The flagship had fired, and, as the glass brought to bear by Lieutenant Timmons showed, had missed the first target. At the distance of a mile and a half the targets, with their tiny boats bobbing at a safe distance, looked extremely small. Shooting at a potato on a fence post at twenty rods with a small rifle is easy compared to the task before Uncle Sam's gunners. "Now, Cooper, steady, my lad!" Lieutenant Timmons' voice sounded strained and harsh as the gun pointer squinted through his telescope and depressed his pointing lever ever so little. Already the range had been signaled from the fire-control wells. The _Manhattan_ was quivering to the speed of her engines, rushing her stripped form past the targets at eighteen knots. Every man of that gun crew was under as painful a tension as the officer. As for the inventor, his face took on a deadly pallor as he leaned against the rear wall of the turret. In a few moments now he would know if his invention was a failure or a glorious success. A tiny signal light--the message from the firing room glowed. Cooper looked round. His wrinkled face was grotesquely knotted, like an ape's, in his excitement. His hand shook, but there was a glitter in his eyes that showed he meant to get that target. "Brace yourselves, men!" warned the officer. The boys stood as they had been taught, their knees slightly bent, so as to be springy. As they got the last order they stuffed cotton in their ears. Otherwise, the drums would have been shattered by the discharge. "All ready, sir," breathed Cooper. "Fire!" There was a sharp click from the electric firing switch and a tiny spurt of bluish flame. A shock like that of an earthquake followed. The mighty explosion seemed to rend the turret. It had not died out before the glasses of the gunnery officer, the inventor and the gun-pointer were bearing on the distant target and the boats scurrying toward it. From the bridge and the quarter deck similar scrutiny was brought to bear. Chaosite was almost smokeless, so their vision was not obscured, as with the old-fashioned powder--even the so-called "smokeless" making quite a smother. "Hit, sir!" shot out Cooper dryly, as the signal man in the target boat wig-wagged the news. "Now let the _Idaho_ folks get busy!" cried the delighted gun crew. The new explosive and the new gun had proven themselves one of the biggest naval successes of many a day. CHAPTER XXIX. THE STUFF A JACKIE'S MADE OF. Hastily the gunnery officer scribbled a note and handed it to Herc. "Here, my man, take this to Captain Dunham," he said, thrusting the paper into Herc's hand. The red-headed boy was off like a flash, and a second later the captain, who had already witnessed the signaling of the successful hit, was reading the details of the wonderful results achieved with the new gun.