Half a hundred hardy tars bent themselves to the oars and the fleet of boats slipped away from the towering sides of the “Long Island,” the men pulling for the mine field off to the southeast. Each Battleship Boy carried a spy glass under his arm. Now and then he would place it to his eye for a long look at the ship. “The ship is making signals, sir,” Dan informed the ensign in command of his boat. “What do they want?” “They are saying that whaleboat number two is off its course, sir. Orders, sir, to bear more to the southwest.” “Wherry, there,” spelled Dan. “That’s us.” He acknowledged the signal. “Pull up. Wherry lagging behind!” Dan translated the message to his superior officer. The lad was glad that it was not he who was tugging at the oars, for the perspiration was dripping from the face of the oarsman by this time. As each boat reached the buoy where it was to locate its mine, the men would toss their oars as a signal that they were ready. Some time was required for all the boats to get in their proper places. In the meantime Dan Davis was standing up in the wherry with his flag ready for signaling. At last the oars in each boat of the fleet were tossed, which means held upright. “Ready,” wig-wagged the Battleship Boy. He held his flag high above his head with one hand—the injured one—the other hand holding the spy glass to his eye watching the signal halyards of the battleship. A flag fluttered to the breeze on the ship. Instantly Dan dipped his own signal flag. A splash from a cutter, followed by a series of splashes from the other boats of the little fleet, told him that the mines were going overboard. The second leg of the contest against time was on. Sam Hickey sat in the whaleboat irritated because he had had little or nothing to do. Had he but known it, however, there was plenty of opportunity ahead of him to enable the lad to show the stuff he was made of. CHAPTER XXI—BREAKING THE RECORD “There goes the last of them,” shouted the officer in Dan’s boat. Dan raised his flag, making the signal 333. This he did three times, indicating that the work was finished. “What is the time, sir?” “Three minutes and twenty seconds,” replied the officer. “That breaks the record.” Picking up his megaphone the officer shouted out the tidings to the men who were out on the mine field. “Three minutes and twenty seconds,” he bellowed. “Best previous time beaten by forty seconds.” A great cheer broke from the jackies drifting about in their little boats over the mine field. Batteries had been placed, everything had been done within the time named, and had the mines been charged with dry guncotton any ship running into them would undoubtedly have been blown up. In the meantime Dan Davis was signaling the news to the battleship. The “Long Island,” expressed her congratulations in three long blasts of her siren, at which the jackies set up another cheer. This time the cheer reached to the ship itself.