CHAPTER XI--ON BOARD A BATTLESHIP

"Small boat with two enlisted men approaching, sir," called out the deck watch of the big battleship "Long Island."

"What ship?" answered the officer of the deck.

"I don't know, sir. Can't make them out exactly."

The small boat, manned by a perspiring boatman, was creeping nearer and nearer to the huge, drab-colored man-of-war, whose towering sides and huge masts dwarfed everything else about it.

The small boat pulled up to the starboard or right side of the ship, and drifted in.

"Boat, ahoy!" called down the quartermaster, making a megaphone of his hands. "What do you want?"

"We want to come aboard, sir?" answered Dan, rising in the fragile skiff and saluting.

"Who are you?"

"Recruits from the Newport Training Station, assigned to this ship."

"Then you ought to know better than to try to board a man-o'-war on the starboard side. Get around to the port side where you belong."

"Aye, aye, sir," answered Dan, touching his cap.

"How are you going to know which is the port side of these tubs?" muttered Sam, shading his eyes from the sun and gazing at the ship. "I'm blest if both ends don't look alike to me."

"Then you must be losing your eyesight, Sam. Don't you see how the quarter-deck is cut away astern, while the bow stands high out of the water? Then there's the Flag astern. You'll never see the colors up forward."

"I can't see everything at once, and you must remember that this is the first time I ever saw a real battleship close enough to touch it."

The ship was at anchor, and some distance out in the stream. A swaying rope ladder hung from the lower boom on the port side, reaching down to within some four feet of the water's edge.

The river was choppy that morning, and the little boat bobbed perilously. The boys were used to this, however, and gave no thought to it.

"Will you please pass a line over here for our dunnage?" called Dan.

"Pass the landlubbers a clothes line," shouted a voice from the forecastle.

A line, coiled, suddenly shot down from above. Sam chanced to be standing up in the boat at that moment. The line hit him fairly on the top of his red head, flattening him on the bottom of the skiff.

A shout went up from the forecastle.

"You lubbers!" bellowed Sam, scrambling to his feet, nearly upsetting the skiff in his efforts to get his eyes on the man who was responsible for knocking him down. "I'd duck you if I had you down here."

"Yes, you would!" came back the prompt answer.

"Yes, I would."

"Come up here and try it, red-head! We've got some shower baths up in the forecastle."

"Don't answer him, Sam," cautioned Dan. "There is an officer watching us, and we do not want him to think we are a couple of rowdies."

"Well, we aren't, are we?" demanded Sam indignantly.

"Certainly not. All the more reason why we should act like gentlemen."

Sam grumbled some unintelligible reply.

"Are you going first, Dan?"

"It makes no difference."

Dan grasped the swaying rope ladder, known as a "Jacob's ladder," and ran up with agility.

"My, the little man must have made a voyage to Africa and taken lessons from the monkeys," jeered a voice.

"It isn't necessary to go to Africa to find specimens of that animal," answered Dan, reaching the lower boom, along which he ran lightly, sprang over the rail and planted his feet on the deck. His first duty was to turn his face toward the stern of the ship and salute the Flag.

By this time Hickey was on his way up the ladder, and in a moment more he awkwardly measured his length on the deck, having caught his toe in the rope railing in scaling it.

The men of the forecastle set up a shout of approval.

"That's the way to do it, lad! A regular human projectile. We don't need any torpedoes when you are on board."

Sam got up, blushing furiously. As he rose a jackie ran his fingers through the shock of red hair.

"Shipmate, you'd better keep away from the magazines with that head of hair, or there'll be an explosion that will be heard all the way to Newport."

"People who play with fire sometimes get burned. You'd better stand clear," warned Hickey, whereat their was another shout, this time at the expense of the jackie who had taken the liberty with Sam's head.

"I'll bet the Old Man will send his orderly on a run for the barber when he sees red-head here," vouchsafed another.

The "Old Man" aboard ship means the captain.

The lads gave no further heed to the chaffing of their new shipmates. Dan nudged his companion and motioned for the latter to follow him.

"Where?" demanded Sam. "You don't know where you are going."

"We must report to the officer of the deck first of all. Lieutenant Commander Devall told me to do so."

"Oh, I didn't think you would know enough to do it of your own accord," was Sam's withering reply as he turned to follow Dan.

The lads made their way over the superstructure, where they were treated to various good-natured criticisms hurled at them by jackies and marines lounging along the deck.

Descending the iron steps that led down to the quarter-deck, the Battleship Boys once more came to attention and saluted the Flag. The officer of the deck brought his right hand to the visor of his cap in acknowledgment of the salute.

The boys stepped up to him, saluting once more.

"Well, men, what is it?"

"We are recruits from the Training Station at Newport, sir. We have come to join the ship, sir."

"Very good. Messenger!"

A sailor came to him on the run, saluting as he brought up sharply in front of the young ensign who was acting as officer of the deck.

"Take these men to the master-at-arms."

The messenger crooked a finger; the Battleship Boys saluted the officer of the deck, and, turning, followed their guide. He led them through narrow corridors, up through the gun deck, where the butts of the great eight-inch guns lay shining in the sunlight that filtered down through open hatches.

At last he halted before a curtained doorway and rapped.

"What it is?" came a voice from inside.

"Officer of the deck directs you to receive two recruits who have just come on board, sir."

The curtain parted and the lads saw before them a kindly faced man, whose weather-beaten features testified to many months of exposure to wind and sun on the high seas.

"Come in, lads," he said. "Have you your papers with you?"

"Yes, sir," answered Dan, extending their record papers.

"All clear," said the master-at-arms after a brief glance over the documents. "The Training School gives you a special good-conduct mention, I see. That is well. Follow me."

Once more the process of diving through narrow passageways, down iron companionways, with chains for hand rails, turning sharp corners, trumping their elbows on projections and the like, was gone through with.

"What are they trying to do with us?" whispered Sam.

"I don't know."

"Guess they're trying out our wind to see whether we are any good or not. This certainly is a sprint. If they keep it up much longer I'll change my mind again and go ashore."

Just then the master-at-arms rapped on the casing of another door, and, at command, entered, motioning the boys to follow.

They were now standing before the ship's writer. The writer, after looking over their papers, entered their record in a large book on his desk. Following this he asked them many questions about their past life, going over much the same ground that the recruiting officer had done when they enlisted in New York. After satisfying himself on all points, the writer said:

"I will assign you to a deck division for the present. Here are the numbers for your sea bags and hammocks. Here are your ditty boxes." He handed to the lads two boxes each about a foot square, neatly made and varnished. A lock and key was attached to each, and on the top of each box was a number.

Sam took his box under his arm. He seemed to be doubtful as to just what he was expected to do with the box, but at the moment he had no opportunity to ask, for once more the master-at-arms was beckoning the boys to follow him.

"There he goes again. Another sprinting match," muttered Hickey. "I shall have an appetite when I get through with this race."

"You don't need exercise to give you an appetite," retorted Dan. "That's one of the things you always have with you."

They were going forward through the interior of the ship, though by this time Sam had lost his bearings entirely. He could not have told whether they were going forward or aft.

"Two recruits just come aboard, sir," announced the master-at-arms.

This time it was to the boatswain's mate that they were introduced.

"Come in, lads," he said in a voice that Sam afterwards decided must have come from the boatswain's boots. The voice was deep and hoarse and fearsome, but the smile that followed the words was entirely reassuring.

"He isn't half as fierce as he looks," muttered Hickey in a whisper so loud and plain as to reach the ears of the boatswain's mate. The latter smiled broadly.

"No; you need not be afraid of me, my lads. The boatswain's mate is supposed to be a sort of father and mother, all in one, to the raw recruit. I suppose you have learned everything there is to know since you have been at the Newport station, have you not?"

"We have learned some things, but I fear there are still many things for us to learn," replied Dan, with a half smile.

"Just so. You have learned to make all the various knots that a sailor is supposed to be familiar with?"

"Yes, sir," answered the boys in chorus.

"And belay a fall?"

"Yes, sir; we know how to take a turn on a cleat with a rope.

"Very good. Hickey, my lad, now that you know how to belay a fall, I will ask if you can pass a stopper?"

A blank expression appeared on Sam's face, while a twinkle showed in the eyes of the boatswain's mate.

"I--I don't know, sir. If the stopper were good to eat I don't think I should pass it unless I were walking in my sleep."

The boatswain's mate leaned back and laughed uproariously.

"Passing a stopper, my lad, means to wrap a rope about a fall while another belays it. There are a lot of these sea terms that you will learn as you go along. I see you have been assigned to the deck. What branch of the service would you prefer to be in, or haven't you thought about the matter seriously?"

"I think we should prefer to be on one of the guns--in a gun squad, sir."

"That's my idea, too; but, first of all, serve some time on deck. You will learn a great deal there. I will instruct you carefully in your duties and show you your billet, after which you will go forward and get acquainted with your shipmates."

"Will you tell me, sir, what I do with this casket?" inquired Sam.

"The ditty box?"

"Yes, I guess that is what the other man called it."

The boatswain's mate smiled good-naturedly.

"That is for the purpose of holding your valuables."

"Money?"

"Oh, no, it would not be exactly safe. You had better place your money in the hands of the paymaster."

"That is what we intend to do," spoke up Dan.

"The ditty box, my lads, is the sailor's most treasured possession. In it he keeps his trinkets, his pictures, his letters, his pen and paper. But this is not all. The ditty box serves as the jackie's desk, his table, his seat and many other things. Never interfere with another man's ditty box unless you are looking for trouble. You will get it fast enough if you do so."

"I'll be too busy looking after my own to want to bother chasing the other fellow's ditto box."

"Ditty," corrected Dan.

"All right. It's all the same."

"I will now show you through the ship, as you will be required to be familiar with it. Learn all you can. Learn the name of everything on board, for all this knowledge will be needed some of these days when you come up for promotion. I presume you have ambitions to rise to higher grades?"

"We are going to do so, sir," answered Dan promptly.

"That is the way to talk. You will win with that spirit. Nothing can stop you. Now, come with me and take a look at the 'Long Island.'"

"There we go again," laughed Sam. "What time do we mess, sir?"

"Very soon, now. I shall get you back in plenty of time."

They started out on their first tour of inspection of a battleship and the boys uttered many exclamations of wonder as the parts of the great floating machine and implement of war were revealed and explained to them.

The boatswain's mate took them first to the bridge, where the compass and steering wheel were located; thence to the fire control, a steel-bound enclosure, open at the top, just forward of the bridge. It was from there, he told them, that the electric signals were given for torpedo firing.

"Is this a torpedo boat also?" questioned Sam innocently.

"Certainly not. This is a battleship. It is provided, however, with two torpedo tubes, a starboard and a port tube."

From this point the lads went down, deeper and deeper into the ship, By this time there were no stairways to walk down. In place of them were narrow ladders running through narrow apertures in the various decks.

As he went along the boatswain's mate briefly explained everything, going into detail regarding the handling of the big guns, the ammunition hoists and the electric signaling plant far down amidships. They did not complete their journey until they were far below the level of the water in the very bottom of the ship.

From there they made their way upward to the wireless telegraph room, where the operator was sitting with receiver on his head, listening for the faint ticking of the messages that might be hurled through the air.

Now and then the operator would nervously clutch his key.

Sam jumped when the resonators crashed forth their message to another far-away operator; then the sending instruments settled down to a steady squealing.

"Reminds me of Bill Thompson's pigs," nodded Sam. "That's the kind of a noise they make when they get an appetite."

At last the lads completed their tour.

"Stand by the starboard anchor chain!"

The command was given from the bridge as the lads emerged from the forward hatchway. Glancing up they saw several officers in their white uniforms standing on the bridge of the ship.

"I guess we must be going to get under way, sir," said Dan.

"Yes."

The "Long Island" had swung with the tide until she was headed down the river. Groups of expectant jackies thronged the forward deck. To one side stood the members of the ship's band, instruments in hand.

"Stand clear of the starboard anchor chain," came the second command from the bridge. "Up with the starboard anchor."

A rattling of chains followed instantly as the anchor was quickly raised by electric power until its stock was level with the forward deck.

"Starboard anchor shipped, sir," was the answer from the forward deck.

"Aye, aye!"

The captain, who had been standing looking over the forecastle from the bridge, now turned to the midshipman at the bridge telegraph, from which signals are transmitted to the engine room.

"Slow speed ahead, both engines," commanded the captain.

A tremor ran through the ship and at the same instant the Stars and Stripes fluttered from the gaff, showing that the ship was under motion.

At that moment the band struck up a lively tune. With one accord the jackies threw their arms about each other and began waltzing about the deck, raising their voices in song as they spun around.

The Battleship Boys, however, did not sing. Their eyes were swimming with happiness, their hearts were full of patriotism. The throb of the engines was borne faintly to their ears, and the great ship, turning her prow seaward, headed slowly for the Narrows.