Stroke, I have no intention of displacing you permanently."
"I understand. That"s all right, sir."
"How fast a stroke do you wish me to hit?" questioned Davis.
"About twenty to the minute. I thought you knew something about the game. Let"s see if you can hit twenty."
The c.o.xswain took out his watch.
"All ready. Stand by. Give way together."
Dan bent far forward, allowing just enough time to elapse before straightening his back to permit the other men to get into position.
Then every oar hit the water at the same instant and the gig started away, but at a slightly lower speed than they had been rowing before.
"Minute"s up. Exactly twenty strokes," announced the c.o.xswain. "That was fine. Where did you learn how to time a boat! Were you ever in a race?"
"Not a big one, but I have watched the college crews practising. What little I know I have just picked up; that"s all."
"You"re a mighty good picker-up, then, that"s all I"ve got to say about it," answered the c.o.xswain, with a short laugh.
"The battleship is making signals, sir," spoke up Dan.
"How do you know?"
"I caught the flutter of a flag up aloft."
"No need of telescopes when you are around," said the c.o.xswain, placing a gla.s.s to his eyes.
"Recall for the gig is up," he said. "Get under way. Davis, you hold the stroke oar on the way back."
"How fast, sir?"
"About eighteen strokes to the minute for a time. We will increase it to twenty and so on up. Don"t wear your men out before you get home, though."
"No, sir; I won"t."
The men settled down to the long, leisurely stroke, which they kept up until they were within about a mile of the ship.
"Shall I hit her up?"
"Yes."
"How fast?"
"Use your judgment. Do you want to make a finish?"
"Yes, sir; it will do us all good."
"Go ahead."
From eighteen strokes to the minute Dan worked it up to thirty, but so gradually that the men did not realize how fast they were going. They were drawing near the ship.
"Now, every man of you look alive to his work," warned the c.o.xswain.
"We do not want to make an exhibition of ourselves when we get near the ship. The whole ship"s crew would have the laugh on us. Row as if you were in a race. Watch your stroke oar. That"s it. Settle right down and saw wood."
The boat leaped ahead. Thirty-two strokes to the minute rolled up, then thirty-five.
The white foam was shooting from the bow of the gig, while the c.o.xswain was stooping forward, his glistening eyes fixed on the battleship.
With a great burst of speed the gig dashed up, every man pulling, every back glistening, under the salt spray that covered it.
The rails were lined with jackies. They set up a great cheer as the boat drew in and the command, "Toss oars!" was given.
It had been a great practice cruise and the ship"s company was filled with wild excitement and antic.i.p.ation. Dan had made a wonderful sprint as the stroke oar.
CHAPTER XXII
AN EXCITING MOMENT
"You are on the crew, you and Seaman Hickey," said the boatswain"s mate later in the evening. "I think I will put you in the stroke-oar position, after all."
"The other man will be displeased, will he not!" asked Dan.
"Every man in that boat must be willing to do whatever he can to perfect our organization, to help us win the race, even if he has to jump overboard to do it."
Dan nodded his approval.
"I wouldn"t jump overboard for any old race," muttered Sam. "I can get wet enough by staying on board."
Every day thereafter the racing crew went out. No change in the crew had been found necessary, and her c.o.xswain considered that he had the best crew in the fleet.
Excitement was daily growing, as the time approached for the great gig race, when boats from all the ships of the fleet would enter the contest. A valuable silver cup was to be the trophy to be raced for.
It would have a place of honor on the ship of the winning crew, where it would remain for a year and perhaps longer--remain until some other ship"s racing crew should win it.
Each afternoon the gig"s crew was turned out for a practice spin. The men were working better and better, pulling almost as one man. Even the ship"s officers felt that they had never had a better chance to win the cup, and were proportionately elated.
A short cruise was made up to the Maine coast; then the ship returned to her former anchorage to complete the torpedo practice that had been interrupted when the battleship went aground.
The first night on the anchorage proved an exciting one. Off some four miles, behind a point of land where her cage masts could be faintly made out, lay the flagship with the admiral of the fleet on board. He had come in while the "Long Island" was off up the coast on her short cruise.
When an admiral is about it behooves the commanders of other ships to be on their guard, to keep a sharp lookout for surprises. Admirals are p.r.o.ne to give most unexpected orders at any time. For that reason the first night on the old anchorage saw more than one officer of the deck on duty. One was placed on the bridge and one aft on the quarter-deck.
The ship settled down to silence at the usual hour; the seamen were in their hammocks and the officers had retired to their staterooms for a night"s rest in the quiet waters of the bay.
Eight bells had just struck, midnight, when a messenger rushed down to the captain"s quarters from the quarter-deck. Without waiting to knock, he called loudly, as he poked his head in through the curtained doorway.
"What is it?"