An Annapolis First Classman Part 22

"Aye, aye, sir."

In a moment there was a strident blast from the steam whistle and immediately after: "Bang!" went the six-pounder.

Many midshipmen, not prepared for the deafening report, jumped violently.

"A bull's-eye," cried out Commander Shaw in delight. "Mr. Drake, your sight is all right, and the powder is all right. Captain Brice, I'd like to go back and commence over again. Mr. Drake, let Mr. Blair practice sighting the gun. You'll find, Mr. Blair, that the new sights are easier to shoot with. Mr. Drake, I'm delighted; that was a bully good shot."

Again the "Nevada" steamed toward the range.

"Now, fellows," said Robert, "put cotton in your ears and don't mind about the noise; get the gun loaded as soon as I fire; and, Gla.s.s, be sure you throw the sh.e.l.l in home; the only chance of a poor score is a jammed cartridge."

The "Nevada" rapidly approached the first buoy. An intense, breathless silence, an air of solemnity, pervaded the ship. Standing like statues grouped about the six-pounder gun that was about to fire, were Robert and his crew, with grim determination written on every face.

"After the whistle blows commence firing immediately," ordered Commander Shaw. "I'll time you with a stop-watch; you will fire for just a minute; jump back the instant I tap you on the arm like this. Mr. Blair, have your crew ready to jump to the gun just when I signal to Mr. Drake to cease."

"Aye, aye, sir," came the replies in unison from both Robert and Blair.

When the whistle blew, there came a novel sensation to those on board who had never before seen a navy target practice.

A sheet of white flame burst from the muzzle of the six-pounder, a thunderous, reverberating report a.s.saulted the ears of everybody, and hardly had this been experienced when the same thing was repeated, over and over again. The grim statues at the gun had burst into reckless life. At the first shot, the recoil of the gun had thrown down the breech-block and so had opened the gun, ejecting the used cartridge case. The gun was ready for loading, and Gla.s.sfell lost no time. Hardly had the empty cartridge case been ejected than into the chamber he threw a fresh sh.e.l.l. A spring was automatically released, throwing the breech-block into place, and the gun was ready for firing. Almost instantly it was discharged, for Robert never allowed the sights to leave the target.

And so a thunderous bang! bang! bang! was kept up from the gun.

Commander Brice, on top of the pilot house, with his gla.s.ses leveled on the target, was in an ecstasy of delight.

"A bull's-eye," he cried, "another bull's-eye, a beautiful shot, wonderful shooting."

While this was going on, a wild-eyed enlisted man, scantily clad in working trousers and undershirt, and evidently under intense excitement, came tumbling up on the superstructure deck, screaming, "Captain, captain."

He ran into half a dozen midshipmen, fell down twice, reached the ladder leading to the pilot house top, still continuing his wild cry of "Captain." He b.u.mped into Captain Brice, and when the latter turned angrily around to him, he thrust a paper into the captain's hands.

Commander Brice read the paper, and then in a stentorian voice cried out: "Cease firing."

At the same instant Commander Shaw touched Robert on the shoulder and called "time."

"Cease firing," repeated Commander Brice. "Keep Mr. Drake and his crew at the gun! Hard a starboard the helm! Call away the life-boat. Gunner's mate, get up twelve rifles and rifle ammunition, double time! Captain Shaw, detail Lieutenant Joynes to take charge of the life-boat; have two midshipmen crews, armed with rifles, prepared to go in the life-boat when it is lowered. Ease the helm, amidships with it--steady so."

Many pairs of surprised eyes were upon Commander Brice. With gla.s.ses up to his eyes, he was now looking at a yacht on the starboard bow, recognized by everybody to be the "Robert Centre" which, some distance away, was careening far to one side and was bowling along at a furious speed.

"Mr. Drake!" called out Commander Brice.

"Sir?"

"Do you see the 'Robert Centre'?"

"Yes, sir."

"Drop a sh.e.l.l under her bows. Don't hit her. The range is about fifteen hundred yards."

CHAPTER XXI

A GOOD SHOT WITH THE SIX-POUNDER

"Bang," went the six-pounder, and four seconds later a heavy column of water rose up under the bow of the "Robert Centre," three quarters of a mile away.

"Well placed," called out Commander Brice, as he saw the shot fall.

"What," he exclaimed a moment later, "the rascal won't heave to! Split the mast, Mr. Drake, six feet above the deck."

Hardly had he given the order when Robert again fired.

"Five feet to the right; aim a little to the left of the mast."

Again a sheet of flame leaped from the six-pounder's mouth, again the thunderous reverberating report, dying out in far-away echoes, rolled from the gun.

Except for Commander Brice's orders, the noise of the gun, and the now painfully loud throbbing of the engines, an intense stillness prevailed on the "Nevada's" deck. Thoroughly accustomed to navy ways, not a soul on board thought of questioning the captain's reason for injuring the graceful yacht, which had seen many pleasant sailing parties of midshipmen and their friends. All eyes were on the yacht; a few seconds after Robert's last shot the tall raking mast was seen suddenly to snap off close to the deck. Down went the mast over the side into the water, carrying with it every sail; and the yacht a minute before so full of life and spirit, so swiftly plunging through the water, now rolled helplessly, inert and lifeless.

"A beautiful shot, Mr. Drake," cried Commander Brice, delightedly. "Mr.

Joynes, as soon as we are near that yacht I'll slow down and stop and you lower the life-boat; get your armed crew aboard, and row over to the 'Robert Centre'! Take three men and a small boy from her--and let go the yacht's anchor; we'll let the 'Standish' tow her in after target practice."

"What is it, Brice?" asked Commander Shaw, who had gone up on top of the pilot house.

"Read this wireless message from the superintendent. It's evident that the kidnappers of Georgie Thompson stole the 'Robert Centre' and now are on board with the boy. By Jingo! Mr. Drake did some fine shooting.

Between wireless telegraphy and good shooting villainy isn't profitable these days."

Before long three silent, gloomy men and a small boy were brought on board. Two of the men were on the verge of collapse; new life had come to little Georgie, who wondered what it was all about.

"Master-at-arms, put these men in a cell and place a guard over them.

Where is the wireless operator? Oh--send this message immediately. Look here, my little man, is your name Georgie Thompson?"

"Yes, sir. Where is my papa? Is he here? What were those awful noises, Mister? May I have a piece of bread and b.u.t.ter? I'm awfully hungry.

Where is my papa?"

"Steward, take Georgie to my cabin and keep him there, and get him something to eat, right away. Full speed, both engines, hard aport the helm. Now we'll run back by the buoys again. Take charge, Shaw, and fire as you will."

Before long Blair's crew fired at its target, and in quick succession the remaining four targets were fired at, and then the "Nevada" ran up to the targets to count the shot holes in them and the "Standish" went up to repair them.

Never did Robert Drake have a more exultant feeling than when he saw the holes his shots had torn through the canvas. He had fired twenty-two times in his minute, and there were nineteen gaping holes in his target.

Blair had fired sixteen times and had made thirteen hits. Robert now knew the flag was his and he was glad indeed. Six more crews were to fire, but he knew in his heart that none could hope to equal his record, because none had had the practice his crew had had.

Nothing could have exceeded the cordial congratulations of his closest rival, Blair.

"You've beaten me out, Bob, but, by George, you deserve to. I'm not ashamed of my score; thirteen hits is not a bad record--but what luck you have had--what a wonderful bull's-eye you made when you knocked down the 'Robert Centre's' mast; you deserve the flag, Bob! There's no doubt of that fact; you've won it, and by no fluke."

The targets were soon patched up, and the remaining six gun crews fired their shots. On the whole the target practice was very good and the midshipmen and the ordnance officers present were jubilant.