Instead of a day in the small boats laying mines, as had been planned, the men were to have another field day, painting ship, after the decks had been scrubbed down. Gun crews got out their pots and brushes, then crawled through the narrow openings into the gun-turrets, first having thrown open the hatches on top of the turrets, to let in enough light to enable them to see where to paint.
Walls were painted white, floors red, jackies both red and white. Dan and Sam—the latter having been released from the brig after serving his sentence—not belonging to a gun crew, were put to work in a corridor on this occasion. They were in great good humor, having gained the distinction of being ordered to report for wig-wag signal duty during the mine practice, both being experts with the signal flag. The boys were talking over their good fortune when the captain came hurrying through. Instantly the boys came to attention.
“Good morning, lads,” greeted the commanding officer.
“Fresh paint beside you, sir,” warned Dan.
“Very careless of me not to have observed it. I see I have gathered quite a quantity of it already,” he added, examining his trim braided blouse that was now streaked with white.
“May I speak, sir?” asked Dan.
“Certainly, my lad. What is it?”
“Let me rub the paint off while it is still fresh?”
“How?”
“This way, sir.”