The shed stood in a lonely corner of the big Farnum shipbuilding yards at
Dunhaven. Now, it was the Farnum yard in which the Pollard submarine
boats were built, and this shed contained some two dozen Whitehead
submarine torpedoes, each with its fearful load of two hundred pounds of
that dread high explosive, guncotton.

It was in the month of February, and the day, at this seacoast point, was
cold and blustery, when two boys of seventeen, each in natty blue
uniforms and caps resembling those worn by naval officers, crossed the
yard toward the shed. Over their uniforms both boys wore heavy, padded
blue ulsters, also of naval pattern.

"Danger?" laughed young Captain Jack Benson, stopping before the door
and fumbling for the key. "Well, I should say so!"

"Something like two tons and a half of guncotton in this old shed,"
smiled Hal Hastings. "That's not mentioning some other high
explosives."

"It's this gun-cotton that begins to make our calling in life look like a
really dangerous one," muttered Jack, as he produced the key and fitted
it into the lock.

"Once upon a time," murmured Hal, "we thought there was sufficient
danger, just in going out on the ocean in a submarine torpedo craft, and
diving below the surface."

"Yet we found that submarine travel wasn't really dangerous," pursued
Captain Jack. "Really, riding around in a submarine craft seems as safe,