"She's heading very straight, sir," the executive officer informed his superior.

"Yes; that's a fine run. But it isn't the fault of our signalman that the torpedo didn't run down the dinghy. Hickey, that was about the worst performance of its kind that I ever saw. See that you do not let it happen again. If you do, I shall take you off signal work entirely."

"Aye, aye, sir," answered the Battleship Boy, whose face was now redder than the shock of fiery hair that was standing straight up on his head.

"I'll show him," muttered Sam. "I'm a clumsy lummox, but I know my business just as well as he does his. Wait till I get a chance to wiggle this flag! I'll make those fellows out in the small boats think they're getting struck by lightning. I'll----"

"Ask them if they can see the torpedo," broke in the voice of the captain.

Sam set his flag dancing. The moment he began to work with it all his nervousness left him. The red-headed boy was himself again.

"Steamer number one says they are after it, sir."

"Do they know where it is?"

"Yes, sir; they have it located."

"Did you see the way that man Hickey, handled the signal flag, Coates?"

"Yes, sir; I observed him."

"The boy is all right, in spite of his clumsiness. Can you make out the torpedo, Coates?"

"No; but I see the whaleboat putting off for it. The water there is evidently too shallow for the steamer to get in."

Sam's gla.s.s was at his eye, as he balanced himself lightly on the iron railing surrounding the signal box.

"Whaleboat number one signals that they have the torpedo, sir," sang out Sam Hickey.

"Very good. You will fire the starboard torpedo next, will you not?"

asked the captain of the ordnance officer.

"Yes, sir, as soon as the men get that one on board."

The whaleboat made fast a rope to the torpedo, and then the steamer, taking the smaller boat in tow, headed for the ship, towing the monster in their wake. Beaching the ship, the torpedo was hauled aboard with a derrick and placed on the deck, to be taken apart and shipped back to the torpedo room below.

It had made a splendid flight, and all hands were pleased with the first shot. It had been fired exactly as it would be in war time, except that it carried no explosive on the practice flight.

Dan, out on the water, was now improving his opportunity to put his signal corps through a series of practice messages. He was drilling the men of the signal corps in quick reading. First he would wig-wag a message to the fleet of small boats; then they would repeat it back to him as fast as they were able to operate the flags.

"They're signaling out there, sir," said the executive officer to the captain.

"Signalman, attention! Attend to your business."

Hickey looked up to the bridge in surprise.

"Aye, aye, sir."

"Don't you see them signaling to you out there?" demanded the captain.

"I see them signaling, yes, sir. I've been watching them for the past ten minutes, sir."

"What do they want?"

"Nothing, sir."

"Then what are they wig-wagging for?"

"Seaman Davis is drilling the squad, sir."

"Oh!"

The captain turned on his heel, giving the boy a view of his broad back.

"Mebby that one didn't land under the belt!" chuckled the red-headed Battleship Boy. "I guess I know my business, I do."

The ordnance officer announced that he was ready for another shot.

"Very well; we will get under way," announced the captain, the ship having laid to while the torpedo was being shipped aboard. "Pull over pretty close to that sh.o.r.e there before you swing. Chains, there!"

"Aye, aye, sir," answered the men in the chains, the little platform from which the lead is cast to determine the depth of water under the ship.

"How much water have you?"

The leadsman made a cast.

"By the mark, ten," he called in a sing-song voice.

"Keep it going."

The ship was slowly drawing near a high, sandy bluff.

"By the mark, seven."

"Slow down both engines," commanded the captain. "Give us another sounding."

"By the deep, six.... And a quarter, five."

"Seaman Davis signaling, sir," called Sam Hickey.

"What does he say?"

"Begging the captain's pardon, when he went out on the range he crossed your present course. He says there is shoal water less than a fathom deep three ship's lengths ahead of you, sir."

"How's your lead?" thundered the captain, turning to the men in the chains below him.

"Quarter less ten," was the answer.