“There are other ways,” replied Ensign Fullerton, quietly.  “And especially, if a war should break out.  Young men trained as finely as you and your comrades, and showing as great talent, sir, would have no difficulty in reaching important rank in a war of the future, when so much must be risked on the submarine craft of which you young men are masters.”

“We have run a few submarine boats, I suppose,” nodded Benson.  “But none of us has ever had the Annapolis training.”

“Not all of the best American sea-fighters have come out of Annapolis, sir,” replied Fullerton, soberly.  “If a boy gets through Annapolis there’s nothing wonderful in his making a fairly good officer.  But my cap, sir, is off to boys who can come through the ordinary machine shop and qualify themselves to command submarine boats or anything else afloat!”

Then, dropping back to his ordinary manner, Fullerton saluted, next left the cabin to carry to the watch officer the orders for the course.

Lieutenant Jack Benson, briefly of the U.S.  Navy, strolled out to the after deck for a short promenade.  Here he was joined by Eph Somers, who, in his naval uniform, did not forget to salute before accosting the commanding officer of the U.S.S.  “Sudbury.”

“I’m really beginning to feel that I’m not dreaming,” confided Eph, almost in a whisper.  “Whee! but it’s fine to be out on a craft so big that you don’t get a cramp in your leg from walking!  Say, do you know, Jack,” he whispered, “I am almost crazy to see one of this ship’s big guns fired!”

“You may have your wish,” laughed Jack.  “Who knows?”

Who knew, indeed?

How was it possible, for that matter, for any of these three young officers to guess what lay ahead of them?

CHAPTER XIV

THE BOW GUN BOOMS AND EPH PUTS OFF

In the nineteenth century, when a vessel left port, her destination unknown, that craft might get away from a pursuing squadron scattered over the seas.

At best, knowledge of a marine fugitive’s whereabouts could be gained only from the masters of other vessels that had sighted the fugitive.  Usually, such information must be delayed until the informing master of the sighting ship reached port.

In the twentieth century all is greatly changed.

A vessel bound for parts unknown, carrying some fugitive from justice, is sighted by some steamship that is equipped with a wireless telegraph outfit.  Hours before, perhaps, the master of the steamship has been asked to keep a weather-eye open for a vessel that answers the name or description of the runaway craft.  Now, she is sighted by the master of the steamship.  Ten minutes later the authorities on shore know the exact whereabouts of the fleeing craft.  Should she change her course wholly, her new whereabouts is soon after reported to land by the master of some other wireless equipped steamship.