"I'm mighty glad, shipmate," said he. "You had it coming to you."
"But it isn't going to last," said Herc plaintively. "It will only hold out as long as the war game, and then we'll be back in the ranks—that is, if we don't fall out of bed first."
Ned said nothing, but he gazed with absent eyes over the busy scene,—the swarming river and the great yard with its life and movement and busy note of preparation. He was indulging in the most delicious reverie he had ever experienced.
[CHAPTER IV.]
HERC "MIXES IN."
Miller's Haven was a small place on the Sound shore, several miles up. It boasted a bay full of shoals and tricky channels and a group of islands lying in a cluster near the mouth of this bay.
Ned knew from his previous instructions that the Seneca would be lying in the shelter of one of these islands, as securely moored to avoid observation from the scouts of the Blue squadron as was possible. Miller's Haven was a sleepy spot,—little more than a fishing village, in truth,—and nobody in the place was likely to pay much attention to the fact that a small gunboat, looking more like a yacht than a vessel of the navy, lay, with every appearance of secrecy, off their hamlet.