CHAPTER VII
PUTTING THE ENEMY OUT
By this time every officer and man on the battleship "Long Island" knew Dan Davis and Sam Hickey by name as well as by sight. But the lads bore their honors well. Neither of the boys sought to take advantage of the favor he had gained. If anything, the boys toiled harder than ever. They worked with the formidable seven-inch gun during all the hours that were allotted to this work.
During the rest hour Dan and his companion would ordinarily be found in the turret, examining the gun and its carriage, quizzing each other to test their knowledge, committing to memory the name and use of every part of these complicated instruments of war.
Late one afternoon, when the men were supposed to be at play on the forward deck, the captain was passing through on his way to his quarters, when he heard voices in the turret and peered in there.
He saw Dan and Sam stripped to their undershirts, working the big gun and going through with their own examination. Dan was trying to explain to his companion the theory and practice of range-finding—learning the distance and location of the enemy. From that they drifted into the question of sighting the big guns, elevation and other technical subjects beyond their years and experience.
The ship's commander smiled proudly. After a few moments of listening, he stepped inside.
"Well, lads, do you never rest?" he questioned, in a kindly tone, for the commanding officer of the "Long Island" was a humane man, one who had the interests of his men at heart to a degree possessed by few commanding officers in the service.
The lads saluted but made no reply, as an answer was not expected to the question.
"Are you studying—I mean in books?"
"Yes, sir," replied Dan.
"Where do you get your books?"
"From the ship's library, sir."
"I am afraid you are in need of some more advanced works than you will find in the crew's library. If you will come to my quarters, this evening after your mess, I will see what I can find for you. I think I have some books that will be of use to you. By the way, I heard you mention electricity once or twice. Do you know anything about that branch?"
"A little, sir, but we are studying that as well," Dan replied.
"From books?"
"Oh, yes, sir. Besides this we are taking a course in electricity with a correspondence school."
The eyes of the commanding officer twinkled.
"You are two very industrious boys. I am afraid not many of our boys are following your example."
"Quite a few of them are, sir."
"May I ask what you are seeking to accomplish?"
Dan glanced up inquiringly.
"I mean as to the future. What do you hope to do with yourself?" asked the captain.
"Naturally, sir, I hope to gain promotion when I have earned it," was Dan's answer.
"Ah, yes; to be sure. You have ambitions to become petty officers. Well, your prospects are good, young men, if you keep on in that way you have been going. You will come below for the books as I suggested, will you not?"
"Yes, sir; thank you, sir."
"As I have said before, whenever you wish advice or assistance, come to me, through your immediate superiors, and you will find me ever ready to aid you."
"Thank you, sir," acknowledged the boys, in chorus. The captain saluted in answer to theirs; then, turning on his heel, left the turret.
"That's what I call a right smart gentleman," announced Sam Hickey, with an emphatic nod of the head.
"The captain is a magnificent man. We are lucky, old fellow, in being under such a commander. I'd face powder and bullets any day for him."
"Say, Dan."
"Yes."
"He invited us to call on him, didn't he?"
"Well, yes; something like that, though not in a social sense. That would be impossible."
Sam pondered.
"Do you know I'd give a month's pay if the rest of the bunch could see me sitting in one of those mahogany chairs in the Old Man's quarters, with my feet on his dining room table."
"Sam Hickey, I am ashamed of you. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, to say a thing like that! Suppose the commanding officer had overheard those words, instead of what he did overhear. What would you have done then?"
"What would I have done? Why, I'd have slipped out through the gun port, and left you to square things with him," answered the resourceful Sam.
"You're hopeless," muttered Dan. "And, another thing, before you talk of giving a month's pay remember that you have nearly a month's pay charged against you for the loss of the tompion."
"That's so. I'm going to ask the captain about that. Maybe, when he hears my side of the case, he will remit the fine. It's a shame to make me pay it."
"Don't be a baby. Be a man and take your medicine like a man," advised Dan, as he pulled on his jacket and prepared to leave the turret.
That evening they reported at the captain's quarters, as they had been directed. While, in this instance, the lads remained standing, their commanding officer talked with them as if they were really his equals; that is, as if there were no social barriers erected between them.
The longer they remained in the service the more the Battleship Boys came to realize that the gulf between officers and men was not nearly so wide as it had been painted. The officer worked by the side of his men in the grime and dirt, and at all times made the comfort of the jackies his personal care. Strict forms, however, had to be lived up to for the sake of discipline.
On the following morning, when the two boys reported to turret number four, where they were stationed, the gun captain lined up his men and looked them over after roll call.
"What we need in this crew, just now, is gun pointers. Those of you who have tried that work aren't worth the powder to blow you through a ventilator. What we are going to do I'll confess I don't know. Here we are, within four weeks of battle practice, and not one of you could sight a gun so that it would send a ball through a barn if the barn were leaned up against the muzzle. Do any of you who haven't tried think you can sight a seven-inch gun!"
"I used to shoot woodchucks with a shotgun, sir," Sam Hickey informed the gun captain.
The gun crew laughed loudly.
"Bosh!" exploded the gun captain.
"I can shoot, sir," insisted Sam.
"I'd be afraid to have you get near a bag of powder with that fiery head. It's a wonder you don't blow up with spontaneous combustion. You will, one of these times, if you don't look sharp."
A pugnacious look flashed into Sam Hickey's eyes, but he dared not make a retort to the gun captain.
"Davis, do you think you could learn to sight a gun?"
"Yes, sir; I think so."
"You'll get the chance. We will give you a try-out this morning. All hands line up for dotter practice."
"What's dotter practice?" asked Sam.
"Sh-h-h," warned Dan. "Haven't you learned what that is yet?"
"No."
"Dotter practice is target work in miniature. Listen! The gun captain is going to explain it to us."
"Some of you understand the dotter," began the gun captain. "For the benefit of those of you who do not I will explain. The dotter is a little contrivance on the gun, which enables you to shoot at a target and proves your marksmanship. By looking through the finder you will see a little target that moves up and down like a ship at sea. When the crossed wires of your finder are right on the target you pull the trigger. A black spot will appear on the target—a dot, showing where your shot struck if you have hit the target at all. We call it a dotter because it makes a dot where it hits."
"And the dotter makes you dotty," muttered Sam under his breath, yet loudly enough so that the man next to him heard it. The fellow laughed aloud, bringing down a sharp rebuke from the gun captain.
"Hickey, try your hand at the dotter."
Sam climbed up to the little platform on the right side of the gun, winking at his companions as he did so.
"What shall I do now?" he questioned, taking his place.
"Sight through the finder. I'll set the target going."
"Yes, I see it. I'm afraid that thing will make me seasick if I keep on looking at it," declared Hickey, looking up at the instructor.
"Attend to your practice!"
"Bang!"
Sam leaped up into the air. His head came into violent contact with the deck above him.
"Ouch!" yelled the red-headed boy, as he collapsed in a heap on the deck.
Sam had unwittingly pulled the trigger, firing the cap that bad been provided to explode the dotter, thus making the miniature target work the more realistic.
"Did something hit me? I—I thought the seven-inch had gone off," stammered the boy, pulling himself to his feet and rubbing his head where it had hit the ceiling.
"Just like a landlubber," growled the gun captain. "You'll make a fine gun pointer, you will."
"I—I didn't know the thing was going off," complained Hickey.
"I suppose, if we were to fire the piece in earnest, you would jump overboard," sneered the captain. "Get up there, now, and do it right, if you want to stay in this division."
Sam took his place once more, the gun captain giving him suggestions and directions as to how to catch the moving target when it was moving upward as a ship does in riding a great swell.
"Bang!"
Sam had pulled the trigger, but this time he had done so intentionally. Instinctively the lad jumped, grinning sheepishly as he noted the smiles on the faces of his companions of the gun crew.
"Well, what is your score?"
"Score?"
"Yes. Did you hit the target?"
"I don't know."
"Look at the target."
"I see a fly speck over by the edge of the target," spoke up Sam.
"That is where your shot struck. Had you been shooting at a battleship you might have raked her stern, but I reckon you would not have done her very great damage. However, it was not a half-bad shot for a landlubber. Number three, take your place."
The man indicated made an even worse shot than had Hickey, though he had been practising with the dotter for three weeks.
"You never will do at this work," decided the gun captain. "About all you will be good for will be to clean bright work and pass along ammunition. Davis, let's see what you can do."
Dan was all expectation. He could hardly wait for his turn at the gun.
"You understand how to work it?"
"I think so."
"Take your time. Make sure of your mark, then let go quickly. You will find in actual target work, or in shooting at an enemy, that a fraction of a second's delay will ordinarily roll the target out of your range. Better to shoot a second too soon than a second too late."
Dan was peering through the sights, his eye fixed on the pin-head opening. One hand crept slowly to the trigger. It rested there for a few seconds without a tremor. His nerves were steady and true.
"Bang!"
"What luck?"
"Squarely in the center. That's what I should call a bull's eye," announced Dan Davis triumphantly. "Am I right, sir?"
"Yes; you hit the mark all right. It may have been a chance shot."
"I think not, sir. I will see if I can do it again."
Dan applied his eye to the finder. An instant's hesitation, then there followed the sharp report of the dotter.
"Once more in the center, sir. Shall I fire again?"
"No. You've sunk the ship, young man. You have put the enemy out of business. You are not only going to make a splendid gunner, but you are far above the average already."
Ere Dan could express his thanks the bugle blew, piping gun crews down to other duties.