Homepage
Login
Profile
BookClubs
dmBox
Read Ebook: Die Verwirrungen des Zöglings Törleß by Musil Robert
Font size:
Background color:
Text color:
Add to tbrJar First Page Next Page
Ebook has 876 lines and 28959 words, and 18 pages
The Dreadnought Boys on Aero Service
SOMETHING NEW IN NAVAL LIFE.
The formidable looking sea-fighter lay with half a dozen other smaller naval vessels--battleships and cruisers--in the stretch of water known as Hampton Roads, which, sheltered by rising ground, has, from time immemorial, formed an anchorage for our fighting-ships, and is as rich in historical associations as any strip of sea within the jurisdiction of the United States.
The cause of all the turmoil, which was agitating every jackie on the vessel, was a notice which had been posted on the ship's bulletin board that morning.
It was tacked up in the midst of notices of band concerts, challenges to boxing matches, lost or found articles, and the like. At first it had not attracted much attention. But soon one jackie, and then another, had scanned it till, by means of the thought-wireless, which prevails on a man-of-war, the whole fore part of the ship was now vibrant and buzzing with the intelligence.
The notice which had excited so much attention read as follows:
"Enlisted Men and Petty Officers: You are instructed to send your volunteer applications for positions in the experimental Aero squad. All applications to be made in writing to Lieutenant De Frees in charge of the experiment station."
"Aero service, eh?" grunted more than one grizzled old shell-back, "well, I've served my time in many an old sea-going hooker, but hanged if I'd venture my precious skin on board a sky-clipper."
"Aye, aye, mate. Let the youngsters risk their lily-white necks if they want to," formed the burden of the growled responses, "but you and me 'ull smoke Uncle Sam's baccy, and take our pay with a good deck under our feet."
But this state of caution did not extend to the younger members of the ship's company. Least of all to Boatswain's Mate Herc--otherwise Hercules--Taylor and his inseparable chum, Ned Strong, the latter of whom was now chief gunner's mate of the biggest vessel in the navy.
As a consequence, the two trim, clean-cut lads, their faces bronzed and clear from sea air and clean living, stood apart from the group about the "smoke-lamp."
"I'm going to send in my name," announced Ned with twinkling eyes. "The aero section of the navy is going to be an important one in the future. There is a good chance for a chap to advance himself in such work."
He began to rub his shoulder-blades, while a humorous smile played over his freckled, straightforward features.
"What's the matter?" asked Ned, noting Herc's brisk rubbing of the part aforesaid.
"Oh, hum! I thought I felt my wings sprouting," replied Herc, with a broad grin.
"Tell you what, we've a few minutes yet. Let's get our ditty boxes--or 'ditto' boxes, as you used to call them--and write our applications at once."
"Let's talk a while longer," said Herc, with an odd look.
"Why, what's the matter? Surely you aren't regretting your determination already."
Herc, for reply, bent over and touched his feet.
"No; they're not cold," he said; "I thought for a minute they were." Then he looked up into the cloudless blue vault of the heavens.
"Say, Ned, it's an awful long way up there, isn't it? How far, I wonder?"
"What do you want to know for?" asked Ned, moving away.
"Oh, come on, Herc," urged Ned; "time enough to worry about that when we are assigned to aero duty."
"All that goes up must come down," said Herc sagely, joining Ned nevertheless, "but we've reversed the process."
"How do you make that out?"
"Well, when we were on submarine duty we explored the bottom of the sea, didn't we? And now, if all goes well, we're going to venture aloft."
Ned burst into a laugh, and they moved off arm in arm, exchanging greetings with the crowd of blue jackets lounging about at the after-dinner rest. As they threaded their way among them, Herc burst into song:
"'There's a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft!' That's me, Ned."
"First freckled cherub I ever heard of," chuckled Ned.
Leaving the two lads to write their letters, we feel that it is now our duty to let our readers know something more about Ned Strong and Herc Taylor. They are two lads worth knowing. Neither of them much over eighteen years of age, they had, during their short career in the navy, each made his mark in no uncertain fashion. In his chosen branch of the service, Ned Strong was admired by the officers and adored by the men. His advance had been rapid, and some of his more enthusiastic friends were already hinting at a commission in sight for him in the time to come.
As for the merry, light-hearted Herc Taylor, that befreckled youth had as many friends among officers and men as Ned, and was one of the youngest bos'un's mates in the navy.
As readers of the Dreadnought Boys series know, both lads had entered the navy, like so many other "likely" recruits, from a farm. From the first a measure of luck had been theirs. But dogged perseverance, and a determination to overcome all obstacles by honorable means, had, also, aided them not a little in their rapid advance.
A ship's bully tried his best to make their paths thorny, but Ned, in a battle that will live long in forecastle annals, bested him. Kennell tried to take a despicable revenge. With a gang of rascals, he concerned himself in a plot to injure the Dreadnought Boys. But his machinations came to naught. Instead, Ned became the means of saving the inventor of a new explosive and type of gun from a serious predicament. Right after this, Herc's turn came, when he displayed wonderful heroism following a disastrous "flare-back."
The opening of this book finds them back on regular duty. Although the routine of battleship life in times of peace may seem tame and humdrum, the boys, nevertheless, devoted themselves to it with the same cheerful zest which had carried them through so many dashing adventures.
But the quiet and monotonous daily existence which they had enjoyed during and since the winter cruise to European stations, was not to last long. Although they did not know it, the Dreadnought Boys were on the brink of some most remarkable happenings.
He referred to some contests ashore, which had been arranged with enthusiasm by the officers and crews of the ships of the squadron.
"I should say not," laughed Ned. "Why?"
"Nothing, only there are a few chaps in the fleet who'd like to see us both fall down hard. You're in good trim, Ned?"
"I think so. Feel fit, anyway."
"I needn't have asked you. I know you're always in good shape."
"I can return the compliment," laughed Ned.
Just then the bugles began singing the calls for the busy afternoon's practice-work on guns and at drill. With a hasty word, the chums separated and hurried to take their places in the big machine of which they were already important cogs.
"IF HE'S A MAN, HE'LL STAND UP."
The passage of Ned and Herc from the foredeck in quest of their ditty-boxes had not gone unnoted by two men lounging at ease under the shadow of the great 13-inch guns projecting from the forward turret. The big circular steel structure acted as a wind-break, and the pair lay here smoking and talking in low tones.
"I'd give fifty dollars to know Ned Strong's secret," observed one of them, flicking the ashes from a cigar upon the spotless decks, a deliberate infraction of the ship's laws. Selden Merritt was one of the few "before the mast" men on board who smoked cigars. A pipe and a plug of black, rank tobacco usually does for your jackie, but Merritt was an exception to the rule.
"It would be worth it," agreed his companion, a heavily-set chap of about nineteen. His cap was off, and his black, bristly hair, cut pompadour, stood straight up from his rather low forehead.
Merritt was a man of about twenty-four, blonde, thin and "race-horsey" in build. He had the reputation of having been a college man and champion runner, until, losing prestige and reputation through dissipation, he had been forced to enlist. It had proved the best thing he ever did. Four years in the navy had given him a pink, clear skin, a bright eye and an erect carriage. But it had not taken a furtive sneer out of his expression, nor altered his disposition, which was mean and crafty. His bearing, however, was rather distinguished, with a certain swagger, and his talk showed that he was an educated man.
"Did you have much to do with them on their first cruise?" inquired Merritt's companion, Ray Chance.
"No, they were both enlisted men. But they managed to give a black eye, in a figurative way, to a good friend of mine."
"You mean Bill Kennell?"
"Yes. I hear that he's been pardoned from prison--political pull. But that doesn't alter the fact that they accomplished his downfall."
Add to tbrJar First Page Next Page