rrow berth on
which he was sitting.

He had heard a crash and felt a jar that was different from the shocks
he had been experiencing for the last half hour.

Suddenly the Battleship Boy leaped from the berth, splashing into the
water knee deep, as another shock, more violent than the other, set the
doomed schooner trembling from stem to stern.

"Another mast has gone by the board," he groaned.

"Bang!"

The sound was accompanied by a ripping and rending of woodwork as if
the vessel were being torn apart by some strange, wonderful power.

"I can't stand this any longer. I've got to go on deck and find out
what is occurring, even if I am swept overboard. I'm not going to die
down in this hole anyway. It's no way for a jackie in Uncle Sam's Navy
to end his life. Tommy, you'll have to get along the best way you can.
Good-bye if I do not see you again."

There was a note of regret in the Battleship Boy's tone, as his glance
lingered half regretfully on the ugly face of the parrot.

"Lubber!" retorted the indignant parrot.

"I guess I am all you accuse me of being," answered Dan with a
mirthless laugh.

Running up the companionway he crouched under the hatchway, listening
in order to determine whether a wave were washing over the ship or just
leaving the stern. Having decided on this, the lad quickly threw open
the hatch and sprang out on deck.

A cold blast of salt spray smote him full in the face. Dan cleared his
eyes and glanced about him inquiringly. He was able to see but little
of deck or mast, but he felt quite sure that only one of the latter had
been left standing.

There was a sudden angry flash off to port.

"Lightning," muttered Dan. "We're going to have a thunderstorm to add
to my other troubles."

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than the ship received a
shock so sudden and violent as to throw the boy flat on his face on the
deck.

"That's the time we were struck," he cried, springing up.

Indeed the "Oriole" had been struck, but not in the way that Dan Davis
thought. Instead of being struck by lightning another projectile from
the seven-inch gun had torn its way through the stricken schooner.

Dan never had been under fire; in fact, he never had taken part in
target practice, so he knew little of what big-gun fire was like.

A beam from a searchlight smote his face.

"The 'Long Island'!" he fairly shouted. "They're coming back for me.
Tom," he yelled, poking his head