"You see," explained Striker, when he and Larry were discussing the closing up of the squadron, "we haven't but one small boat—the Petrel—to do the scouting for us, and it may be the Spaniards are on the watch for us, and if they catch sight of us, they may send out a torpedo boat after dark to blow one of our vessels sky-high. A torpedo boat is a pesky little thing that is hard to spot in the dark and still harder to get out of the way of. The only thing to do is to spot it in time and give it a few good, heavy shots."
It was on Saturday morning that land was sighted dead ahead—a long, low coast line, backed up by an indefinite series of hills. At once the fleet was signalled to halt, and each vessel began the preparations for that battle which every man felt was bound to come sooner or later. To a landsman the preparations would have looked very much like the frantic efforts of a lot of crazy men. Everything in the way of a possible detriment during a battle was pitched overboard. The articles thus disposed of consisted of mess tables and benches, wooden partitions and rails, heavy chests and ditty boxes, and a hundred and one other things of value—all went sailing upon the rolling waters of the China Sea.
