Herc was amazed when he took his place on the gun-pointer's little steel platform, to find that by handling a lever close to his right hand he could point the ponderous gun, weighing fifty-four tons, up or down as easily as he used to sight his little "twenty-two" when he went shooting "chucks" at home. "That great gun is balanced as delicately as a microscope," explained the lieutenant. "How do you get it in lateral range?" inquired Herc. For reply, the lieutenant indicated another lever. Herc touched it. Instantly the great turret itself began to quake, and then, with a soft rattling of cogs, commenced slowly to revolve. "Reverse it!" shouted the lieutenant. Herc pulled the lever in the other direction. As obediently as if it had understanding, the tons of triple-riveted steel which composed the shelter for the heaviest guns in the navy began to turn in the opposite direction. "Electricity," laughed the officer. "Electricity is the life-blood of the modern battleship. A vessel like this has a more complicated system of circulation than the human body. We eat by electricity, fire the guns by it, read by it, cook by it, coal by it, and----" "Fight by it, sir," put in Ned quietly, carried away by enthusiasm. The lieutenant gave him a quick look, as if to rebuke him for his forwardness; but the shining light in the boy's eyes showed the officer that, after all, it was real enthusiasm for the United States fighting ships that had incited Ned's remark. "Yes," he said quietly also, "and fight by it, too, Strong." This concluded the great-gun drill, and the boys and the crew of the forward turret joined the other tars assembled on the forward deck, awaiting the sounding of the supper call. All over the ship, down to the marine's little six-inch batteries, the same practice had been going forward. Already they felt set apart somewhat from their comrades, and proud in the thought that they were part of the fighting force that commanded the actions of the biggest guns in the fleet. That it really did confer a sort of distinction upon them was evidenced, too, by the increased cordiality with which their shipmates greeted them. "Hurray! we're on our way to be admirals," whispered Herc to Ned, as they passed among the groups of resting jackies, returning the running fire of joking and congratulation to which they were subjected on every hand. "Only a very little way," laughed Ned, "though I feel as proud as if that was my flagship yonder and I was entitled to fly the two-starred blue flag." He pointed to the van of the squadron--the big _Connecticut_--on which flew the flag of Rear-Admiral Gibbons. "If we do our duty as well as we can," he went on seriously, "we are just as important to the fleet as any of the officers or our superiors." "I guess that's right," agreed Herc. "At any rate, that's just what I heard the captain saying the other day to two men who had the misfortune to be my cellmates, and, by the way, that reminds me----"