"What's that object on the deck?" asked "Stump," pointing to a long
brass cylinder lying abaft the after conning tower.

"It's a torpedo, but not like those used in our navy," replied "Hay."

Captain Brownson leaned over the end of the bridge and waved his hand to
Lieutenant Fremont, the "Porter's" commander. The latter was smiling,
and as we watched, he made a gesture toward the mysterious brass
cylinder.

"See that thing, Brownson?" he called out.

The captain nodded.

"It almost paid you a visit last night."

"What----"

"We picked it up near shore this morning and sunk another. That Spanish
torpedo boat made a great attempt to sink one of our ships, and, if I am
not mistaken, the 'Yankee' was her intended prey. Congratulations."

As the "Porter" steamed away we felt very much like congratulating
ourselves. This was grim war of a certainty. Like the boy who was blown
a mile in a cyclone without injury, we experienced a certain pride that
we really had been in danger.

About the middle of the afternoon a signal was seen on the flagship. It
was read at once, and immediately the boatswain's mate passed a call