econd wound as he had done the first. Two baymen brought a stretcher and
the lad was taken to a bunk. Here he was given a drink that, after five
minutes, caused him to doze and dream fitfully of the battle through
which he had lately passed.

By this time nearly all of the wounded had received first attention.
Dave Darrin, followed by a junior officer, went forward to another, still
smaller room, where he gazed down with heaving breast at the forms of the
seamen who had given up their lives under the Stars and Stripes in the
gallant work of that night.

Over the face of each dead man lay a cloth. Each cloth was removed in
turn by a sailor as Darrin passed along.

"A good fighting man and a great romp on shore," said Dave, looking down
at the face of one man. "One of the best fellows we ever had on any ship
I've ever served on," he said, glancing at another face. "A new lad," he
said, of a third, "but he joined on so recently that I know only that he
was a brave young American!" And so on.

It was just as the sailor was laying the cloth back over the features of
the last one in the row that a seaman sprang into the room precipitately.

"Beg pardon, sir," he called excitedly, "but telephone message, with
compliments of executive officer, and commanding officer's presence is
desired on the bridge--instantly!"

That surely meant business!

CHAPTER IV

WHAT A FLOATING MINE DID

AS Dave reached the deck he caught a fleeting glimpse of a big steamship
ahead, which was revealed in the glare of the destroyer's searchlight.

But he did not stop to linger there. Up to the damaged bridge he ran as
fast as he could go.

Evidently putting on her best effort at speed the steamship was moving
forward fast in a zig-zagging course.

"She was working her radio and blowing her whistle, all in the same
moment, sir," Lieutenant Fernald explained. "She must have seen a torpedo
that passed by her. There must be a submarine somewhere, but we haven't
picked up a sign of it as yet."

The ship was nearly two miles away. Having seen the destroyer's
searchlight the big craft's whistle was again blowing.

"Her master hardly expects to get away from the submarine," Dave
observed, and instantly turned his night glass on the dark waters to try
to pick up some sign of the Hun pirate craft that was causing all this
excitement aboard a respectable neutral liner.

"She's a Dutch craft," Dave commented. "Head in, Mr. Fernald, as tha