commanded by Dan Dalzell, but it didn't come in
close enough for a hail.

Bang! sounded a destroyer's gun, far ahead.

Bang! came as if in answer from the bowgun of the leading transport.

"There are the Huns, and here is the scrap coming!" yelled a corporal
perched up in the bow of the ship.

Bang! Bang!

"Hurrah! Hurrah!" Cheers went up in such volume as to be deafening.

"Tell the men to stop that cheering," shouted Major Wells, in
order to make Dick and Greg hear him. "And tell them that no
more men are to crowd the rail on either side. No noise, and
nothing to make the ship list!"

Going down three steps at a time, Dick and Greg descended the
companionway forward of the pilot house.

"No cheering!" shouted Prescott, pushing his way through the throng.
"Quiet!"

With Dick moving through the masses of soldiers on the port side
of the deck, and Greg performing a similar office on the starboard
side, quiet was soon restored. Then Captain Prescott's voice
was heard announcing:

"You men must remain quiet, or how can the ship's officers make
their orders heard? Remember, not a cheer after this. And no
more men are to crowd to the rails."

"It's a pity that the rest of us cannot see what is going on!"
half-grumbled a soldier, so close that Prescott heard him.

"I know just how you feel about that," the young captain admitted,
wheeling and regarding the soldier. "But this is war, not sport.
Absolute, uncomplaining discipline is the surest means of bringing
this ship and its human cargo through safely."

Another captain and Lieutenants Terry and Overton had joined the
first two officers on the deck, and order was maintained without
a flaw.

Bang! bang! bang! bang!

"This sounds like a full-fledged naval battle!" Greg Holmes called
to his chum, his eyes dancing.

"And we cannot see a bit of it!" sighed a soldier complainingly.

"You're in a position to see as much of it as I'm seeing, my man,"
Prescott retorted, with an indulgent smile. "You and I are both
obeying orders instead of pleasing ourselves."

Bang! bang!

Watching some of the officers at the rail on the deck above, Captain
Prescott was able to discover that the fight was being brought close
to his own ship.

Then there came another sign. From up forward the port bow gun
of the troopship turned itself loose with a sharp report.

"Did you note how that gun's muzzle is depressed?" Greg asked
Dick, in a low voice.

"I did," Dick