As the destroyer shot across the path of the torpedo Torry fitted the butt of his rifle into the hollow of his shoulder, huddled his cheek against the stock, and brought the cross-sights of the rifle full upon the sharklike projectile. The rifle report was almost instantaneous with the roar of the torpedo. The latter blew up not twenty yards from the destroyer’s rail! “Hi! Hi! Hi!” yelled the mates of the keen-sighted Torrance. “Well done!” called the officer of the watch through his megaphone. “Well done, Torrance!” The whole crew cheered again, and Al’s flaming face acknowledged their appreciation. Mr. MacMasters came quickly to wring the lad’s hand in appreciation. “Good for you, Torrance,” he said. “Your name goes down on the log for that.” “Aw, she wouldn’t have hit us anyway,” said Al, quite overcome by so much praise. “Never mind. It showed accurate marksmanship and good work, too. Those autoprojectiles are dangerous to leave drifting about the seas. You get a good mark, my boy.” Meanwhile the _Colodia_, swerving not a hair from her course, reached and overran the spot where the submersible had sunk. The order rang out and the depth bomb was dropped. Then the destroyer scurried out of the way to escape the effect of the deep-down explosion. Up from the depths rose a mound of muddy water. It rose twenty feet above the surface, and the spray shot twice as high. The thundering explosion shook the running destroyer in every part. The effect of the discharge upon what was under the sea must have been terrible. Half a mile away the _Colodia_ swerved and circled, to pass again over the spot where the bomb had been dropped. The boys leaned over the rails to watch for anything in the water that might prove that the submarine had been wrecked. There was not a bit of wreckage; but suddenly Ikey Rosenmeyer shrieked: “Oil! Oil! Oh, bully! Oil!” A roar of other voices took up the cry. Great bubbles of oil rose to the surface. The _Colodia_ passed over a regular “slick” of fluid that could mean nothing but that the tanks of the submersible had been ripped open by the explosion of the depth bomb. Morgan found George Belding standing beside him and looking back at the oil-streaked waves with a very serious visage. “What’s on your mind?” asked the Seacove lad. “It seems terrible, doesn’t it, Phil?” said Belding. “All those fellows! Gone like _that_!” and he snapped his fingers. “Well,” returned Whistler, “you wanted action, didn’t you? Now I guess you’ve had enough for a while.” “I believe you,” agreed his friend solemnly.