ough the battle--if they lived. Whistler knew that he was to stand in
the corridor of the handling-room for Turret Number Two, until he was
called to relieve some wounded or exhausted member of his gun crew. His
immediate order was to "stand by."

Every other individual aboard the _Kennebunk_ had his station, from the
firemen shoveling tons of coal into the fiery maws of the furnaces to
keep the indicator needles of the steam-gages at a certain figure, to
the range-finders high up in the fighting-tops, bending over their
apparatus.

In the turrets the officers fitted telephone receivers to their heads.
The gunners, literally "stripped for action" to their waists, their
glistening, supple bodies as alert as panthers, crouched over the
enormous guns.

Up from the sea appeared the great fighting machines of the enemy. They
could not run away this time. Inveigled into range of the Allied ships,
the Hun must fight at last!

A word spoken into a telephone from the conning tower to one of the
fighting tops! Then, an instant later, to Turret Number One! A roar that
shook the ship and seemed to shake the very heavens, while the flash of
the fourteen-inch rifle blinded for a second the spectators!

A cheer rose from all parts of the ship, even before the tops signaled
a hit. After that the men fought the ship in silence.

Alone in the corridor, Whistler Morgan felt that it would be easier to
be on active duty in this time of stress. Yet he had been taught that
his station was quite as important as that of any other man or boy
aboard.

Through the half open door of the handling room he heard other men
loading powder bags and shells upon the electric ammunition hoist that
led to the turret above.

Suddenly the whole ship staggered. A deafening explosion, different from
that of the guns, shocked him. An enemy shell had burst aboard the
_Kennebunk_!

"Relief!"

Whistler sprang through the corridor and up to the gun deck. Was the
call for him?

He stopped to look at a perspiring gun crew. They worked the gun with
the precision of automatons. Wherever the shell had burst it had not
interfered with the firing of the huge guns of Number Two Turret.

Another enemy shell burst inboard of the _Kennebunk_. There was a hail
of bits of steel and flying wreckage. Whistler stood squarely on his
feet and began to breathe again.

If he was afraid he did not know it!

One of his mates fell back from position. It was not Torry, as