id="Page_23" class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[Pg 23]"/> was lashing the water into foam with its reversed motion. The Osprey shook as she tried to overcome her momentum; then, as the screw was stopped, forged slowly ahead.

"Lively, now, men! Let go! Fend off!" shouted Dobson, whose station was in that boat at the "man overboard" signal. "Oars! Let fall! Give way!" And off went the boat, plunging and foaming over the waves in the direction of the life-preserver, which was now a quarter of a mile astern.

"Very well done, Mr. Staples," said Rexdale approvingly. "But why," he added in a lower tone, "did you have the drill at this hour, instead of at four bells, as I ordered?"

"Drill? This is no drill, sir!"

"No drill?"

"There is a man overboard, sir. One of the Japanese waiters fell over the rail somehow. I gave no orders for the drill, but that bugler is a quick fellow and knows his business. The men like the little Jap, and it put a heart into their work."

When Oshima struck the water his early training (which will be referred to before long) stood him in good stead. He rose to the surface and gave a few quick strokes to ensure safety from the propeller; then he turned on his back and tried to float. There was too much ripple on the water for this, and he was obliged to turn back upon his chest and maintain his position with as little exertion as possible, not struggling to reach the ship, which was drawing rapidly away. He had seen the "man overboard" drill many times, and was on the lookout for the life-preserver, which was thrown just as he turned for the second time. His clothes dragged downward heavily, but in three minutes he reached the buoy and clung to it, knowing that by this time the men were in the boat and casting off.

It was perhaps ten minutes from the moment of his falling into the sea when the white boat drew up alongside and pulled both him and the life-preserver out of the water. Five minutes later—the ship having reversed her screw again, and backed toward the boat—he was scrambling over on to the deck and making for the little cabin he shared with Oto.

On the ship's log it was simply recorded that the boy had "fallen overboard." Oshima was sharply questioned by the officers, but he could not be induced to tell how the accident happened. Sam knew there were no talebearers among his mates and felt safe. He made a surly apology to the little chap, saying he was mad at having been thrown, and that he had not meant to drown him. Oshima thereupon bowed in a dignified way and went about his work, serving the commander in his cabin that night as usual.

Passing the Handkerchief Lightship, the Osprey dropped anchor with the lights of Nantucket twinkling far on her beam to the south and west. The next morning preparations were made for target-practice.

The target, towed out and anchored by a whaleboat, consisted of a triangular raft of boards supported at each corner by an empty barrel. On this was stepped a mast twelve feet high, with a small red flag at the top. Three leg-of-mutton sails, or "wings," gave the craft the appearance, at a distance, of a small catboat under sail. The Osprey now took her position—the distance and course being plotted by officers in two boats—and steamed at half-speed past the target at a distance of about sixteen hundred yards.

The gun-crews were summoned to quarters, and the firing begun with a six-pounder on the forecastle, followed by two three-pounders on the same deck.

The big four-inch gun was then loaded, the officers putting cotton in their ears to avoid injury. The first shot, weighing between thirty and forty pounds, was dropped a little to the right of the target; the second fell just beyond it and to the left.

"Fire on the top of the roll," cautioned the captain of the gun-crew, which comprised four of the best gunners on the ship.

The third shot fell short, and was duly so recorded, in a memorandum to be included in a report to the Department.

As the disappointed gunner stepped back he saw Oto, who, being a sort of privileged character, was lingering close by, shake his head slightly.

"Perhaps you think you could do better, Jap!" said the man sharply.

Oto nodded, but remained modestly silent.

"What, did you ever fire a heavy piece of ordnance?" asked Liddon, standing near to watch the practice.

Oto nodded again. "I could hit that target," he added simply, touching his cap and turning away.

"Stop," said the officer. He stepped toward the bridge, and, saluting, said: "The Japanese yonder says he is used to firing and could hit the target, sir. Shall I let him try?"

Rexdale, who was closely noting the practice, hesitated, it being the strict rule that no one outside the gun-crew should fire. He spoke in a low tone to Staples, who laughed and said: "All right, sir. It's only one shot wasted, in any case."

"Let the boy sight the piece, and fire," ordered the commander.

Oto touched his cap and adjusted the sighting apparatus to his shoulder. His small hands fluttered a moment around the delicate machinery; then he swung the great muzzle slightly upward and to the right. The ship rose on a long swell, and just as it hung on the crest came the roar of the great gun.

An instant's pause was followed by a cheer from the men; for as the smoke drifted away, behold, there was no target to be seen!

"He must have struck the base of the mast, true as a hair!" exclaimed Rexdale, scanning the wreck of the target through his glass. "Well done, Oto!"

The men crowded around the little fellow, clapping him on the back.

"Just his luck!" growled Sam, who was one of the gun-crew.

"Oh, let up, Sam! The boy has made a first-class shot," said a grizzled old gunner. "Wait till you have such luck yourself!"

"You will send a boat out to pick up what is left of the target," ordered Rexdale, returning his glasses to their case. "We've no more time for practice to-day. Get all your boats in and proceed, if you please, Mr. Staples."

That night he sent for the executive and had a long talk with him. There was something queer about those two Japanese boys, Rexdale said. Did Staples or any of the officers know anything about them? Inquiries were made, and the waiters themselves were closely questioned, but no information of importance could be gained. It was learned, indeed, that one of the ordinary seamen, Dick Scupp by name, was more "chummy" with Oto and Oshima than any one else on board. He was a simple, long-legged, awkward young fellow from northern Maine, who had enlisted at the outbreak of the Spanish War, and had served before Santiago, in the blockading squadron. He had taken a fancy to Oshima, particularly, and it was he who had rebuked Sam's rough treatment of his Japanese friend, just before the wrestling-match. He knew nothing, however, of the previous lives of the two little foreigners.

Rexdale would hardly have been surprised at Oto's skill in gunnery had he known that this meek and gentle Japanese lad had passed through the whole course at the Naval Academy at Annapolis, graduating—under his full name, Makoto Owari—in the first third of his class, just seven years before Dave received his own commission!

CHAPTER III. SEALED ORDERS.

The rest of the cruise of the Osprey was without special incident. Various drills were performed until every movement was executed to the officers' satisfaction. One of the most interesting was the "fire drill." A succession of loud, hurried strokes on the