But the mysterious prospect of what was ahead of them shortly smothered the matter of the peril escaped. There might be greater perils ahead.
The superdreadnaught halted but for an hour at a port of the Azores. This was to send mail ashore. Then she picked up speed again and traveled north.
She passed convoys of merchant vessels guarded by French, British and American destroyers. The Kennebunk exchanged signals with several cruisers of the United States Navy as well.
Drill at the guns went on daily. Once they spied and shelled a German submarine, but she escaped. This incident greatly enraged the crew of the gun that missed her. It was not the gun to the crew of which Whistler and Torry belonged.
"Can't expect to get the Hun every time," was the soothing remark of one of the division captains.
"Why not?" asked somebody else. "That's what we are here for, isn't it? I don't believe Uncle Sam wants excuses."
The standard the men set themselves in our Navy is higher than their officers require.
The boys from Seacove, as well as Hans Hertig and Mr. MacMasters, kept a sharp lookout for their beloved Colodia. But they were fated not to meet the destroyer until the great event which had brought the superdreadnaught into European waters.
The Kennebunk steamed into a certain roadstead one evening where lay more huge battleships, cruisers and smaller armored vessels than Whistler and his mates had ever seen before. They flew the flags of three nations, and they were prepared to move en masse upon the enemy at the briefest notice.