Part 22 (1/2)
CHAPTER XII-IN THE DECK DIVISION
”Deck division turn out to swab down decks!” bellowed the boatswain's mate.
The s.h.i.+p had poked her nose out into the open sea by this time, the ”Long Island” rising and falling gracefully on an easy swell.
”What did he say?” questioned Sam.
”I'll confess that I did not understand a word of it,” answered Dan. ”I don't see why those mates cannot talk plain United States.”
The command was followed by a bustling about the decks. Men hurriedly brought out their deck swabs, implements somewhat resembling mops.
Others brought pails which they filled from the taps on deck, while still others coupled hose to pipes along the sea gutters.
Sam felt a hand on his shoulder.
”What division are you in?” demanded a gruff voice.
”The deck division, sir.”
”Then what are you doing here?” said a boatswain's mate that they had not seen before, glaring at them.
”I-I don't know, sir,” stammered Sam.
”Will you tell us what we are to do?” spoke up Dan. ”You see, it is our first day on board.”
”Do? Do?” exploded the mate. ”Get a swab and go to work; that's what you are to do. What do you think this is, a liner where you can loll around and look pretty?”
”We are ready to work, if you will show us. Where will we find swabs?”
questioned Dan.
The mate conducted them to a chest in which the swabs were kept.
”Take your swabs and hurry aft to the quarter-deck. That's your station,” he directed.
By the time the boys reached the quarter-deck their mates were already at work, moving along swiftly, pus.h.i.+ng their swabs ahead of them.
”Take off your shoes. What do you mean by coming here with your shoes on?” demanded the mate.
Somewhat hesitatingly Dan and Sam removed their shoes and stockings, rolled up their trousers and joined their fellows in scrubbing down the decks.
Sam was surly. He plainly did not like the a.s.signment.
”This is a tough job,” he confided to his companion. ”I didn't join the Navy to make a washerwoman of myself.”
”We have got to learn, old chap. We must take our turn. If we complain, we are not fit for the service. You may be an admiral some day; who knows?”
”An admiral? Huh! Nice chance I've got to become an admiral-admiral of the scrub gang, you mean.”
”Pipe down the guff,” commanded the mate sternly.