CHAPTER XVII--PROVING HIS COURAGE

The day continued rough, and, there being no further hope of planting a mine field, the work of cleaning ship was proceeded with.

All hands forward were discussing the coming battle--the evening's fun. They knew they would have it. None, however, doubted that Kester, in a regular match, would prove too much for his young adversary, Kester being the hero of so many successful battles.

Those who had seen Dan handle the bully on the forecastle, however, predicted that the Battleship Boy would give a good account of himself, though they agreed that Kester was much the stronger man, and the more experienced of the two.

As for Dan Davis, he appeared not to be troubling himself in the least about the coming battle. He went about his work cheerfully, ate his usual supper and, while the smoke lamp was lighted after supper, wandered about the forecastle chatting with his shipmates happily, without once referring to the coming contest.

At a little after seven o'clock three jackies began stretching a rope about a portion of the deck on the starboard side, while two others were rigging some electric lights over the spot.

Dan paused with hands behind his back, watching the work curiously.

"You had better get ready," suggested a tar. "The thing comes off sharp at seven bells."

"I have nothing to get ready."

"You want to put on your fighting togs, don't you?"

"What fighting togs?"

"Your trunks."

"No. I'll box as I am. I don't have to go in like a professional pugilist."

"You'll be at a disadvantage, then."

"That will be my lookout, thank you."

Upon glancing about the lad observed that there were no officers in sight. There was a reason for that, though he did not know it. The officers had been fully informed of what was to take place that evening, and hence discreetly kept away from the forecastle. However, there was, unknown to the others, a commissioned officer standing behind the weather cloth on the navigator's bridge.

The particular officer was an ensign, and when the hour for the boxing match approached he was joined by a brother officer. They peered down on the active scene below with keen interest. Being in a deep shadow they were unobserved by the men on the forward deck.

Kester had not yet made his appearance, and the jackies shook their heads as they saw Dan strolling about, chatting and joking with a shipmate.

"That's the fellow," said one of the ensigns to his companion, at the same time pointing to Dan.

"Seems pretty light to match with a man of Kester's build, doesn't he?"

"Yes, that is what I think. The boy has a steady eye, however. He seems a likely lad, but of course he can't win the match."

"Wasn't he up for something the other day?"

"No, that was his friend, Hickey. The latter got two days in the brig for a row with this same Kester. I heard the captain saying, this evening, that he doubted the boy's being to blame for that after all. He has heard something since about that affair."

"You aren't worrying about it, are you?" laughed his companion.

"Not particularly. I do not like to see injustice done, just the same. I should not be fit to be an officer if I felt otherwise. There comes the other one, now."

"The fellow Kester?"

"Yes."

Bill Kester was clad in a pair of short trunks and canvas shoes, with a red handkerchief about his neck. He hopped into the ring, taking his seat in a corner, having chosen the one that suited him best.

A moment later the referee that the men had chosen entered the ring.

"Davis!" he called sharply.

There was a movement outside the ring.

"Here," answered Dan, pausing in his conversation with a jackie.

"Get into the ring, if you are going to."

Dan climbed through the ropes, smiled and nodded to the referee, then stood awkwardly twirling his white cap.

"Take your corner."

The lad walked over and sat down. For the first time, he observed the scowling Bill Kester in the opposite corner, and Dan's eyes took on a gleam of amusement as he noted the strips of plaster on his opponent's nose, the swollen lips and discolored eyes.

"Are you going to fight in that costume?" demanded the referee of Dan.

"Certainly, unless there is objection."

"I know of none. Kester, do you object to Davis's boxing with his clothes on?"

Kester grinned and shook his head. Two pairs of gloves were passed through the ropes to the referee, who examined them inside and out.

"Want to look at these, Bill?"

Bill did. He scrutinized them even more carefully than had the referee before passing them back.

"Davis, look them over," said the referee, turning to the boy's corner.

"You say they are all right, do you not?"

"Of course."

"Then why should I look at them? I am willing to take your word, I guess."

Nods of approval followed this announcement.

"Put on your gloves."

Dan threw off his jacket, tossing it outside the ropes, turned up his trousers then sat down, extending his hands for the boxing gloves.

"The youngster either doesn't know what he is going up against, or else he has a lot of confidence in himself," muttered one of the officers on the bridge.

Both men tried their gloves by opening and closing their hands, after which they sat up, glancing at the referee expectantly.

"This is to be a fair battle, mates," began the referee. "The one who commits a foul loses the match, and maybe he might get worse if the foul is very foul. The rounds will be three minutes each, with a minute's wait between. No striking in the clinches, but either party is free to hit his opponent in the breakaway. Do you both understand?"

The men nodded.

"I guess that's about all, then. Are you ready?"

"Yes," answered Dan and Kester in chorus.

"Shake hands and begin."

Bill Kester bounded to the center of the ring, but Dan rose methodically. Stepping slowly forward he extended his glove, grasping the hand of his opponent. No sooner had the lad dropped the hand than Kester launched a terrific blow at the Battleship Boy's head. It missed by the narrowest margin. Dan felt the glove brush his cheek ever so lightly, but he had instinctively thrown his head to one side as he realized that it was coming his way, thereby escaping the blow.

He danced awkwardly back out of the way. Kester sprang after him, aiming blow after blow at the head of his slender antagonist. How they missed knocking the boy out the spectators were unable to say, but somehow the lad managed to escape being hit, though his awkwardness made them groan in sheer sympathy for him.

"It's a shame. The boy doesn't know how to fight," cried a voice.

"Let him alone. He's got to learn some time. One punch won't hurt him. It will do him good."

Sam, however, shrewdly suspected the reason for his companion's poor showing. Dan was nervous. Sam knew that it was not because of the boy's fear of the man before him. It was rather the consciousness that so many eyes were fixed upon him. It was a case of real stage fright.

"I hope he gets over it before it is too late. Brace up, Dan! What's the matter with you, anyway?"

Dan heard the voice of his chum, but it sounded far away to him. He would have given almost anything could he, too, have been far away at that moment.

Bang!

The boy's head was suddenly jolted backwards. Dan seemed to have heard his neck crack. He wondered if it were broken. Kester had gotten through his guard, but the blow had landed on Davis's forehead. The boy sprang back, now, stepping about more quickly and skillfully, though his head swam dizzily. Bill made a rush at him. Escape seemed hopeless, for Dan was standing back against the ropes.

Dan suddenly ducked, however, under a powerful right-arm swing, and danced to the center of the ring, at which the crowd yelled and shouted their appreciation.

"That's the way to do it. Now hand him one!"

"Time!" called the referee. The round was ended. The men retired to their corners, where they were fanned and their faces bathed by their seconds.

"Do something this time," begged Sam. "You are not half boxing. What is the matter with you to-night?"

"I don't know. I guess I needed that punch. It made my head swim, but it woke me up. I'll do better this time."

"Give him a punch in the plexus, Bill," advised one of the latter's seconds. "He doesn't guard himself there at all."

"Never mind. I've got the fellow's measure," answered the bully. "It will all be finished up and done to a turn before we end the second round."

"Time!" summoned the referee.

Kester sprang into the ring full of confidence, but Dan, to the surprise of everyone, sat calmly in his chair. Kester hesitated, a triumphant gleam appearing in his eyes. Suddenly he made a rush at his opponent's corner, and all at once the Battleship Boy leaped to his feet. His right fist shot out and then his left. Both blows landed squarely on his adversary's sore nose, bringing two plainly audible grunts from the big man.

Kester threw one hand to his nose. As he did so, Dan planted a swift, powerful blow, this time in his adversary's stomach. The force of it sent Bill staggering half way across the ring.

The spectators fairly yelled themselves hoarse.

"You're all right, Dynamite! You'll be a champion some day, when you wake up."

But Bill was boxing again. The blows on his nose had enraged him beyond endurance. With a yell of rage, he charged his slender opponent, leading out his right for the lad's face. The latter blocked the blow, side-stepping out of harm's way, where he stood awaiting the other man's further efforts.

"Why don't you follow him up?" shouted Sam, who, by this time, was wildly excited. His face was flushed, and his eyes were sparkling with joy over his companion's good showing in this round.

Dan made no effort to follow Kester up. The lad had his own ideas, and now he appeared to be fully aware of what he was doing and what he hoped to do.

Kester came back, sparring cautiously. He landed two light blows on the boy's shoulder, which Dan returned with right and left over the heart. He seemed purposely not to have put much force into the blows. He felt that he had inflicted enough injury on his antagonist, and hoped he should have to do so no more.

The spirit of battle had taken full possession of Kester, however. He was determined to knock his young opponent out. He was exerting every effort to that end.

All at once, in a rapid exchange of blows, the big man clinched, throwing his full weight on Dan's shoulders, with the evident intention of tiring the boy out.

"Break!" cried the referee.

Kester dropped one hand to his side, the other remaining on Dan's shoulder. Like a flash the big man's right came up with a terrific hook on the boy's jaw. It laid Dan flat on the floor some distance away.

"Foul!" roared the crowd. "He struck in the clinch."

"Time!" announced the referee. The three minutes were ended.

"It's a foul. Give the fight to the boy," shouted the jackies, jumping about excitedly, with difficulty restraining themselves from leaping into the ring and inflicting quick punishment on the bully who had committed the foul.

Kester had taken his corner, but when he saw the temper of the spectators he grew ill at ease.

Dan, in the meantime, had been dragged to his own corner by Hickey, who was now using every effort to bring his companion back to consciousness. This he soon succeeded in doing. Though Dan was dizzy and trembling, he smiled bravely.

"You win the fight on a foul," announced the referee.

Davis shook his head.

"You do not wish to claim the foul?"

"No; I could not think of it."

"You wish to go on with the match?"

"Yes, unless Kester is willing to call it a draw."

"Not much," growled the bully. "We'll fight!"

"Good for you, Dan," whispered Sam, while the spectators were shouting their approval. Even if Dan were defeated, now, the Battleship Boy had won the admiration and respect of his shipmates. He had established his reputation on board the "Long Island" for all time for bravery.

"I thought this was to be a boxing match," muttered Dan.

"It is."

"I call it pretty close to a prize fight. That was an awful wallop he gave me. I can feel it yet."

The call of "time" interrupted the conversation. Once more the contestants faced each other in the center of the ring. Dan still was a bit unsteady on his feet as the result of the blow that had knocked him down. He exhibited not the slightest indication of excitement, however, and though suffering great pain, he was cool and calm, presenting a smiling face to his adversary.

Kester suddenly rushed him and Dan rushed Kester. They met with a bang, neither giving ground to the other for several seconds. The big man was the first to back away. Dan's sole object in life now appeared to be to land his eight-ounce gloves on the unfortunate nose of his antagonist. He played for the nose with all the skill and cunning that he possessed. In the meantime Bill was reaching wildly for the younger man's stomach, upon which he seemed unable to land, and getting a bang on the nose nearly every time he attempted it, much to his disgust.

"We had better call it a draw now, had we not?" begged Davis during a lull. "You've had enough. I don't want to hurt you more."

"No!" bellowed Kester, enraged at the suggestion. "Not till I've put you to sleep for the rest of the night."

"Then we had better end it right here. This for Hickey--and this for me!"

The men said afterwards that they saw no blows struck, but that they heard two distinct impacts. What they did see was Kester hurled clear across the ring, after two eight-ounce gloves had landed on the very point of his jaw, directed by all the strength of Dan Davis's well-trained muscles.

Kester went clear through the ropes.

"Catch him!" shouted Dan.

Others had discovered the defeated bully's danger. Half a dozen tars sprang to his rescue. Already Bill Kester's head and shoulders were through the ship's rope railing, and in another second he would plunge headlong into the sea.