At length the confusion and uproar in the hold of Captain Briggs' schooner died away. The work of unloading the craft was completed.
Ned glanced at his watch. It was close on midnight. He wondered if now that the schooner had been emptied of her secret cargo, his hour of release had come.
But apparently it was no part of Captain Briggs's plan to set his prisoner at liberty just then. At any rate, nobody came near Ned.
He felt strangely lonely now that the tumult had died out, to be succeeded by a death-like stillness. But after a time, during which he sought in vain for a lamp to light up the cabin, Ned was able to distinguish some sounds that broke the silence.
The sounds were nasal and were in three keys. In fact, it did not take Ned long to distinguish in his own mind the loud snoring of Captain Briggs from the gruntings and snortings of his crew.
The night was warm and they were plainly enough taking their rest on deck after the arduous labors of the night. Inasmuch as the schooner lay in a lonely cove out of the path of navigation, it was also evident that Captain Briggs had not bothered to set a bright watch.
Now is my chance, thought Ned, "if only I could figure on some way of getting out of this coop."
He sat on the transom a while, buried in thought. He was revolving in his mind the strange events of the last twenty-four hours and the possible effect they would have upon his future.
Well did Ned know that his absence from his ship must have been noticed by this time. He wondered what Commander Dunham was thinking. He speculated, and the thought was not a pleasant one, on the chances of his being deemed derelict to his duty, and being supplanted by someone else.
The Dreadnought Boy knew the iron rules of the navy, laws as inflexible as those of the Medes and Persians. He might be deprived of his temporary commission without even a chance to explain all that had happened. One thought cheered him. Come what might, he at least had safe within his pocket the book of plans by which Kenworth and Saki set such store.
He hoped that if the worst came to the worst, the signal service he had rendered his country in redeeming these from the desperate hands of the spy and the renegade would at least plead some extenuation for him.
Confound that old shell-back of a Briggs, growled Ned to himself; "if it hadn't been for him I might have been back with my ship by this time. As it is——"
Captain Briggs' stentorian snore filled in the pause eloquently. "At any rate," muttered Ned, "he's safe off in the land of Nod; so, to judge by the sounds, are his crew. What's the matter with—Jove! I'll try it."
He ascended the cabin stairway and began cautiously to fumble with the fastenings of the companionway scuttle. He did not dare make much noise, as, although he was fairly sure that Captain Briggs was beyond an easy awakening, yet the risk of rousing him was an imminent one.
Like everything else about Captain Briggs' schooner, the scuttle, now that Ned came to prove it, did not appear to be over and above secure.
I believe that with good luck I can force it clean off its hinges, murmured Ned as he investigated.
Indeed it seemed so. The door worked about on its hinges so freely, it showed that those attachments were not securely fastened or else, as was more likely, the wood had rotted about the screws.
Ned possessed a good stock of patience and he took plenty of time, working the door about till it moved easily. Then he placed his shoulder to it and gave a gentle but strong heave. The screws drew out of the rotten wood as if they had been fastened into cheese.
Five minutes after he had first applied his strength, Ned, feeling like a modern Samson, lifted off the door of his place of captivity and was ready to step out on deck.
But first he took a cautious look about him. There was a bright moon. By its beams Ned saw that, as he had suspected, Captain Briggs and his crew, worn out by their night's work, were sleeping the sleep of the just. They had turned in "all standing" and lay sprawled on the deck in any but picturesque attitudes.
So far, so good, murmured Ned to himself, "and the dinghy's out astern, too. Better and better. I believe that this is going to go through without a hitch."
He cautiously replaced the hatchway and stepped boldly out on the deck. Captain Briggs stirred in his slumbers and growled out some orders that came to him in his dreams.
Stand by to go about! Mind sheets and braces! he muttered.
My! but he's going to be a surprised man when he wakes up! grinned Ned to himself. "I'm sorry for his crew; he'll take it out on them, for I verily believe that the old shell-back thought I was some boy millionaire and worth at least a thousand in reward money to him."
But as chance would have it, it was Ned who was destined to be surprised first.
Hardly had he stepped on deck, when from forward a squat shape came bounding across the moonlit decks. Simultaneously a low, angry growl greeted the Dreadnought Boy's ears.
Great guns! The skipper's dog! I'd clean forgotten him, exclaimed Ned in dismay.
The dog hesitated a minute, sniffed and then, with an angry snarl, came bounding on again.
If I can't silence him, he'll have them all awake in a minute, and then I'll have a fine hornet's nest about my ears, muttered Ned.
Ur-r-r-r-r-r-r-r! The dog sprang straight for Ned's throat. Luckily, the creature was not one of the barking kind. He plainly preferred action to noise.
Ned saw him coming. Saw the white flash of his teeth in the moonlight. Swift as thought he stooped and picked up a barrel stave which happened to be lying near his feet.
As the dog was in mid-spring, Ned let fly with his improvised weapon. Crack! It struck the dog right across the nose and sent him hurtling back in a coiled-up ball.
Jove! I hated to do that, old fellow, cried Ned in a low tone; "but it had to be, and you'll soon get over it."
The dog lay crouched in a whimpering heap not far from Captain Briggs' side. Ned dared not delay longer. With swift, silent strides he made for the stern, dropped overboard and landed deftly in the dinghy.
The oars were in it, and to cast off was the work of an instant only. Then with strong, noiseless strokes, he pulled toward the shore. There was not a sound of pursuit from the schooner and Ned's heart leaped exultingly as he threw his strength into the oars.
Ten minutes later the dinghy's nose scraped the beach. At precisely the same instant the bow of Ned's craft was grasped by a pair of strong hands, and a gruff voice demanded to know his business.
Whew! Out of the frying pan into the fire! was Ned's instant thought.
Facing him in the moonlight was a Jackie in uniform. He was armed with a carbine and looked very business-like. He regarded Ned with no friendly air.
There was good reason for this, from the man's standpoint, anyway. He had been placed on guard duty there, and to be surprised after midnight by a stalwart youth who had sculled himself ashore in a small dinghy was a suspicious circumstance.
Who are you? Give an account of yourself, he said gruffly.
It's all right. I'm on business connected with the aero camp up above, said Ned glibly, making use of information he had gained through the crack in the bulkhead.
Humph! In the service?
Certainly. Aero squad.
How am I to know you are not one of those newspaper fellows. We've been pestered to death with them for the last week. Fine thing it would be if they got hold of the Blue fleet's secrets and printed them.
Oh, you needn't have any fear of me. I'm not connected with any paper.
No, now I come to look at you, you appear like one of Uncle Sam's boys. But where have you come from?
From that schooner out there.
Oh, the one we unloaded this evening?
That's the idea. My business is urgent.
I should judge so. Everybody's is right now. The Red fleet is reported moving up on New York. The aero squadron sails to-morrow. Maybe we won't give 'em a surprise, eh?
Ned gave an inward chuckle. This was just the information he was after.
Oh, that'll surprise 'em all right, shipmate, said he, and struck off up a trail that appeared to lead over the little point of land. He had to trust to luck for it being the right one, for he did not dare disclose his unfamiliarity with the camp by asking the sentry questions.
But the sentry suddenly halted him. Ned's heart sank. After all he had been discovered.
The next instant his worst fears were realized.
You'll have to give me the password, shipmate, declared the sentry.
Ned's heart sank into his boots. But suddenly he gave a glad exclamation, although not so loud as to attract the sentry's notice. While listening to the unloading of the cargo, he had heard the password given out by the petty officer in charge of the men.
For the moment he had forgotten it, but now it came suddenly back to him.
Aerolite! he said confidently.
Pass on, shipmate, you're all right, declared the sentry, and Ned, breathing freely once more, continued on his way.
It was a daring enterprise, this that he had undertaken of penetrating into the "enemy's" camp and discovering just the strength of their aero fleet, and the exact method of attack that they meant to pursue.
But Ned felt that it was up to him to "make good." His absence from his ship, he felt might be open to evil construction by his enemies. If he returned with the information, he hoped at least they could not say that whatever had been his ill luck, he had neglected his duty.
With this thought in mind, Ned kept on along the trail which wound in eccentric fashion through brush and tall grass.
I ought surely to be nearing the camp now, he thought at length as the trail, after doubling and twisting upon itself like a chased rabbit, brought him out at a point overlooking a little bay.
And there below him he saw that for which he was searching. Screened by trees, the tents lay in orderly rows,—big, high-walled canvas structures, housing, so Ned guessed, the aero fleet of the Blue squadron.
Some little distance out from the shore were the lights of vessels. After some straining of his eyes, Ned made the craft out to be a flotilla of destroyers. They lay there waiting for the dawn, it appeared, hidden from the prying eyes of the scribes of the metropolitan papers who would have given their eyes, almost, to know the facts which Ned was now learning.
He counted the tents. There were twenty of them, each housing a flying boat or a naval aeroplane. Truly a formidable fleet, and one which, swooping down upon the Reds unexpectedly, might "technically" blow up the whole squadron before action could be taken. But now Ned possessed knowledge which would be of incalculable value to his officers. He could not have felt more exultant had it been in actual war time.
Standing there, carefully concealed, he made voluminous mental notes. It was then, and not till then, that he suddenly realized what in the haste of his flight he had forgotten: He was penniless and in the "enemy's" country without means of rejoining his ship. His delight turned to ashes. Of what use was all the information he had acquired if he could not communicate it to the fleet.
Bother the luck, exclaimed Ned. "What on earth am I to do?"
It was truly a quandary. The camp was located in a lonely bit of country and it was without doubt a long walk to the nearest place of civilization.
Marooned, and all for the lack of a few dollars! groaned Ned. "If only I had some money along, I might easily get some fisherman to run me to the nearest town, and once there, I could get hold of a telegraph wire and send some despatches. But now——"
He stopped short. His gaze had lighted on something standing outside one of the tents. It did not take him long to make out what it was. The moonlight showed up its butterfly-like outlines to perfection.
Great hookey! muttered Ned, "a flying boat! If—if—I only dared, I'd——"
He paused irresolute a moment, and then, squaring his shoulders and thrusting out his chin with his old determined gesture, he strode off down the hill.
A daring plan had come into Ned's mind and with his characteristic energy he was proceeding to act upon it at once.
But it was a scheme so risky, so desperate, that sanguine as the Dreadnought Boy usually was, he had to admit that the chances were about five hundred to one against his putting it through successfully.
An hour had passed since Herc's despairing cry had reverberated through the gloomy cellar.
Since his vain appeal for help, the Dreadnought Boy had sat, sunk in a sort of lethargy, on the pile of sail. As the water grew higher, he had mechanically dragged the heap of canvas closer together, raising it and forming a sort of island above the rising inundation.
It was the instinct of life fighting against despair, for that he could ever escape from his prison Herc had long since deemed an impossibility.
He sat there in the darkness listening to the lapping of the water against the walls. His head was sunk in his hands and as the heavy minutes went by, from time to time he would feel the water to convince himself that it actually was rising.
The high water mark on the cellar walls told him how high the tide usually climbed. Long before it had reached that mark the water would be over his head.
It was true that Herc was a first-rate swimmer, strong of limb and sound of wind. But what would that avail him, except to prolong his misery?
Already in prospect he had tasted the bitterness of the last struggle against the incoming flood of waters, the battle that grew hourly less vigorous, and then the final chapter when, too exhausted to fight longer for his life, the slimy waters would engulf him.
He wondered dully if they would ever find him. It seemed hardly likely. Who would dream of looking for him in that place? Again and again he reproached himself bitterly for the mad folly that had led him into such a trap.
The fault was his. There was no one else to blame for it. Had he not acted so hastily on impulse, all might have been well with him. Too late he realized that he had accomplished no useful purpose by penetrating into the haunt of the spies. It would have been wisdom's part first to have notified the authorities and then made his attack on the place.
Well, I've been a chump and this is what I get for it, muttered the lad bitterly. "Good old Ned, I can't believe that he is really dead. I wonder if he'll ever learn how I ended my life in this wretched rat-hole of a place. It's a tough way to die. I wouldn't mind facing death in battle or in line of duty, but to die like this alone, in the dark, with the tide water waiting to drag me down——"
Herc pursued this line of thought no further. It bade fair to unman him. He felt a desperate desire to hurl himself against the walls, to shout, to scream, to do anything to avert his fate. But he knew that nothing short of a miracle could save him now.
He struck one of his few remaining matches. The water was up to his feet!
Herc gave a groan. It was fairly forced from him. As the match spluttered out, he knew that before very long he would feel the chilly grasp of the tide at his knees, then at his waist, and then as it rose inch by inch, it would engulf him to his neck.
Then would come the struggle for life, the hopeless battle against overwhelming odds, and then—the end.
Fairly driven wild by these reflections, the unfortunate lad shouted and raved till his voice grew hoarse. But there was no answer except the ripple of the water against the cement walls and the hollow echo of his shouts as they were flung back mockingly at him.
He felt a sharp shock as the water whelmed over his island of canvas. In a few minutes more it was at his waist.
Herc stood up erect and stepped off his little pile of canvas, now useless as an isle of safety. He kindled another match.
The yellow flame sputtered up and showed him the water all about him. It was knee deep and appeared to be coming in more rapidly. Over its surface was spread an oily scum from the damp floor.
Herc was glad when the match died out. He determined not to light any more, but to wait his end with as much courage as he could muster.
I'll fight it out like a man-o'-war's-man, anyhow, he muttered, "but it's tough—tough to have to go this way."
The water rose inch by inch as remorselessly as destiny itself. Herc stood in stoical silence and felt it creeping up his body till it had reached his chest.
Only a few moments more, now, and then—the end.
Herc found himself growing strangely calm. He wondered what they would think on the ship when he failed to return. If his messmates would miss him, if Ned was safe and sound and would ever learn how his shipmate had perished.
The water was up to his chin.
A slight movement on the lad's part and a tiny wavelet spattered against his mouth. He tasted the brackish water of the tide. Herc wished that it would end right then and there. He felt that it was hardly worth while even to swim. If he was to drown, he might as well not resist his fate, but meet it passively.
But the instinct of self-preservation prevails even among the most pusillanimous. It can turn a coward into a dangerous foe. Herc struck out as the water reached his mouth.
He swam easily about, hardly thinking. His mind felt dulled and bruised. He swam mechanically. He knew that the end was not far off now.
And now, in the hope that he might have overlooked some projection on the walls to which he might cling, he began feeling along them. But the cement was smooth as glass, slimy to the touch, and cold as ice.
Herc began to feel chilled. His limbs felt heavy. He no longer swam strongly about seeking, like a cornered rat, for some means of escape, but allowed himself to float or else tread water.
Bit by bit his efforts began to grow weaker. He felt that he could not keep up much longer, and somehow he did not much care.
It was just at that moment that something struck him a violent blow under the chin.
It was an old plank. Thrown into the cellar at some forgotten time, it was floating on the top of the water and had rocked against the lad at a critical moment.
Herc reached out and grasped it. Somehow the touch of it was almost as comforting to him as human companionship. Once more the tide of life, the desire to live, swelled through his veins. He was again a fighter.
Supporting himself on the plank, he began to think. By stretching out his hand he could touch the ceiling of the cellar.
Suddenly a thought flashed into his mind. If he could locate the trap-door, and it was not locked, he had a fighting chance for his life.
The thought acted on him like a stimulant. All his apathy forgotten now, Herc began feeling about the ceiling of the place. Far from wishing that the tide would recede, he was now afraid that it would do so before he had had time to locate the trap-door.
How he wished that he had a match! It was terribly tedious work feeling about that ceiling in the pitchy darkness. The planking above was rough, too, and Herc was by no means sure that he could distinguish the trap-door when he came to it.
But at last, after what seemed to be an eternity of fumbling, his fingers encountered what felt like the under end of some bolts.
He guessed that he had found the fastenings of the trap-door at last. Raising himself on his friendly plank, Herc exerted his strength and pushed upward.
Sosh! The effort sent him under water. But he didn't mind that. He was sure that the door had yielded a little.
The next time he tried, he braced himself on a supporting ceiling beam by one hand while he shoved upward with the other. He almost uttered a shout of joy as he did so.
The door moved!
He inserted his fingers in the crack, and then, using his head as a lever, he drew himself up till he could rest his chest on the flooring of the passage.
The rest was easy. Within five minutes, Herc, dripping wet and chilled to the bone, was standing in the passage—safe and sound. As he stood there, he did not forget to offer up a fervent prayer of thankfulness to Providence for his deliverance.
He made his way down the passage to the front shop. It was empty. As he had suspected, the conspirators, who had made it their headquarters, had decamped.
On the floor near the door, which had been left open, Herc spied a scrap of paper. He picked it up and saw that there was writing upon it. With some difficulty he deciphered the scrawl:
Yacht Halcyon. Erie Basin. Thence Panama.
Now what does that mean? said Herc to himself, scratching his head perplexedly. "I guess I'll keep this, anyhow; it may give the police a clew."
A few moments later the nattily dressed summer residents of the island were astonished at the spectacle of a red-headed youth in dripping garments hurrying down the main street, inquiring anxiously the direction of the police station.
When it was found, Herc had a story to tell that resulted in detectives being scattered broadcast through the island. But all efforts to locate the conspirators were unavailing.
They had had a good start and had made the most of it.
In the meantime, Herc made his way to a wireless station maintained on the island and secured communication with the gunboat. What he learned did not decrease his uneasiness on Ned's account.
The young skipper had not returned and an officer had been detailed from the fleet to command the craft. Herc was peremptorily ordered to report on board the Manhattan at once and give an account of himself.
It was the next morning. In Captain Dunham's cabin on the Manhattan, Herc had just concluded reciting his story to the commander and to no less a person than the Secretary of the Navy.
It had been a badly embarrassed boy who had at first faced the stern questioning of his commanding officer; but by degrees, as his story went on, Captain Dunham's manner relaxed. His stern air gave place to one of deep interest. And now, at the conclusion of Herc's narrative, he spoke:
I was at first inclined to very grave suspicions of you, Taylor, but your previous good record and your manner convince me that you are telling the truth, more particularly as the department has been aware for some time of the existence of a band of spies who had, in some way, secured the co?peration of renegades in our navy. We have been trying through the night to get some word of Strong; but we have failed. I'm afraid, my lad, that you must resign yourself to the inevitable. At any rate, Strong, so far as we know, died in the pursuit of his duty and lived up to the best traditions of the navy.
Then you believe that he is dead, sir? Herc blurted out, his freckles showing like scars against his pale cheeks.
There is no other conclusion to be reached, Taylor. His long absence from duty, and the lack of all word from him, convince me of the worst. Strong is not the sort of lad to remain out of touch, if he were in the land of the living. You may go now, and the Secretary and myself will talk over the details of rounding up this gang of miscreants. If they had anything to do with Strong's death, I will give you the satisfaction of taking part in the pursuit and apprehension of them.
The Secretary broke in.
That clew that Taylor has in the shape of that scrap of paper, I regard as valuable, Captain, he said. "I would recommend that inquiries be sent out concerning the yacht Halcyon. It is quite possible that the conspirators may be meaning to make good their escape on her. In that case, if we can trace her, she can be intercepted at sea and the men apprehended."
I shall see that it is done, Mr. Secretary. Taylor, you may carry on and—— Well, orderly?
Captain Dunham looked up inquiringly as his orderly entered the cabin in some haste, and, after saluting, stood respectfully at attention. But it was plain from the man's manner that he was laboring under some excitement.
The officer of the deck reports an airship coming this way, sir, said the orderly. "He told me to inform you at once, sir."
An airship!
Yes, sir, or else a flying boat. We can't quite make out yet, sir.
I will come on deck at once. Mr. Secretary, this may prove interesting. Possibly it is one of the Blue scouts; if so, I hope to bring the craft down, 'technically,' of course.
Herc saluted and hastened forward, while the captain and the Secretary of the Navy emerged on the deck. The Red fleet lay off Rock Island. They were awaiting word as to the movements of the "Blues" before steaming down the Sound to the attack.
So far, the wireless had been barren of news, and the movements of the defending squadron were surrounded with considerable mystery. The suspense had been wearing, and so every eye in the squadron, from Dreadnought, battleship, cruiser, destroyer, and torpedo boat, was centered on the strange aeroplane that was flying toward them.
Opinion was divided as to whether the distant flying machine was an aerial scout, or was a friendly craft bearing despatches from a portion of the squadron which had been sent around on the Atlantic side.
On came the flying craft, and as it neared the grim fleet that lay swinging with smoking funnels at anchor on the blue tide, it was seen to swerve downward like a swooping fish-hawk. For a mile or more it skimmed along the surface of the water and then struck it with a splash.
A flying boat! exclaimed Captain Dunham, who had the binoculars on it.
The craft drove straight on over the water at a rapid rate of speed. As it drew closer, Captain Dunham exclaimed in a voice that trembled with excitement, despite his efforts to control it:
Great Scott! That's one of our men!
A man attached to the Red fleet? asked the Secretary.
Yes, he is wig-wagging with his free arm. It's—it's—great Scott! It's Ned Strong, by all that's wonderful!
It was half an hour later, and Ned had told his story. It was a concise, crisp statement occupying no more time than was necessary, but embodying a wonderful amount of important information. When he came to relate how he had "appropriated" one of the Blue fleet's aeroplanes and had flown straight to the Manhattan in it, the enthusiasm of his hearers knew no bounds.
For the time being, interest in this phase of his adventures even overtopped the recovery of the book of plans and coast defences taken from Kenworth. The book was found to contain full details of fire-control systems, gun tests, and other naval data of the utmost importance.
By Neptune, lad, the United States Navy owes you a debt of gratitude it can hardly repay, exclaimed Captain Dunham, with shining eyes.
I shall see, however, that the service does what is in its power to recognize the signal ability you have displayed, Mr. Strong, remarked the Secretary.
Thank you, sir, responded Ned, with glowing cheeks, "but the knowledge that I have been of service to the Flag is in itself reward enough."
Hardly substantial, however, smiled the Secretary.
A few moments later Ned was dismissed and joined Herc. Their greeting was not an effusive one on the surface. Both had been trained in a school where men are taught to restrain and control their emotions. But in the hearty handclasp, and the few spoken words, each friend recognized the glad emotion that the other was feeling over their reunion.
Later in the day both lads were summoned to the captain's cabin.
Here is where we lose our commands, said Herc, with dismal foreboding.
He was right. Captain Dunham's first words apprised both boys that they were no longer officers.
You are relieved of the command of your gunboat, said the captain crisply; and then, as the boys' faces fell, despite all their efforts to maintain "stiff upper lips," he added, "to take charge of an expedition which will be explained to you."
The boys longed to exchange glances, but they stood stiffly at "eyes front." What could be coming now?
We have located the yacht Halcyon, said the Secretary briefly. "The secret service men have placed us in possession of facts which make it certain that Saki and the rest are on board her. She is to sail to-night."
Shall you not intercept her, sir? asked Ned, betrayed by his interest into a breach of naval etiquette.
Of course. That will be your duty.
Our duty, sir?
Yes. You are assigned, in virtue of your commissions, to the command of the Henry, second-class destroyer. You will intercept and place under arrest the men on board the Halcyon and bring the craft back to New York harbor.
When do we start, sir?
At once. The crew of the Henry have been notified. Steam is up and everything in readiness. You will, of course, keep in constant communication by wireless, using the code. When you overhaul the Halcyon, use no half-way measures. Arrest everyone on board, seize all documents and denounce the ship. In particular, apprehend the man calling himself Saki. He is in reality Captain Hasamira of the Japanese Navy and a most dangerous man.
He certainly proved so to these lads, smiled Captain Dunham. "Now be off with you, boys, and bring back the men you are going after. We shall rely on you."
Aye, aye, sir, said both Dreadnought Boys saluting, though their hearts were in such a wild tumult that they hardly knew what they were saying.
In the gray of the next morning the Henry, a squat, low craft of the destroyer type, with three fat funnels, lay tossing uneasily on the sweeping combers of the Atlantic some sixty-two miles south of Sandy Hook.
She had lain there most of the night, using her searchlight freely. But no craft answering to the description of the Halcyon had passed within her ken.
On the conning tower, Ned and Herc, for the twentieth time at least, went over the last wireless they had received from the Secret Service squad,—via the Manhattan.
"Cruise slowly about off Sandy Hook. Sixty-two miles to the south about. Halcyon should pass out in early morning. Is painted black, yellow deck houses, two masts, black stack amidships."
It isn't possible that she has slipped by us in the night, do you think? exclaimed Herc, gazing anxiously about at the rolling waste of gray water.
Not likely. That despatch came only an hour ago. If we remain here we are almost bound to intercept her.
And if she does slip past us?
Then I'll keep after her, if I have to crack on clear down to the South Pole, said Ned grimly. "I don't intend to let that gang slip through my fingers!"
I've got a few scores to settle myself, cried Herc. "When I think of that cellar——"
He gritted his teeth and clenched his freckled fists. It would have fared ill with any of the gang within reach of his hands at that moment.
Well, let's go below to breakfast, said Ned presently. "The watch will notify us of anything unusual."
Breakfast! scoffed Herc. "I suppose it will be the same as supper last night. Business of eating with one hand while you claw on to a stanchion with the other. Tell you what, Ned, these destroyers are too lively a type of craft for me."
They're just the type to overhaul those rascals we're after, and that's good enough for me, rejoined Ned. "I wouldn't care if I had to eat standing on my head just to get a chance at those fellows."
'Use no half-way measures,' said Herc musingly, repeating the Secretary's instructions. "I guess we won't, Ned, eh?"
Well, if they should happen to want trouble, they'll get all that they're looking for, laughed Ned, as they descended the pitching, swinging iron ladder that led to the cramped cabin of the Henry.
They had had hardly time to down some coffee and eat some bacon when there came a report from the bow watch.
Smoke to the north'ard, sir.
Breakfast was forgotten in a flash. Snatching up his binoculars, Ned sprang for the iron ladder. Herc was right at his heels.
On the northern horizon lay a smudge of black smoke. For some moments it was hard to make out whether it was receding or coming toward them. But presently Ned, with a cry of delight, announced that the stranger was coming due south.
Not long after, the strange craft swam into the field of vision of the binoculars. Herc happened to be holding them on her at that moment. He gave an exclamation of disgust.
It's a yacht, all right, but not the right one.
How do you know?
That description. I've got it by heart. Two masts, black funnel. This fellow's got three masts and a yellow stack.
Let me have a look at her.
Go ahead if you want to; you won't see any more than I've been telling you.
Well? inquired Herc, after a somewhat long interval. The yacht had come closer now. She was being driven hard as they could see by the constant cloud of black smoke that came rolling out of her funnel. The crew of the destroyer, who in some mysterious way had some inkling of the mission of the Henry, watched the oncoming yacht with as much interest as their young officers.
Well, what do you make of her? demanded Herc, repeating his question.
Hold on a minute! I'm studying her.
Studying her! There's not much to study over. It's the wrong craft; anyone could see that with half an eye.
I'm not so sure of that. She's a funny looking tub. Do you notice anything odd about her, Herc?
Not I; except that she isn't the craft we are looking for, confound her.
Well, there is something queer about her. Notice that after mast. It doesn't appear to fit, somehow, and that stern looks funny, too.
Jove! now that you speak of it, it does look queer. Say, Ned, you don't think they could have disguised her, do you?
I don't know. I've heard of such things. I don't want to make any blunder, and yet that vessel looks to me as if she had been thimble-rigged in some sort of way.
Midshipman Fuller, junior officer to the Dreadnought Boys, came on the bridge. Ned turned to him.
Mr. Fuller, what do you make of that yacht yonder? asked Ned.
She's a queer looking craft, sir. Looks awkward by the stern, said the midshipman.
Just what I think. Mr. Fuller, you will take the bridge.
You are going to board her? demanded Herc.
Yes, there's something wrong about her. I wouldn't dare to take a chance and let her get by.
Bully for you, said Herc under his breath.
Mr. Fuller, please have the boarding launch lowered with the regular crew. The bow gun may be uncovered and when I give you the order, you may fire a shot across that craft's bow. First, however, I'll signal her to heave to.
The boarding launch referred to was a small power launch carried amidships on the destroyer. The sea was rather rough for such a small craft, but she was staunch, and Ned had no fear but that she would ride the combers without difficulty.
In obedience to his command, a string of brightly colored bunting presently crawled up the destroyer's military mast.
It was the signal to "heave to."
But the strange yacht showed no inclination to obey. She kept right on plowing through the big seas with a crest of foam at her bow.
You may fire, Mr. Fuller.
Ned's voice was perfectly calm; but Herc could hardly keep still. The bow rapid-fire gun had been stripped of its waterproof cover and its crew was "standing by." The order to fire came crisply.
Let her have it across the bows!
Bang! The gun barked out viciously. They could see the shot go ricocheting off over the waves.
But the stranger kept serenely on.
Give it to her again, ordered Ned.
Bang! Once more a shot whizzed across the recalcitrant stranger's prow. It struck the water not more than twenty-five feet ahead of her.
Concern 'em, that ought to stop 'em, growled Herc.
But it didn't. More smoke rolled out of the yacht's stack. Her speed was increased, if anything.
I'm certain now that we're on the right track, grated out Ned; "no honest craft would ignore a signal like that."
Then a moment later he turned to Herc.
Mr. Taylor, go below and sight that gun yourself. Let her have it across the fore-deck. I'll make them heave to if I have to blow a hole in them.
Herc was nothing loath. Repressing a grin in virtue of the dignity of his office, he took charge of the gun. He pointed it carefully and as the destroyer rose on the crest of a wave, Ned gave the command.
Fire!
Bang!
The next instant an exultant cheer broke from the excited Jackies. The foremast of the stranger toppled, and then in a tangled wreck, came smashing down to the deck.
Bull's eye! remarked Herc coolly, flicking a powder stain off his gloves.
Stopped her, sir! exclaimed Midshipman Fuller an instant later.
He was right. The last "hint" had been too strong to ignore. The stranger slackened speed and lay sullenly tossing on the sea.
Mr. Fuller, sir, take the bridge, ordered Ned, as he and Herc hastened to board the little power launch that lay tossing alongside, held off from crashing against the steel sides of the Henry by the stalwart arms of its crew.
Tossing like an eggshell, hurled dizzily skyward and then plunged downward, the dory-shaped power boat rapidly skimmed the distance between the destroyer and the yacht. Ned had ordered "side-arms," and the crew of six was fully armed.
Yacht, ahoy! hailed Ned as they drew near and a uniformed figure appeared on the yacht's bridge. "What craft is that?"
The Spendthrift of New London for New Orleans, came the reply. "What's the matter with you navy fellows?"
You'll soon find out, said Ned grimly. "Lay alongside, men. Be prepared for a surprise."
An accommodation ladder had been lowered by order of the man on the bridge, a stout, bearded individual. Ned was just preparing to climb it, when there came a warning shout from Herc. The red-headed lad pulled his chum back just in time to dodge a heavy iron weight which some unseen hand had hurled from above.
The weight fell harmlessly into the water.
It was a Jap threw that; I saw him sneaking along the deck, cried one of the men.
Hurrah! We've got the right craft, then! cried Herc.
What is the matter, gentlemen? demanded the man on the bridge. He appeared much agitated.
The matter is that you will consider yourself under arrest, cried Ned. "Remain where you are and order your crew forward."
You take things with a high hand. Who do you think we are?
I don't know anything about you; but I know that this craft is the Halcyon with a faked stern, a false mizzen-mast and a repainted funnel, retorted Ned angrily. "I shall hold you responsible for the behavior of your crew."
The bearded man appeared to be about to collapse. In a feeble voice they heard him order his crew forward.
I call you to witness that this is a chartered yacht, he cried, "and that I'm obeying your orders. I don't want to get into trouble with Uncle Sam."
I guess you're in pretty bad, muttered Herc grimly.
Without further opposition they boarded the yacht, which there was no longer reason to doubt was the Halcyon.
As they gained the deck, some figures darted along it and vanished.
Headed by Ned and Herc, three of the men dashed after them. The rest were left to guard the deck.
That was Kenworth and Saki, gasped Herc as they rushed down the companionway stairs and into the main saloon of the yacht.
Ned nodded grimly.
We've rounded them up at last, he said drawing his revolver and ordering Herc to do the same.
Slam!
Just as they gained the saloon, the door of a stateroom opening from it was banged to. An instant later came the click of a bolt as it was shot.
Open that door, Kenworth, cried Ned with perfect coolness. "You're at the end of your rope."
Crack!
Ned dodged just in time to avoid a bullet fired through the panel of the door. Desperate, with nothing to hope for but a federal prison, Kenworth was fighting like a cornered rat.
But Ned's voice did not shake, in spite of the narrowness of his escape, as he addressed the wretched man within the stateroom.
Kenworth, it is useless to resist. Be sensible and give yourself up. You are bound to be taken, and to try to stave it off makes it all the worse.
Bang! Another bullet was the only answer vouchsafed. The missile fanned Herc's ear and buried itself in the moulding of the saloon wall.
I'll stand no more nonsense! cried Ned sternly. "Are you going to surrender?"
Never. I'll die before I'll rot in a federal prison, cried Kenworth wildly.
Ned turned to Herc.
We've got to force the door, he said in a low voice.
But, Ned, the man is half insane. Why not shoot him down from outside here?
As if I'd do a thing like that! Come on!
Right then the Jackies standing behind the two young officers beheld an exhibition of pure nerve that they had never seen excelled. Ned raised his revolver and fired through the top of the stateroom door where his bullet would be certain to hurt no one. As he expected, it drew Kenworth's fire.
Bang-Bang-Bang! came three shots. Ned knew that the cylinder of the crazed midshipman's revolver must be empty.
Now! he shouted. "Stand by, men!"
Rip-p-p-p! Cr-ash-h-h-h! The door was carried clean off its hinges as Ned and Herc rushed it. As it fell, the interior of the stateroom, reeking with blue powder smoke, was revealed. Huddled on the bunk in postures of abject terror were Saki and the spectacled Jap who had caused Herc so much trouble.
Rip-p-p-p! Cr-ash-h-h-h! The door was carried off its hinges as Ned and Herc rushed in.—Page 296
In the center of the room stood Kenworth. His eyes blazed with a wild fire and he flourished an empty revolver, while he yelled incoherently.
At the sight of Ned and Herc, the half insane man uttered a piercing cry.
I thought you were both dead! he cried. "But you have risen from the grave to confront me!"
He slipped another cartridge into his revolver, and Ned leaped forward just in time to dash the weapon from the wretched renegade's hand. He had turned the pistol on himself.
Within half an hour, Kenworth, by that time a raging maniac, had been secured, and the two Japs in sullen silence had been escorted with the renegade midshipman on board the Henry. A search of the Halcyon revealed several men among the crew whom Herc recalled having seen in the plotters' headquarters at Civic Island. Many papers and documents which there was not time to examine just then were also recovered.
Ned placed three men in charge of the Halcyon with orders to make her captain follow him into New York harbor. Then he wirelessed news of his success to the Manhattan and received a warm reply of congratulation that made his blood glow and his eyes shine. Herc, too, came in for a share of commendation. With the congratulations, came orders to proceed to the Brooklyn Navy Yard and see that Kenworth was placed in a hospital, for he was no longer responsible.
It was two days later. The Dreadnought Boys stood facing the Secretary of the Navy in the office of the commander of the Brooklyn Navy Yard. What was to come, they did not know. They had not yet been relieved of their command of the Henry, and they feared that the summons to present themselves to the Secretary was for that purpose.
Well, gentlemen, said the Secretary, looking approvingly at the two spruce, smart, young officers, "I suppose that you have no wish to take off those uniforms?"
Naturally not, sir, returned Ned, for Herc was too embarrassed to speak. "It is the finest uniform in the world and no one would willingly doff it."
Just what I think, Strong, said the Secretary, "and I'm going to see to it that you do not change these uniforms except for those of a higher rank in the service."
Ned's eyes grew dim. The room swam before him. He could hardly believe his ears. But the Secretary continued,
As I said the other day, both you young men have shown ability of no common order, native qualities that cannot be inducted by Naval Academies or colleges. I have therefore made arrangements to have your present appointments made permanent, and you will, hereafter, by special act, assume them with their rank, pay and dignity until you are ready for the next step upward; and I promise you that I shall keep my eye upon you.
Mr. Secretary, I—we—that is—we don't know what to say, except to thank you and assure you that it is the proudest moment of our lives, stammered Ned hoarsely in a voice that sounded to him faint and far away. As for Herc, he stood like one stunned, his freckles coming and going on his alternately ruddy and pale cheeks like pictures in a kaleidoscope.
To relieve the situation, the Secretary changed the subject.
After the maneuvers, you will be granted a furlough of one month. For the present, you will retain command of the Henry and will rejoin the Red fleet with all speed. By the way, I may tell you that Kenworth can never recover his reason. His mind is a total wreck. I suppose it is charitable to attribute his treachery to his weakened intellect. As for the Japanese spies, the government can only quietly see to it that they are escorted out of the country never to return. I understand that in Japan the life of a detected spy is not a happy one, so that they will meet their punishment even if the government of this country cannot inflict a penalty upon them. Against Rankin, of whose actions on the Seneca we know, we have proved nothing; but he will be watched.
And here, with the glory of their new honors upon them, we must say "Good-by" once more to the Dreadnought Boys. The events just chronicled are so recent that it may be some time before we can set down their further adventures. The lads have been accepted most cordially by their brother officers and are loved and respected by their men.
Success has not turned their heads and as officers they are proving the same modest, self-respecting lads as ever. The Secretary and their immediate superiors are keeping their eyes on the two young officers, and ere long they will doubtless have further chances to distinguish themselves.
But whether they are assigned to routine duty or to exciting, adventurous cruises, the Dreadnought Boys will always devote themselves, heart and soul, to the defence of one standard—the Flag of their country.
The End