The command came in quick, decisive tones, and yet in a voice that betrayed the youth of the officer. For Dicky Hamshaw was young, painfully young, we must admit. When he stepped the decks of His Majesty's battleships no one deplored that fact more than Mr. Midshipman Hamshaw. It was a defect which time would undoubtedly eradicate, but for the moment it was annoying, to say the least of it. For ever on the faces of the tars beneath his immediate command there lurked a queer demureness, an indefinite something which he could never actually fathom, but which told him as plainly as words that he was almost an object of amusement. Not of ridicule, let us explain. No other officer's orders were obeyed more smartly than those of Mr. Midshipman Hamshaw, while your British tar is far too jealous of his good name to ridicule an officer, even if such a thing were not decidedly contrary to discipline. No; Dicky Hamshaw was very young, and looked younger than his seventeen and a half years. Not a hair yet adorned his upper lip, and there was not even a suspicious down budding from the square chin of which he boasted. He was merely disgustingly young in appearance, tall and slim and active, and full of a dash and jollity which had long since captivated the tars. "Just it--nothing more," repeated Hawkins in a hoarse whisper to Hurst. "A bantam that's full of fight, and don't you make no mistake about it." Precisely what "it" meant on this occasion the burly Hawkins did not stoop to explain, and apparently Hurst needed no enlightenment. He nodded, expanded his capacious jaws again, and then slowly introduced the stem of his clay between his strong teeth. "Stop that smoking aft! There's someone smoking." Once more the order rang out crisp and clear, and in those very juvenile tones. Let us say at once that it was Dick's boyish voice, perhaps more than his youthful appearance, which excited the smiles of his men. But in any case the crisp tones meant business. Hurst slid his pipe back into its receptacle with alacrity and grimaced through the gloom at his comrade. "And 'e's got a nose," he ventured to Hawkins when a few moments had elapsed. "Here are we away aft, and you'd have said as all the smoke was blowed clear away behind us. But Dicky's got a nose for it. Blest if he couldn't tell you what 'bacca it was. Not ship's I can tell you, mate, but a bit of cake bought ashore at a place I knows of. What's he up to?" "Keep her away a point to starboard," suddenly came from the midshipman. "That'll do. Hold her so and keep her steady on that course. I fancy we must be somewhere near the spot Anyone hear anything?" "Nothing, sir?" came from Hurst, while Hawkins opened his thick lips to cry "Aye! aye! sir," in recognition of the order given him. "Steady it is, sir. Fancied I heard a cry away over here a minute or more ago, but I ain't sure. There's no sayin'." "Then keep your ears open, men, and--Hawkins." "Aye, aye, sir."