UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN

BY

RALPH HENRY BARBOUR

AUTHOR OF “FOR THE FREEDOM OF THE SEAS,” “THE HALF BACK,” “THE SPIRIT OF THE SCHOOL,” ETC.

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY NEW YORK LONDON 1919

Copyright, 1919, by D. APPLETON AND COMPANY

Printed in the United States of America

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

[1]

PART I ACROSS WITH THE FLAG

[2]

[3]

UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN

CHAPTER I DAVE MAKES AN ENEMY AND FINDS A FRIEND

“Hello, sonny; who let you on board?”

The tall, stoop-shouldered sailor with the thin face grinned malignantly. His right sleeve bore a seaman gunner’s mark and a single enlistment stripe adorned the other. He was a dark-visaged man of nearly thirty, with deeply-set and crafty eyes under thick, scraggly brows. The boy who, at the challenge, had paused at the foot of the fo’c’sle companion, decided then and there that he didn’t like the man, but he replied quietly and amiably:

“The quartermaster. Do you know which of these bunks are empty?”

“Why, say, you ain’t thinkin’ of bunkin’ for’ard! Cabin boys always live aft, sonny.”

“If you mean me, I happen to be a seaman.” David Garson moved across the narrow fo’c’sle and [4]laid his canvas bag on a bunk that showed no evidence of occupancy. He was seventeen, but scarcely looked it, for he was not over tall for that age, and had a very boyish face. But his lack of stature appeared to be atoned for by a compact, well-proportioned body, and there was capability and self-reliance behind the youthfulness of his countenance. He was a nice-looking chap, although you wouldn’t have called him handsome, with brown hair and eyes, and a well-tanned skin showing above the low neck of his navy shirt.

“A what!” exclaimed the other, assuming deep incredulity. “My, ain’t it awful what war does? Snatches the babes right out o’ their cradles, don’t it? Where’d you leave your nurse, sonny?”

“Where you left your manners,” was the quiet reply.

“Is that so?” sneered the sailor. “Smart, ain’t you? Sort o’ precocious, eh? Bet your ma felt terrible about losin’ you. Bet you was the sunshine of the old home, wasn’t you?”

“What have you got against me?” asked Dave, puzzled.

“Not a thing! Not a thing! Only you’re too fresh, see? And I’m tipping you off that you want [5]to talk civil, or something painful might happen to you.”

“I see,” responded the boy, dryly. “Some one might mistake me for you.”

“Aw, cut it!” growled the other. “For two cents I’d hand you a wallop, you smart Alick! ‘Seaman,’ says you! I’ve swabbed deck with fellers twice your size, and I’ll do it again if you give me any of your lip!”

“Why don’t you let me alone if you don’t like my ways?” asked Dave. “I didn’t start anything.”

“You’d better not try to.” The gunner, who had followed across the fo’c’sle, stretched forth a big hand and gave the boy’s head an ungentle push that, while it did not hurt, sent the blood pouring into the tanned cheeks. Dave sprang from the edge of the bunk with blazing eyes.

“Keep your dirty hands off me!” he said in a voice that trembled in spite of his efforts to keep it steady. “I haven’t bothered you, and you’ve no call to bully me. Now let up!”

“Is that so?” asked the other, thrusting a grinning face closer. “Suppose I don’t? What would you do, you cute little thing? For two cents—”

[6]

“Lay off the kid, Chuck!” interrupted a peremptory voice.

Unheard by them, a short, squarely-built, tow-headed youth of about nineteen had descended the companion. He had a round, freckled face, pale blue eyes, a short, button-like nose, and square jaws that were just now rhythmically busy with a piece of gum. He came across the fo’c’sle with a sort of cocky swing of his broad shoulders and a wide smile. But the smile didn’t deceive either Dave or his tormentor. “Some day, Chuck,” went on the newcomer, “you’ll make a mistake an’ light on a guy that’s ’most half your size.”

“What’s it to you, Rooney?” demanded the gunner. “You mind your own business, or I’ll hand you something, too!”

“You an’ who else?” inquired the other. “Say, Chuck, you ain’t got enough up your sleeve to make a motion. The only thing you ever licked was a stamp, and that didn’t stick. Go on! Fade away! Beat it!”

“Maybe you can make me!” growled the gunner. But he was already making a slow retreat. “This baby-face got fresh with me, and I was telling him something for his own good. If he don’t [7]look out he’s going to run into something hard, see? And that goes double for you, Rooney!”

“Yeah, I know,” replied Rooney, sarcastically. “I been hearin’ that dope for a week. You’re just bluff, Chuck. You ain’t got nothin’ but talk.”

“I got enough to put you to sleep, you Bowery tough!”

“Tough’s the word, matey! Tough enough for you any old day.”

“Is that so?” The gunner edged with exaggerated nonchalance to the foot of the companion. “I’ll get you, just the same, believe me!”

“Sure you will—if my back’s turned,” was the untroubled reply. “But it ain’t goin’ to be turned, Chuck.”

“You think you’re smart, don’t you? I’ll fix you some time.” He climbed the companion, still muttering, and disappeared through the fo’c’sle hatch. The tow-haired one turned to Dave, chuckling.

“Ain’t he amusin’?” he asked. “What was he ridin’ you for?”

“I don’t know. He started it. Much obliged for—for—”

“Buttin’ in?” laughed Rooney. “That’s all [8]right, kid. Me an’ Chuck’s been yappin’ at each other ever since this boat left Norfolk. But nothin’ ain’t happened yet. Some time I’ll paste him one just to end the—the expense.”

“Suspense?” laughed Dave.

“That’s it.” The tow-headed youth grinned. Then: “Say, what’s your name?” he asked.

“Garson,” answered Dave.

“Mine’s Rooney; first name, Pete. I’m French.” He winked broadly. “What’s your other monicker?”

“Other—oh, David; Dave for short.”

“Sure! Like the feller in the Bible. An’ Chuck Morgan was playin’ Goliar, or whatever his name was. You come from down south, don’t you?”

“Maryland.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s the place they sing a song about. I knew you was from somewhere down yonder, because you talk different. How long you been in?”

“A little over three months. I left the Newport station a week ago Tuesday. I got up here this morning. Do you know if I can take this bunk?”

“Sure. Take any you like. If any guy kicks, send him to me. What watch you in?”

[9]

“Port,” replied the other. “Are you?”

“Yeah. Stow your duffel and let’s get out o’ here.”

“I suppose you’ve been in the navy a good while,” said Dave.

“Me? I joined a year an’ a half ago. ’Bout the time the Huns sunk the Sussex. That got my goat, an’ I figured we’d be goin’ into it pretty quick after that.”

“Have you been across yet?”

“No; this is my first sea duty, same as you. An’ say, kid, it’s goin’ to be some voyage, take it from Pete!”

“Is it? Why?”

“Why? ’Cause we’re goin’ over, that’s why!”

“Over! You mean this boat’s going to France?”

“Yeah, France or Paris or some place like that. They ain’t tellin’ it, but we know. We seen ’em load supplies, kid.”

“Why, that’s fine, isn’t it?” exclaimed Dave, eagerly. “But—but isn’t she awfully small to make the trip alone?”

“She won’t be alone. But she is small, all right, an’ that’s why I’m tellin’ you it’ll be some trip. [10]Take it from Pete, kid, food ain’t goin’ to be of no interest to a lot of us guys for a long time!”

“You mean we’ll be seasick?” said the other thoughtfully. “I suppose I shall. I’ve never been to sea much. I’ve sailed a boat all my life—”

“All that time!” marveled Pete, his blue eyes atwinkle.

Dave laughed. “Well, for five or six years, then, I reckon. But I’ve never been very far from land.”

“Nor me. An’ I’m tellin’ you straight that I ain’t cheerin’ much for it, either. Sometimes I wish I was back on my old job. It had its ups and downs, but it was pretty steady at that.”

“What did you do?” Dave inquired.

“Run an elevator,” chuckled Pete. “Down to the Endicott Building, on Broad street, in little old New York. That’s my home, New York. I was born there, an’ wasn’t never out of it till I signed up with Uncle Sam. Chuck Morgan called me a Bowery tough, an’ that’s what I am, I guess. Anyway, I was till one day a guy in a silk hat tried to get himself run over by a truck, an’ I snatched him out of it. He slipped me a ten, an’ asked did I want a job. I didn’t—much—but I didn’t want to hurt [11]his feelin’s, an’ so I told him yes. An’ first thing I knew I was workin’ steady liftin’ an elevator up with a rope. But it wasn’t much of a life for a husky guy like me. So when the war came along I ducked.”

“And do you like being in the navy?” asked Dave.

“Sure! It’s a great life. There ain’t nothin’ to do but work. Trouble is, though, there ain’t been no scrappin’. I been scrappin’ all my life, and I sort o’ miss it. But I guess it’s comin’, all right, now. Those Germans ain’t been doin’ a thing but askin’ for a wallop!”

“And they’re going to get it,” said Dave, grimly.

“There’s the truth, take it from Pete! Now, what’s your story?”

“I reckon I haven’t any,” replied Dave, smiling. “I’m here because I’ve always wanted to be in the navy, and because—well, a fellow feels as if he had to do something after the way the Germans have been going on. Of course, I couldn’t get in until I was seventeen, and I had hard work getting my mother to consent. There isn’t any one but me at home now, you see. Dad’s been dead some time, and my sister’s married and living in California. [12]But after mother saw how much I wanted to get into this she came around. The day I was seventeen I went up to Baltimore and enlisted. They sent me to Newport, and I was there three months. Then I went home on liberty for a week, and now here I am.”

“Guess it’ll be sort o’ lonely for your ma, won’t it?” reflected Pete. “Say, if I had a ma I wouldn’t be leavin’ her to go to no war, take it from Pete.”

“Oh, yes, I reckon you would. You’d go into this one, just as I did. It will be lonely for mother, I know—but I just had to do it! She was perfectly fine about it when she realized how I felt. Mothers are kind of wonderful folks, aren’t they?”

“I guess so.” Pete scowled. “I never had any. Not that I knows of. Oh, well, that’s all right, too. There ain’t no one to worry about me if I get my fool head blown off. Guess you an’ me’d better go topside. This tub’s due to pull out pretty soon, I’m thinkin’.”

[13]

CHAPTER II SUBMARINE CHASER 944

A few months before, the craft on which Dave now found himself had been the pride of a wealthy New York man, and had seldom performed a more hazardous exploit than to bear its owner up and down the Hudson River between a palatial home and the city. To-day, shorn of gilt and draperies, made over, above deck and below, to fit her for her new requirements, it is doubtful if her former owner would have recognized her had he seen her lying beside a stone dock in the Brooklyn Navy Yard. The immaculate white of her hull had disappeared under coats of lead-gray, and the same dull hue covered all superstructure, masts, small boats, and standing gear. Even the canvas jackets that covered the bow and stern guns and the lookout cage on the foremast were gray. A deck-house had been erected abaft the mainmast, while atop the wheel-house a bridge now stretched from side to side, a [14]thing of pipe-iron and canvas. If one looked carefully over the bow one could just make out under the new paint the yacht’s former name, Meteor; but further back, in big black letters and numerals, was

the legend: S C 944.

The 944 was a hundred and twenty-two feet over all, and had a beam and a draught that, while conducive to speed, had not been figured with deep sea voyaging in mind. Her twin oil-burning engines could send her along at a twenty-mile clip. She carried a complement of two commissioned officers and twenty-six enlisted men, most of whom, from captain down to mess attendant, were well under thirty. In fact, Lieutenant Cowan was but twenty-five, and the 944 was his first command; and his junior and executive officer, Ensign Hyatt, was still younger by two years. Even the engineering head, a non-commissioned officer holding the rating of chief machinist’s mate, was well on the under side of thirty. So, it will be seen, on the 944 enthusiasm took the place of hard experience.

But of enthusiasm there was plenty, as Dave discovered that first evening aboard. By that time they were somewhere in the broad waters of the Sound, while behind them trailed three other chasers. [15]The sweltering heat of the August day had given way to the fresh coolness of night, and a little southeast breeze, straight from the twinkling lights of the distant shore, played a soft tune in the aerial that stretched between the short masts. Dave had eaten his first “chow” on board—had, in a fashion, learned the ropes—and was now on speaking terms with most of the crew. They were, he thought, a nice lot, and he was already looking on the 944 as the Pride of the Navy, and congratulating himself on not having been relegated to the Pennsylvania or Arizona! And perhaps he had some excuse for self-gratulation, for on a boat of the chaser size officers and men are thrown nearer together than on the big ships, and while there is never any letting down of the bars separating ward room from fo’c’sle, the conditions of living make for a closer intimacy and a greater esprit de corps.

Dave’s watch was below that evening, and he swung his legs from his bunk in the little fo’c’sle and listened to the chatter of the others, the swish of water along the side, and the steady hum of the engines. The port watch were bewailing the fate that had kept them on the wrong side of the “pond” until now. “Dutchy,” who was a big two-fisted Dane, [16]with a long body and short stumps of legs, lugubriously predicted in his slow and careful manner, that the war would be all over before they got across. Followed much speculating as to their destination. Mallory, second class radio man, held for Dover. Kennedy, gun pointer, said Bordeaux, having already made one trip to that port on an armed cargo boat. Pete Rooney favored Queenstown, principally, perhaps, because he had a hankering to set foot on the sod of his forebears. Todd, master-at-arms, third class, and British in everything save birth, would have it Plymouth. And some one else suggested Nantes. Dave was about the only one there who had no theory on the subject. He didn’t much care where they dropped anchor so

long as it was “over there.” Every one seemed agreed on one thing, at all events, which was that it needed only their presence in French or British waters to bring the submarine menace to a speedy end, and Dave found himself confronted by a mental vision of Admiral Sims standing on the tip end of Ireland, shading his eyes and searching the horizon impatiently for sight of the 944!

Later, Dave and Pete climbed up and made their way along the dark deck to the lee of the after-house.[17] There, with the hulk of the three-inch gun black before them, and the light of the next chaser in line swaying astern, they became better acquainted. Fisher’s Island dropped away to port, and the 944 began to dip and roll, and presently they went back to the fo’c’sle and turned in.

Dave stood morning watch, and was on deck when the first light of day came up over the eastern edge of the world. The 944 was some fifty miles east of Cape Cod, and as the dawn brightened he saw that the four chasers had become four times four, and that a big gray cruiser, four-stacked, and bristling with eight-inch and six-inch guns, was hovering to southward. Most of the chasers were of one class, boats built for their work, capable and speedy looking 110-footers, but here and there a converted yacht, generally similar to the 944, lent variety. Signals fluttered from the flagship, and were answered, and by the time the first rays of the sun were leveled along the ocean the flotilla of tiny adventurers had formed in a hollow square formation, and, with the big cruiser leading, were tossing the foam from their bows. All that day they steamed eastward over a summer sea, for all the world like a lot of little gray ducklings following a [18]mother duck, and at night, with only stern lights showing dimly, they kept their places and dropped the miles steadily behind them.

On every craft lookouts watched from deck and cage, for while never yet had a hostile periscope poked itself above those waters, there was no knowing when such a thing might happen. Dave had his first trick in the foretop cage the second day out. He toed the ratlines and squirmed into the little gray canvas cask that was barely big enough to hold him. Sitting erect, his head just topped the rim. Twelve feet below was the flying bridge in front and the big, squatty funnel behind. The breeze sang in his ears and made elfin music in the aerial wires. It was rather jolly up there at first, but after awhile the sunlight hurt his eyes and he began to weary of the ceaseless swing of his perch as the short mast canted from side to side. The motion wasn’t as soothing as that of a hammock. Watching the other chasers and the big cruiser grew monotonous, and searching the empty ocean for enemy periscopes was horribly idle. It was an event when he could report: “Smoke two points off the port bow, sir,” or “Sail dead ahead.” He didn’t exactly wish for a submarine,

perhaps, but he came near it toward the last [19]of his trick. He had two hours of it up there, and then slid down to make way for his relief.

Life those first two days was pleasant enough. He found his place and learned his duties, and became known to the rest of “the bunch” as “The Kid,” which title, since he was the youngest member of the crew, he was fairly entitled to. Pete Rooney figuratively adopted him, and as Pete was a popular and respected person, that fact was held to be in his favor. Chuck Morgan grouched, and gloomed at him, but Chuck was in the starboard watch, and they met not so frequently as they would have otherwise. The food was excellent, and the cook a wonder, and as long as the chaser behaved herself meals were jolly occasions. They had three days of perfect weather, with a light easterly breeze and a smooth sea, and then things happened.

Some time in the early morning of the fourth day Dave awoke from his dreams to find himself rolling from one side to the other of his bunk, and in danger of leaving it completely. The little boat was full of whines and creakings, while outside a northeast gale was howling loudly. The 944 soon showed her shortcomings as a rough weather craft, for her narrow beam and light draught, while excellent [20]for the purpose of pursuing submarines and eluding torpedoes, made her easy prey for a gale. Mess tables were of no use that morning, and even the Old Man and the luff ate breakfast with one hand and clung to something stable with the other. By that time the 944 was thrusting her sharp, arching bow right into the waves, and the big seas were roaring back across her deck. They donned their life-vests and stretched the lifelines, but even then getting from one end of the boat to the other was a slow and risky business. One by one the companion craft disappeared from vision in the murk. The gale increased in fury that night, and after a wave had smashed in the wheel house as though it