“And now,” went on the commander of the “Hudson,” “I think you may as well show us the way into the harbor.”

“You’ll want to go at little more than headway, sir,” Jack replied.  “The harbor is small, though there’s enough deep water for you.  In parts there are some sand ledges that the tide washes up.”

“I can’t allow you to pilot us, exactly, but you’ll indicate the course to me, won’t you, Mr. Benson?”

The “mister” was noticeable, now.  Naval officers are chary of their bestowal of the title “captain” upon one who does not hold it in the Army or Navy service.

At Mr. Mayhew’s order the “Hudson” was started slowly forward, the searchlight playing about the entrance to the harbor.

“For your best anchorage, sir,” declared Captain Jack, after he had brought the gunboat slowly into the harbor, “you will do well to anchor with that main arc-light dead ahead, that shed over there on your starboard beam, and the front end of the submarine shed about four points off your port bow.”

Mr. Mayhew slowly manoeuvred his craft, while men stood on the deck below, forward, prepared to heave the bow anchors.

“Go four points over to port, Mr. Trahern,” instructed Mr. Mayhew.  “Now, back the engines—­steady!”

Jack Benson opened his mouth wide.  Then, as he saw the way the “Hudson” was backing, he suddenly called: 

“Slow speed ahead, quick, sir!”

“You said—­” began Mr. Mayhew.

Gr-r-r-r!  The stern of the gunboat dug its way into a sand ledge, lifting the stern considerably.

“Slow speed ahead!” rasped Lieutenant Commander Mayhew, sharply.

But the gunboat could not be budged.  She was stuck, stern on, fast in the sand-ledge.

“Benson!” uttered the lieutenant commander, bitterly, “I congratulate you.  You’ve succeeded in grounding a United States Naval vessel!”

CHAPTER III:  “YOU MAY AS WELL LEAVE THE BRIDGE!”

There was so much of overwhelming censure in the naval officer’s tone that Jack’s spirit was stung to the quick.

“It’s your mistake, sir,” he retorted.  “You didn’t follow the course I advised.  You swung the ship around to port, and—­”

“Silence, now, if you please, while men are trying to get this vessel out of a scrape a boy got her into,” commanded Mr. Mayhem, sternly.

Jack flushed, then bit his tongue.  In another moment a pallor had succeeded the red in his face.

He was blamed for the disaster, and he was not really at fault.

Yet, under the rebuke he had just received, he did not feel it his place to retort further for the present.

Mr. Mayhew and Mr. Trahern conferred in low tones for a moment or two.

“You may as well leave the bridge, young man,” resumed Mr. Mayhew, turning upon the submarine boy.  “You are not likely to be of any use here.”