CHAPTER XXVIII.
A HIT WITH CHAOSITE.
"General battle practice to-day," cried a bosn's mate, as he hastenedforward through the scrubbing stations the next morning.
Ned and Herc exchanged glances above their swabs.
At last they were to see what actual battle conditions were like. Thepractice hitherto had been merely target practice and mine-laying--thelatter being dummies, of course. To-day, they had learned earlier, theships were to be "cleared for action" just as in actual service, andsteaming at eighteen knots, were to fire at the targets as they steamedby as if they were repulsing a hostile fleet. No wonder the jackieswere on the tiptoe of expectation.
As for the two chums, they were in high spirits. Promotion loomed aheadof Ned, and Herc wished him success with all the warmth of his generousheart. Not a thought of envy entered his mind. He was as delighted asNed himself over the big chance that had come to the Dreadnought Boy.
Each of my readers can imagine for himself what the two boys had hadto say the evening before, when they had been reunited; and Ned hadto tell his adventures over and over again, till Herc advised him toinvest in a phonograph and talk his narrative into it for indefinitereiteration. "Pills" had patched Ned's injured leg so deftly thatit hurt him hardly at all, and the doctor's suggestion that he goon the "binnacle list," otherwise the sick roll, had met with Ned'sunqualified disapproval.
"I'm fit for duty. I want to do it, sir, if possible," he had saidquietly but firmly, when the doctor suggested that he rest up for a fewdays.
The doctor, a veteran of thirty years' service, had thrown up his handsin amazement.
"I've been in the navy for more years than you've seen, my boy, by along shot," he exclaimed, "and I never heard a seaman talk like thatbefore. Well, if you want to work, go ahead, and my blessing go withyou."
"I hope that young man is quite right in his head," the man ofmedicine had muttered to himself, as he heard the door of his sanctumclosed by the first bluejacket he had ever met who was not anxiousto avail himself of the restful idleness afforded by being on the"binnacle list."
Immediately after breakfast the _Manhattan_ was a scene of theliveliest activity.
Rails came down and were stowed. Boats were lowered, ventilatorsshipped, war nets rigged, and every object on the deck that was not anabsolute fixture vanished. The same thing occurred on other vessels ofthe fleet, in obedience to the flagship's signalled order:
"Clear for action."
It was like stripping human fighters for a ring contest.
Bugles shrilly sang the order from ship to ship of the squadron. Whilethe smiling jackies bustled about on deck, stewards and orderlies belowwere stowing pictures and bric-a-brac between mattresses and placingall the ship's crockery and glassware in places where it was not indanger of being jarred to fragments by the earthquake-like detonationsof the big guns.
In the meantime officers had invested themselves in their full-dressuniforms with side arms, and an hour after the order had been firsttransmitted the signal to "Up Anchor" fluttered out from the halliardsof the flagship.
Aboard the _Manhattan_ especially excitement ran at high tension, forMr. Varian himself had come aboard that morning in a shore boat, andit was an open secret that the big twelve-inch gun, fitted with hisChaosite breech--was to receive its first sea test.
The first sight that greeted the eyes of Herc and Ned, reporting forduty in their turret as the squadron got under way beneath a pallof black smoke, was the unveiling, so to speak, of the inventor'smasterpiece. Mr. Varian and Lieutenant Timmons, the ship's gunneryofficer in command of the turret, had their heads together over theintricate piece of machinery as the two Dreadnought Boys enteredthe steel-walled box, in which they were practically a part of themachinery.
The inventor greeted them with a kindly nod. Perhaps the thought shotinto his mind that had it not been for the pluck and clear-headednessof one of the Dreadnought Boys, he might not have been there.
"Is there any news, sir?" Ned asked respectfully, as soon as he got achance to speak to the inventor.
"No. The launch that was sent to intercept the Pulsifers' vessel hasnot yet reported, but we may hear from her at any time now."
"Let us hope that the rascals haven't got a start and boarded somepassenger vessel at sea," put in Lieutenant Timmons.
As the officer joined in the conversation Ned saluted and went toanother part of the turret. It is not naval usage for an enlisted manto converse with an officer, and Ned was far too well-trained a youngman-o'-warsman to break any rule, even the unwritten ones, which in thenavy are almost as numerous as the codified regulations.
The excitement under which all hands labored was, however, far too keento allow even the thoughts of the Pulsifers' capture to interfere withpresent duty.
Especially was this the case on two of the vessels of the squadron--the_Idaho_, the holder of the coveted meat-ball, and, as has beenmentioned, the _Manhattan_, every jackie on board of which vessellonged with his whole soul to see the gunnery flag flying from theDreadnought's main.
The scores stood even between the big guns of the two battleships now,and the open secret that the morning practice was to be made, in largepart, with the Varian gun and explosive made the _Manhattan's_ jackiesfearful that they might lose, after all.
Jim Cooper, nervous and high-strung as ever, crouched in his seatbeside the big weapon as the charge was rammed home and the breechslapped to on the heavy load of Chaosite, which the two DreadnoughtBoys beheld for the first time. It was a pinkish, crystalline-lookingsubstance, and its inventor claimed, as safe to handle as ordinaryclay, which it resembled in its plasticity. Just to show itsproperties, before the charge was placed, the inventor picked up achunk of the explosive and compressed it in his hands. He moulded itinto several different shapes, and concluded the exhibition by throwingit on the flooring of the turret with force enough to have detonated acharge of dynamite.
"There is only one danger I apprehend from it," he had explained toLieutenant Timmons, "and that is in the event of a 'flareback.' Butunder such conditions there is no powder made that is safe."
In reply to the officer's questions, the inventor explained thatChaosite was a slow-burning explosive, and if the much-dreadedflareback ever occurred in a gun in which it was being used, blazingparticles of the freed explosive would be scattered about the turret.As Chaosite would only explode when confined, these particles wouldglow like hot coals till they burned out. The deadly peril consisted inthe fact that the doors of the ammunition hoist opened directly intothe turret. There were safety shutters to the hoist, but in action thereloading followed so fast on the firing of the guns that there waslittle chance of the safety devices being used.
The shaft of the ammunition hoist led directly down to the ammunitiontable below the water-line on which the explosive was piled, ready tobe shot upward on electric elevators. Alongside the ammunition tableswere the open doors of the ship's magazine. It does not require vividimagination to picture what would be the result of blazing particles ofa substance like Chaosite dropping down the hoist onto the powder andexplosives piled below. Quick and utter annihilation would follow. Nota soul of the eight hundred odd crew and forty officers would standany but the smallest chance of salvation.
The Dreadnought Boys, as well as the rest of the crew in the turret,were interested listeners to the conversation. All of them knew whata flareback was. One had occurred on the _Georgia_ a year before,costing two lives. It is usually caused by fragments of burning powderbeing left in the chamber of the gun after a charge has been fired. Anelectric blower is attached to the big guns of Uncle Sam's navy, whichis supposed to thoroughly clean the chamber after each discharge; butit is not careless sailor-proof, and occasionally the newspapers beardreadful testimony to the result of a flareback, which occurs when thenew load is ignited by the left-over fragments of the old one.
But the talk between Mr. Varian and the officer was suddenly checked.
"Boom!"
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The flagship had fired, and, as the glass brought to bear by LieutenantTimmons showed, had missed the first target.
At the distance of a mile and a half the targets, with their tinyboats bobbing at a safe distance, looked extremely small. Shooting ata potato on a fence post at twenty rods with a small rifle is easycompared to the task before Uncle Sam's gunners.
"Now, Cooper, steady, my lad!"
Lieutenant Timmons' voice sounded strained and harsh as the gun pointersquinted through his telescope and depressed his pointing lever ever solittle. Already the range had been signaled from the fire-control wells.
The _Manhattan_ was quivering to the speed of her engines, rushing herstripped form past the targets at eighteen knots.
Every man of that gun crew was under as painful a tension as theofficer. As for the inventor, his face took on a deadly pallor as heleaned against the rear wall of the turret. In a few moments now hewould know if his invention was a failure or a glorious success.
A tiny signal light--the message from the firing room glowed.
Cooper looked round. His wrinkled face was grotesquely knotted, like anape's, in his excitement. His hand shook, but there was a glitter inhis eyes that showed he meant to get that target.
"Brace yourselves, men!" warned the officer.
The boys stood as they had been taught, their knees slightly bent,so as to be springy. As they got the last order they stuffed cottonin their ears. Otherwise, the drums would have been shattered by thedischarge.
"All ready, sir," breathed Cooper.
"Fire!"
There was a sharp click from the electric firing switch and a tinyspurt of bluish flame.
A shock like that of an earthquake followed. The mighty explosionseemed to rend the turret.
It had not died out before the glasses of the gunnery officer, theinventor and the gun-pointer were bearing on the distant target and theboats scurrying toward it. From the bridge and the quarter deck similarscrutiny was brought to bear.
Chaosite was almost smokeless, so their vision was not obscured, aswith the old-fashioned powder--even the so-called "smokeless" makingquite a smother.
"Hit, sir!" shot out Cooper dryly, as the signal man in the target boatwig-wagged the news.
"Now let the _Idaho_ folks get busy!" cried the delighted gun crew.
The new explosive and the new gun had proven themselves one of thebiggest naval successes of many a day.