"Tackled superior numbers, and sank two out of three," Dave commented, calmly. "Not what one would call a poor evening's work, gentlemen."
"It was splendidly done, sir," glowed Lieutenant Fernald.
"We won't take too much credit to ourselves," Dave proposed. "Let us give some of the credit to luck."
"Not with you in command, sir," protested the executive officer.
"But we did have a lot of luck," Dave insisted.
"The luck that you planned and schemed for, with your mind working like lightning," Fernald retorted.
He was too much of a man to try to flatter his chief. Fernald spoke from the depths of complete conviction. He had known Dave Darrin's reputation at sea even before he had come to serve under this swift-thinking young officer.
Dave's first care, now, was to inspect the dismounted gun. Only a few moments did he need to convince himself that the piece was a wreck that could never be put in use again.
He then descended to the sick bay, where the surgeon and four baymen were giving tender attention to the wounded men.
"It was a good fight, men," Dave said, as he passed through the bay.