CHAPTER VIII
SAM GETS A PIG'S FOOT
The "Long Island" was still lying inside the breakwater when the ladswere piped to their gun station the following morning.
"Seaman Dan Davis and Sam Hickey will hereafter act as gun pointers innumber four turret," said the gun captain. "You will get your ratingbadges at the canteen, meaning the ship's storeroom. See that you havethem before the afternoon practice at four bells."
The Battleship Boys looked at each other triumphantly, and Sam winkedwisely at his companion. How the lads did go through their work thatday, performing each duty with a snap that drew nods of approval fromthe gun captain and wondering looks from their companions.
After the noon meal they hastened to the canteen, where they procuredthe rating badges. This was a square of blue cloth on which was awhite circle with two fine lines drawn across the circle at rightangles to each other, representing the crossed sights such as one findsin a telescope rifle.
The boys lost no time in sewing them on their sleeves, after which theyparaded the forward deck, doing their best to look unconcerned. Theirefforts in this direction were failures.
"Hello, Dynamite! I see you've got your hash marks," greeted acompanion.
"Oh, you mean this," answered Dan, with glowing face, as he held up hisarm.
"I've got one, too, even if I couldn't hit the side of a barn," spokeup the red-headed Hickey. "I told the captain of number four how I hadplugged woodchucks back home, though, and I guess that convinced himthat I could shoot big guns."
"Say, Hickey, speaking of hash marks, have you got any on you yet?"
"I'm just telling you I have one here. I'm a gun pointer. If youdon't believe it, come over to the turret and I'll point one at you.It'll make you jump when the pop-gun goes off, I'll bet."
"No, no; I don't mean that kind of a hash mark," laughed his companion.
"What kind, then?"
"Tattoo marks. We call them hash marks."
"I get tattooed--is that what you mean?"
"Of course; every sailor--every real sailor--has that done."
"What for?"
"Just to be the real thing; that's all."
"I don't know. I hadn't thought of it."
"I'll take you over to Needle Johnson, if you want to have it done."
"Well, I don't know," reflected Sam. "Does it hurt?"
"Of course it doesn't. You will not even feel it. Doesn't hurt halfas much as the sting of a Jersey mosquito."
"I'll go and talk with What's-his-name----"
"Needle Johnson."
"Yes. Where's Dan?"
"I think he has gone below. You come along, and he'll be surprised andenvious when he finds you have had the job done," continued the boy'sshipmate with a wink at some of the others standing by.
Sam somewhat reluctantly followed the jackie below, where, after somesearching about, they finally located Needle Johnson. Needle was anold-time sea dog, wearing a heavy crop of whiskers and with a voicethat would have done credit to a boatswain's mate.
"Here's a lad who hasn't had a hash mark put on his skin, and he's beenon board for three months."
Needle gazed at the red-headed boy pityingly.
"You don't mean it?"
"Yes. I told him he wouldn't be a real sailor until he had some paintstuck under his hide."
"That's the sure thing, my lad, and I'm the salt that can give you thepurtiest hashings you ever set eyes on. Where did you reckon youwanted the marks put?"
"I hadn't reckoned anything about it. I guess I don't want any ofthose hash marks, as you call them," Sam returned.
"What? Not want them? Of course you do."
Sam reflected a moment, then gave a reluctant consent.
"What kind of a tattoo would you suggest?"
"A pig's foot, by all means, matey. That's the latest and mostfashionable decoration that a gentleman can wear. How'll you have it!"
"I'll take mine pickled, if it's all the same to you," answered Samsoberly.
The jackies roared.
"What do you take me for--a sea-cook?" growled Johnson. "Take off yourright shoe if you want to do business with me."
"What for?"
"For the hash. You wouldn't have a pig's foot anywhere else, wouldyou?"
"I--I don't know."
"That's the only place to put it, and it will bring you luck."
In the meantime Needle Johnson had gotten out his case of needles andhis coloring matter.
"You are sure it won't hurt?" asked Sam.
"You won't feel a thing. Now, hold perfectly still. If you jerked, oranything, I might make a pig's tail instead of a pig's foot. Thatwould be tough, wouldn't it, matey?"
"It might be tough for you. Ou-u-u-uch!"
Sam Hickey's foot came up with such suddenness that Needle was unableto dodge it. The foot caught Needle fairly on the nose, bowling himover to the deck, while all hands were shrieking with delight over hisdiscomfiture.
"What--what do you mean, you--you lubber?" demanded Needle angrily,rubbing the injured member, then shaking a fist under the red-headedboy's nose.
"You--you said it wouldn't hurt."
"Hurt nothing!"
"I should say it did hurt. What are you trying to do--drill a hole allthe way through my foot? I don't want any hash marks. I'll get alongwith just my natural skin, whether I have any luck or not. Give methat shoe."
"Say, fellows," spoke up a jackie. "I reckon Red-head had better havea pig's foot, eh!"
"You bet he had," chorused the others.
"And he won't do it of his own free will."
"So he says."
"Then it seems to be our solemn duty to take the job into our ownhands, does it not, mates?"
"It is."
"All right, then. Seaman Hickey, do we get it straight that you defythe rules of our profession by refusing to wear the badge of thatprofession?"
"Call it what you want to. I'm not going to have any heathen ritesperformed over me, or my skin pricked full of holes."
"Then, shipmate, you'll have to take your medicine. Jump on him, boys!"
Black and White, the two Hawaiians who had been standing by grinning,made a concerted rush for Hickey. He wheeled just as they threwthemselves upon him. But the Pacific Islanders were reckoning withoutthe cost.
"So that's the game, is it?" gritted Sam.
Grabbing Black by the collar and one leg, he pitched the fellow halfway across the deck, standing the Hawaiian on his head. Whitefollowed. He, too, was sailing through the air before Black struck.Both landed on the same spot, and instantly were fighting each other intheir efforts to get clear.
But the admiring jackies had no time to spare. They would have likednothing better than to have let that affair go on to a finish.Instead, the whole crowd, fifteen or twenty of them, fell upon thered-haired boy, hand and foot. Sam went down in a heap. He was notangry, but he was giving these fellows all they wanted in theirattempts to hold him down.
"Grab the foot!" shouted one.
The jackie did so, but was promptly knocked over by a kick on the nose,causing that member to bleed freely.
This time two sailors grasped the Battleship Boy's naked foot andstraightened it out.
"Get your tools out, Needle. Here's your foot."
Despite their efforts, the foot was working back and forth so fast thatJohnson was unable to do anything with it.
"Pass a rope around it. That's the way we used to rope cattle outwest. That's the idea."
A line was passed about Hickey's ankle and made fast to a stanchion.
"All right, Needle, drive the color in deep, so it won't wash out."
"Give him two pig's feet," suggested another. "He'll have better luckif you do."
"I'll trim the whole bunch of you for this," growled a voice from thebottom of the pile.
The jackies laughed loudly.
"Me fix him, me fix him," snarled Black, at that instant jumping
intothe pile, his face contorted with rage.
"You get out and mind your own business," advised one of the men. "Yougot yours; now run along and be good. Take your white friend alongwith you, while you are about it, or we'll paint both of you."
While this conversation was going on Johnson was plying his needleindustriously, and under his hand Sam Hickey's foot was undergoing agreat change. Little by little the outline of a pig's foot wasappearing. The pig's foot was done in red, while the toe nails of thefoot were in blue.
"There; you can let the broncho up now," announced Johnson, afterputting the final touches to his artistic achievement.
The sailors piled off, while one of their number released the rope thatheld the foot. Sam struggled to a sitting posture, much the worse forwear, his hair standing up, his clothes soiled and disordered. But itwas the foot that attracted his attention. He surveyed it dubiously,then his eyes wandered about the circle of laughing faces.
Sam grinned a sheepish grin.
"Fellows, you've insulted an officer and a gentleman, and I've got toget even with you--no; I'll have you before the mast, every one of you,so----"
All hands began grunting in imitation of a herd of pigs.
"I see I am not the only pig in the sty, after all," announced SeamanHickey cuttingly, as he calmly began pulling on his shoe over the sorefoot.