CHAPTER XVIII.
THE BOYS GET ACQUAINTED WITH BIG GUNS.
Two days later the squadron sighted what at first seemed--to the boys,at least--to be a distant cloud of deeper blue than the surroundingsky. It floated on the southern horizon.
"Cuba!" announced old Tom, who, with the boys, was standing on the foredeck in the "smoke time" succeeding the jackies' dinner.
"How soon will we come to anchor?" inquired Herc.
"About sundown," was the reply. "You boys are in for some strangesights and experiences down here."
If Tom had been a prophet of old, he could not have spoken more truly.The boys were indeed "in for some strange experiences."
That afternoon the gun crews were set to work on their various piecesof ordnance, and "dummy drill" was gone through again and again tillthe officers were hoarse with shouting commands.
In the forward turret, Ned and Herc, the proudest bluejackets of allthe _Manhattan's_ ship's company, were drilled again and again in theirpart of the gun-pointing and sighting performance.
Just as in actual practice--only these were dummies--the projectile,shining and menacing, and the bags of make-believe smokeless powderwere sent up from the magazines on the electric ammunition hoists. Fromthese they were rapidly transferred by the gun crew, who used a sort ofwooden trough in the process.
"Like the hog troughs we put the mash in at home," mused Herc, as helaid hold of one of the six handles on the trough and did his best tofall into the rhythmic swing with which the men obeyed the sharp seriesof commands issued by the officer, who was Lieutenant Timmons himself.
"Take up LOAD!"
The projectile was laid in the trough almost as fast as it was shot upon the elevator. As the last echoes of the command rang sharply on thesteel walls of the turret, the implement was reposing in its "bed."
"Swing LOAD!"
By this time the shining breech--as fine as the mechanism of athree-hundred-dollar stop watch--was swung open by the breech tender.It was then only the work of a second to flash the projectile into theglistening chamber.
"Ram HOME!"
With one quick movement, that seemed to occupy no longer period thanthe tick of a clock, the projectile was slid to its proper place by along wooden rammer.
All this time the gun pointer--Jim Cooper by name--alert, watchful as amousing cat, was crouched on a little platform at the side of the gun,sighting an imaginary mark through a telescope affixed to the gun'sside.
The lens of this sight was marked with tiny, hairlike crosslines,affording the pointer the means of determining with almost unerringaccuracy, the exact second at which the target and the gun were inline. In a heavy seaway, of course, or even in a moderate blow, thework of the gun pointer is much more complicated, as a dozen differentelements and movements are at work to confuse and spoil his aim.
Then came the powder charge. Several canvas bags appeared on theammunition hoist.
"More like flourbags than powder," thought Herc to himself, as hehelped slap them into the carrying tray.
"Ram HOME!"
The powder was shoved in with the same flash-like rapidity that hadmarked the placing of the huge projectile.
"Ready, sir!"
The chief of the loading crew saluted.
"Ready, Cooper?"
"Aye, aye, sir!"
"Close breech! FIRE!"
The two commands seemed to be merged into one, so rapidly did theycome. The boys and the rest of the crew sprang to the back of theturret and crouched low, as did the others as the command was given.
The gun pointer came last of all, springing backward like an acrobat.As he did so there was a sharp click. The lieutenant in command hadthrown the switch that ignited the priming spark. The mighty charge hadbeen touched off--in imagination.
The lieutenant looked at his watch, which he had held on his open palmwhile the crew worked.
"Twenty-five seconds! Good work," he announced. "Do as well as that atbattle practice, men, and we shall beat the _Idaho_ to rags--on speed,at all events."
"And on targets, too," grimly remarked Cooper, wiping his nervous handswith a bundle of waste.
This was the final practice of the afternoon, and the rest of the timewas devoted to familiarizing the two young recruits with their dutiesabout the turret.
Both were quick pupils and had already studied something of gunnery atthe Newport Training School, so that in a short time they thoroughlyunderstood the theory of firing the big guns.
With quick eyes both lads had noticed that the other twelve-inchgun--the Varian projectile hurler--had not been unhooded, and its grimbreech was swathed mysteriously in waterproof coverings. It was inthe breech that lay the complicated mechanism which made it possibleto handle the terrific explosive power of Chaosite--at least, so theinventor hoped.
As a final lesson, the boys were instructed in the elementary theory ofgun pointing, a much too technical subject to enter into here.
Herc was amazed when he took his place on the gun-pointer's littlesteel platform, to find that by handling a lever close to his righthand he could point the ponderous gun, weighing fifty-four tons, up ordown as easily as he used to sight his little "twenty-two" when he wentshooting "chucks" at home.
"That great gun is balanced as delicately as a microscope," explainedthe lieutenant.
"How do you get it in lateral range?" inquired Herc.
For reply, the lieutenant indicated another lever.
Herc touched it.
Instantly the great turret itself began to quake, and then, with a softrattling of cogs, commenced slowly to revolve.
"Reverse it!" shouted the lieutenant.
Herc pulled the lever in the other direction.
As obediently as if it had understanding, the tons of triple-rivetedsteel which composed the shelter for the heaviest guns in the navybegan to turn in the opposite direction.
"Electricity," laughed the officer. "Electricity is the life-blood ofthe modern battleship. A vessel like this has a more complicated systemof circulation than the human body. We eat by electricity, fire theguns by it, read by it, cook by it, coal by it, and----"
"Fight by it, sir," put in Ned quietly, carried away by enthusiasm.
The lieutenant gave him a quick look, as if to rebuke him for hisforwardness; but the shining light in the boy's eyes showed the officerthat, after all, it was real enthusiasm for the United States fightingships that had incited Ned's remark.
"Yes," he said quietly also, "and fight by it, too, Strong."
This concluded the great-gun drill, and the boys and the crew of theforward turret joined the other tars assembled on the forward deck,awaiting the sounding of the supper call. All over the ship, down tothe marine's little six-inch batteries, the same practice had beengoing forward.
Already they felt set apart somewhat from their comrades, and proud inthe thought that they were part of the fighting force that commandedthe actions of the biggest guns in the fleet. That it really did confera sort of distinction upon them was evidenced, too, by the increasedcordiality with which their shipmates greeted them.
"Hurray! we're on our way to be admirals," whispered Herc to Ned, asthey passed among the groups of resting jackies, returning the runningfire of joking and congratulation to which they were subjected on everyhand.
"Only a very little way," laughed Ned, "though I feel as proud as ifthat was my flagship yonder and I was entitled to fly the two-starredblue flag."
He pointed to the van of the squadron--the big _Connecticut_--on whichflew the flag of Rear-Admiral Gibbons.
"If we do our duty as well as we can," he went on seriously, "we arejust as important to the fleet as any of the officers or our superiors."
"I guess that's right," agreed Herc. "At any rate, that's just whatI heard the captain saying the other day to two men who had themisfortune to be my cellmates, and, by the way, that reminds me----"
Herc drew Ned into a quiet niche--a hard place to find on the busy,crowded fore
deck of the man-o'-war--and in whispers told him of theconversation he had overheard.
"Ought we to tell the captain?" he concluded.
Ned hesitated.
"I don't think so. Not yet, at any rate," he decided after an intervalof thought. "We shall have shore leave at Guantanamo, I understand, andwe will employ it by keeping close on the track of those two fellows.Neither of them imagine we know their plans, so that we have thatadvantage, and we may be able to do something that will bring us reallyin the line for promotion. I wonder how Kennell got into it, though?"
"I suppose the fact that he was familiar with the Varian gun, from hisdetail in the fore turret, had something to do with their bribing him,"suggested Herc. "However, we may be on the eve of finding out."
Destiny was holding big things in reserve for the Dreadnought Boys.