“I—I’ll pay you for that!” spluttered Hank, as his lips swelled and one eye partly closed. He struck out wildly, and did manage to hit Frank on the face. It was a stinging blow, and hurt. But Frank knew he could not hope to come off scathless.
Then it was give and take for awhile, until Frank saw his chance, and aimed a sharp uppercut at Hank’s chin. It caught the bully squarely, and almost lifted him off his feet. He staggered back, and would have fallen had not one of his chums caught him.
“Don’t try to cut down any more hammocks,” said Frank, as he went to wash himself, for a scratch on his cheek was bleeding.
“Oh, you haven’t heard the last from me—not by any means,” threatened Hank. But Frank did not worry.
The next day when Hank reported for early morning inspection his condition, as well as that of Frank, attracted the attention of the officer in charge of the division.
“How did you get that black eye?” he asked of Hank.
“Why, sir,” was the grinning answer, “one of the fifteen-inch rifles recoiled and struck me.”
“Very good!” was the grim and understanding comment. “And you, Arden—how about your scratches?”
“I see. A new fact in natural history—a goat with claws.”
Of course, fighting was forbidden, but it went on just the same, and it was winked at to a certain extent when not too flagrant. So the incident was closed, as far as the ship authorities were concerned.
A few days later Ned was able to report again for his duties, and after that Hank was transferred to another division, berthing in another part of the ship.
“Well, I’m glad he’s gone,” Ned remarked. So were many others, for the red-haired recruit was not generally liked.
When the _Georgetown_ had been at sea about a week, it was announced one morning directly after sick-call that great gun drill would be held.
“And it’s with projectiles, too!” cried Ned. “Cracky, but I’m glad. You’re in the forward turret with me, Frank.”
“Yes, and I hope our ear drums don’t crack. They make an awful racket, those fifteen-inch rifles.”
Preparations for the drill went on. It had been gone through with many times before, though not always with charges of powder and projectiles, so the men knew the routine.
Frank had been detailed on this occasion as gun-pointer, which meant that he was to fire the gun when it was sighted at the target. Ned was helping with the ammunition and powder, which came up into the turret on a hoist, or elevator, from the magazine below.