"Aye, aye, sir."
Dan's raincoat and hat were off in a twinkling. These dropped one by one to the deck, as he sped along, bounding over obstructions that he did not even see, so familiar was he with the course he was following.
"They're rowing away, sir. I'll get them," shouted the Battleship Boy confidently.
He darted out on the lower boom, grasping the life line strung along its length for protection to the sailors passing over the boom.
"Boat ahoy!" cried Dan.
The men bent to their oars; that is, one of them did, for there is but one pair of oars in a dinghy.
"It'll be the worse for you men, down there, if you try to get away. The whaleboats are being turned out to go for you, and I'm after you myself."
His warning had no effect, unless it were to hasten the work of the man at the oars. In his excitement the fellow let an oar slip from its fastening, keeling him over on his back in the boat. A muttered exclamation reached the boy on the boom.
Without an instant's hesitation Dan crouched down on the boom, letting himself down until he hung suspended over the sea by his hands.
For a brief instant he peered down into the sea some thirty feet below him, taking mental measurement of the distance, figuring just how near he would come to hitting the dinghy were he to let himself go.