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Updated: June 19, 2025
The box was opened just as the Major ended, and even I began to be afraid that the well-known cupidity of Kennebunk was about to give way before the temptation, and the notes were to be stowed alongside of the tobacco but I was mistaken. Deliberately helping himself to a quid, the chief-mate shut the box again, and then he made his reply.
Those who had not seen it, realized that the first gun fired in earnest by the Kennebunk had reached its target. "The old ship's bound to have good luck!" shouted a boatswain. "This is only the beginning! We'll sweep the seas of every Hun!" The officers did not try to quell the cheering. The satisfaction and pride of all was something too fine to be quenched.
The sternness of the petty officers could not halt the spreading feeling. "How about our very first gun sinking a submarine?" demanded Philip Morgan of one group. "Oh, that was just a chance," was the reply. "Hump!" said Whistler with disgust. "I have an idea the old Kennebunk is going to be blessed with similar chances." There followed, however, a really serious accident.
My only companion here was a rosy-cheeked, simple country girl, who was going to Kennebunk, and, never having been from home before, had not the slightest idea what to do. Presuming on my antiquated appearance, she asked me "to take care of her, to get her ticket for her, for she dare'nt ask those men for it, and to let her sit by me in the car."
The Kennebunk steamed into a certain roadstead one evening where lay more huge battleships, cruisers and smaller armored vessels than Whistler and his mates had ever seen before. They flew the flags of three nations, and they were prepared to move en masse upon the enemy at the briefest notice.
Wherever the shell had burst it had not interfered with the firing of the huge guns of Number Two Turret. Another enemy shell burst inboard of the Kennebunk. There was a hail of bits of steel and flying wreckage. Whistler stood squarely on his feet and began to breathe again. If he was afraid he did not know it! One of his mates fell back from position.
"Ensign MacMasters is to be congratulated that he takes aboard the Kennebunk such an altogether admirable young man. You will hear from this, Master Morgan. You deserve the Medal of Honor and whatever other honor and special emolument it is in the power of the Secretary of the Navy to award." He turned to MacMasters: "And your boatswain's mate deserves mention, too.
"Lieutenant Perkins in command," said that officer, standing in his storm coat and boots on the wet deck. "With squad of seamen under Ensign MacMasters for the Kennebunk." "Send them aboard, Lieutenant, if you please. We trip anchors in half an hour. The tide is just at the turn." Mr. MacMasters was already lining up his men, and Seven Knott, with a bandage on his head, was looking for stragglers.
Every other individual aboard the Kennebunk had his station, from the firemen shoveling tons of coal into the fiery maws of the furnaces to keep the indicator needles of the steam-gages at a certain figure, to the range-finders high up in the fighting-tops, bending over their apparatus. In the turrets the officers fitted telephone receivers to their heads.
"It's what we signed on for, isn't it?" The chaser, now riding an even keel in the more quiet waters of the harbor, swept at slower speed to the side of the towering hull of the Kennebunk. A sentinel at the starboard ladder, which was lowered, hailed sharply. A moment later a deck officer came to the side. "S. P. Eight Hundred and Eighty-eight, ahoy!" he said.
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