyes. "These are the lads," he went on, turning to a portly man with agray mustache and a pleasant smile, who stood behind him.

  The stout man stepped forward, and as he did so the boys were struckwith an air of dignity he bore about him, which was even moreimpressive than that which hedged the secretary about.

  "My lads," he said, "I have heard with interest and deep admirationof your bravery, and, better than that, your cool-headedness when theaccident that imperilled every soul on the _Manhattan_ occurred. Had itnot been for the pluck of one of you, a disaster which would have beenhistoric in its horror might have occurred. I refer to your action inclosing the safety doors, Strong.

  "And you, Taylor"--Herc turned as red as his own thatch--"you are alsodeserving of the highest praise. Your action in entering what seemeda certain death trap was heroic in the extreme. The United StatesGovernment 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 twogold 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 theirsignificance. 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 openingthe door.

  The boys' eyes fairly popped in their heads. Herc's amazement actuallyovercame his sense of discipline.

  "Oh, sir, was that the President himself?" he quavered, as thesecretary returned to his desk.

  "It was," smiled the secretary, "and he was here at his own specialwish. He ordered a detailed report made of your actions to him andinvestigated your case carefully. You young men have been rarely andhighly honored. And now one thing remains to be done. You have receivedthe highest honor the navy can confer for heroism displayed in lineof duty. The government has for actions like yours a more substantialreward. I present you with these two purses, each containing a hundreddollars in gold."

  The boys stammered their thanks somehow, while the room seemed towhirl round them. How they ever got out once more on to the sunlitPennsylvania Avenue they often discussed afterward, but never arrivedat any satisfactory conclusion.

  "I guess we flew," Herc always says; "I know I felt as if I was walkingon air."

  The Dreadnought Boys had a two weeks' furlough before rejoining thefleet. They spent part of this in New York, seeing the sights, notforgetting a visit to the office where they had enlisted, and a portionof it in the old village, where, as may be imagined, they were the"heroes of the hour." Old Zack still exhibits a dented Canadian dimewith which Ned presented him as a souvenir. The village band, not tobe behindhand, learned to play a series of strange discords declared bythem to be the navy's own, particular march, "Nancy Lee."

  And so, with their hearts overflowing with patriotism, and a fixeddetermination ever to serve the flag and their country with anunflagging devotion, we will for the present take our leave of theDreadnought Boys.

  But many adventures, stranger and more fraught with peril than anythrough which they had yet passed, were ahead of them. A career in thenavy is, even in "the piping times of peace," one full of excitementand 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 destinedto have this borne in on them. Their adventures on one of Uncle Sam'ssea-tigers in a strange country and among strange people will berelated in full in the next volume of this series, THE DREADNOUGHT BOYSABOARD A DESTROYER.

  THE END.