The Boy Scouts on Picket Duty Part 12

"That sounds exciting!" called Hugh, sitting up in the hammock. "Count me in on that, boys. Guess I can get up long enough to take my turn now and then."

"Let Dave and Mr. Norton choose sides," suggested Alec, "Dave for the Pirates and Mr. Norton for the Pickets."

"Hurrah!" cried Mark. "On with the game!"

In less time than it takes to tell it, Dave, grinning broadly at his prominence, and Norton, entering into the contest with his usual spirit of enthusiasm, had chosen sides and a list was hastily written and posted on the cabin wall as follows:

Pirates vs Pickets

Dave Norton

Hugh Billy

Chester Alec

Mark Captain Vinton

"Oh, but I can't play!" protested the captain. "I've got my hands full with the _Arrow_!"

"We'll take turns and spell you at the helm," returned Norton.

"All hands on board are enlisted in this fight."

Pleased at his insistence, the old captain yielded the wheel whenever it came his turn to toss, and he proved to be an adept at the game, to everybody's delight.

Norton and Dave had agreed that the contest should consist of five complete rounds, giving just twenty opportunities to each side.

Only the total successful tosses would determine the winning score, but the best individual records would decide who should be the team captains in subsequent games.

The fun of the thing entered into every one of the contestants, yet not one of them failed to put his best efforts into the game.

"Now we'll see some accurate shooting," called Billy as Hugh took the rings for his fourth turn.

"No fair trying to rattle me," returned Hugh, laughing good-naturedly.

"I'm still the interesting invalid."

"Hus.h.!.+" whispered the irrepressible Billy quite audibly. "Don't say a word, boys! It might shake his nerve, you know, and he might suffer a relapse!"

"You teaser!" commented Hugh, beginning his play.

One after another, Hugh steadily tossed the rings over the post.

"Pshaw! You can't disturb him," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Alec. "He is as calm as the sea is just now."

"Five!" counted Chester softly. "Six! You put every one over this time, Hugh. Billy's jollying just inspired you!"

"And now it is his turn," said Hugh, returning to his hammock. "Now we shall see something!"

Billy flushed a little, grinned, set his teeth, poised his body firmly, and then swung into the position of the famous "disk thrower."

Thump! The first ring struck the deck a good foot beyond the post, rebounded, and rolled rapidly toward the railing.

Roy Norton stopped it with his foot and called, "Steady, Billy!

Take your time."

Thump! The second ring, tossed more cautiously, dropped at least six inches in front of the goal.

Thump! Thump! Thump! Three more landed in quick succession, draping themselves gracefully against the standard that upheld the post.

"One more, Billy. Make this one count," coached his captain urgently.

By this time, Billy's face was scarlet and his hand shaking. He took a long breath, fixed his eye on the top of the slender post, and tossed the ring desperately. It fell well to the right of the goal and rolled up against Dave's feet.

Dave quickly stooped to pick it up, trying to hide the wide smile that parted his lips.

Billy's scout friends made no attempt to be so polite. Pickets and Pirates alike, they burst into a roar of laughter.

Captain Vinton, his weather-beaten face wrinkled into a dozen humorous lines, called out:

"Billy, words is sometimes like a boomerang---they fly back and ketch ye, ef ye don't watch out!"

And so the contest progressed; now luck favored the Pirates, and again Captain Vinton's skill brought up the uncertain score of the Pickets.

At the end of the final round, however, Dave's team had a clean balance of ten counts over the combined records of the Pickets, the winners showing a total of ninety-five successful throws out of a possible one hundred and twenty.

Captain Vinton had the best individual score, securing twenty-six out of a possible thirty points, while Hugh, thanks perhaps to Billy's inspiring comments, stood next with a record of twenty-four.

The sun was setting redly over an almost calm sea as the games were finished. Dave, beaming at the success of his team, vanished without urging and soon the welcome odors of supper cooking were wafted to the eager nostrils of the hungry boys.

That evening they all gathered around the old captain as he sat at the helm and guided the lazily-moving craft, begging him for another tale from his own reminiscences or from his favorite history.

"Wal', boys," agreed the captain at length, "I'll tell you about one sea fight that I almost witnessed myself. Fact is, I was a little too young to be thar, but my father was mighty nigh bein' in the thick of it, and I've heard him tell the tale a hundred times ef I hev once.

"It was in March, '62," the captain resumed after a little pause.

"The North was consid'rably stirred up over rumors of how the Confederates hed raised the _Merrimac_ and made out of her a terrible ironclad vessel, warranted to resist all ord'nary attacks. Then these rumors were followed by news of the destruction of two sailin'

frigates, the _c.u.mberland_ and the _Congress_.

"The Union forces were pretty uneasy when they heard what hed happened off Hampton Roads, but they were all pinnin' their faith to a little new ironclad just built on Long Island and already speedin' south ter meet the _Merrimac_. My old dad, servin' on the _Roanoke_, was lucky enough to see both them craft:---the big, clumsy _Merrimac_, all covered with railroad iron and smeared with grease, and the nifty little _Monitor_, that they said looked like 'a cheese box on a raft'!

"Wal', 'course you boys hev all read about what happened when the little fellow steamed out ter meet the big fellow, the day after the frigates were destroyed.

"Fer four hours, Dad said, the two ironclads jest pestered each other with hot fire, but the shot and sh.e.l.l slid off them like water from a duck's back. The little _Monitor_ darted around the big _Merrimac_ like a bee buzzin' round a boy that had plagued it.

"Thar wa'n't no great harm done---except that Lieutenant Worden, who was in command of the Monitor, got hurt by the bits of a sh.e.l.l that drove into his face---but the little ironclad hed proved two things.

Fust, that she could hold her own; and next that the day of wooden vessels in naval warfare was over.

"As you boys know, wars.h.i.+ps now-a-days are all ironclad. Folks hey called 'em 'indestructible,' but I guess thar ain't no sech word allowable any more. Between the new explosives and the airs.h.i.+ps---wal', they say we ain't heard the last word yet, by a long shot!"

The old captain rose as he spoke, shaking his head thoughtfully and gazing out over the sea and into the sky.