CHAPTER XIX.
IN THE MIDST OF PEACE.
As the sun was sinking that night in a blaze of red and gold behind thegreen-bowered coast of Cuba, the boys, leaning over the starboard railwith hundreds of other white-uniformed jackies, saw a sudden signalbroken out on the after signal halliards of the flagship.
"Coming to an anchorage," exclaimed old Tom, as the string of gaylycolored signal flags fluttered out. "There's Guantanamo yonder." Hepointed to a huddle of red roofs set among tall palms.
"The signal's for flying moorings!" exclaimed Herc, who, as well asNed, had received a thorough schooling in signaling at the trainingschool.
"That's right," rejoined old Tom approvingly, "flying moorings it is."
And now all became activity throughout the fleet. Aboard the_Manhattan_, and, indeed, on every other ship of the squadron, themost active bustle prevailed.
Coming to "flying moorings" is one of the greatest tests of a captain'sability to handle his ship, and right well did every commander in thatsquadron of ten mighty fighting ships show that he was entitled to wearhis uniform.
Master's mates flew about among the crew of the _Manhattan_, and ashrill sound of piping arose as the men assigned to the various postsconnected with dropping the vessel's "mud hooks" hastened to theirstations.
"Look close now! You are going to see something worth watching," saidold Tom, as the crucial moment drew near.
On the flagship ahead the lads saw motion suddenly cease, following amighty splash as her huge anchor shot downward twenty fathoms or more,and her engines ceased revolving for the first time in many days.
At the same instant the boys' hands instinctively flew to their caps ina prompt salute as Old Glory broke out on the rear-admiral's jackstaffand fluttered in the evening breeze, a sign that the ship was at anchor.
On the bridge of the _Manhattan_, Captain Dunham, his officers infull uniform at his side and an attentive midshipman at his elbow, waswatching his flagship anxiously. As she swung to her anchor a sharpcommand was barked out:
"Slow down!"
The middy's hand shoved the engine-room telegraph indicator over, andinstantly the strong vibration of the engines began to diminish. Itfelt strange, this sudden cessation of a sound and motion that the boyshad come to regard almost as second nature.
"Let go the star-bo-ard an-chor!"
"Aye, aye, sir!" shouted a watchful boatswain's mate, springing forward.
Instantly a shrill screeching of whistles broke out, and with a mightyroar the great anchor of the _Manhattan_ shot from the cat-heads andplunged into the water.
After it roared thirty fathoms of chain before the further screams ofthe pipes stopped the rapid "paying out" of the iron-linked cable. The_Manhattan_, her engines idle at last, came to an anchorage.
"Caught her to the eighth of an inch, sir!" remarkedLieutenant-Commander Scott to his chief.
Sailor-like pride wreathed the faces of every man on the bridge.
The _Manhattan_ swung at anchor behind her flagship at precisely thesame distance as she had steamed in column behind her all the longvoyage from New York. It was a feat to be proud of, and called for ahigh degree of seamanship.
Behind the _Manhattan_ the other vessels came to similar moorings,the Stars and Stripes fluttering out from the stern staff of each asthe anchor touched the bottom. It was a sight to make the heart of apatriot beat proudly. Ten of the finest ships in the United States Navyswung at exact intervals in a perfect line. The flag of their countrywhipped out from the stern staff of each, as if in defiance of theircountry's foes.
Hardly had the anchor of the _Iowa_, the last ship in line, droppedbefore from the flagship another signal was broken out.
"Well done!" read Ned, studying the bright bits of bunting."Congratulations to officers and men."
A great cheer went up from the fore deck of the _Manhattan_, and itsechoes went winging down the line of grim fighting craft and wascaught up by ship after ship.
At almost the same instant the sun dipped behind the coast hills, andthe bugles began to sound the musical call of "Retreat."
It was the boys' first opportunity to see the impressive ceremony of"colors," as the lowering of the flag on a man-o'-war is termed. Theceremony is not gone through at sea, and the boys had been below whenit had been carried out in New York on their first night on board.
Now they were to witness one of the most impressive ceremonies of theUnited States Navy.
Division after division of the crew was formed in line and marched aft,in rhythmic tread, to the stern deck, on which stood Captain Dunhamand a group of his officers in full uniform, the last rays of the sunglinting on their gold braid.
The men stood facing the flag and grouped on each side of the deck.Their hands raised uniformly in salute to the flag as at the last notesof the bugle it slowly descended the staff.
As it reached the deck, the band, stationed with their shininginstruments on the starboard side of the ship, burst forth into the"Star-Spangled Banner."
The eyes of every man on that deck shone as the emblem for which theywere pledged to fight fluttered down and the band blared forth theinspiring strains of the national anthem. Their officers stood in alittle group, bare-headed, the chaplain conspicuous among them in hisplain braided garb.
"First division, right about face!"
The sharp command of the ensign in charge of that division broke theimpressive silence.
"March!"
Division after division, the men melted away from the after deck andleft the little group of officers standing chatting alone. In all theirafter years in the navy, the two Dreadnought Boys never forgot thatceremony. Its recollection remained with them long after the annoyingincidents and trials of their first year of service had faded.
There were three men in that crew, however, on whose hearts the solemnscene made no impression. These men were Carl Schultz, his friendSilas, and Ralph Kennell.
In the breast of the latter dark feelings of hatred burned, and akeen sense of humiliation over his deposition from the forward turretrendered him oblivious to any better feelings. As the second division,in which all three were stationed, wheeled to return forward, theireyes met, and in them there flashed something that seemed more than amere gleam of recognition.
Was there actually more in the glance they exchanged than seemed to bethe case? Was it a mutual sense that they were at the scene which wasto be the theatre of their daring attempt?
We shall see.
As the Dreadnought Boys sat discussing the ceremony they had witnessedand earnestly talking over their plans and ambitions, they became awarethat a hush had fallen over the fore deck and that a group of men werecarrying something aft.
With the other men, they pressed closer to see what the burden was, andwere startled to hear a sudden groan.
On the stretcher the men carried lay a bronze-faced jackie, his skina deadly white under the brown. Drops of sweat--the moisture ofagony--jetted his forehead as he was borne past on his way to the sickbay, where the surgeon and his assistants were already prepared tobegin a battle for his life.
"It's Bill Hudgins," ran the word among the jackies. "He was crushedbadly when the cable caught him as we dropped anchor."
Although the boys afterward had the pleasure of meeting Hudgins andcongratulating him on his recovery, the incident taught them that evenin times of peace there is peril to be faced on board a man-o'-war, andthat it is the duty of Uncle Sam's fighters to meet it unflinchingly.
After supper that night, while the men were still discussing poorHudgins' mishap, the boatswain's mate--the same one who had receivedthem on board--hastened up to Ned and Herc as they lay on the foredeck, gazing at the soft tropic stars, and announced:
"It's an ill wind that blows nobody any good. Hudgins was signalman ofthe target officer's wherry. You boys go out in his place to-morrow."