"I think we are going into Fort Pond Bay," answered someone.

"Never heard of the place. Is it a pond?" asked Hickey innocently.

"Hear the landlubber talk. Yes, red-head, it's a pond; a sloppy-weather pond with the current so swift at times that if you were to go swimming in it, you'd want your port and starboard anchors out all the time."

"What are we going to do in the pond?"

"The Old Man hasn't taken me into his confidence yet," scoffed a sailor. "I am expecting to hear from him most any time now."

"Ordering you to appear at mast court, eh?" questioned Sam maliciously.

"That'll be about all for you, red-head."

"Better look out or Dynamite will be mixing it up with you," warned another. "Won't you, Dynamite?" nodding at Dan.

"I think I have had all the mixing-up that I want," answered Davis, with a short laugh. "If you don't believe it, just look at this bandage on my head."

"Yes, Dynamite's a sore head," suggested a shipmate. "I'd be willing to trade heads with you, if what's in yours could go with it."

At this there was a laugh all around the table. Dan blushed. He did not like these broad compliments. But, to Dan Davis' credit, be it said that, instead of making him conceited, they served quite the opposite purpose. They made him the more determined to merit the good things that were said of him.

"Torpedo practice to-day," announced a sailor, coming in at that juncture from his watch on deck.

"What range?" asked some one.

"I hear it is a four-thousand-yard range."

"That will give us all a chance to go out for a row."

"For what?" questioned Sam.

"For the exercise, red-head. We jackies never have anything to do, you know, so they have to send us out for a row, now and then."

"We don't have to row in a common whaleboat or a cutter. We've got something better in which to row," retorted Hickey.

"Got something better?"

"Yes."

"Maybe you're going to run the captain's motor boat."

"No; not yet. Maybe we'll be doing that later. Just now we're going to content ourselves with the gig."

"The gig!"

"Sure thing."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the racing gig. Didn't you know Dan and myself were members of the racing crew now?"

"No; I didn't know anything of the sort. You kids on the crew? That's a joke. If we fellows who have been in the service a year or two get on the crew we think we're lucky."

"Is that right, Davis?" spoke up one of the men further down the table.

"Partly, Bob. We have been chosen for a tryout. We may make such a miserable failure of it that they will put us out of the boat after the first practice spin."

"I'm not so sure about the red-head, but I'll risk your making a mess of anything that you try," answered the jackie addressed as Bob. "I won't say you're lucky, for the good things generally go to them that deserve them," continued the sailor wisely. "Leastwise, that's been my observation. I notice not many of them have ever come my way, though.

What oars are you going to pull?"

"I can't say, Bob. That depends upon Mr. Harper."

Envious glances were directed upon the Battleship Boys from all parts of the mess.

"I know how they happened to get in for a try-out," announced a member of the mess. "Black and White were to row in the crew. Instead, they'll be holding down the deck of the brig for the next thirty days."

"I was in there once," said Sam, with a grin that brought a shout of laughter.

"A fellow doesn't know what the sailor's life is like unless he gets in the brig."

"I think I should be satisfied without knowing, then," answered Dan.

"I came pretty close to it once. That was enough for me."

By the time the jackies had finished their breakfast the "Long Island"

was plowing into Fort Pond Bay, and an hour later her starboard anchor was let go. The ship's prow swung into the tide. The decks were thronged with sailors cleaning ship, while others were getting the small boats ready for the work of the day. It was a busy scene, one in which the Battleship Boys evinced the keenest interest, for they had never seen torpedo practice before. Dan had some knowledge of the operation of these weapons of modern warfare, but he was anxious to see the torpedoes fired.

First, the two steamers were swung out and lowered to the water, where they were made secure to the lower booms. The captain's motor boat came next. Two officers went off in her to place the target for the torpedo practice. This was nothing more than a bamboo fish pole with a red flag secured to it.

The target was planted in a shallow place in the bay off near the sh.o.r.e of Gardiner's Island, after they had measured off the course, a distance of four thousand yards from the ship. It was not intended that the torpedoes should hit the target, which was placed merely as a guide for the ordnance officer to fire at. Coming within a hundred feet of it, either way, would be considered pretty good shooting.

In the meantime the torpedo officer was far down in the hold of the ship, in the torpedo room, getting ready the huge, fish-like monsters for the flight they were soon to take. There were six of the deadly instruments of warfare down there. Dan would have liked to go below to see how the torpedoes were fired by compressed air, but his duties would not permit him to do so.

"Seaman Hickey and Davis report for signal duty!" called a boatswain's mate.

"That's us," nodded Dan. "I guess we are going out. That will be fine."

"Man the small boats and patrol the torpedo course," commanded an officer from the bridge. "Davis, you will go out with the motor boat.

Hickey, remain on board for signal duty here. We will put some of your cla.s.s in the small boats, and distribute them along the course,"

ordered a quartermaster.

Dan's cla.s.s in wig-wag work had made marvelous progress. They were now nearly as proficient in signal work as had been the regular signal corps, who were working on one of the other ships some five miles to the northeast from where the "Long Island" lay. None of Dan's men had worked at such long range before. He was glad, therefore, that he had been a.s.signed to go out on the range, for he could keep a watchful eye on his men. He had perfect confidence in Sam. The station Hickey had was very important, for he was to receive messages and to send messages to all the small boats of the fleet.

"Now, all small boats keep clear of the torpedo course, so that none of you get hit. Don't fall in too soon after the torpedo goes by. We want the course kept clear so that we can follow it with our gla.s.ses.

Take your places on the range."

The two steamers whistled shrilly, as, with a procession of small boats in tow, they started out over the course.

"Hickey, take your place abaft of the bridge, within hailing distance of the commanding officer," ordered the quartermaster.