The North Pacific. Willis Boyd Allen

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ I suspected," laughed Fred. "Been over long?"

      The boy looked puzzled.

      "When did you leave home?"

      Oto shook his head. "Un'erstan' ver' leetle English," he said.

      "Well, run along and find Mr. Johnson, of Boston. Norman, good-bye. I'll look in on you again before the end of the trip. Where did Oto go?"

      The little Jap had melted away – whether upward or downward, no one could say, he had vanished so quickly.

      Larkin shook his head and made a few cabalistic curves and dots in his note-book, then reascended the stairs to the upper deck. Through a winding staircase in a hollow mast he made his way to one of the fighting-tops. Singularly enough the other Japanese waiter, Oshima, was there before him. As Fred emerged on the circular platform, the boy thrust a scrap of paper under the folds of his jacket and hurried down toward the deck. Again the reporter made a note in his book, and then gave a few moments to the magnificent view of the ship and the open sea through which it was cleaving its way.

      Directly before and below him lay the forward deck of the Retvizan, cleared almost as completely as if for action. Most of the visitors had withdrawn from the keen wind to the shelter of the cabin, where, doubtless, the question of luncheon was already exciting interest. Beneath the fighting-top was the bridge, where the highest officials on the ship were watching her progress. Just beyond was the forward turret, with its projecting guns, their muzzles peacefully closed.

      The vessel now reached the first stake-boat once more, and turning, again started over the course at half-speed, for the tedious process of standardising the screw; that is, determining how many revolutions went to a given rate of speed. The engineers were busy with their calculations. Larkin joined the hungry crowd in the cabin, giving a last look at the blue sea, the misty shore line, and the dim bulk of Agamenticus reared against the western sky.

      When the Retvizan passed Cape Ann, on her homeward trip, the great lamps on Thatcher's Island were alight, and the waves sparkled in the glow. It was nearly nine o'clock that evening when the chains rattled through the hawse-holes, in the lower harbour, as the battleship came to anchor. Many had been the guesses as to her speed. Had she come up to her builders' expectations? Had she passed the test successfully? These were the questions that flew to and fro among the passengers, crowding about the gangway beneath which the tug was soon rising and falling. At the last moment the approximate result of the engineers' calculations was given out. The ship had responded nobly to the demand upon her mighty machinery. Splendidly built throughout, perfectly equipped for manslaughter and for the protection of her crew, obedient to the lightest touch of the master-hand that should guide her over the seas in warfare or in peace, the Retvizan had shown herself to be one of the swiftest and most powerful war-ships in the world. For twenty miles, in the open ocean, she had easily made a little over eighteen knots an hour.

      In the confusion of going on board the tug and disembarking in the darkness, no one observed the two Japanese waiters, who must have forgotten even to ask for their wages. Certain it is that Oto and Oshima were among the very first to land on the Boston wharf, and to disappear in one of the gloomy cross-streets that branch off from Atlantic Avenue.

      CHAPTER II.

      "MAN OVERBOARD!"

      "Well, we're out of the harbour safely, Captain," said Executive Officer Staples with a sigh of relief, as he spread out the chart of the Massachusetts coast and glanced at the "tell-tale" compass. "No more trouble till we get down by the Pollock Rip Shoals."

      "Anybody would think you had been taking a battleship out from under the enemy's guns," laughed Lieutenant-Commander David Rexdale. "Don't talk about 'trouble,' Tel., while it's daylight, off a home port, in good weather!"

      The two were standing in the chart-room, just behind the bridge of the U. S. gunboat Osprey, as the vessel, leaving Boston Outer Light behind, headed slightly to the south of east. Rexdale, as his old chum Holmes had predicted, was now in command of the Osprey, and was taking her to Washington for a practice trip, on which the crew would be drilled in various manœuvres, including target-practice. Lieutenant Richard Staples, his executive, had been the captain's classmate at Annapolis. He was lanky and tall, and at the Academy had soon gained the sobriquet of "Telegraph Pole," or "Tel.," for short; a name that had stuck to him thus far in his naval career. He was a Californian, and, while very quiet in his manner, was a dangerous man when aroused – as the upper-class cadets had discovered when they undertook to "run" him. Rexdale was from the rural districts of New Hampshire, and was known to his classmates as "Farmer," a term which was now seldom applied to the dignified lieutenant-commander.

      The Osprey– to complete our introductions – was a lively little member of Uncle Sam's navy, mounting several six-pounders and a four-inch rifled gun, besides smaller pieces for close quarters. She had taken part in the blockade of Santiago, and while not as modern in her appointments as some of her bigger and younger sister-ships, had given a good account of herself in the stirring days when Cervera's fleet was cooped up behind the Cuban hills, and made their final hopeless dash for freedom. Rexdale was in love with his little vessel, and knew every spar, gun, plate, and bolt as if he had assisted in her building.

      On the way down the harbour, they had passed the Essex and Lancaster, saluting each with a bugle-call. Besides the two officers mentioned, it should be added that there were on board Ensigns Dobson and Liddon, the former a good-natured little fellow, barely tall enough to meet naval requirement as to height; the other a finely educated and elegant young gentleman who had attended a medical college before enlisting, and whose fund of scientific and historical knowledge was supposed to be inexhaustible. He wore glasses, and had at once been dubbed "Doctor," on entering the Naval Academy. These, with Paymaster Ross, Assistant Surgeon Cutler, and Engineer Claflin, made up the officers' mess of the Osprey.

      It was a fair day in June, 1903. The sunlight sparkled on the summer sea. Officers and men were in the best of spirits as the gunboat, her red, white, and blue "commission pennant" streaming from her masthead, sped southward past the long, ragged "toe" of the Massachusetts boot.

      At noon Rexdale dined in solemn and solitary state in his after cabin. The rest of the officers messed together in the ward-room, below decks, and doubtless Dave would have been glad to join them; but discipline required that the commanding officer, however familiarly he might address an old acquaintance in private, should hold aloof at mealtimes. He was waited upon by two small Japanese men, or boys, who had easily obtained the situation when the vessel went into commission at the Charlestown Navy Yard, where she had remained for some months, docked for overhauling and thorough repairs. The two cabin stewards were gentle and pleasant in their manners, conversant with all their duties, and spoke English fluently. Their names were on the ship's papers as Oto and Oshima.

      "Oto," said Rexdale, when the dinner was finished, "call the orderly."

      "Yes, sir."

      The marine was pacing the deck outside the cabin-door. On receiving the summons he entered and saluted stiffly.

      "Orderly, ask Mr. Staples to step this way, if he has finished his dinner."

      Another salute, and the man turned on his heels and marched out.

      "Mr. Staples," said the commander, as the former came in, "at four bells we will have 'man overboard' drill. We shall anchor to-night about ten miles off Nantucket. I shall come on the bridge and con the ship myself when we sight the Shovelful Lightship, and I shall be glad to have you with me, passing the Shoal. The next time we go over this course I shall let you take the ship through the passage yourself."

      "Very well, sir." And СКАЧАТЬ