Was there actually more in the glance they exchanged than seemed to be the case? Was it a mutual sense that they were at the scene which was to be the theatre of their daring attempt?
We shall see.
As the Dreadnought Boys sat discussing the ceremony they had witnessed and earnestly talking over their plans and ambitions, they became aware that a hush had fallen over the fore deck and that a group of men were carrying something aft.
With the other men, they pressed closer to see what the burden was, and were startled to hear a sudden groan.
On the stretcher the men carried lay a bronze-faced jackie, his skin a deadly white under the brown. Drops of sweat—the moisture of agony—jetted his forehead as he was borne past on his way to the sick bay, where the surgeon and his assistants were already prepared to begin a battle for his life.
"It's Bill Hudgins," ran the word among the jackies. "He was crushed badly when the cable caught him as we dropped anchor."
Although the boys afterward had the pleasure of meeting Hudgins and congratulating him on his recovery, the incident taught them that even in times of peace there is peril to be faced on board a man-o'-war, and that it is the duty of Uncle Sam's fighters to meet it unflinchingly.
After supper that night, while the men were still discussing poor Hudgins' mishap, the boatswain's mate—the same one who had received them on board—hastened up to Ned and Herc as they lay on the fore deck, gazing at the soft tropic stars, and announced:
"It's an ill wind that blows nobody any good. Hudgins was signalman of the target officer's wherry. You boys go out in his place to-morrow."