"I'm under no promise, or orders, either," bristled Eph, ready to do battle for his friends. "I can go on shore."
"No, you can't, Eph!" negatived Jack, with decision. "You might be the very next one to get into a big scrape. Then how would things look for the whole of us?"
"Humph! I'd have my eyes open," grunted Somers.
"We thought we had ours open," smiled Hal Hastings.
"No one of our crowd will go ashore, unless ordered there by Mr. Mayhew," declared Benson, with emphasis. "We're not taking another solitary chance."
"We've got all we can do to take our present medicine," muttered Hal, making a wry face.
But they did take it, and, as is always the case, with benefit to their general sense of discipline. In fact, when ordered aboard the gunboat, before eight o'clock the next morning, Jack Benson and Hal Hastings, in their best uniforms, and looking as natty as could be, appeared quite the ideal of young submarine officers.
Passing scores of cadet midshipmen, they were ushered into Lieutenant Commander Mayhew's cabin. Doctor McCrea, the gunboat's surgeon, sat with the commanding officer.
"I was anxious to see how you looked this morning," smiled Mr. Mayhew, as the two naval officers rose. "How do you feel? Thoroughly clear-headed and steady?"
"We feel fine, sir," Jack answered.