"What's the idea of taking after that craft, I wonder?" remarked Ned,
when it became certain that the chase was on.
"Give it up," answered Frank, "unless the old man wants to throw a scare
into those revolutionists."
"I guess that's it," chuckled Tom Dawson. "We'll take their navy away
from 'em, and then they can't do anything."
"They couldn't do anything anyhow, with that dinky little craft against
the _Georgetown_," boasted Hank Dell.
"Don't you fool yourself, son, and let that idea get away with you,"
came from an older blue-jacket. "A little craft like that may have a
torpedo tube or two concealed about her, and if she lets a Whitehead go
at us, and it hits----good-night! as the boys say."
The others knew that he spoke the truth. A single torpedo, with its
200-pound explosive charge of the terrible gun cotton, can render
helpless the greatest battleship in the world if the hole is blown in
the right place below the waterline. And this indisputable fact has
caused many nations, our own included, to doubt the wisdom of building
so many big, heavily-armored and expensive ships. Many well-informed
persons favor the development of a navy of submarines, which are
becoming more and more efficient each year. They cost only a fraction as
much as a battleship or cruiser, and can successfully cope with the
larger craft.
"I wonder what a warship of the Uridian revolutionists is doing out
here, anyhow?" went on Ned, as he and his friends watched the other
craft which was endeavoring to escape.
"Probably scouting along the coast to see if it can capture anything,"
suggested Frank. "The treasury of the revolutionists may be at low ebb,
and they may hope to replenish it."
"That's what they've been doing, with your money and mine and Uncle
Phil's," remarked his brother in a low voice. "I wish the _Georgetown_
would help to get some of it back for us."
"Maybe she will," Frank murmured. They had followed their plan of not
telling their shipmates the peculiar situation which had led them to
enlist.
Everyone who could get a vantage point, and was not obliged to be at
other duties, was watching the chase. The battleship was running under
forced draft, and Ned and Frank were very thankful that they were not
coal-passers, or firemen. For the temperature in the stokehole of a
battleship, when forced draft is being used, is about the highest in the
world.
Still everything possible is done to make the men comfortable, and they
only work in short shifts, changing frequently, and receive the best of
medical treatment and advice if they are temporarily overcome, as often
happens. But word had gone into the engine room that the _Georgetown_
was really making her first race after what might be considered a
hostile craft, and the coal-passers and firemen stuck to their tasks
with great grit, determined to make their craft do her best.
So through the sea plowed the great battleship, an immense wave piling
up on either bow as she pushed her way along driven by the powerful
engines deep in her interior.
"We don't seem to be catching up very fast," observed Frank.
"No, that little craft is showing a clean pair of heels," agreed Ned.
"We aren't built for speed, anyhow."
This was true enough, though for her size the _Georgetown_ was one of
the fastest battleships afloat. Still a smaller boat which did not meet
with so much resistance going through the water, could get away with
comparative ease. And it looked as if this was what was going to happen.
"Why don't we fire a shot at her?" murmured Tom Dawson.
"We can't very well put one across her bows when we're dead astern,"
commented Ned. "And if we fire any other way we're likely to hit her."
"Which I suppose we haven't a right to do," observed Frank. "We aren't
at war with Uridio. It's only that we aren't going to let her
revolutionists do things to our citizens."
But it was evident that something was going to be done, for there
sounded, a little later, the order for clearing the ship for action.
With cheers the men sprang to their stations, Ned and Frank going to the
big gun turret, though it was hardly possible the great guns would be
used on so small an opponent.
The decks were quickly cleared, and preparations made for all
emergencies. The captain seemed to have taken into consideration the
same idea that the sailor had given voice to--namely, that a torpedo
might be launched against the _Georgetown_. He was going to take no
chances, and even the boats were gotten ready for a quick launching if
it should prove necessary.
"Fire one shot at her, to starboard from a three-inch gun," was the
order that came a little later. And with a yell of delight, not from
bloodthirstiness, but at the chance for action, the crew of that gun
sprang to obey.
"I wish we had a chance," murmured Ned, regretfully, as he stood at the
ammunition hoist in the big turret.
"Say, if one of these projectiles hit that ship there wouldn't be a
thing left," said Frank.
"No, I reckon not. Well, maybe our chance will come later."
With a dull boom the smaller gun sent out a projectile that carried a
small explosive charge. It was aimed to strike far enough to one side of
the escaping craft to do no damage.
Into the sea splashed the shell, and as it burst it sent a column of
water high into the air.
"That's a notification to them to slow down and let us come up to them,"
said Frank.
"I wonder if they will," came from Ned.
The issue was not long in doubt. From the stern of the smaller boat
there shot out a puff of smoke, and then came a dull report. A small
object was seen speeding toward the _Georgetown_.
"They're trying to torpedo us!" shouted Ned, looking from the forward
turret.
"That's no torpedo," one of the more experienced sailors said. "It's
only a small projectile, and it's going to fall short."
A moment later events proved that he was right, for the shell fell into
the sea five hundred yards from the battleship, and a spray of water
flashed into the air.
"Guess her guns haven't much power," said Frank.
"But she shows, by firing back at us, that she isn't going to pull up
and let us investigate her, I think," remarked Ned. This was the case,
for the other craft, the name of which was not visible, kept on at an
undiminished speed. She was rapidly leaving the _Georgetown_ behind, and
soon the commander of the latter gave up the chase. He did not want to
waste his coal, or run the risk of burning out bearings, or breaking a
shaft, merely to capture a craft so small as the one flying the Uridian
flag of the revolutionists.
"We can attend to her case later, if she comes monkeying around when
we're anchored off that banana republic," observed Hank, and the others
agreed with him.
Gradually the escaping craft drew away, until only her smoke could be
seen on the horizon. It was the general opinion, afterward, that the
vessel had been scouting around, perhaps to get sight of the approach of
the United States' war craft, and having seen her, had made haste to run
and bring the word to the land forces. Just what the outcome would be no
one knew.
It was two days later when the _Georgetown_ came to anchor off the city
of Pectelo, which was the seacoast capital of Uridio. As the big chains
rattled through the hawse pipes, a boat was lowered away, and Captain
Decker and some of his officers went ashore to learn what the situation
was.
What took place ashore was not made public to the ship's crew when the
cutter returned. But a grave look was observed on the faces of the
captain and his officers.
Everyone on the _Georgetown_ waited eagerly for the next move. It was
not long in coming.
"Man the forward turret!" came the command. "To your stations, men.
We're going to give them a demonstration!"
"Hurrah!" cried Ned.
"It's our gun that's going to be fired!" exulted Frank.
Like clockwork the men in the turret prepared for the work ahead of
them. Frank took his place at the firing trigger, and waited for the
range.
"Sight her at ten thousand yards," came the command. "Aim at that hill
back of the town. We're going to blow it apart!"
"Aye, aye, sir!" Frank answered.
"Fire!" came the command.
"Fire she is!" echoed Frank.
And the big gun boomed.