“Look here,” said Schneider. “I’ve got to remain with the gun crew until we’re released from this duty. Suppose you go forward. See the Commander, if you can. If he’s not on the bridge, speak to whoever is in charge, and find out what the damage is. The ship is no more than limping along now. I’m sure there is serious trouble somewhere. Tell the Commander I’m standing by with these men and if extra help is needed, they can get busy at once. There’s nothing to do here. Oh, I forgot to say—give him my compliments. My knee is paining me so, I can hardly think!”
“Don’t worry,” chuckled Bill. “I won’t disgrace you. Bye-bye. I’ll fetch some liniment from the dispensary on my way back, if I can.”
He touched his cap and ran forward.
En route he met several parties of men hurrying toward companionways, but without stopping to question them, he made his way with all possible speed to the steps which led to the bridge and raced up. There he encountered Lieutenant Commander Hoffman, the navigation officer. He came to attention three paces in front of the frowning officer and saluted him.
“Lieutenant Schneider’s compliments, sir,” he said crisply. “The lieutenant wishes to know if his gun crew can be of service to you. He knows, of course, that the ship was hit, but so far has received no further information or orders.”
“Thank Lieutenant Schneider for me,” the officer replied with all the ramrod formality of the Imperial German Navy. “Say to him that the schwein-dog cruiser shot off one of our propellers. What other damage has been done, I have not as yet ascertained, but I believe it to be of a minor character. Commander Geibel has gone below to investigate. Until he returns, it will be well for the Lieutenant to stand by with his gun crew and await orders.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Bill had been standing rigidly at attention while Herr Hoffman discoursed. His first salute had been of the type that any Navy Man would term “seagoing,” but into his parting gesture, he put all the snap that only an Annapolis Midshipman is capable of. Turning smartly on his heel, he ran lightly down the steps.
“Perhaps that will hold him for a while,” he muttered, making for a companionway. “Discipline is discipline, but that guy talks as if you were bilge under his feet, the pompous, hard-boiled egg! Dollars to ditchwater that pirate was either a C.P.O. or a Warrant when the Dutchmen had a Navy. That kind are always the snootiest when they’re sprouting gold stripes!”
Which was gross libel, as it happened, but it soothed Bill’s feelings, and he found himself whistling Yankee Doodle as he ran down to the ship’s dispensary.
“Lieutenant Schneider got a crack on the knee,” he told the mate in charge. “Got a bottle of liniment handy?”