It was the day following Herc's imprisonment, and already the squadron had passed into the Gulf Stream, and the warm air of the tropics was about the mighty fighting ships. That morning the flagship had signalled to the squadron that white uniforms were in order, and very trim and neat the jackies looked in their snowy garments, as they lounged about the decks. Some were smoking and chatting, some writing letters, and others playing checkers, chess or cards, or absorbed in some book in a quiet nook. As Ned, who was leaning over the rail, gazed downward at the foam flying past the vessel's side, he found never-failing amusement in watching the great flocks of flying fish that fled shimmering from the yellow patches of "gulf weed" as the _Manhattan's_ mighty bow nosed into them. "For all the world like a covey of partridges scared up in the woods at home," thought Ned to himself. "Ordinary Seaman Strong?" asked a sudden voice behind him. Ned turned swiftly, and saw the captain's orderly facing him. "Yes, I'm Strong," he said. "Come with me," directed the orderly. Ned had been long enough on a battleship now to obey without hesitation or question when an order was addressed to him. The lounging jackies regarded him with some interest as he passed among them. "The pal of the red-headed lad is going to get a wigging now." "Two of them upon the carpet in two days. They won't last long in the service." These are samples of the comments that were bandied about as the boy passed along behind the orderly, somewhat troubled, in fact, in his own mind as to what could be the reason of the sudden summons to the captain's cabin. Old Tom spoke up indignantly as he heard the remarks: "A whole lot of you young varmints will still be scrubbing decks, and cleaning brasswork, and doing your regular trick in the brig after shore leave, when them two young fellows is wearing chevrons!" he snapped. The old salt was a privileged character, and did and said pretty much as he liked among the men; but his remark aroused some resentment among those about him. "How about you, old Growler?" asked a gruff voice. "How is it you never rose from the scrub stations?" "'Cos I was a fool like you when I was young," snarled old Tom, as the sailors exploded in a shout of laughter at the discomfiture of the venturesome spirit that had essayed to "bait" old Tom. "Better leave Tom alone, Ralph," shouted one of the card players; "he's too sharp for you." "Yes, he presumes on his gray hairs to do as he likes," snarled the other, who was none other than Kennell. "It's a good thing for him he's got a bald head." "Well, I don't need a pot of paint to cover it, anyhow!" laughed old Tom, at which there was another tornado of laughter; and Kennell, with a black look on his face, rose to his feet and made his way to another spot, one where he was less likely to encounter such a sharp tongue as old Tom's.