n. It was Kennedy who finally solved the mystery--Kennedy the
luckless, he whom we dubbed "Lucky Bag," because of his propensity to
allow his wearing apparel to find its way into the clutches of "Jimmy
Legs." Kennedy had slipped near the port and was trying to perform the
difficult feat of scanning the upper deck from the opening.

"Come back here and stop that 'rubber-necking,' No. 7," called out
Tommy. "Do you want to get on the report?"

"For the hundred and 'steenth time," added "Stump," with a grin.

"Perhaps he's seasick," suggested "Dye." "It's about due. He hasn't
heaved up his boots since noon."

"Did you hear what 'Cutlets' said to him yesterday?" spoke up "Hay." "He
was 'wigging' Kennedy, and he remarked in his tender way, 'Look here,
you hero, why don't you brace up and be a man? You are continually sick
or on the report, and you aren't worth your salt. Get down below now,
and fill your billet.' Poor devil! he tries to do his best, I guess."

Just then Kennedy faced around toward us and we saw that he was
laughing.

"What do you think?" he said. "It's a fire after all."

"A fire? Where?" we gasped simultaneously.

"In the furnaces. I saw a big flame leaping from the funnel. Gee! they
must be whooping her up below to beat the band. Coal piled up to the
top of the flues."

"It's oil," exclaimed Tommy, gravely. "They are feeding the fires with
crude oil. That means the last resort, fellows. The 'old man' is trying
to get every ounce of steam possible."

Our curiosity satisfied, we felt more at ease, and we lounged at our
stations and listened to the banging of furnace doors and grating of
shovels in the fire room below. Occasionally one of us would venture an
opinion or try to exchange views, and "Stump" even started a story, but
in the main we were quiet and watchful.

From the swaying and trembling of the hull it was evident the "Yankee"
was being pushed at her utmost speed. Mess gear rattled in the chests,
the deck quivered, and from down in the lower depths came the quick
throb-throb of the overworked engines. Presently the red glare caused by
the upleaping flames from the funnel died away, and darkness settled
down again.

"I guess we are making it," observed Tommy. "We have been a good two
hours racing at this gait, which means a matter of almost forty miles."

"They might let us take a run on deck," grumbled Flagg. "What's the use
of holding up this gun all night? It's getting monotonous."