Navy Boys Behind the Big Guns.

by Halsey Davidson.

CHAPTER I

A RUN TO ELMVALE

When Philip Morgan announced his approach by an unusually cheerful strain, Al Torrance was already behind the steering wheel of his father's car, with the engine purring smoothly.

"'Lo, Whistler," Al said. "Thought you had forgotten where we planned to go this morning. What made you so late?"

"'Lo, Torry. Never hit the hay till after one. Just talking. My jaws ache," Morgan broke off his whistling long enough to say.

"Sure it isn't whistling that's made your jaws ache?" queried his chum slyly. "Not having had much chance to pipe up while we were aboard ship, I guess you are making up for lost time."

"Talking, I tell you," returned Morgan. "Thought the girls never would let me stop. And father, too. Mother won't own up she's reconciled to my being in the Navy," and Whistler grinned suddenly. "But she listened to all I told them, too. She was just as eager to hear about it as Phoebe and Alice."

"Guess you made yourself out to be some tough garby," chuckled Torrance, using the term the seamen themselves employ to designate a sailor.

"Oh, I gave 'em an earful," Whistler agreed, and puckered his lips again.

"Come on and get in," ordered Torry impatiently. "Pa's got to use the car this afternoon. But he says we can have it to run over to Elmvale in, if we want."

"Where are Frenchy and Ikey?" Whistler broke off in his tune again to ask.

"Going to wait for us down on High Street--and Seven Knott, too."

"Did Hansie say he'd go?" cried the other sailor boy. "Bet he's sore as he can be because he's not with the _Colodia_ and Lieutenant Lang."

"He'd never 've taken this furlough, he says, if his mother hadn't begged so hard. Did you ever see a garby so stuck on a gold stripe as Seven Knott is on Lieutenant Commander Lang?" said Torry, rather scornfully.

"I don't know. Mr. Lang has been a good friend to Hans Hertig. This is his second hitch under Mr. Lang," Whistler said.

"Wonder if we'll enlist a second time, too, Whistler."

"Bet you!" was the succinct reply.

The car started under Torry's careful guidance, and they quickly whisked around the corner into the main street of Seacove, the small port in which the chums had been born and had lived all their lives until they had enlisted as seamen apprentices in the Navy not many months before.

They pa.s.sed the little cottage in which Mrs. Hertig, Seven Knott's mother, lived. Beyond that was the Donahue home, where Frenchy's widowed mother lived with his younger brothers and sisters.

Then came the Rosenmeyer delicatessen shop, and there the car was pulled down by Torry, for there was a little group outside the shop, the center of which were three figures in blue.

"Look at those happy Jacks, will you?" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Torry in feigned disgust. "Got an audience, haven't they? And even Seven Knott must be talking some, too. What do you know about that?"

For the att.i.tude of Seacove had changed mightily since these boys had joined the Navy early in 1917. War had been declared between the United States and Germany and her allies, the drafted men were being called to the training camps, and some had already gone "over there" and were fighting in the trenches of northern France.

Philip Morgan, Alfred Torrance, Michael Donahue, Ikey Rosenmeyer, and their mates on the destroyer _Colodia_ had already aided in convoying a large number of troop ships across the Atlantic, had chased submarines and destroyed at least one of the enemy U-boats, and had hunted for and captured the German raider, _Graf von Posen_, which had among the other loot in her hold the treasure of the Borgias which had been purchased from an Italian n.o.bleman by the four Navy boys' very good friend, Mr.

Alonzo Minnette.

The four friends, Morgan, Torrance, Donahue, and Ikey Rosenmeyer, the son of the proprietor of the village delicatessen store, had been given a furlough since landing at Norfolk with the captured raider, of the prize crew of which they had been members. Coming north to Seacove by train, they had met their shipmate, Hans Hertig, known aboard the _Colodia_ as Seven Knott, who had likewise been given a furlough after leaving the naval hospital where he had been convalescing from a wound.

The _Colodia_ was still at sea--or across the Atlantic--or somewhere.

The young seamen who belonged to her crew did not know where. They awaited her return to port in order to rejoin her.

They had another iron in the fire, too; but that they did not talk about much, even among themselves. Mr. Minnette, who was their very good friend, and who worked now in a War Department office at Washington in a lay capacity, had told them he would try his best to get them aboard a new superdreadnaught that was just out of the yard and was being fitted for her maiden cruise.

A number of Naval Reserves would be put aboard this new huge ship; and the Seacove boys, with their experience in the training school at Saugarack and aboard the _Colodia_, surely would be of some use as temporary members of the dreadnaught's crew.

The boys had written Mr. Minnette about Seven Knott, for he was eager to get back into harness, too. And Seven Knott had held the rank of boatswain's mate aboard the _Colodia_.

Naturally the friends were all eager to get behind the big guns. Almost every boy who joins the Navy desires to become a gunner. Whistler and Al Torrance were particularly striving for that position, and they studied the text-books and took every opportunity offered them to gain knowledge in that branch of the service.

"Hi, fellows!" called Torry, having stopped the car. "Going to stand there ga.s.sing all day?"

The three figures in seaman's dress broke away from their admiring friends and approached the automobile. Frenchy Donahue was a little fellow with pink cheeks, bright eyes, and an Irish smile. Ikey Rosenmeyer was a shrewd looking lad who always had a fund of natural fun on tap. The older man, Hans Hertig, was round-faced and solemn looking, and seldom had much to say. He had had an adventurous experience both as a fisherman and naval seaman, and really attracted more attention in his home town than did the four boy chums.

"Get in, fellows," urged Torry. "We want to be sure to catch those chaps at Elmvale during the noon hour. They go home from the munition works for dinner, and we must talk with them then."

Frenchy and Ikey and Seven Knott climbed into the tonneau and the car whizzed away, leaving the crowd of boys and girls, and a few adults, staring after them.

"By St. Patrick's piper that played the last snake out of Ireland!"

sighed Frenchy, ecstatically, "we never was of such importance since we was christened--hey, fellows?"

"Oi, oi!" murmured Ikey, wagging his head, "my papa don't even suggest I should take out the orders to the customers no more. He does it himself, or he hires a feller to do it for him.

"Mind, now! Last night he closed the shop an hour early so's to sit down with my mama and me and Aunt Eitel in the back room, after the kids was all in bed, and made me tell about all we'd done and seen. I tell you it's great!"

"And before we began our hitch," Al Torrance chuckled, as he expertly rounded a corner, "we were scarcely worth speaking to in Seacove. Now folks want to stop us on the street and tell us how much they think of us."

"Gee!" exploded Frenchy, "I could eat candy and ice cream all day long if I'd let the kids spend money on me."

"We're sure some pumpkins," drawled Whistler Morgan, dryly, sitting around in the front seat so he could talk with those in the rear.

"I say, Hans!"

"Yep?" was Seven Knott's reply.

"Do you really think we can get some of those fellows at Elmvale to go to the recruiting office and enlist?"

"Yep. You fellows can tell 'em. You can talk better'n I can."

Seven Knott knew his shipboard duties thoroughly, and never was reprimanded for neglect of them. But since the four chums had known him well, the petty officer had been no conversationalist, that was sure.

"If this war was going to be won by talk, like some fellows in Congress seem to think," Al Torrance once said, "Seven Knott wouldn't have a chance. But it is roughnecks just like him that man the boats and shoot the guns that are going to show Kaiser Bill where he gets off--believe me!"

Elmvale was a factory town not more than six miles above Seacove. It was on the river, at the mouth of which was situated the little port in which were the homes of Whistler Morgan and his friends.