Now, at last, Captain Jack Benson, together with his engineer, Hal Hastings, and Eph Somers, another young member of the crew, were about to have their first practical drill with the actual torpedo.  An officer of the United States Navy, especially detailed for the work, was expected hourly at Dunhaven.  The three submarine boys were eager for their first taste of this work.  Barely less interested were Jacob Farnum, shipbuilder, and president of the submarine company, and David Pollard, inventor of the Pollard type of submarine craft.

In this shed, placed on racks in three tiers, lay the two dozen Whitehead torpedoes with which the first work was to be done.  As Jack stepped about the shed, looking to see that everything was in order, he was thinking of the exciting work soon to come.

Eph Somers was near at hand, though up in the village at that particular moment.  There was a fourth member of the crew, however, named Williamson.  He was a grown man, a machinist who had been long in Farnum’s employ, and who was considered a most valuable hand to have in the engine room of a submarine.

Williamson, during the preceding fortnight, had been away in the interior of the country.  He had taken a midwinter vacation, and had gone to visit his mother.  Now, however, the machinist knew of the work at hand, and his return was expected.

“Really,” declared Jack, turning around to his chum, “Williamson ought to be here not later than to-morrow morning.  He had Mr. Farnum’s letter in good season.”

At this moment a heavy tread was heard on the light crust of snow outside.  Then a man’s head appeared in the doorway.

“Speaking of angels!” laughed Hal.

“Williamson, I’m mighty glad to see you back,” hailed Captain Jack, delightedly.

“I’m glad to be back, if there’s anything unusual going to happen,” replied the machinist, as they shook hands all around.  Then, as they fell to chatting, the machinist seated himself on a keg, the top of which was about half off, revealing, underneath, a layer of jute bagging.

“We’re going to have some great practice work,” declared Hal, moving about.  “We’re just waiting for that Navy man, and then we’re going out on the new submarine—­the one that’s named after me, you know.”

Out in the little harbor beyond rode at anchor two grim-looking little torpedo boats, each about one hundred and ten feet long.  The older one was named the “Benson,” after Captain Jack.  But the latest one to be launched, which had had its full trial trip only some few days before, bore the name of “Hastings” after the capable young chief engineer of the Pollard boats.

Both of the boys, by this time, happened to be looking away from the machinist.  Williamson, in utter unconcern, drew a pipe out of one of his pockets, filled it, and stuck the stem between his lips.  Next, he struck a safety match, softly, against the side of the match-box, and lighted his pipe, drawing in great whiffs.