"Signal whaleboat Number One to replace canvas," ordered the ensign, and Ned promptly transmitted the signal to the boat in which Herc was signalman. The red-headed lad answered his chum's signal promptly, and in a minute the double-ender was scooting through the water on its errand.
The work of placing fresh canvas on the target did not consume long, and in a short time Herc, standing in the stern of the whaler, wig-wagged back to Ned that all was ready.
"Number One whaleboat signals 'all ready,' sir," announced Ned.
"Very well. Order them to pull away," said the ensign.
Ned transmitted the order, and the men who had been holding the boat to the scow by their boathooks cast off hastily.
Ned's attention was instantly turned to the ensign, awaiting fresh orders. Had it not been for that, he would have seen something transpiring on the whaleboat which would have filled him with rage.
Kennell it was who had charge of the stern boathook. His station was on the small grating astern of the petty officer's seat. On this grating Herc, too, was standing. As the boat was shoved off, Herc felt his feet suddenly twitched from under him, and the next minute he toppled headlong into the sea.
The crew of the boat, bending to their oars at top speed—for they knew that the deadly projectile would soon be winging toward them—apparently did not see what had occurred, and bent over their oars without a thought of Herc's peril. Kennell, with an evil grin on his hard features, clambered back into the boat with the look on his face of a man who has done a good day's work.
At the speed at which the whaleboat was urged through the water, it was out of earshot by the time Herc rose to the surface. Indeed, the unexpected immersion had resulted in his swallowing so much water that he was unable to shout.
Blowing a stream of water from his lips, he struck out for the nearest target, the one which had just been replaced.