"A drill!" exclaimed Hickey in disgust.

"Yes."

"What kind of drill?"

"Abandoning ship."

"Pshaw, if I'd have known that I'd stayed in bed. The idea of a drill in the middle of the night, and after I've rowed half way to Europe in the racing gig. Who started this thing, anyway?"

"The admiral signaled all ships in the harbor to abandon ship. I presume all of them are taking the time, and we shall see who succeeded in getting away from their ship first."

"I'll bet I'd have broken the record if they had taken my time. That's the only way to abandon ship in a hurry."

"How's that, Hickey?" questioned a shipmate.

"Head first," answered Sam.

"Return to ship," came the command. "Be lively there, men. This counts on record, too. All boats to be hoisted aboard as they were."

The men piled over the side of the ship to the decks in fully as quick time as they had left. In a very brief time the small boats were emptied, excepting for the men who were manning them, two men in each boat to attend to making fast the falls for hoisting and riding up to the decks in the little craft.

The drill was ended without a mishap, save that which had occurred when Hickey tried to lean against the ship's rail and failed.

Lights, red, white and blue, were twinkling from the masts of the various ships at anchor in the bay, while officers on the bridge of the "Long Island" were reading them.

"Is signalman there?" called the captain from the bridge.

"Aye, aye, sir," came the response.

"Signal the flagship that the 'Long Island's' crew abandoned ship in four minutes and twenty seconds."

The signalman did so, working the keyboard of his signal apparatus--that somewhat resembled a typewriter machine--causing colored lights to flash and twinkle far up on the forward mast of his own ship.

"'Good work, sir,' the admiral says."

"Ask him for the best time."

"Flagship signals that the 'Long Island' has made a record for abandoning ship. Five minutes best time in previous record.

To-night's second-best record, four minutes and fifty seconds."

"Mr. Coates, will you pa.s.s the word to the men by megaphone?" asked the captain.

"Aye, aye, sir. Battleship crew, there!"

"Aye, aye, sir," roared a hundred or more voices.

"The 'Long Island' beats all compet.i.tors in abandoning ship by thirty seconds, and has broken all previous records."

A roar went up that fairly shook the ship; then two hundred voices were raised in song:

"Oh, say, can you see, by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?"

The strains of the inspiring song floated out over the waters of the bay until one verse had been sung, the officers offering no objection to the jollification. But, ere the men could begin on the second verse, the bugle blared loudly, piping all hands back to hammocks. Ten minutes later the battleship was silent and the decks deserted. The "Long Island's" crew, almost to a man, was sound asleep.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE ACT OF A HERO

"All hands prepare for torpedo practice," was again the command on the following morning.

At least six torpedoes were to be fired that day, to complete the practice required of each ship. The "Long Island" got up steam and pulled away to a remote part of the bay, so as not to be bothered by the other ships of the fleet. In fact, every ship in the bay was doing the same thing--getting off by itself.

The same tactics were to be followed as had been used on the day when the battleship went aground; that is, firing when the ship was traveling at full speed, about seventeen knots an hour.

The red-headed boy was retained on shipboard to attend to the wig-wagging, Dan going out in the motor boat with an engineer and c.o.xswain.

"Red flag up!" shouted Dan. "Keep clear of the course."

The ship's siren blew, and soon they saw the path made by the marine monster heading off in their direction. Dan, in the motor boat, was near the extreme end of the range.

"Better sheer off, c.o.xswain, because you can't tell where the old torpedo is going when it gets near the end of its run. There she goes."

The torpedo took a long dive at an angle of about forty-five degrees from her course.

"Look where she's going!"

Off in the direction that the projectile was headed was a fleet of fishermen in small boats, tending to their nets, which were scattered over an area of a quarter of a mile, standing almost end to end.

"Head toward them, head toward them! We must warn them!"

The c.o.xswain was a seaman, not a c.o.xswain by appointment, and he did not appear to be as familiar with the work as he might have been. The regular c.o.xswain of the motor boat was in the sick bay, though Dan did not know this.

"Torpedo heading your way! Look out for her!" he shouted with hands to mouth. "Pull out, men; pull out for your lives!"

The fishermen looked at the Battleship Boy, standing poised on the plunging bow of the motor boat, wondering if he had gone crazy.

"Pull out, I tell you! There she comes!"

The motor boat was driving; ahead full speed.

"They'll be hit, sure as fate," groaned the boy. "They can't see her because they are so low in the water."

A yell from the fishermen told him that they had made sudden discovery of their peril. Dan, with his wig-wag flag, motioned to them to separate at a certain point. For a wonder they understood and laid to their oars in great haste.