AGROUND!

The anchor was hauled up immediately on the return of the gig. The crews of the submarines, already on board the diving craft, took their stations. "Captain" Ned gave the word and the Seneca began to move slowly through the water.

Having superintended the work of getting under way, Ned and Herc ascended to the bridge. They found Midshipman Kenworth there, standing by the side of the quartermaster, who had the wheel.

Behind the wheel, which was a small, light affair controlling the steam steering gear, was a small house in which the machinery that operated the rudder control was situated.

Ned caught Herc by the sleeve just as the red-headed lad was stepping impulsively forward, and drew him into the doorway of the structure. There was a small port in the place looking out over the bridge. It was open, and through it they could readily see.

"What's the idea of this?" demanded Herc. "I don't like this spying business. I've no use for Kenworth, but——"

"That's all right," responded Ned. "I don't wish to spy on the young man; I merely want to find out what sort of a pilot he is."

They skirted the little cape that formed the end of the island, in the lee of which the Seneca had been anchored. Beyond this island, the boys, somewhat to their surprise, saw that there was still quite an expanse of shoal water threaded by narrow channels between the outer island and the blue of the Sound itself.

"Ticklish work through here," commented Ned in a low tone, as he observed how the darker color of the channels that threaded the numerous shallow places alternated with broad expanses of yellow water that showed the presence of dangerous sand banks.

"You're dead right," responded Herc; "about as bad a place as I ever clapped eyes on."

The rattle and roar of the steering machinery as the wheel was spun right and left drowned the sound of their voices. Kenworth was looking straight ahead. From time to time they could see him turn slightly and give some order to the helmsman; but what the orders were they could not catch.

The Seneca appeared to be following the channel perfectly, however, winding among the mazes of deeper waterways like a dancer.

"Kenworth is no slouch at this work," said Ned in a low voice as they watched.

"Shucks!" grunted Herc, "I guess the Seneca has been in and out of here a hundred times. Anyhow, a blind man could see those channels."

Ned turned on his companion with a stern look.

"See here, Herc Taylor, we want peace and harmony on this craft; do you understand?"

"Even if we have to scrap to get it," muttered Herc. "All right; from now on, I'm the greatest little peace delegate ever you saw."

A minute later, while they were still watching, they saw something that gave them a momentary shock of surprise. Rankin appeared on the bridge. There was nothing extraordinary in his so doing, of course. He probably had something to report to the watch officer.

But somehow Ned, with a quick flash of intuition that he could not explain, felt that more than that lay in this sudden conjunction of their two enemies; for that Rankin disliked them, Ned had no doubt.

He laid a hand on Herc's arm to keep him quiet, for the impulsive red-headed youth was about, apparently, to break forth into some emphatic exclamation at what he had just seen.

Rankin approached Kenworth with an air of familiarity that showed there existed some friendship between them. Kenworth greeted him with an easy nod, and then, after giving some directions to the man at the wheel, he placed his hand on Rankin's shoulder and drew him back toward the steering-gear house.

"Come back here while we talk," the boys heard him say, "I don't want that quartermaster to overhear us."

For a moment it appeared that they were coming into the steering house, but they merely stood close back against its metal wall. They had taken up positions right under the porthole through which Ned had been making his observations.

But they had not seen their superior officers. Ned had been too quick for that. As the two approached the steering-gear structure, he grabbed Herc and drew him down. Now they crouched quietly under the porthole, through which they could catch perfectly everything that was said.

"Well, here's a fine how-de-do," they heard Rankin complain in a grumbling tone; "a couple of snips that aren't dry behind the ears been set over us. I thought you were to get the command when Summerville left."

"So did I; but it seems these two interlopers succeeded in getting it for themselves."

"Didn't you tell me that they started in the navy just as enlisted men?"

"Yes, the gutter-snipes never saw even the outside of Annapolis. I'd like to know what the service is coming to when good men are passed over for useless propositions like this!"

"So would I. By the way, I had a row with them on the train coming down. They've no use for me, I fancy. I wish I could hit upon some plan to take them down a peg or two."

"I have," was Kenworth's rejoinder, in a tone which was acid with malignant hatred.

"Have what?"

"Formed such a plan. I've got a scheme to discredit them with the department right from the jump."

"Shoal ahead, sir!"

The voice of the man at the wheel cut in raspingly like a file. Kenworth sprang up. Ned also ventured to steal a look through the port. He saw the shoal the helmsman had drawn attention to, a long daub of yellow stretching on their port bow.

He saw in a flash that there was only one way to save the ship from going aground.

"Stay here," he ordered Herc, and then bounded out of the steering-gear house, colliding with Rankin as he did so.

"What, you here, sir?" exclaimed Rankin with a sickly smile as Ned shoved past him. The Dreadnought Boy, with a sinking sense of dread, guessed somehow that already the conspiracy against him was under way, and that, with the flukes of the anchor not yet dry at the cat-head!

Rankin reeled and staggered as Ned brushed by with scant regard for gentleness. He turned and gazed after the figure of the young officer as he made for the steersman. Kenworth already stood at the man's side.

"Hard a'port!" Ned heard Kenworth roar.

It was precisely the command that, under the circumstances, would bring the bow of the Seneca grating and rasping on the shoal.

"Hard over! Hard over! For your life, man!" shouted Ned.

"Aye, aye, sir!" cried the man, recognizing the superior authority of the temporary commander.

But it was too late. The next instant it happened, even as Ned's hand jerked the engine-room telegraph over to "Full speed astern." With a grating, jarring succession of bumps, the Seneca, Ned's first command, slipped upon the shoal, even while her reversed engines were frantically biting the water astern.

Before the lad's eyes arose a sickening vision of failure and disgrace, even at the very outset of his important commission.