The Dreadnought Boys on Aero Service. Goldfrap John Henry

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      The Dreadnought Boys on Aero Service

       CHAPTER I

      SOMETHING NEW IN NAVAL LIFE

      One breezy day in early June, when a fresh wind off shore was whipping the water into sparkling white caps, excitement and comment fairly hummed about the crowded foredecks of the big Dreadnought Manhattan.

      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.

      Neither Ned nor Herc smoked. By observation of those who did indulge in the practice, they had discovered that the use of tobacco affected more senses than one, and rendered a man incapable of the highest physical proficiency. The custom of smoking not only impaired the eyesight of many a gunner, but in the athletic sports, of which both lads were so fond, it also showed its bad effects. Ned knew of more than one promising young gun-pointer who had been compelled to relinquish his laurels on account of tobacco-affected eyesight.

      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."

      "By the great horn spoon!" muttered Herc, in his enthusiastic, whimsical way, "I'm with you, Ned. We'll be regular sky-pilots before the summer's out!"

      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, nothing. Only I'd like to know how far we are likely to tumble, in case we get our applications accepted, and in case we fly as high as the sky, and in case – "

      "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.

      In "The Dreadnought Boys on Battle Practice," we followed the early steps of their life in the navy. It was not all as pleasant as they had imagined it would be. To the boys, as "rookies," much hard, and not over-pleasant work, fell. But scrubbing decks, cleaning paint and the like, they accepted in good part. "It's helping to keep our $5,000,000 home trim and fit," was the way Ned used to put it.

      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."

      Following the stirring days at Guantanamo, came a voyage on a torpedo-boat destroyer, the celebrated Beale. The two lads, on this cruise, found themselves plunged into the very thick of a South American revolution. The СКАЧАТЬ