Down beneath them, under the nose of the "Hastings" an object shot into
brief view. First the war-head, then the middle, then the tail and
propeller of a fourteen-foot Whitehead torpedo swept away from them,
two or three feet below the surface of the waves. A line of bubbles
came to the surface, showing that the torpedo was headed, straight and
clean, for the stone-laden scow over on the ocean. Then the torpedo,
still under water, passed out of their range of view.

"Hurrah!" yelled Jack Benson, leaping to his feet with all the glee and
fervor of the enthusiast. "Hurrah!"

"Hurrah!" bellowed Eph Somers, for the glory of the game had gotten into
his blood, too. Both submarine boys capered up and down on the
platform deck.

But Lieutenant Danvers sat with left hand on the conning tower steering
wheel, his watch in his right hand. He was counting the seconds.

"Look out for the signal," called the naval officer, coolly. "When I
tell you, then look out for what happens over at the scow. Er--now!"

They were too far away to hear the impact, but the two submarine boys
saw a slight commotion in the waters under the scow's rail. Then the
dummy torpedo bounded back, rising and floating on the surface--spent!

Had that torpedo contained the fighting service charge of two hundred
pounds of gun-cotton it would have shattered and sunk the biggest,
staunchest, proudest battleship afloat.

"It's uncanny--isn't it?" gasped Jack Benson, feeling an odd shudder