A Gunner Aboard the "Yankee" Part 3

The "Kid" remarked, "Well, I'll be switched," and forthwith fell on his knees and proceeded to follow "Patt's" example.

Though we scrubbed manfully, "putting our backs into it" and "using plenty of elbow grease," as instructed, still the result was hardly up to our expectations. The navigator remarked, as we were "stopping" the clothes on the line, "You heroes might scrub those clothes a little bit; it does not take a college education to learn how to wash clothes."

I agreed with the "Kid" that, though cleanliness was next to G.o.dliness, cleanliness, like G.o.dliness, was often a difficult virtue to acquire. We found it almost impossible to be cleanly without the aid of fresh water, so the schemes devised to avoid the executive's order and get it were many and ingenious.

One man would go to the s.h.i.+p's galley, where the fresh water hand-pump was, and, without further ado, begin to fill his bucket, remarking, if the cook attempted to interfere, that he had to scrub paint work or he had orders from the doctor to bathe in fresh water. These excuses would be successful till too many men came in with buckets and plausible excuses, when the cook would shut down on the scheme for the time. The man with fresh water was the envy of his fellows, and must needs be vigilant, or bucket and water would disappear mysteriously.

The "Kid" happened to be next me when "stopping" his clothes on the line, and remarked, as he tied the last knot on his last jumper, "I like to be clean as the next chap, but this scrubbing clothes on your knees is no snap."

He stopped to feel them.

"Why, I can feel the corns growing on them already. How often do we have to do this scrubbing job, anyhow?" he asked.

"You _can_ do it every morning, if you really feel inclined," I replied, smiling at his rueful countenance; "clothes can only be washed during the morning watch (four to eight), I understand, and, as the starboard men are on duty one day during that time and the port watch the next, each is supposed to 'scrub and wash clothes' in his own watch. See?"

The "Kid" looked up at the dripping line of rather dingy clothes, then down at his red and soapy knees, and said, as he turned to go aft, "Well, when we get back to New York, I am going to have a suit of whites made of celluloid that can be washed with a sponge."

At 6:30 the order "knock off scrubbing clothes" was given, and then all hands of the watch "turned to" and scrubbed decks, scoured the gratings and companion-way ladders with sand and canvas, bra.s.s work was polished, paint work wiped down, and everything on board made as spick and span as a new dollar.

A vast quant.i.ty of water is brought from over the side through the s.h.i.+p's pump, and the men work in their bare feet. In fact, the usual costume during this period of the day consists of a pair of duck trousers and a thin s.h.i.+rt. On special occasions even the s.h.i.+rt is dispensed with. During warm weather it is delightful to splash around a water-soaked deck, but there are mornings when a biting wind comes from the north, and the keenness of winter is in the air, and then Jackie, compelled to labor up to his knees in water, casts longing glances toward the glow of the galley fire, and makes his semi-yearly vow that he will leave the "blooming" service for good and go on a farm.

This scrubbing of decks and scouring of ladders put an extra edge on our appet.i.tes, so we agreed with "Stump" when he said, "I feel as if I could put a whole b.u.mboat load of stuff out of commission all by my lonely."

"Stump's" appet.i.te was out of proportion to his size.

When the boatswain's mate gave his peculiar long, quavering pipe and the order "spread mess gear for the watch below," at 7:20, we of the watch on deck realized that there was still forty minutes to wait. Every man's hunger seemed to increase tenfold, so that even the odor of boiling "salt-horse" from the galley did not trouble us.

Finally the order came, "on deck all the starboard watch"; followed by the boatswain's mess call for the watch on deck. The scramble to get below and to work with knife, fork, and spoon resembled a fire panic at a theatre. It is first come first served aboard s.h.i.+p, and the man who lingers often gets left.

The gun deck of the "Yankee," like the gun deck of most war vessels, is Jack's living room. Here he sleeps, in what he facetiously calls his folding-bed, which is swung from the deck beams above; here he enjoys the various amus.e.m.e.nts that an ordinary citizen would call work; here he goes through his drills; here he fights, not his s.h.i.+pmates, but his country's enemies, and here he eats.

The remark, "he spread his legs luxuriously under the mahogany," would hardly apply to Jack's mode of dining. His table is a swinging affair that is hung on the hammock hooks--a mere board a couple of feet wide and twelve or fourteen feet long, having a ridge around the edge to keep the plates from sliding off in a seaway. Jack's dining chairs are called "mess benches," and consist of a long folding bench that with the table can be stowed away in racks overhead when not in use. A mess chest for each mess, an enamelled iron plate and cup, and a knife, fork, and spoon for each man complete the "mess gear" outfit.

The s.h.i.+p's company is divided into messes, each man being a.s.signed to a certain mess at the same time his billet number or s.h.i.+p's number is given to him. There are from fifteen to thirty men in a mess. Each has its own "berth-deck cook," who prepares the food for the galley; each, too, has a mess caterer, or striker, whose business it is to help the mess cook and see that all goes well. The caterer is a volunteer from the mess, and generally serves for a week, when another volunteer takes his place. If the quant.i.ty or quality of the food is not up to expectations, it would be better for the caterer that he be put down in the "brig" out of harm's way, for Jack is apt to speak his mind in vigorous English, and his mind and stomach have generally formed a close alliance.

The twenty minutes allowed for meals are well spent, and the clatter of knives and forks attests the zest with which Uncle Sam's man-o'-war's-man tackles his not always too nice or delicate fare. The nine dollars a month allowed by the navy for rations is expended by the paymaster of the vessel, not by the men, so, if the paymaster concludes that the men shall have "salt-horse," rice, and hard-tack, Jack gets "salt-horse," rice, and hard-tack, and that is all he does get unless his mess cook and caterer are unusually prudent and save something from the previous day's rations, or the mess has put up some extra money and has "private stores."

As the man with the biggest appet.i.te or the fellow who eats slowly are putting away the last morsel of cracker hash or the last swallow of coffee, "Jimmy Legs" (the master-at-arms) comes around, shouting as he goes, "Shake a leg there, we want to get this deck cleared for quarters." He is often followed by the boatswain's mate of the watch, who echoes his call, and between them they clear the deck. Then begins the real work of the day.

CHAPTER IV.

WE GET ORDERS TO GO SOUTH.

Shortly after breakfast the "Yankee" came to anchor outside of Provincetown, Ma.s.s. An hour later a large man-of-war was discovered steaming toward us. Rumors were rife at once, and the excitement increased when the vessel, which proved to be the gallant cruiser "Columbia," pa.s.sed close alongside, and the captain was observed to lean over the bridge railing with a megaphone in his hands.

"'Yankee' ahoy!" came across the water.

"h.e.l.lo, 'Columbia!'" replied Captain Brownson.

"I have orders for you."

"Whoop! we are going to Cuba," cried young Potter. "It's dead sure this time. They can't do without us down--"

"Silence!" called out the executive officer, sternly. "Corporal of the guard, see to that man."

Poor Potter is sent below in disgrace amid the chuckles and jeers of his unsympathetic s.h.i.+pmates. The little episode nearly earned him many hours of extra duty.

In the meantime the "Columbia's" captain had communicated the welcome intelligence that we were to cruise to the southward at once to look for several suspicious vessels that had been sighted in the vicinity of Barnegat. This promised action so strongly that a cheer went up from the crew. This time even the officers joined in.

Very shortly after came the order "All hands on the cat falls," at which every man Jack came running forward. The blue-clothed figures poured up the companion-ways like rats out of a sinking s.h.i.+p, for "all hands on the cat falls" means up anchor, and up anchor meant new experiences, perhaps a brush with a Spanish man-of-war or the capture of a Spanish prize. The anchor was yanked up and guided into place on its chocks in a hurry, and soon the "Yankee" was under way and headed southward. As we pa.s.sed the "Columbia," the men of both s.h.i.+ps stood at attention, feet together, hands at the side, heads up, silent. So a s.h.i.+p is saluted in the United States Navy, a ceremony dignified and impressive, though not as soul-stirring as the American cheer.

The "Scuttle b.u.t.t Navigators," or, as the "Yankee" boys called them, the Rumor Committee, were very busy that bright day in May. According to them we were to sail seaward and discover Cervera's fleet, the whereabouts of which was then unknown. We were to sail south and bombard Havana. The older, wiser heads laughed at such rumors, and said it was foolishness, but all were ready and anxious to listen to the wildest tales.

All the time the s.h.i.+p was getting under way the routine work was going on. The sweepers had obeyed the order given by the boatswain's mate, accompanied by the pipe peculiar to that order, "Gun-deck sweepers, clean sweep fore and aft; sweepers, clean your spit kits."

At twenty minutes past nine the bugle sounded the first or officers'

call to quarters, a call that sounded like "Get your sword on, get your sword on, get your sword on, get your sword on, get your sword on right away!" Ten minutes later came "a.s.sembly," and the men rushed to their places at the guns and their stations in the powder divisions.

After our division had been mustered, "Long Tommy," the boatswain's mate and captain of our gun, said to "Hay," "I think we'll have some shooting to-day. I saw the gunners' mates rigging a target."

"Good!" said "Hay," "what does it look like?"

"Why," explained Tommy, "it's a triangular sail, having a black spot painted in the middle, supported by a raft, also triangular, which is floated by three barrels, one at each corner."

"Can't be very big," said "Stump."

"About ten feet at the base, tapering to a point. The red flag that flies from the top is perhaps fourteen feet from the water, I should say."

"And they expect us to hit that?" broke in "Lucky bag Kennedy."

"Of course," said Tommy the confident, "and we shall."

As soon as the officers of the different divisions had returned from the bridge, where they had been to report, the quick, sharp bugle call which summons the crew to general quarters was sounded.

As the first notes were heard, the men scattered as if a bomb with a visible burning fuse had fallen in their midst. Some hurried to lead out the hose, some to get the gun sights and firing lanyards, some to get belts and revolvers for the guns' crews, some down into the hot, dark magazines, and some to open up the magazine hoists. All was apparent confusion, but was in reality perfect discipline. Soon boxes of sh.e.l.l were ready by the guns, but the order "load" had not yet been given.

The triangular target was then lowered over the side and cast loose. In a few minutes the six-pounders on the spar deck began to bark. "Getting the range, I guess," said "Hod," who had sneaked over from the powder division to get a look at the target.

"Pretty near it," replied "Stump," as a shot splashed close to the triangular piece of canvas.

"Here comes Scully," some one whispered; "now we'll have a chance."

"The captain says fire when ready, at 1,500 yards," said Scully, saluting Mr. Greene, the officer of the division. "Captain says, sir, instruct your men to shoot at the top of the roll, and a little over, rather than under the target," continued he, saluting again.

"Port battery take stations for exercise, load, set your sights at 1,500 yards, and when ready, fire." Mr. Greene's orders came sharp and clear; there was never any misunderstanding of them.

Most of us of Number Eight's gun crew had never stood near a big gun when it spoke, and most of us dreaded it and felt inclined to run away out of ear-shot. It was our business to stand by, however, so we stood by while Tommy, firing lanyard in hand, sighted the machine.