The Battleship Boys' First Step Upward Part 44

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 c.o.xswain 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 c.o.xswain 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 c.o.xswain, 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 pa.s.s 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 c.o.xswain 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 c.o.xswain 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."

c.o.xswain 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 c.o.xswain 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.