CHAPTER VI--IN THE MIDST OF THE BATTLE

"A nice mix-up. There'll be an awful row about this," muttered Dan, as he slid down the steep bank on his feet.

When he reached the bottom, Flink, the apprentice, still bore the greater part of his weight upon the officer.

"Here's my chance," decided Dan. Springing to his feet, he grabbed Flink by the collar with both hands. Giving him a violent tug, Flink came away, Dan hurling him to one side with surprising strength.

"May I help you, sir?" he asked courteously.

The officer did not answer, but there was an angry gleam in his eyes.

Dan proceeded to brush him off, using the sleeves of his own jacket for the purpose, while the officer stood still until the brushing was finished. He then stepped back and saluted.

"Thank you, my lad. Are you the one who is responsible for this?"

"No, sir."

"Who is?"

"The men were holding a cock-fight under orders, sir."

"Ah, I see. Who is that apprentice?"

"I believe his name is Flink, sir."

"Who threw him out?"

"My friend, Hickey, sir."

"Very well; you may go."

Dan made his way around the base of the embankment, and a few moments later joined his companions in the drill hall, where he saluted his superior, fell in and began his practice work once more.

Sam's face was as solemn as he could make it. Flink, on the contrary, when he rejoined the squad, was scowling angrily. He was dust-covered, his face smeared and altogether he presented a most ludicrous sight.

They were once more being put through the manual of arms when a messenger approached the quartermaster. A brief conversation ensued.

The quartermaster ran his eyes down the line.

"Hickey, fall out!" he commanded.

The red-haired boy did so.

"Do not lose your temper. You are going to be called down. Be respectful and use your head," warned Dan in a whisper, as Sam stepped back from the line.

"Report to the executive officer in the chief yeoman's office on the balcony above," commanded the quartermaster.

"Aye, aye, sir," replied Sam, with a salute.

He made his way up the stairs, and at the door of the office gave the orderly his name. After a moment the orderly reappeared, motioning Sam to follow him.

The lad walked into the private office of the executive officer, where he stood twisting his hat in his hands awkwardly. The executive officer eyed him disapprovingly.

"What's your name?"

"Samuel Hickey, sir."

"How long have you been here?"

"One day, sir."

"You are the man who threw the man Flink against me, are you not?"

"Yes, sir," answered Sam, making a great effort to suppress the grin that curled the corners of his mouth.

"Tell me how it happened?"

"We were having a cock-fight, sir."

"Yes; go on."

"They were all down except the fellow Flink and myself. We were fighting it out. He was a pretty tough proposition, and I had a hard time of it."

"You employed no unnecessary roughness?"

"I was not very gentle about it, sir," answered Sam truthfully. "I was trying to bump him over."

"And you did not care particularly how hard you hit him?"

"I hit him as hard as I could every time, sir."

"There is bad blood between you and this man, is there not?"

Sam looked surprised. He was not aware that the executive officer knew anything about that.

"I don't like him, sir, if that is what you mean."

"Why not?"

"I would rather not say, sir."

"Has he done anything to you?"

"I can't say, sir."

"You mean you will not?"

"I would rather not, sir."

"Young man, you are new here, else I should be inclined to treat you with great severity. I am satisfied that you threw the man Flink out of the drill hall with malicious intent. That, of itself, is sufficient to merit calling you before the mast for examination and sentence. I do not wish to do that, in view of the fact that you do not fully understand the ways of the school. But discipline must be maintained. I will see to it that no marks are laid against you in this instance. However, as soon as you have finished your routine, you will take an extra duty tour of two hours, carrying a rifle. You will so report to your commanding officer."

"Yes, sir," answered Sam meekly. "What do I do with the gun?"

"Carry it. You will receive your instructions from the quartermaster. Return to your company."

Sam saluted and walked back to the drill hall. He did not feel particularly humiliated, well knowing that, while he was to blame in a way, the other fellow was more so.

"What happened?" whispered Dan as Sam fell into line once more.

"I got mine."

"Punishment?"

"Yes."

"What kind?"

"Extra duty tour--with a gun. I'm glad he told me to carry a gun. I can amuse myself with the gun. I wish he had told me to load it and go woodchuck hunting."

Dan looked a bit troubled, but Sam took his punishment good-naturedly.

An hour later, found him tramping up and down the drill ground in the hot sun, with a rifle slung over his shoulders. He had not been there long before he saw Louis Flink approaching him, the latter having been sent to quarters on some mission or other.

Sam pretended not to see him until Flink halted before him with a stealthy glance to the rear to make sure that he was not observed.

"Hullo, red-head. Got what's coming to you, didn't you!" sneered Flink.

"That's where you've got the best of me Blinkers. You haven't got what is coming to you yet, so you have something to look forward to. Go on about your business before I put down this gun and thrash you. Go on!"

Sam made a move toward his tormentor, whereat Flink made haste to get out of the way. From a safe distance he taunted Sam until he saw a blue-coated figure approaching. Flink hurried on about his business, Sam taking up his steady march.

The figure, which proved to be that of a lieutenant whom Sam had not seen before, came on, but the boy did not appear to see him. He was too busy marching apparently, to heed even an officer. But Sam was suddenly called to his duty by a sharp command.

"Halt!"

Instinctively the lad stiffened.

"Attention! Young man, do you not understand what 'attention' means?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then what is that gun doing on your shoulder?"

"I--I don't know, sir."

"Don't you know that you should come to present arms when an officer passes?"

"No, sir. No one ever told me that before."

"Don't you study your Handy Books?"

"Yes, sir, but I have been here only a day."

"Present arms!"

Sam came to a present.

"Carry on!" came the sharp command, after which Hickey again shouldered his weapon and began his measured pacing back and forth. The lieutenant passed on, Sam gazing after him with a scowl upon his face.

"I hope to get to be an officer some of these days. Won't I make the rest of the bunch step around lively? I don't seem to be able to do anything to suit anybody."

For the next two hours the lad continued his extra duty tour, this time, however, keeping a sharp lookout for approaching officers. No officers showed themselves in his vicinity. Now and then a group of apprentices would pass with the invariable greeting, "Hullo, red-head!"

To this Sam made no response. He was determined to take his medicine and show himself to be a man, even if he was being punished.

At last the sky became overcast. Dark clouds began sweeping in from the sea, swirling and tumbling riotously.

"It looks like rain," decided the red-headed boy, halting long enough to gaze anxiously seaward. "I wonder whether they are going to keep me here all the rest of the day?"

The storm broke with a suddenness that he had never before observed, for Hickey never had had any experience with coast storms. The lightning seemed to be everywhere, followed by peals of thunder and deafening crashes, as if the coast artillery were at work the whole length of the Atlantic seaboard.

"It looks like rain," reiterated the apprentice, shifting his rifle to the other shoulder. "I shouldn't be surprised if that bolt struck somewhere. I should feel badly if it were to hit Blinkers, for I want to get a crack at him myself. I guess----"

Sam Hickey did not finish what he was about to say. A blinding flash reflected the buildings of the station in the dark waters of the bay. When the thunder had died away in a rumbling echo Sam was not in sight. He lay in a little depression of ground, half immersed in a puddle of water.

How long he lay there he did not know, but gradually he began to realize that he was very wet. He tried to open his eyes, but the rain dashing into them almost blinded him.

"I must be drowned," he decided; then he resolutely pulled himself together, struggled to his feet and began hunting about for his rifle. That weapon, when finally he found it, was a sorry-looking object.

"Well, well, I wonder what happened," muttered Sam. "I know--the thing has been struck by lightning."

The barrel of the rifle, he found, was twisted out of shape, the stock was hanging in splinters, while some parts of the weapon had entirely disappeared.

Sam viewed the wreck ruefully.

"I expect I'll get about ten years in the brig when they see that," he wailed. "They'll have me in jail for life, first thing I know. Who'd ever think a streak of lightning could cut up such pranks as these? I remember, now, the thing did feel awfully hot before I went to sleep."

Sam considered for a moment, gazed longingly off to the roof of barracks A, faintly visible above a rise of ground. Then, shouldering his ruined rifle, he began plodding up and down again, the rain beating on him in blinding, drenching sheets.

Every little while, he would glance hopefully toward the barracks, where he knew all hands were snug and dry in their white suits, perhaps having a good time. His discontent was added to when he heard the bugle blow for the midday mess.

"There, I'll lose my dinner," complained Hickey. "I knew something serious would happen before the day was over. I wonder if they have forgotten me?"

"They" had. But now the roll was being called as the apprentices formed for the mess. About that time the sun came out, and Sam discovered an officer in a rain coat rapidly approaching him. It was Lieutenant Commander Devall. The officer had his eye on the boy long before reaching him.

"What does this mean?" he demanded, gazing with surprise at the mud-covered, torn uniform and the twisted, ruined rifle on the shoulder of the plodding figure of Sam Hickey.

"My rifle was struck by lightning, sir," answered the lad, coming to a present arms.