The shore parties, laughing and cheering and cutting up all manner of antics, climbed over the side and piled into the boats. No effort was made to check their somewhat noisy flow of spirits. The officers wisely recognized the fact that for the time being they were only a happy lot of blue-jackets acting much like boys just let out of school.
Herc injected more amusement into the situation when after a brief absence he appeared at the gangway leading Blue Lightning, the goat mascot of the Manhattan. Blue Lightning was a slate-colored goat—battleship gray, the sailors called his color—of a combative temperament. He had spent many years in the navy and had been a present to the Manhattan from the crew of the old cruiser Texas, when the latter vessel went out of commission.
“Hooray! Here comes Red Head with his goat!” cried the sailors. “Going to give him a cruise ashore, Herc?”
“Sure,” responded the Dreadnought Boy. “Isn’t he entitled to shore liberty just as much as we are? I guess a good feed of grass and a run will do his temper good. He’s been kind of grouchy lately.”
This was true. Only a few days before the goat had run amuck along the decks during the dinner hour, upsetting ditty boxes, butting incautious sailors, and finally charging, regardless of discipline, up on the quarter-deck itself, nearly upsetting the rear-admiral who was taking a dignified stroll about his precincts.
“Come on, Lightning,” coaxed Herc, as he descended the ladder with the goat following close behind.
“Better look out, Red Head, he’s liable to attack you from the stern!” cried a voice.
“Not he,” scoffed Herc, “he’s got too much respect for me. Come on, old fellow.”
The goat followed Herc docilely enough till he had almost reached the bottom of the steep steps. Then, suddenly, he lowered his head. His yellow eyes gleamed viciously.
“Look out!” yelled the sailors in the boat below.