“Well, I should say not,” laughed Ned. “It would be like an inflated paper bag getting the impact of a good, healthy fist. “Have you seen our quarters below?” inquired Ned, to change the subject. “Have I? I should say so. Not much like the old _Manhattan’s_ forecastle. There isn’t room to swing a cat without scraping its whiskers off.” “No, in craft of this kind everything is sacrificed to engine space. Speed is the thing.” “Well, I guess you’ll soon see some. Wait till we get out of the Ambrose Channel and turn our nose southward.” “Can’t come too swift for me,” confidently asserted Herc. The conversation of the two young men was interrupted at this moment by a boatswain’s mate. He ordered them forward to attend to some brasswork. “Same old chores to be done even aboard a destroyer,” sighed Herc. It may be said here that both Ned and Herc had practically received their rating as boatswain’s mates, but, owing to red tape, they had not received their appointments when the time came for sailing on the _Beale_. The destroyer carried a picked crew for the special service on which she was going, and Ned and Herc, to their huge delight, had been recommended by Captain Dunham for duty. Their present commander, Lieutenant Timmons, was the officer whom Ned had saved when the turret on the _Manhattan_ was filled with the deadly gases and flames of the flare-back. “Never mind,” Ned comforted, as the two boys went forward to get their rags and “brass dope,” “we’ll get our rating before this cruise is over.” “Hooray! Then we’ll be giving orders, not taking them. Won’t I give some chaps I know a working-up,” grinned Herc. “So far as obeying is concerned, the rear-admiral himself has to follow orders,” reminded Ned. “Yes, but not so pesky many as we have to now,” Herc retorted. The destroyer was soon well out into the heavy Atlantic swell. Dimly on the starboard hand could be seen the low-lying coast of New Jersey. During the afternoon the wind freshened, and the sun sank in a heavy bank of hard, greasy-looking clouds. “Wind, sure as fate,” remarked a boatswain’s mate, as he gazed at them. Before supper the men were given their watches, and other routine duty assigned. It was the first time that either of the boys had seen Lieutenant Timmons since Ned had so bravely rescued him. Naval etiquette, however, forbade his giving either of the boys more than a crisp nod and a short: “Well, my lads,” as he made his first tour of inspection. Ned and Herc were both on duty in the watch that came on after midnight. They turned in, therefore, with several of their mates shortly after the evening meal. Both slept soundly, being, by this time, too accustomed to the noises of a laboring ship to pay any attention to the uproar. They were awakened at eight bells, midnight, however, by the shrill cries of: “Turn out there, the starboard watch! Come on, tumble out there!”