"You witch!" said Mary, giving her a squeeze. "I've seen you 'behave nicely' before now! Mother will have her hands full, for once."

"Who are the other officers?" asked Edith, from the sofa.

"Oh, there's Ensign Dobson—he isn't very lively, but he's nice; Dr. Cutler, who will talk with papa all the time about quarantine regulations and the Red Cross; and Mr. Ross, the paymaster, I suppose. Oh, and I believe there's a little midshipman from the Naval Academy—I don't know his name, for he has just been assigned to the ship."

Wynnie's eyes danced. "He'll be dreadfully bashful, I know. I shall consider it my duty to entertain him, poor little thing!"

The dinner proved a great success. Larkin, of course, kept his end of the table in a shout, while young Starr was by no means too bashful to appreciate Ethelwyn's fun. "Doc." Liddon talked politics with the civilian reporter, navy-yard gossip with Mrs. Commandant, international complications with her husband, and nonsense, flavoured with dry wit, with Edith. Dobson told the story of his rescue from the hazing party at the Academy, and brought down the house as he described his position when Norman Holmes and Dave Rexdale came on the scene—standing on his head, with his tormentors pouring cold water down his trousers-leg.

Then Dave himself was called on for the tale of his boat-wreck on the lonely Desertas, near Madeira, when he and "Sandy" barely escaped with their lives.

The cabin of the Osprey was prettily decorated with ferns and flowers, and there was little to suggest warfare, the roar of cannon, the cries of the fierce combatants, in its dainty appointments. It fell about, however, that, as was natural, the conversation at length turned to the navies of the great nations, and, in comparison, that of the United States.

"Where do we stand, among the other Powers—in point of naval strength, I mean?" asked some one.

The commandant had excused himself on the plea of important duty, and had returned to his office on the Yard. Oddly enough, it was the civilian that answered the question, before any one else could recall the figures.

"We are fifth in rank," said Larkin, helping himself to a banana. "If we carry out our present rather indefinite plans we shall be, by 1908, the third in strength, possibly the second, with only England ahead of us."

"Do you happen to remember the approximate number of large ships in the English navy?" asked Dobson.

"I'm sorry to say I do not," replied the reporter.

"I do," put in Ensign Liddon, who had had time to collect his thoughts and statistics. "England has two hundred and one, not counting gunboats, torpedo-boats, and other small craft——"

"Small! Do you call this ship small?" cried Ethelwyn indignantly.

"She'd look like a kitten beside her mother if a first-class battleship ranged alongside," laughed Liddon. "Well, I was about to add that France has ninety-six big ships, Russia fifty-nine, and Germany seventy-three. The United States has only sixty-five."

"How many has Japan?" inquired Rexdale significantly. Just behind his shoulder a pair of dark, obliquely-set eyes flashed at the question.

"Forty-four, I believe. She would have a poor show at sea against Russia's fifty-nine."

"Oshima, there, doesn't seem to agree with you," said Dr. Cutler lightly, nodding in the direction of the steward.

All eyes were turned to the little Japanese, who drew back modestly.

"Well, boy, speak your mind for once," said Rexdale. "What do you think about the chances of Nippon against the Russian Bear?"

"I was t'inking," said Oshima, whose English was not quite as perfect as his comrade's, "of man behind gun."

The phrase was already a favourite in the navy, and a round of hearty applause followed the diminutive waiter as he retired in some confusion.

"Let's go on deck," suggested Starr. "It's getting pretty hot down here."

The commander set the example by rising, and the whole party adjourned to the quarter-deck, where chairs had been placed for them. The gentlemen lit their cigars, "not (Starr gravely remarked) because they wanted to, but purely to keep the mosquitoes away from the ladies."

Overhead the June stars were shining, lights flashed across the river, and distant shouts came softly over the water. The young people sprang to their feet and declared they must walk a bit. What they talked about as they paced to and fro—Bob Starr with Wynnie, Liddon with Edith, and Dobson with Mary—is of no consequence. It is probable that the two sisters explained to their respective escorts that in the early fall they expected to travel to India, China, and Japan, going via San Francisco, and returning through Europe. Whereupon it is more than likely that the young gentlemen in white duck expressed themselves as plunged in despair at the prospect of having to remain on the North Atlantic Station, with even a vague and disgusting possibility of "shore duty" for one or both!

Meanwhile the older members of the party renewed the conversation which had been broken off when the girls rose from table.

"If we are to keep up with foreign Powers," said Dr. Cutler, striking his hand upon his knee, "much more if we are to pass any of them in naval rank, we must hurry up our ship-builders. Germany expects her battleship in commission in three years and a half from the day when the keel is down. We have one under construction now that was begun over five years ago."

"What does a modern battleship cost?" asked the older lady, who was one of the quarter-deck group.

"About eight million dollars," replied Rexdale. "And a right lively war costs the country a million dollars a day, in round numbers."

"And all of it absolutely consumed, burnt up, eaten, thrown away," added the doctor. "It is not like expenses for construction; it is all for destruction."

"My idea of a good-sized navy's mission is to keep the peace, so that there'll be no war," put in Staples, who had been rather silent thus far.

"Staples was the only man in our Plebe class who actually fought a battle with a second-year man," laughed Dave. "I like to hear him preach peace!"

"Perhaps you remember," said the other grimly, "that no more fights were necessary. One good upper-cut on that fellow's jaw won peace for the whole crowd. If Dewey hadn't sunk the Spanish fleet at Manila we might have been fighting the Dons to this day."

"Will the Japs fight Russia, do you think?" asked Larkin. "If they do, that may mean a job for 'yours truly.'"

"Certainly it looks like trouble over there," said Rexdale soberly. "The Russians are steadily advancing to the Pacific—already they have one hand on Vladivostock and the other on Port Arthur. Japan, crowded in its little group of islands just out of sight of Korea, feels the danger and the menace. Both nations have been preparing for a big war for years, I am told."

"But Russia enormously outnumbers the Japanese," said Dr. Cutler. "She has an army, they say, of four and a half million men, against Japan's six hundred thousand——"

"Aye, but where are those four millions?" put in Rexdale warmly. "Separated from the fighting line, which we can call Korea and the coast of Manchuria, by six thousand miles, with only a single-track railroad between Moscow and Port Arthur. The Japs could handle them one at a time like the Spartans at—at—where was it?"

"Thermopylæ, sir," remarked Doc. Liddon, who had paused a moment in his walk, attracted by the commander's earnestness.

"Thanks—Greek history never was my strong point at school!" said Dave with a good-humoured laugh. Then, resuming: "As to the Russian navy, matters would be just as bad. Half her ships at least must be in the Baltic to protect her home ports——"

Before he could proceed further, an interruption occurred. An orderly mounted the steps to the quarter-deck and with the usual stiff salute handed Rexdale a letter, marked "Important and Immediate."

The commander broke open the envelope. He had no sooner read the few lines it contained than he sprang to his feet.

"Madam," he said abruptly but courteously, "and gentlemen, I am sorry to bring our pleasant party to an end, but my orders leave me no choice. Mr. Staples, I must see you and the rest of the officers at once in my cabin. Orderly, attend the ladies through the Yard. Good-night, all!"

Hurriedly the girls ran below for their wraps, wondering what the mysterious orders could be that compelled them to retire so early and brought that new ring to the commander's tones. They bade good-night to the young officers, who would fain have escorted them to their home, but Rexdale was obliged to refuse his permission.

"Good-night! good-night! We shall see you again soon!" called the girlish voices from the wharf, while their late companions swung their hats gallantly on the deck of the Osprey.

"Gentlemen," said Rexdale in grave, earnest tones, when they were all gathered once more in the cabin, "I have important news for you. We are ordered to coal and take on stores and ammunition for sea without delay, sailing one week from to-day, if possible. You will see that this is done promptly, and that every man reports for duty to-morrow, all shore leave being withdrawn."

Not a man there but longed to ask, "What is our port of destination?" but discipline prevailed. Their lips remained closed. They were no longer a party of young fellows chatting and laughing gaily as they performed their pleasant social duties and joked with their merry guests; they were officers in the United States Navy, ready for the duty at hand; willing to go to the ends of the earth, to encounter danger in its most appalling forms, to give their lives, if need be, for their country. Silence settled for a moment over the group.

"If I could I would tell you, without reserve, where we are bound; but I do not know myself," added Rexdale. "There are new complications in the far East—that is all I know. We sail under sealed orders, to be opened at sea, twenty-four hours out."

He rose from his chair, to signify that the interview was ended. As the officers filed out to their respective quarters, the pantry door, which, though no one noticed it, had been slightly ajar, closed noiselessly. Behind it were two Japanese, grasping each other's hands and looking into each other's eyes. Their breath came quickly; their eyes glowed.

"Banzai!" they whispered. "Teikoku banzai! Long live the Empire!"

CHAPTER IV. UNCLE SAM'S PACKING.

When the family of a citizen in private life makes up its mind to a long journey to foreign shores, great is the confusion, and multitudinous the errands and minor purchases for the trip; trunks, half-packed, block the sitting-room and hall-ways; Polly flies up-stairs and down distractedly, Molly spends hours uncounted (but not uncharged-for) at the dressmaker's, Dick burns midnight oil over guide-books and itineraries, and even paterfamilias feels the restlessness and turmoil of the times, and declaims against extravagance as the final packing discloses the calls that are to be made upon his bank account.

If a vacation trip for a single family is productive of such a month of busy preparation, what must be the commotion on a war-ship starting for the Far East, with a crew of one or two hundred men and only a week allowed for packing!

The officers and enlisted men of the Osprey had their hands full in the days that followed the banquet.

In ordinary times it takes one hundred skilled men a full week to stow away provisions, supplies, ammunition, coal, and the thousand and one minor articles that are needed on board one of the larger war-ships. The ship's crew lend a hand, but they operate only under the direction of the staff of trained stevedores which is kept on duty at the Navy Yard.

Everything must be put away "snug and shipshape"; and goods are "stowed snug" where they occupy the least possible space, for every inch counts in the narrow limits of a ship. Then, too, they must be so stevedored that they will keep their original positions during the rolling and pitching of the vessel in a seaway.

More than this is required. There must be perfect order with the greatest degree of safety attainable. Inflammable or explosive substances must not be stowed together, and the arrangement must be such that any article needed can be reached on the instant. Emergencies often arise in which the safety of the ship itself is dependent on having needed appliances or material in the hands of certain officers without a moment's delay. It may be nothing more than a case of oil, or it may be the duplicate of some broken rod, bolt, or plate of the delicate mechanism of the great propelling engine or of the dynamo, which is the very life centre of the modern war-ship.

Paterfamilias, grumbling at the shopping memorandum of his wife and daughters on the eve of their Mediterranean vacation trip, would gasp at the list which Uncle Sam must fill, for a long cruise of one of his naval vessels. Here is a single order sent to one wholesale house on the Osprey's account, that week in June: Loaf sugar, brown sugar, powdered sugar, fair molasses, Ceylon tea, Hyson tea, Java coffee, Rio coffee, smoked ham, American rice, breakfast bacon, lambs' tongues, pigs' feet, corned beef, corned pork, leaf lard, dried peas, dried beans, coffee extract, chiccory, chocolate, Swiss cheese, English cheese, New York dairy cheese, canned tomatoes, canned peaches, canned onions, canned asparagus, canned peas, canned corn, canned beets, olives and olive oil, sauces and catsups, oatmeal and flour, limes and lemons, fruit jellies, condensed meats, beef extracts, Jamaica ginger, mustard and spices, cigars and tobacco, corn-meal and hominy, sago and tapioca, crackers and biscuits, lime juice, fresh and limed eggs, baking powder, canned cherries, canned plums, canned pears, canned rhubarb, dried apples, canned salmon, canned oysters, canned clams, sardines, canned lobster, canned mackerel, canned codfish, kippered herring, Yarmouth bloaters, canned ox tongues, canned tripe, canned mutton, canned chicken, canned turkey, canned soups, condensed milk, canned pickles, vinegar, salt, pepper, canned mushrooms, macaroni, vermicelli, laundry soap, toilet soap, sapolio, starch and blue, insect powder, candles, safety matches, stationery, rope and twine, smoking pipes, tubs and washboards, chloride of lime, ammonia, alcohol and paints, shoe blacking, sewing machines.

From this partial list an idea may be formed of the extent and variety of the supplies that go to a modern war-ship. The clothing, medical and mechanical departments of the Osprey's outfit are not included, and each in itself would make a long roll. Of course the delicacies mentioned above are for the officers' use alone. When in port or on a short cruise the sailors get fresh meat, bread, fruit, vegetables and milk. On a long voyage their staple is "salt horse, hard tack, and boot-leg," which, being translated, is corned beef or pork, with crackers and black coffee. They receive frequently, too, oatmeal and rice, hot rolls and tea.

It will be noted that the important items of ice and fresh water do not appear in the list of supplies. Neither is taken aboard from the outside. The ship condenses fresh water pumped in from the sea by ingenious machinery contrived for the purpose, and the supply is limitless. From this fresh water ice is manufactured in any quantity desired, and no properly appointed modern war-ship is now without its ice-plant. It is for the manufacture of ice that ammonia is so largely shipped.

In the general disposition of the stores and supplies the articles likely to be needed for immediate use are usually stored forward under the berth deck. Such stores as cloth and made-up wearing apparel go in the lower hold, and there are also nearly all the magazines, guncotton, and torpedo-heads, if the ship carries them.

The coal bunkers on the Osprey were located between the engines and boilers and the hull of the vessel, at a point a little abaft of midship. Thus the coal afforded protection to the machinery from projectiles aimed at the most vital part of the ship. Such inflammable liquids as oil and alcohol are never stowed below.

Allusion has been made to the "life centre" of the vessel. This has been well described as the throbbing heart of every war-ship in the navy; the wires radiating from it like veins and arteries through which flow the life and intelligence which direct the movements of ship and crew.

Innumerable electric lamps light the cabins, engine-rooms, magazines, conning towers and decks, while a finger's pressure on a knob, or the turn of a tiny handle, throws a flood of radiance streaming out into the black night, disclosing the enemy and rendering futile his attack or escape as the case may be. Other wires operate telegraph, telephone, and signal from the bridge, or move compartment doors, massive guns, and, on a battle-ship the huge turrets themselves.

With a ship elaborately wired one chance shot of the enemy may thus prove fatal. If a shell should happen to force its terrible way into the dynamo room and explode there, the guns would cease firing, every light would be extinguished, every officer cut off from rapid communication with his men; and the delay consequent on this derangement would give the enemy, quivering with light and life, time to pour her tons of steel projectiles into the helpless, groping victim until she foundered.

At the end of the sixth day, the Osprey was ready for sea. Her men, her stores, supplies, coal and ammunition were on board, well stowed. Rexdale drew a long breath of relief, and Paymaster Ross another, as the last account was filed that night. The commander wrote a long letter to his wife, Hallie, before retiring. She was visiting friends in the West, and he had no opportunity to see her before starting on what was doubtless to be a cruise to the other side of the world. This is a part of a naval officer's life. "Detached," from this place to that, from one ship, or one duty, to another, says the brief naval report. The officer receives his written orders, and if his heart aches a little, under his blue uniform, no one knows it but the one who receives the good-bye letter, hurriedly sent by the despatch-boat or the orderly; and he is ready for the new post.

Paymaster Ross, meanwhile, is busy with half a hundred lists and receipts and accounts. He it is who knows accurately the pay of every man on board. Look over his shoulder and read in his "Register" of current date the salaries that our National Uncle pays to his nephews for naval services:

It is to be remembered that, in addition to the amounts given in this table, all the officers mentioned (below the grade of rear-admiral) are entitled by the present laws to "ten per cent. upon the full yearly pay of their grades for each and every period of five years' service, as increase for length of service, or 'longevity pay.'" Still, thirty-five hundred dollars, even with that additional "longevity pay," does not seem a very large salary for the commander of a battle-ship at sea and perhaps under fire from day to day!

Warrant officers, namely boatswains, gunners, carpenters, sailmakers, pharmacists and warrant machinists are paid (for sea duty) from $1200 a year for the first three years after date of appointment, to $1800 after twelve years' service.

Chief petty officers, including Chief Master-at-arms, Chief Boatswain's Mate, Chief Gunner's Mate, Chief Yeoman, Hospital Steward, Bandmaster, and a few others, draw pay ranging from $50 to $70 a month. The pay of first-class petty officers, of whom there are about twenty varieties, is from $36 to $65 a month; that of second-class petty officers a trifle less; and that of third-class petty officers $30 a month.

First-class seamen receive $24, seamen gunners $26, and firemen $35. Second-class or "ordinary" seamen draw $19 a month, and third-class seamen, including apprentices and landsmen, have to be content with $16.

Oto and Oshima, as regular cabin stewards, were paid $50 a month; and the wages for this sort of service on a war-ship run from that sum down to the pay of the mess attendants, which is the same as that of apprentice seamen.

Just as Dave Rexdale finished his letter to Hallie the orderly entered and announced Fred Larkin, who had been unexpectedly detained in Washington.

"I've been making inquiries, Dave," said the reporter, when the marine had retired, "and I can't see any reason for your sudden orders. A number of our ships are to rendezvous at Kiel next week, to take part in a naval review. It may be that you are bound to German waters. If so, give my respects to the Kaiser!"

Rexdale shook his head. "I don't believe Kiel is our port of destination, Fred," he said. "There'd hardly be time for us to get over there before the end of the review, even if we made a regular 'Oregon' voyage of it. I'm afraid it's a longer cruise than that. Who knows what is going on at St. Petersburg or in Tokio?"

"Right you are," acquiesced Larkin. "I shouldn't be surprised to receive orders myself, any day, to start for Japan or Korea. Of course I should go by way of San Francisco. If there's to be any lively unpleasantness over there, the Bulletin wants a front seat, sure!"

"Well, I hope we shall meet there, old fellow," laughed the commander, "though the United States will of course have nothing to do with the scrap. Still, it's as well to have a few of Uncle Sam's war-ships on that station or near by—say at Cavite."

"If war breaks out between Russia and Japan," said Larkin, rising, after a little more conversation of this sort, "the big European Powers may be involved any day, with China as an uncertain force just behind the scenes. You know France is bound to take a hand if two nations attack Russia, and England has the same agreement with Japan. China will do lots of mischief, if she doesn't play in her own back yard."

At daylight the Osprey cast off her moorings, and dropping down the quiet Potomac, started on her long voyage.

CHAPTER V. OTO'S STRANGE VISIT.

In N. Latitude 36° Longitude 72° W. from Greenwich, the commander of the Osprey opened his sealed instructions, and, having glanced over the lines, read them aloud to his subordinate officers, as follows:

"Washington, D. C.

"Sir:

"Having your coal-bunkers full, and being in all respects ready for sea, in accordance with previous directions, you will proceed with vessel under your command to the port of Hongkong, China, where you will report to the commander of the North Pacific Squadron. If his flagship should be at Manila, Shanghai, or any other port at the time of your arrival, you will follow him to that port without delay, and report as above. In view of the present critical state of affairs in the East, and the attitude of Russia and Japan, the Osprey should proceed with all possible dispatch. The crew is to be constantly drilled, the passage of the ship not to be delayed thereby. You will follow the usual route by way of Gibraltar and the Suez Canal, and will call at Malta (Valetta) for further instructions.

"Very respectfully,

"—— ——, Secretary.

"Lieutenant-Commander David Rexdale,

"Commanding U. S. S. Osprey.

"(Through Commandant, Navy Yard, Washington)."

A half-suppressed cheer broke from the circle of blue-coated officers around the cabin table, as Rexdale concluded his reading.

"There's nothing said about ammunition," observed Stapleton, significantly.

"The Department knows that our magazines are well provided," said Rexdale. "I reported on all classes of ammunition just before we sailed from Boston."

"Shall we have a chance to use it?—that's the question," put in the young midshipman. "Oh, I do hope there'll be a scrimmage!"

"We're at peace with every nation on the globe," remarked Paymaster Ross with emphasis. "How can there be a fight? We've nothing to do with the quarrel between Japan and Russia."

"I hope the little fellows will win out, if there's war coming," exclaimed Dr. Cutter heartily. "I'm always in favour of the under dog."

"Who is the under dog? The Japs have the enormous advantage of a home base," said Stapleton. "I don't know enough of the situation to be sure which to sympathise with, big, sturdy Russia with all Asia between him and St. Petersburg, or snappy, shrewd little Nippon. Perhaps there won't be any war, after all."

"I don't see that we are in it, anyway," said Rexdale, rising. "Probably all our ship will have to do will be to hang round on guard, and protect American interests——"

"And be ready for squalls!" finished the irrepressible Starr, as the group filed out of the cabin, while the commander repaired to his stateroom to plot the course for Gibraltar.

The fact that the Osprey was bound for Pacific waters soon spread through the ship. Most of the jackies were delighted, and were enthusiastic over the prospect of a "scrap" with somebody, they did not much care whom. A heated discussion arose, forward, as to the merits of the two nations which were supposed to be preparing for war. In the midst of the excited talk a black-and-white kitten made her way into the group and gave a careless little lap with her rough tongue at a hand which was braced against the deck. The hand, a rough and knotty one, taking no notice of her attentions, she drew her sharp little claws playfully across it.

This time the owner of the hand, who was no other than Sam Bolles, started so suddenly that he almost rolled over; then, vexed at the laughter which greeted him, he caught the kitten up savagely and swung his arm as if about to throw it overboard.

Now Sneezer, the kitten, was a special pet of Dick Scupp. Dick gave a roar at seeing the danger of the animal, and flung himself bodily upon Sam, who went over backward in a heap, relinquishing the kitten (fortunately for her) as he did so.

"Well, I never seed sech kids fer quarrelin'," said old Martin, the gunner, philosophically watching the two men as they rolled about the deck, scattering kits and boxes and bringing up against the shins of more than one of their comrades. "Come off, Sam, and let the youngster alone! Let go, will you (for Sam was pulling Dick's stringy locks with vigour)? Here comes Jimmy Legs. Let him up, Dick!"

"Jimmy Legs," whose real name was Hiram Deering, was chief master-at-arms. The duties of his office, on a war-ship, are perhaps more multifarious than that of any man on board. He is an enlisted man, rated a chief petty officer, and wears the eagle rating-badge. Forward of the mainmast his word is law at any hour of the day or night. Aft, his word is taken by the commander, the executive, and by all other officers.

The mettle in a chief master-at-arms, or "Jimmy Legs," as he is universally known among the men, is always thoroughly known aft before he is rated. He need not be a bully, but he must be a natural "master of the situation," and of men, in an emergency as well as in the routine of navy life. The Legs is privileged to take matters into his own hands, up forward, when occasion demands. If necessity arises for him to knock a man down, it is the business of Legs to know how to do it with science and despatch.

The master-at-arms of an American war-ship is always a man who has seen many years of service in the navy, and passed through most of the inferior ratings of the enlisted men. He is a man whose blue-jacket experience has taught him every trick of the naval sailor, every phase of forecastle life. Hiram could neither be cajoled nor outwitted. He was stern with evil-doers, but was the most popular man forward, in the Osprey.

At dawn Jimmy Legs's duties begin, when the men turn out to clean ship. The chief boatswain's mate is nominally the "boss" of the job, but it is Legs who sees that the men do not growl or quarrel at their work, as sleepy men will at such an hour and task.

Mess gear for breakfast is piped. The men rush to the tables. A bluejacket with shoes on steps on the foot of the bluejacket who is shoeless. Biff-bang! The Legs may be 'way aft on the poop watching the after-guard sweepers at their work; but he is a man of instinct. In a dozen bounds he is at the scene of the scrap.

"Chuck it! The Legs!" is the word there. The scrappers break away, and when the Legs shows up they are seated side by side at their mess table, quietly taking morning coffee.

It is the business of Jimmy Legs to make a tour of inspection through the ship just before "morning quarters." The ship is then supposed to be in shape for the commanding officer's approval, and the men's wearing-gear all stowed away in ditty bags. It never is. There is always to be found a shirt hastily thrown here, a shoe lying loose there, a neckerchief and lanyard hanging over a ditty-box. This gear the Legs gathers in impartially, no matter to whom it belongs, and thrusts into the "Lucky Bag" (which is generally known by a far more opprobrious epithet), which he keeps for that purpose.

The only way the owner of the gear may get it back is by reporting himself at the mast, that is, to the commanding officer, for remissness in stowing gear, which means, generally, a lopping off of liberty privileges. Every month the contents of the bag of gear thus accumulated are sold aboard at auction to the highest bidder among the jackies.

Finally, there is hardly a day in port that the Legs is not sent ashore along toward noon to hunt up derelicts. These are liberty-breakers carousing in town regardless of the fact that their services aboard are needed, and that punishment awaits them when they return for overstaying their leaves. Jimmy Legs is called for by the commander and gets a list of the men to be returned.

Into the steam-cutter hops Legs, and away he goes after the derelicts. He generally returns with them. He may be gone for some hours, or for a day, but when he comes off to the ship, in shore boat or cutter, he has the men he went after along with him.

So much for Jimmy Legs, whose never-ending and varied duties Hiram Deering, a grizzled old man-o'-warsman, performed most admirably on the Osprey.

The two men were pulled apart and the others had hardly gathered up their scattered ditty-bags and personal belongings when a commotion was observed among the officers on the bridge. They were gazing through their glasses at a puff of smoke on the north-western horizon. In the course of fifteen minutes it had grown to a small-sized cloud.

"She must have legs, to overhaul us in this way," observed Ensign Dobson, with his binocular at his eyes. "How much were we making at the last log, quartermaster?"

"Fifteen strong, sir."

"Then that fellow's doing a good twenty," added the officer. "Can you make him out, Mr. Liddon?"

"It looks to me like a 'destroyer,'" replied the other, readjusting the lenses of his glass. "It's a rather small, black craft, walking up on us hand over fist."

"Bo'sun!" called Dobson to a man who stood near on the lower deck.

"Yes, sir!"

"Set the ensign."

"Aye, aye, sir!"

"There goes his flag!" said Dobson, excitedly.

"I can't make out what it is, but we'll soon know. Shall I slow down a bit, sir?" he asked the lieutenant-commander, who had joined the other officers on the bridge.

"Not yet," said Rexdale. "We can't afford to tie up for every fellow that wants to speak us. Let him come up. He'll signal his business soon, if he's really after us."

The stranger approached rapidly, and could now be seen with the naked eye, as was attested by the watch on deck lining the bulwarks. There was no apprehension, as the United States had no enemies afloat; still the appearance, so far out at sea, of an unknown vessel bearing down swiftly on the Osprey, was enough to attract the lively attention of forecastle as well as cabin.

The kitten episode was quite forgotten, as the men thronged to the rail.

"Ah," exclaimed a brawny Irishman, waving his bare arm in the direction of the stranger, "w'ot a pity it ain't war-toimes now! Sure it's a lovely bit av a foight we'd be lookin' for, wid that smoker!"

"War nothin'!" retorted the old gunner. "I'm willin' to keep me arms and legs on fur a while longer. What's the use o' bein' shot to pieces, anyway!"

"Why don't he h'ist his ens'n?" growled another of the crew. "Manners is manners, I say."

"It is h'isted," said Scupp, "only ye can't see it, 'cos it blows straight out forrard on this west wind he's comin' afore. The officers up there'll soon be makin' it out, I reckon."

But the uniformed group on the bridge had no such easy task. They scrutinised the flag again and again, without success.

"I can't make the thing out," said Dobson, lowering the glasses, "can you, Mr. Liddon?"

"Can't say I can. It blew out once, and looked like nothing I ever saw before—a sort of twenty-legged spider in the centre. It's like nothing I ever saw in these waters. If we were on the Asiatic coast——"

"Who has the sharpest eyes among the men, quartermaster?" enquired the commander.

"I rather think, sir, them Japs can see the farthest."

"Orderly," ordered Rexdale, beckoning to a marine on duty, "find one of the cabin stewards and send him to the bridge at once."

Hardly a minute elapsed before Oto glided gracefully up the ladder and saluted.

"Take these glasses and see if you can make out that fellow's ensign," said Rexdale.

Oto lifted the binocular to his slanting eyes and picking up the approaching steamer gave it a swift glance. A moment sufficed. Then he returned the glasses to the commander, his face alight.

"Japanese, sir," he said simply. "That the flag of Japanese navy."

Dobson so far forgot his dignity as to slap his thigh.

"That's so!" he exclaimed. "I remember it well enough now. What on earth can a Jap torpedo destroyer want in these waters?"

"We shall soon find out—where's that boy? Gone already? Of course it excites him to see a part of his own navy so near. Stand by for signals, Mr. Dobson. Have your man ready, and get out your book." Dave's eyes were again scrutinising the approaching vessel as he gave the orders.

When the stranger was within about half a mile she rounded to a course parallel with that of the Osprey, showing her long, vicious hull, black and low in the water; and slowed down to keep from running away from the American ship. Presently a line of small flags fluttered up to her masthead.

Dobson examined them closely through the glass, then turned to his signal-book. "One—three—seven—five—here she is—the Kiku—that's Jap for Chrysanthemum, isn't it? Run up the answering pennant, signalman. Then haul it down and set our number."

The introduction having thus been politely performed, the Kiku, first answering the Osprey's number, hoisted another line of flags.

"H'm, they have our signals pat," muttered Dobson, turning the leaves of his book. "Here it is, Captain. 'Wish to communicate. Have message for—' for whom I wonder? Answer, signalman. There goes the second half of the signal: 'man on board your ship.' Well, that's cool! What shall we reply, sir?"

"Answer: 'Send boat with message—hurry,'" said Dave, frowning. "I don't like to stop, but the message may be important. I suppose it's for me, only the Japanese don't know enough to say so. Slow down, quartermaster."

"Slow, sir." And the indicator swung to that mark.

"Half speed."

"Half speed, sir."

"Now, full stop."

"Full stop, sir," and the engines of the Osprey were still.

The Kiku had taken similar measures, and changing her course, approached to within a hundred rods.

Down came her starboard quarter-boat, with beautiful precision. The oars fell together as the boat left the ship's side, and started toward the Osprey.

A ladder was thrown over, but the Japanese stopped abruptly, backing water when two or three boats' lengths distant, and turning, rowed a slow stroke to keep abreast the gangway of the gunboat, which had not lost her way. The officer in charge rose to his feet and raised his cap courteously.

"You have Japanese on board, sir, name Oto?" he called out.

"Yes, sir. What of it?"

"My captain wish to see him."

Rexdale gave a little start of irritation. "Leave your message for the boy," he shouted. "He's my cabin steward. I can't hold my ship for him to visit you."

While this conversation was in progress, a slight, diminutive figure had glided into the crowd of men overhanging the rail on the deck below. On hearing Rexdale's answer he called out a few rapid words in his own language to the officer in the boat. The latter answered, and the boat lay up alongside. Before any one realized what Oto was about, he had climbed the rail like a monkey and dropped into the strange boat, which immediately headed for the Kiku.

"Here!" shouted Rexdale, angrily, "What are you about? Bring back that boy! He belongs to my ship!"

The Japanese officer half turned in his seat, waved his hat most courteously, and spoke to his men; with the result that they pulled harder than ever.

"Start her!" cried out Rexdale, furious with rage.

"Start her, sir," repeated the phlegmatic quartermaster, throwing over the electric indicator.

"Full speed ahead!"

"Full speed ahead, sir."

"Now port your helm! Look sharp!"

"Port, sir."

But by the time the Osprey had fair steerage-way the stranger, veering in to shorten the distance, had picked up her boat and was pouring volumes of black smoke from her funnels as she too forged ahead. Her bows slowly swung to the northward.

The captain on her bridge waved his hat.

Dave set his teeth hard. "I'd like to send a shot across her bows!" he muttered, glaring at the audacious destroyer which was plainly running away from them. The jackies looked up eagerly at him, with their hands on the breach of the four-inch rifle; not a few fists were shaken at the departing stranger. It was a temptation, but the commander overcame it.

"It won't do to open fire, just for a steward," he said to his subordinates, who were standing at his side with scowling faces. "On her course, quartermaster!"

"On her course, sir. East by south, quarter south."

"It's a regular insult," stormed Liddon, for once shaken out of his regularly calm demeanour. "It's abduction on the high seas! It's piracy, that's what it is!"

"More like the press-gang," said Dobson, laconically.

"Well," said Rexdale, after a pause, "Japan will have to apologise for that little performance when we've reached a cable port."

"Is Oto an American citizen?" enquired Liddon.

"I'm afraid not. I never heard him speak of naturalisation."

"Then I suppose it's hardly an international episode," said the other, recovering his usual dignity of speech. "Perhaps the boy is an escaped criminal. At worst, I'm afraid the captain of the Kiku has only been guilty of bad manners."

"I shall report the incident to the Department at the first opportunity," said the commander decisively. "They can do what they like about it."

But Rexdale did not make the report. The next morning he was waited upon, to his utter bewilderment, by Oto himself, obsequious, deft, and silent as of old!

CHAPTER VI. A SCRAP IN MALTA.

The lieutenant-commander rubbed his eyes and stared at the little brown man in utter amazement.

"Oto!" he exclaimed at length. "You here?"

"Yes, sir," replied Oto, placing a steaming cup of hot coffee at the right hand of the officer.

"Come round here where I can see you. When did you come on board?"

"This morning, sir, at about three bells."

"Who brought you? Did you swim back?" demanded Rexdale, still mystified.

"No, sir. I came in the Kiku's boat," said Oto, showing his white teeth in a genial smile. "There was fog. The Osprey was going at less than half speed, and the lookouts did not see me. We came very quiet."

"Well, what have you got to say for yourself, any way?" asked Dave, irritated at the boy's self-possession. "Do you know I can put you in irons for deserting the ship?"

The little Jap spread his arms, in deprecation. "Very sorry," said he humbly. "It was all mistake. Captain Osara wanted to give me message. He did not wish me to leave ship. All mistake. So I come back. Captain Osara say he apologise. Here his letter," and he handed a sealed missive to the commander, who impatiently tore open the daintily folded sheet. It was covered with Japanese characters.

"Read it to me," said Dave, handing the letter to Oto, who translated as follows:

"Ship 'Kiku,' 
"Royal Navy of Japan.

"To the Honourable
     "David Rexdale,
 "Commanding U. S. Ship Osprey.

"Am desirous to tender most humble apologies to your august presence for having taken to my ship the man Oto, whom I restore tremblingly to you. Augustly condescend to grant your forgiveness, and accept my joyful congratulation on your august health and the beauty and majesty of your ship.

"Respectful veneration,

"Osara."

"Well," said Rexdale, smiling, in spite of his vexation, at the language of the apology, "what was the message?"

But neither threats nor persuasion could induce Oto to divulge the nature of the communication which had been of sufficient importance to take a naval vessel out of her way and to lead her commander to play such a daring trick—for such it evidently was, in spite of his polite phrases—on a United States war-ship. Oshima in his turn was closely questioned, but professed entire ignorance of the matter.

"I've not a particle of doubt," said Rexdale, talking it over with Staples, "that it has some connexion with the strained relations between Russia and Japan. He's a dangerous fellow to have on board, this Oto, with his skill at gunnery, his high-bred manners, and his mysterious disappearances and appearances. When we reach Hongkong I shall dismiss both Japs. They might get us into a heap of trouble."

Staples quite agreed with Dave, and, with a careful record of the episode in the ship's log, the affair was closed.

Two weeks later the Osprey dropped her anchor off the quay in the inner harbour of Valetta, the principal seaport of Malta. Rexdale's first care was to cable his arrival to the Department; next, to mail his report of the voyage; third, to send a long letter to Hallie, his wife, who would be waiting, even more anxiously than the Secretary of the Navy, to hear from him. At the telegraph office he found a dispatch from Washington, ordering him to hold the Osprey at Valetta until further instructions from the Department. He knew that he would need time for coaling, and informed the other officers of the ship that they would probably spend at least a week at their present anchorage, which had been designated by the harbour-master.

The next two days were busy ones. All hands worked hard and became grimy from head to foot with coal dust. At length the jackies forward heard the welcome order: "Shift into clean blue, the liberty party!" Working in the intense heat of a Mediterranean July, the men had been stripped to their waists. Now they sluiced one another down with the hose, and gladly slipped on their spruce shore-going togs. With strict injunctions to be on board before dark, thirty of the crew were permitted to land.

Midshipman Starr went ashore with Ensigns Liddon and Dobson.

"There's only one thing I want to see," announced Starr, "and that's a real, genuine Maltese cat, proudly standing on her native soil. I suppose the streets are full of 'em." He and Dobson had never before visited the city of Valetta, but "Doc." Liddon was well informed as to its history and attractions, having spent several weeks there before he joined the Naval Academy.

The moment the three young officers set foot on the quay, they were beset by vendors of all sorts of trinkets, especially those of silver filigree-work.

"What sort of money do they use here?" asked Dobson.

"English, of course," replied Liddon. "The island is one of the choicest jewels in the British crown, and——"

"Lend me a dollar's worth of shillings, will you?" interrupted the other, "and tell me about the jewels later, Doc. I want to buy that bracelet for 'the girl I left behind me,' if the price isn't too high."

The seller parted with the pretty ornament for one shilling, and the trio, waving aside the rest of the merchants, moved on.

"Where shall we go first?" asked Liddon.

"Just show me one good cat—" began Bob, earnestly, "and I'll——"

"Oh drop your cats, Bob! Take us to the best view, to begin with, Liddon."

"Well, let's go up to Fort St. Elmo. That overlooks both harbour basins."

"Whew! Hot's the word!" exclaimed Bob Starr, wiping his brow as they gained the ramparts of the old fortress. "Now, while we are cooling off, tell us about this aged ruin which the Osprey could make over into cracked stone for a macadamised road in about five minutes."

"It isn't a ruin yet, young man," said the ensign, taking off his cap to enjoy the breeze, "and the Osprey's rifled four-inch would have to toss a good many shot up here to produce road material, I can tell you. But three hundred-and-odd years ago—in 1565, to be exact—this old fort held off a big fleet and land force for four months. The Knights of St. John defended it in great style. Sultan Solyman, who had driven the Knights from Rhodes thirty-four years before, made up his mind that Malta was too good for them. He brought about a hundred and forty vessels and an army of thirty-odd thousand men, to give them a thorough-going house-warming.

"Were there any cats—" began Starr; but the lecturer proceeded without noticing the interruption.

"These forces were reinforced, if I remember rightly"—(Cries of "Oh, you do! you do!" from the audience)—"were afterwards increased by a lot of corsairs from Algiers and pirates from Tripoli. When the fort seemed on the point of breaking up, after four months' battering, the few Knights that were left entered that little chapel over there, received the rites of the Church—the viaticum—and went out to start on their last journey. They were cut to pieces by the Turks; but two outworks still resisted and fought off the besiegers until help arrived from Sicily. Out of eight or nine thousand defenders, only six hundred were left to join in the Te Deum (you know the Knights were a religious order) as the Turks sailed off."

"O my, look at this!" Starr suddenly broke in. "Isn't she a dear!"

The officers looked up and saw an extremely pretty girl approaching, attended by a maid.

"What on earth is that thing on her head?" queried Dobson under his breath. "It looks like a stu'n'sail!"

"It's a faldetta," said Liddon. "Most of the ladies, the natives, I mean, wear them."

The young men rose from their seats on the bastion, and raised their hats as the girl passed. She flushed and bowed, then looked down demurely, and hurried on.

"What language do they speak?" demanded Bob, hastily. "If I only knew, I could ask her about Maltese——"

"Don't get agitated, my son," said Liddon, calmly, "and don't address any young ladies without an introduction. As for their language, it's a mixture of Portuguese and Arabic——"

"That'll do," groaned Bob, with a heavy sigh. "There's no danger of my breaking out in her native tongue. What's next on the programme?"

"Well, we'll take a stroll through the principal street and visit the Church of St. John, which was built by the Knights a few years after the siege."

The street itself was full of interest to the young Americans. Sauntering along—themselves attracting no little favourable attention in their natty white uniforms—they met cabmen driving their little horses at full speed, English ladies elegantly dressed side by side with the natives in their huge black one-sided hoods, flocks of goats, to be milked at the doors of customers, smart British officers, swarthy-faced Hindoos, and beggars without end.

"This is the Church of St. John," said Liddon, as the naval party entered an imposing portal, flanked by two huge towers. "Here the Knights used to worship, when they were not otherwise engaged——"

"To wit, in fighting!" interpolated Starr. "Well, I must say those old fellows did well whatever they undertook. Look at those marbles and paintings!"

With hushed voices the three young men passed down the long aisle, to one of the chapels where they were shown various relics which, Liddon said, had been held in the deepest veneration by the builders of the church in those strange old days. There were some of the bones of St. Thomas of Canterbury, one of the stones cast at St. Stephen, the right foot of Lazarus, and a thorn from the sacred crown. However sceptical the Americans might have been as to the genuineness of these relics, they showed in their faces and demeanour only their respect for the belief of those who treasured them. A party of tourists came up at the same time, and two or three pretty girls giggled effusively over the objects displayed.

"Come on!" muttered Dobson in disgust. "Let's get out of this. There are times when I'm ashamed of my race!" and turning on their heels the young men left the church.

The gay scenes in the sunny street restored their good humour, and they visited successively a catacomb chapel—where the vaults were ornamented with fantastically arranged bones of departed monks and knights—an old city gate, and some interesting rock-hewn depositories of grain.

"Not a cat yet, except a yellow one that don't count!" murmured Bob sadly, as they turned their steps toward the final great attraction of Valetta, the Governor's Palace, in St. George's Square.

"It was formerly," explained their omniscient guide, "the palace of the Grand Master of the Knights of St. John, and contains some of the principal treasures of the Order. Here is the Armory," he added, as they entered a large hall, containing rows of figures clad in antique armour, and a wealth of weapons and armour of ancient times. Here, too, was the sword, battle-axe, and coat-of-mail of the leader of the corsairs who assisted the Turks in the famous siege of Fort St. Elmo; the trumpet which sounded the retreat of the Knights from Rhodes, in 1523; and a cannon made of a copper tube and wound with tarred rope, used by the Turks, Liddon said, during their siege of that island.

"Compare it with one of the twelve-inch turret rifles on our modern battle-ships!" exclaimed Dobson. "Why, I'd rather have a good navy revolver to fight with than this ropy thing!"

For two or three hours more (a rest being taken at a small restaurant) the officers wandered about the streets of Valetta. Liddon regaled his companions with details of its history, including its capture by Napoleon in 1798, the subsequent two-years siege when the Maltese had risen in revolt against their captors, and its formal cession to the English in 1814.

"It's no use, boys, I'm used up," said Dobson at length. "I'm off for the ship; you can come or stay, as you like."

"Oh, we'll go along, too," said Starr. "I should have left an hour ago, but I wanted to see how long Liddon could keep it up, before the pumps sucked. He'd make his fortune as a filibusterer against an unpopular bill in the Senate!"

They passed along the Strada Reale—"Royal Street"—for the last time, and were just turning down toward the harbour when a slight commotion on the sidewalk ahead attracted their attention. A knot of people had gathered around a group in which some sort of altercation was going on.

"Hold on a minute," cried the midshipman, "let's see what's up."

The three inseparables pushed their way into the crowd, the outer portion of which was composed of good-natured Maltese and a variety of street-loungers. Within this circle were a dozen sailors from a small Russian cruiser in port. They, in their turn, had corralled a couple of small brown men whom their tormentors were hustling rudely as if to provoke a resistance which would afford an excuse for rougher treatment.

The officers from the Osprey simultaneously recognised the victims of this assault, and with a howl of indignation from Bob, and a stern "Stand aside, men!" from Liddon, they pulled off the Russian blue-jackets and took their stand beside the Japanese, who were no other than Oto and Oshima.

"Amerikanski!" snarled the sailors as they noted the uniforms of the intruders and closed in again, while the throng of idlers increased.

"What's the matter, my lads?" said Dobson to the stewards, who seemed in no wise discomposed, but stood quietly awaiting a favourable moment for withdrawal.

"We do no harm," said Oshima, when both had given the naval salute. "These men, these Russians"—(it is impossible to describe the tone of lofty contempt with which he pronounced the word, looking around at the burly tars, each a full head taller than himself)—"they stop us here in the street and call us bad names and dare us to fight—the big men—cowards!"

Perhaps it was fortunate for the little Jap that the Russian sailors could not understand a word of English; but the general tenor of his remarks was only too plain from his tones and gestures. The assailants closed in again with a volley of incomprehensible expletives and unmistakably threatening gestures. Liddon was violently shoved aside. This was more than he could stand.

"Take that, you bully!" he cried, planting a quick, nervous blow straight between the eyes of the fellow who had jostled him.

The man fell over against his comrades—the street was too crowded to allow him to drop outright—and the inner circle enlarged; but only for a moment. The sailors, half of whom were intoxicated, rushed forward with a roar of rage. Before they reached the officers, whose prospects of gaining their ship in safety seemed decidedly poor, Oto spoke a swift word to his chum, and each darted upon a Russian. It was like a terrier charging a bloodhound; but with a lightning-like grasp and twist of the arm the diminutive assailants brought to the ground their bulky adversaries, screaming with pain. Then the Japanese ducked under the arms of the nearest bystanders and disappeared as if by magic.

Another momentary diversion had been effected by this quick and unexpected display of jiu-jitsu, but now the sailors were about to charge again. The unarmed young officers stood on guard, their fists advanced.

"You take that big chap with a black beard, Bob," said Liddon hastily, "and I'll engage the brute next to him. Dob., you look out for the beauty with red hair. Steady, now, fellows, here they come!"

But before the two parties fairly clashed, a ringing shout rent the air.

"Hooroar, byes, it's a scrap!" shouted a jovial voice well known to the Americans. Then the tone changed. "Ah—h—sure it's the darlints of ensigns and the middy from the Osprey! Come on, byes, let 'em have it!"

The officers were glad enough of reinforcements to overlook the slight to their dignified rank on board ship. In a moment the affair was over. Half a dozen Russians were rolling in the dust, while the rest fell back in disorder before the onslaught of the Osprey's jackies, led by Pat Ryan and Dick Scupp, who, it afterwards turned out, had been directed to the spot by Oto, and had rushed ahead with no clear idea of what was the matter until they caught sight of the white duck and gold braid of their own officers' uniforms.

"Down to the boats in a hurry, lads!" shouted Liddon, leading the way, as he heard cries of "Police! Police!" on the outskirts of the throng.

A rush for the quay, and the Osprey men scrambled into their boats, taking the two Japanese with them. The Russians gathered on the steps shaking their fists at the "Amerikanski," but no further harm was done, and in a few minutes the "liberty party," officers and all, were safe on board the gunboat.

"'Twas a lively brush, sir," said Ensign Liddon, reporting the affair to Rexdale; "but I think nothing will come of it. We must keep away, and keep our men away, from Russians just now, when their feeling against Americans is running pretty high."

"Very true," said the lieutenant-commander, smiling. "I'm glad it was no worse. And Oto, Oshima, no more shore leave for you, while the Neva is in port!"

Liddon proved to be right in his conjecture. The police, arriving just too late to witness the affray, and seeing that trouble had arisen between sailors of different nationalities, hardly went through the form of pursuing the participants, and let the whole matter drop; such squabbles being common in every large seaport where war-ships lie in the stream and their crews have liberty ashore.

The Neva sailed for the Baltic two days later, and within a week Rexdale received orders from the Department to proceed eastward. Then came a succession of wonderfully beautiful days and nights on the blue Mediterranean, the Osprey tossing the foam from her stem in showers of sparkling silver, and startling the flying fish that flashed from wave to wave, until the low, tawny shores of Africa came in sight.

"To think that I'm actually gazing upon Egypt!" exclaimed Bob Starr, as he stood on the bridge one fair July morning. "Those are really the 'sands of the desert,' and that scraggy-looking feather-duster is a palm!"

Small vessels with great ruddy lateen sails hovered about the war-ship as she advanced. A shark's black, sickle-like fin drifted carelessly astern while the fierce fish, all alert below the surface, watched for prey.

Now Damietta was reached, and Port Said. The Osprey, awaiting her turn, meekly entered the Canal in the rear of a big Dutch merchant steamer. There was little for the officers or men to do, and they clustered at the rails, and on the quarter-deck, gazing out over the marshes and plains of Egypt—the crew blankly, for the most part; the more highly educated graduates of Annapolis with thoughts of the great, dim Past to which this storied land of the Pharaohs bore silent witness. Here Abraham wandered, from Ur of the Chaldees; across those sands marched the hordes of Rameses II., going up against the Syrians.

Now and then the ship halted in basins cut for the purpose, like railroad sidings, to allow northbound vessels to pass. Nearly every ship was flying the Union Jack, for three-quarters of all the tonnage that passes through the Canal belongs to Great Britain. Next in order of frequency came the French, Dutch, and Germans.

"Sure, it's hungry I am for the Stars and Stripes," said Pat, gazing gloomily at a broad German ensign at Ismalia, half-way across the Isthmus. "I'm tired o' jumpin' lions and two-headed aigles and rid crosses!"