t would have gone
down under the first projectile that struck her.

"My, but those boys can shoot," he muttered with a feeling of pride.
"Ah, that one went too high. Lower, lower!" fairly screamed the boy.

"Crash!"

"That's the time you did it," he shouted exultantly, picking himself up
from the deck, his clothing torn, his body scratched from the splinters
that the projectile had rained over him in a perfect shower. "A few
more shots like that and you'll have her. But I'm glad there isn't any
flag flying here. I'd have to take it down. I couldn't stand it to
see them shooting at the Stars and Stripes."

The next shot tore away a large section of the rail on the port side,
and seemed at the same time to have twisted the ship about.

But Dan was clinging to a stanchion, which fact saved him from being
again thrown to the deck.

"I guess they must have decided to cease firing," he said. "I hope
they haven't given it up. I know I shall be disappointed. How I wish
I were at that gun! Wouldn't it be fun! I believe I could shoot as
straight as they do. But----"

Dan did not finish the sentence. There came a report more terrific
than those that had preceded it. The stanchion to which the lad bad
been clinging suddenly doubled over, striking him on the head, felling
him to the deck. The schooner lurched heavily, and, settling over on
her starboard side, slipped slowly down a great sloping hill of water
into a deep hollow of the sea. But Dan Davis lay still. The blow on
his head had been a cruel one, the iron stanchion having been struck by
a projectile from one of the seven-inch guns and bent double.

The first gray streaks of the dawn were shooting up from the angry sea
when Dan opened his eyes again. His first sensation was that of
choking. He was, indeed, choking, for the deck on which he lay was a
river of salt water. The lad, in falling, had become wedged between
the rails, this being the only thing that had kept him from being
washed overboard.

The lad's first thought was that he was drowning. Soon, however, he
managed to get his eyes open sufficiently to examine his surroundings.

There was gray, turbulent water wherever the eye roamed, a waste of
foaming sea, here and there heaping itself into great dark piles that
seemed to tower higher than the masts of a ship.

"It's a wonder I'm alive," exclaimed the Battleship Boy, as he began
extricating himself from his uncomfortable position.