“Hooray! Then we’ll be giving orders, not taking them. Won’t I give some chaps I know a working-up,” grinned Herc.
“So far as obeying is concerned, the rear-admiral himself has to follow orders,” reminded Ned.
“Yes, but not so pesky many as we have to now,” Herc retorted.
The destroyer was soon well out into the heavy Atlantic swell. Dimly on the starboard hand could be seen the low-lying coast of New Jersey. During the afternoon the wind freshened, and the sun sank in a heavy bank of hard, greasy-looking clouds.
“Wind, sure as fate,” remarked a boatswain’s mate, as he gazed at them.
Before supper the men were given their watches, and other routine duty assigned. It was the first time that either of the boys had seen Lieutenant Timmons since Ned had so bravely rescued him. Naval etiquette, however, forbade his giving either of the boys more than a crisp nod and a short:
“Well, my lads,” as he made his first tour of inspection.
Ned and Herc were both on duty in the watch that came on after midnight. They turned in, therefore, with several of their mates shortly after the evening meal. Both slept soundly, being, by this time, too accustomed to the noises of a laboring ship to pay any attention to the uproar. They were awakened at eight bells, midnight, however, by the shrill cries of:
“Turn out there, the starboard watch! Come on, tumble out there!”