Before dawn, huge green seas were cascading over the forecastle and the ponderous steel mass of the big dreadnought was wallowing in the water-rows like a storm-tossed schooner. Occasionally a mighty comber would strike the bow a glancing blow, and then the spray flew high in a glistening waterspout over the bridge and high up on the cage masts. Tons of salt water swept across the quarter-deck from time to time, burying it in a swirling, surging whirlpool, which gushed off in every direction as the great ship rose once more, shaking herself like a huge water animal.
The Jackies shouted with glee as each huge wave swept down on the battlecraft, threatening to engulf even its titanic mass. A mighty sea[108] would tower majestically high above the forecastle like a great wall of green water. The Jackies would scuttle to places of safety and then burst into enthusiastic yells as it flooded the fore-decks, swept around the forward turret, sent tons of spray dashing against the bridge and upper works and finally swept on, to be followed by another monstrous gray-back.
All watches were set, for in the spray and flying spume it was almost as hard to see ahead as if a fog overhung the ocean. As the day wore on the sea grew higher instead of moderating. Breakfast and dinner were eaten out of tin pannikins, for nothing would have stayed on the table. The blue-jackets thought all this fine fun, and shouted every time the ship took an extra heavy plunge.
On the bridge a consultation was held. It was all very well for the dreadnought, this plunging ahead through the mountainous seas at a fifteen-knot clip, but the smaller vessels couldn’t stand it so well.
[109]
A wireless message was sent out to reduce speed to ten knots an hour and extra men were ordered into the tops to help the other lookouts. Ned was assigned to the after cage mast. He sprang upon the iron-runged ladder leading aloft with agility. He was glad to have something to do, for of course the ordinary routine work of the ship was out of the question with the ship rolling till her indicator showed twenty degrees of heeling.
Accustomed as Ned was to climbing in high places, his head swam a bit as he paused half way up for breath and to dash the spray from his eyes. He looked down. A hundred feet below him was a boiling, foam-flecked sea, running mountains high. Viewed from that height, the Manhattan looked to be very narrow and unseaworthy, and her decks appeared to be constantly awash.
Now and then, when an extra big wave came along, she would swing over till it seemed as if[110] she never meant to come back on an even keel again. Cinders and gases from the big funnels swept about the boy at times, too, adding to his discomfort.
But Ned was pretty well hardened to most of these things by this time, and his pause was mainly to get some of the salt water out of his mouth, eyes and nose. Then up he went again, clambering on the slippery rungs with such speed that from the bridge below came a bellowed order through a megaphone:
“Careful aloft there!”
“Aye, aye, sir!” hailed back Ned at the top of his voice and waved a hand to show that he was all right.
At length he reached the top, a small platform mounted by machine guns and surrounded by a steel rail. At one place there was an opening in this rail, across which a rope had been stretched. It looked very thin, small and unsubstantial to guard an open space more than a hundred feet[111] above the ship’s deck, but it was quite strong enough for the blue-jackets, who gave little thought to such matters.
As he gained the top, Ned received a s............