CHAPTER XXIV
CONCLUSION
The jackies of the battleship set up a great cheer.
Coxswain Davis and the eleven men of his racing crew were lined up on the quarterdeck of the "Long Island." On the decks of a dozen other ships in the bay a similar spectacle might have been seen.
The great race for the silver cup was about to be run. But, now that Joe Harper was unable to guide the boat of the "Long Island," the other ships feared none save the racing crew of the "Georgia."
"Never mind if you don't win, Dynamite. You've got the pluck; you've got the sand. It won't be your fault. But make 'em hump. Make 'em work for what they get," shouted a jackie.
Dan smiled faintly. There was little color in his face, but no one was able to find a trace of nervousness there.
"If that boy had the experience, I should expect to see him win," confided an officer to his companion.
"I don't know. This putting green men in a racing boat is bad business. I hear he has put his friend Sam Hickey in as stroke oar."
"Yes."
The officer shook his head.
"All aboard," commanded Dan. The boy had received detailed instructions from Joe Harper; yet, for all of that, all depended upon Dan and his crew. No one could coach them to the winning point from a sick bed.
The men took their places in the gig. A gun was fired from the flagship warning the crews to start for the stake boat. As they pulled away the sailors lined the side of the battleship, cheering until they could cheer no more. Something in the quiet determination of Dan Davis had filled them with hope. A practice spin, the night before, had put Dan and his men in closer touch. They, too, felt a confidence in the little coxswain who never lost his head nor got excited, no matter how great the emergency.
The race was to be four miles, two miles and a turn, starting from the scratch, the bow of the flagship marking the starting point. The turning buoy was just past the "Long Island."
The racing boats lined up off the flagship where the men received their instructions from the referee, who shouted out his orders through a megaphone. The racers were to start on a gun signal.
The Battleship Boy's slender figure, hunched down in the stern of the "Long Island's" gig, brought a smile to the face of many men that bright afternoon. It seemed a joke that a boy—a mere apprentice—should be given so important a post as that. Dan understood; he knew that the other crews were laughing at him.
"Lads," he said, as they were paddling around for the scratch, "they think we are some kind of joke. Let us show them that we can give, as well as take. Keep steady. There's credit enough to go all around. If we win, no one of us will have won. All of us will have. If we lose, all of us will have lost. All ready now; toss oars!"
An interval of a few seconds followed.
"Let fall! Attention! Stand by!"
Every back was bent.
"Steady, Sam. Do your prettiest."
Sam made no reply.
"Boom!"
The flagship's six-pounder belched forth the starting signal.
"Go!"
The command from the little coxswain came out like the bark of a pistol.
The racing gigs of the fleet leaped forward, driven by powerful arms and backs, the bows of each boat rising right out of the water under the first pull of the long oars.
Sam, at command of the coxswain, had started in with twenty-five strokes per minute. The other racing boats had struck a higher pace, resulting in their forging ahead. The "Idaho's" boat took the lead at the start.
Dan was sitting calmly in the stern of his racing gig, his hand resting lightly on the tiller, watching his men and at the same time keeping his eyes roaming over the water, noting the position of the other boats and steering his course. He used the "Long Island" for his mark, steering to starboard of her, for at the distance no skipper was able to make out the turning buoy.
"Thirty-two!"
Sam hit up the stroke.
"Hold it there steady!"
The "Long Island's" gig forged ahead a little. They were now half way to the battleship.
"Thirty-five!"
The little boat was beginning to send a shower of spray over the backs of the oarsmen. Other boats were astern of them now, but four leaders had a good start.
"Thirty-eight! Make a good showing. We're going to pass our ship now. Give them a run for their money. 'Idaho,' 'Georgia' and 'Connecticut' now have the lead. Take it easy, boys; don't get excited. We'll drive them out pretty soon. 'Idaho' is splashing and 'Georgia' just caught a crab."
The gig was rapidly closing the gap that lay between it and the three boats ahead of them. The fourth one was abreast, the others, a short distance astern.
"We've got them, boys. They shot their big guns at the start. Now keep her going as if you were an old family clock."
A roar sounded in their ears as they plunged past the battleship. The huge cage masts were white with jackies, yelling and swinging their hats, while every inch of rail on that side of the ship was occupied by officers and men. The turn was made. The "Long Island's" gig was leading the second boat by three boat lengths.
"Snap!"
The stroke oar tumbled over backwards. Sam's oar had snapped short off.
A great groan went up from the decks of the "Long Island."
"It's all off," cried an officer. "The stroke oar is broken."
"Wait! What's going on over there?"
"Jump!" shouted Coxswain Davis. "Jump, I say!"
Sam hesitated, for an instant; then the purpose of his chum dawned upon him as he rose, crouching, from his seat.
Dan gave his companion a mighty push and Sam Hickey went overboard. A life ring went soaring after him.
"Into his place, number two!"
The man who had been Joe Harper's stroke oar slipped over into the seat vacated by Sam Hickey.
Dan sprang up on the rear seat with the tiller between his legs.
"Go! One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten," he counted rapidly, to get the new stroke started in his pace.
The "Idaho" and "Connecticut" had gained a slight lead over Dan's boat in the brief delay.
Observing Coxswain Davis' remarkable act, the sailors once more set up a yell, and such a yell as it was!
A boat was quickly manned and a crew of jackies pulled to the place where the red-haired Sam was clinging lazily to the life ring that Dan had cast to him.
"He threw me overboard," complained Sam.
"That is the greatest piece of quick wit that I ever saw in my life," laughed the captain excitedly. "That boy deserves to win, but he can never do it with one man short in the boat."
Coxswain Davis had other views. He was still standing on the seat of the rocking, plunging boat, snapping out his commands to his men, and every man in that boat was thrilled with the encouragement that the little coxswain had instilled into him.
"Go it! Beef it! More steam, number four! Swing further, number eight! Hip! hip! hip! hip! hip! Hit her up! Faster, faster, I tell you! You're winning, I tell you! Drive it! Forty-five, stroke oar."
"I—I can't," gasped the stroke.
"Drive it, I tell you!" yelled Dan Davis, grabbing up the boat hook, brandishing it threateningly over the head of the stroke oar.
"Hip! hip! hip! hip!" he began sharp and quick, setting the pace for the higher speed. The stroke oar, with the perspiration running down his body, reached the stroke demanded.
"Now, hold it, or I'll bat you with the boat hook!" threatened Dan. "Hip! hip! hip! hip! Gaining on the 'Idaho.' We've passed her. Quarter of a boat length to the good. We've got to make it more, or she'll spurt us out at the finish. Hold her there. Here she comes. She's abreast. She's spurting. Hit her up to fifty. Hit it, if it kills you! You've got to win this race, if every man in the boat drops dead."
Dan was dancing about on the slender support of the stern seat, yelling like a madman, though there was not the slightest trace of excitement to be seen in his face. Those on the flagship could hear him shout and see his body moving back and forth to set the pace for the stroke oar. It was a sight that not a man who saw it ever forgot. Discipline on board the ships near by was almost forgotten. The men were shouting and yelling in their excitement.
The "Idaho" and the "Long Island" were bow and bow. Scarcely two boat lengths separated them abeam. Dan knew they were there, but he did not look. His eyes were on his men. A slip, a mistake now, and all would be lost.
"Fifty-five for the last time. Every ounce of muscle on the oars, lads. Go it. Kill 'em! Eat 'em alive! Whoop it up! Hip! hip! hip! hip!"
The words came out with explosive force, almost with the rapidity of a Gatling gun's fire.
"Boom!" roared the flagship's six-pounder.
Two boats shot over the line with every siren in the fleet wailing its greeting to the winning crew.
The men in the "Long Island's" gig did not know they had finished.
"Cease rowing!" commanded Dan in a weak voice. His strength was well-nigh spent. The gig's crew swayed in their seats as they feathered their oars, with difficulty holding their weary bodies from going overboard. They were almost wholly spent.
"Long Island" wins by half a boat length," announced an officer from the deck of the flagship.
A signal fluttered from the peak of the flagship's signal halyard, giving the news to the rest of the fleet.
"Boom!" roared the "Long Island's" six-pounder; then her siren screeched madly.
Dan stood up and saluted the officer of the deck of the flagship.
The winning crew rowed slowly back to their own ship, after a few minutes' rest. As they approached the "Long Island" the siren let loose again. Sailors danced and yelled, throwing their caps into the air, mad with delight.
"Enough way," commanded Dan as his boat drew alongside of their ship. A group of sailors dashed down the gangway, stretching out their hands for him.
"Get the boys out first," he said, with a pale smile. "They've worked harder than I have." But the jackies would not have it that way. They hoisted Dan to their shoulders. Others did the same with the rest of the crew, and as the victorious men came up over the side, the ship's band struck up "The Star Spangled Banner." A scene of wild excitement followed. Nothing like it had ever been seen on the quarter-deck of the battleship. Dan Davis and his crew had won what had been considered a hopeless battle; they had won the cup in the greatest race in the history of the American Navy.
The captain, with his officers, as soon as they could get near enough to do so, grasped Dan by the hand. He and Sam Hickey, and the others of the crew, were the heroes of the hour.
Davis and Hickey were called before the captain a few minutes later, in the presence of the entire ship's company.
"Lads, this has been a great day," said the commanding officer. "We are all proud of you. And this is a most appropriate time to tell you something else I have to say—to read an order from the Navy Department at Washington which directs that Seaman Daniel Davis, for meritorious conduct, in saving the battleship from wreck, be immediately advanced to the petty-officer class, with the rating of gunner's mate, first class. The same order directs that Seaman Samuel Hickey be advanced to coxswain. Lads, I congratulate you. You deserve it. Continue as you have been doing, and some day you will be on the quarter-deck."
Another deafening roar of applause greeted the announcement. The Battleship Boys had made their first real step upward. They had won their grades as petty officers. But they were only at the beginning. The ladder that they had set themselves to climb still towered high above them. They were bound to climb, however. They determined that they would not remain on a lower rung of the ladder. This was merely a beginning. Other promotions were ahead of them, promotions that were destined to come sooner than either lad dreamed. The story of these new honors, of other brave deeds, valiant efforts and stirring experiences in other climes will be told in a following volume, entitled "THE BATTLESHIP BOYS IN FOREIGN SERVICE; Or, Earning New Ratings in European Seas."
THE END.