"Why? Oh, Lord!" groaned the sailors mirthfully, "why, red-head, he'll pound that ruby-colored head of yours into the middle of next Fourth of July or pink calves'-foot jelly." "Carry on, men! Carry on!" exclaimed a boatswain's mate, coming round the barbette at this moment. "Why, what's all this?" he exclaimed the next minute, as his eyes lighted on the recumbent and paint-smeared figure of Kennell, and the flushed faces and anxious eyes of Ned and Herc. "It's Kennell, sir; he's knocked out," volunteered one of the jackies. "So I see. Who has so grossly violated the rules of the service as to have been guilty of fighting?" All eyes rested on poor Herc, who, coloring up to the roots of his colorful thatch, said, in a low voice: "I have, sir." Though the lad's tone was low, his voice never quavered. "What you--Recruit Taylor--fighting?" queried the amazed boatswain's mate, who was no stranger to the record of the redoubtable Kennell, and inwardly marveled at what sort of fighting machine Herc must be to have laid him low. "Yes, sir; I'm sorry to say that I have," replied Herc, looking his superior straight in the eyes. At this juncture the officer of the deck hastened up. From his station amidships he had noted the sudden cessation of all activity forward. He had at once hastened to see what had occurred to stop the monotonous clock-work of the routine duties aboard. "What's all this, Stowe?" he shot out sharply at the boatswain's mate, as his eyes took in the scene. All the jackies had come to attention as the officer hurried up, but at his sharp command of: "Carry on, men!" the work had gone forward, apparently as before, although, as my readers will judge, the men had one eye on their work and another on the scene that now transpired. "Why, as well as I can make out, sir, this young recruit here, sir--Taylor, sir--has been fighting with Kennell, here, sir, and----" "Seemingly knocked him out," snapped the officer, as Kennell began to stir. He sat up, blinking his eyes like a man who has been summoned back from another world. As the bully rose, the officer--a young man with a good-natured face--suddenly coughed violently and turned to the rail. His shoulders heaved and his handkerchief was stuffed up to his face. The boatswain's mate gazed at him apprehensively. He thought his superior had become suddenly ill. As a matter of fact the sight of Kennell's puzzled countenance, blinking through the paint and vital fluid, with which his features were bedaubed, had been too much for the officer's gravity, and he had been compelled to turn away or suffer a severe loss of his dignity by bursting into a roar of laughter. Finally he recovered himself, and turned, with a still quivering lip, which he bit incessantly, toward the battered Kennell and the others. "What explanation have you to make of this?" he demanded of Herc, in as unshaken and stern a voice as if he had never suffered the loss of an ounce of his gravity.