CHAPTER III.
FOR THE TROPHY OF THE FLEET.
As Ned had prophesied, the next day was bright and clear. There wasjust enough of the coolness of early summer to give a crisp tang tothe air. It stirred the blood like martial music. It was a day whichchallenged every athlete in the squadron to do his best. That is, sofar as external conditions were concerned.
The ground selected for the trying out of the championship of thesquadron was a flat field, some five acres in extent, not far from theshore. It stood on slightly rising ground. Trees, fresh and green,stood in a thick mass on one side. Seaward the ground sloped gently,and beyond could be seen the grim sea-fighters, swinging at anchor;from some of the smoke-stacks vapor curled lazily. The basket-likefighting masts resembled the work of some geometrically inclinedspider.
Cheering and laughing, the contingents from the various ships werelanded after dinner. In their midst, guarding them jealously, asbees would their queen, each ship's company surrounded their groupof athletes. And a fine showing they made when they assembled inthe dressing-rooms under the grandstand. This structure was alreadyoccupied by the officers of the division, headed by Rear AdmiralCochran, a white-haired veteran of the seven seas. A sprinkling ofladies in bright costumes lent a dash of color to the scene.
The course had been laid out, and the officers who had constitutedthemselves a committee in charge of the sports were already busy aboutit, when the _Manhattan's_ boats landed their laughing, singing,cheering blue-jackets. Among them were Ned and Herc. Neither of themhad yet changed to their running togs. Merritt and Chance had, however,but they both wore long raincoats, which prevented Ned from sizingthem up, as he was anxious to do.
Both the Dreadnought Boys were quiet and self-contained as usual.But Merritt and Chance were talking loudly and flinging remarksright and left. Atwell, Turner, Simpkins, Jessup and a dozen other_Manhattan_ entries in various events formed the remainder of theathletic contingent from the big dreadnought. As they entered thedressing-rooms--or rather the big space under the grandstand--a babelof cries of welcome and jocular defiance surged about the Manhattanites.
"Here come the champions of the squadron," shouted some one.
"Say, Jack, wait till they are champions before you start giving thetitle to them," hailed another voice. It was that of Chalmers of the_Louisiana_. He wore dark-green running trunks with a white shirt.Across his chest was a red, white and blue sash, on which was blazonedthe name of his ship. Several of the other runners and athletesaffected this touch of dandyism. Ned and Herc, however, wore plainrunning suits: trunks and sleeveless shirts and good track shoes.
Chalmers lost no time in seeking out Merritt. The two conversed in acorner in low tones. After a time, Ned and Herc, too, succeeded ingetting away from a crowd of their shipmates and found time to pass aword or two.
Merritt had cast off his long coat to adjust his trunks. Ned found hiseyes riveted on the fellow. If physique were any criterion, Merrittshould have been a fine runner.
Clean-cut as a race-horse, his skin was smooth and of good color, withlithe muscles playing under it. He was the beau ideal in build of aspeed machine. Chance, on the other hand, was heavier-set, but heshowed up well in that assemblage of athletically built men and youths.Both Ned and Herc agreed that the two whom they instinctively regardedas enemies were by no means to be rated lightly.
But a sharp bugle call cut short further observation. The games werebeginning. The hundred-yard dash was third on the program, and Ned didnot emerge till just before the starting time. The wind was sharp, andhe did not want to contract his muscles by letting the cold air blow onhis limbs. Herc, in a heavy navy coat, went to the starting line withhim. He stood by his chum, giving him some last words of advice. Nedappeared to listen, but his thoughts were actually elsewhere. He hadalready made up his mind to his course of action. He was going to run awaiting race, depending on a sharp spurt to win.
In a quick glance over the six entrants, he saw that Chalmers andMerritt were the only ones he had cause to fear. He noticed themwhispering together, and resolved to keep a sharp lookout on theiractions.
The air was filled with shouts and suggestions and greetings fromblue-jackets, who were encouraging the men from their own ship. Everyman in the squadron who could be spared was there. They made a bigthrong, lining the track on the side away from the grandstand.
"Hey, there, Springer! Do your prettiest for the _Merrimac_."
"Oh, you Polthew! Don't forget the _Massachusetts_!"
"Say, Polly, look out for that _Manhattan_ bunch."
"Hi, Chalmers, you're the man. You're carrying the _Luzzy's_ money."
"That's right, and don't you forget it."
"And you, Strong! My month's pay's on you."
"You'll lose, then; Merritt's the man."
"What's the matter with Carter? Guess you'll know there's a _Kansas_ inthe fleet."
"Stand back, please! Stand back!" cried those in charge of the course.
The line-up was quickly arranged. The starters crouched ready to dartoff. Carter made a false start, and the excitement waxed furious.
"Ready?"
Lieutenant Steedforth, of the _Louisiana_, the starter, put thequestion.
Like greyhounds preparing to leave the leash, the contestants flexedtheir muscles.
The starter lifted the pistol. A puff of smoke and sharp reportfollowed.
Merritt, Chalmers and Polthew got off at the same instant. They madea showy start, and the grandstand as well as the field buzzed withenthusiasm.
Springer, of the _Merrimac_, and Carter, of the _Kansas_, came next.Strong came last, and was almost unnoticed in the frenzy of excitement.
The pace was terrific. In the first twenty-five yards Polthew andCarter dropped behind, hopelessly out of it. Far in front, Merritt,Chalmers and Springer were fighting it grimly out. Springer hung likedeath on the heels of the two leaders.
Ned had crept up, and kept his pace steadily. Suddenly Springerspurted. This carried him past Chalmers and Merritt, who were abouteven. But the effort had been made too soon. In a second's time hedropped back again.
The Dreadnought Boy knew that the two tricksters in front were goingto concentrate on stopping him if he crept up too soon. So he crawledup till he felt it would be foolish to delay longer. Then, letting outall his reserve power, Ned spurted. His burst of speed was easy andgenuine. It was not forced.
In a flash he was abreast of Chalmers before the latter could "pocket"him according to prearranged plans. Merritt, as he saw this, exertedevery ounce of strength in his wiry body.
The jackies went wild. It was anybody's race, for now Chalmers hadrecovered from his surprise. Spurting, he caught up with the leaders.Spurt followed spurt. The air vibrated with cheers, yells, whoops andevery kind of noisy demonstration.
Above it all, there suddenly rang out from the throats of the_Manhattan's_ crew, one ear-splitting cry of triumph.
In the midst of it, carried on its wings as it were, Ned suddenlydashed ahead of his competitors and staggered across the tape into thearms of his shipmates. Chalmers was second and Merritt a bad third.Tobacco had found the weak spot in his heart. He was almost exhaustedas he reeled across the line.