"Oi, oi, Whistler!" whispered Ikey when the greatly abashed Morgan went forward, "you'll be an admiral next. If you beat me to it, what will my papa and mama say?"
Put back upon her course, the S. P. 888 was soon beating her way through the cross-seas--"bucking the briny" the boys called it--toward the port from which the _Kennebunk_ was to sail in the morning.
It was a wild night. The peril through which the ship's company had just passed, and from which Philip Morgan had been able to save them, made the threatening aspects of sea and air seem small indeed. Let the wind shriek through the wire stays and the waves roar and burst about and over the submarine chaser as they listed, none of these dangers equaled that of the depth charge which had run amuck.
Seven Knott was brought to his senses in a short time, and, after staring about a bit, murmured:
"Not your fault, my man," declared Ensign MacMasters cheerfully. "Wait till Lieutenant Commander Lang, of the _Colodia_, hears about it. You have done well, Hertig. He will be proud of you."
At that the petty officer smiled, for he was inordinately fond of the commander of the destroyer.
Mr. MacMasters made it plain to the boatswain's mate that apprentice seaman Morgan had saved him, as well as the rest of the ship's company, from disaster, and Hansie Hertig grinned broadly.
"That Whistler--he can do something besides make tunes with his mouth, eh?" he observed.
Most of the crew of the submarine chaser, as well as the members of the squad going aboard the _Kennebunk_, personally congratulated Whistler on his courage and quick action.
"This is an awfully small boat, Torry," he complained to his chum. "There isn't any place for a fellow to get away by himself. There are too many folks here."
He did not take kindly to so much approbation. He felt that Lieutenant Perkins had already said enough.
Although Whistler and his mates had no duties to perform on the S. P. 888, they did not turn in that night at all. To tell the truth the chaser was making an awfully rough passage of it, and although they were inured to the discomforts of their beloved _Colodia_ in stormy weather, this was even worse.
They kept out of the way of the watch on duty, but remained for the most part on deck, as they were free to do. The watchlights on the shore, those in the lighthouses and the lamps in certain seaside hamlets, gave them their position from time to time. They were aware long before daylight that they were drawing near to the harbor mouth of the port where the superdreadnaught lay.