The Amtonia had stopped her engines and now lay broadside on to the gentle groundswell. Bill landed to leeward of the great ship, and taxied the amphibian upwind to a point off her leeward quarter. Then he shut off his motor and when the plane’s momentum carried her to within a few yards of the hull, towering high above the little aircraft, he ordered Charlie to fling out the sea anchor. Their drift, of course, was to leeward, so the manoeuver brought them nose on to the ship’s side, directly below the long arm of the hoist.
In order that seaplanes may be taken aboard ships, flying boats are provided with slings. Bill’s craft being an amphibian, was equipped with retractible landing gear, operated electrically from the cockpits. But inasmuch as the Amtonia boasted no deck upon which an airplane might land, the hoist was the only means available.
A heaving line was cast to the amphibian as soon as her propeller stopped, and made secure while Bill and Charlie worked like beavers to secure the wing lines. That accomplished, the lads broke out the sling, and after considerable trouble, passed it completely around the hull of their craft, using spreaders to prevent crushing during the hoist aboard.
While they were working on these details, the hoisting hook was let down to them and presently the sling was made fast to it.
“Gee whiz! Look at the gallery now!” cried Charlie, staring up at the line of faces along the deck rails of the steamer. “Say! there’s Dad—and Mother! And there’s Uncle Arthur! See them up there, next to the top deck! They’re waving to us! Hi, Dad! Hello, Mother! Hello, Uncle Arthur!”
“Swell,” was Bill’s preoccupied comment. “I’m glad you’ve found your people, kid. But get into the rear cockpit now, and pipe down a bit, please. This is a ticklish job and unless you keep quiet so I can do a bit of talking to those guys on the ship, it’s likely to turn into a first class accident instead of a reunion.”
Charlie, only slightly abashed, subsided in his seat, but he kept on waving frantically to his parents.
Then a chief petty officer, who stood by the rail just below the arm of the hoist, raised a megaphone to his lips.
“Avast below!” he roared, showing a strong foreign accent. “Is that sling secure, sir?”
“All secure!” called back Bill. “But be sure your men keep the slack out of our wing lines when you hoist us. I don’t want the plane to start swinging.”
“Aye, aye, sir. Are you quite ready, sir?”
“All ready.”
“Stand by to be hoisted, sir.”
The officer raised a hand. There came a creaking of the sling as the hoist hook caught up the slack, then very slowly the plane rose out of the water on her upward journey.
“Sit down and keep perfectly quiet, Charlie,” ordered Bill. “If we start the plane see-sawing, there’ll be the dickens and all to pay.”
Charlie did as he was told. “Don’t worry about me, skipper,” he answered in a somewhat aggrieved tone. “It’s not me that’s raising all the row now.”
The passengers, or possibly they might better be termed prisoners on board the liner, were waving handkerchiefs and calling greetings to the boys. Any break in the monotony of ship life is always made the most of, and Bill surmised that many of these people had been held on board the liner for weeks.
The plane in its sling went slowly upward, watched by the enthusiastic gallery on the promenade deck. The hoist was situated far forward and as the amphibian topped the bulwarks, it was swung aboard and deposited on deck beside an open hatch. No more had she been landed and braced than Charlie jumped out and raced off to seek his parents.
Bill, in the meantime, had his hands full. It was explained to him that inasmuch as the Amtonia was not equipped for the carrying of aircraft, the plane must be dissembled in order to permit its being stowed away in the hold. A number of men were told off to assist him and for the next couple of hours, he was busily engaged directing the work. Wing sections were removed first and lowered through the hatchway. The tail plane came next, and at the same time, the propeller was taken from the engine. Last of all, lines were riven about the hull and made fast to heavy fittings on the plane, such as engine bearers. Then the denuded hull was hoisted from the deck and lowered nose first into the hold. Even then Bill’s work was not completed, for it was necessary, of course, to secure everything below against possible damage from the rolling or pitching of the ship.
Sandwiches and coffee were served to him by a steward, while he was still on deck. He had sent his excuses when the captain had asked him to lunch, as he felt it imperative that he stay with the men on the job.
It was three-thirty before the work was finished to his satisfaction, and with a petty officer as guide, he located the Baron in his cabin. The Amtonia had got under way again several hours earlier. Upon coming topside, he saw that the ship was steaming into the north-east. Close in their wake, the Flying Fish, once more a submarine, ploughed the smooth surface of the ocean.
When Bill entered the captain’s cabin, he found the Baron seated at his desk, reading a paper which had just been handed him by the wireless operator.
“Stand by for a few minutes, Mr. Bolton,” he said, putting the note aside. “Take a seat on the couch. I have need of you again.”
Bill sat down while Baron von Hiemskirk went on talking to the operator.
“Do your best to find out what other craft are in the vicinity and report to me on the bridge as soon as possible.” He said this in German which Bill understood but did not speak well.
“Aye, aye, sir,” returned the man, saluted and departed.
The Baron stood up, picked up his cap and turned to Bill who also rose.
“All secure with the plane below?”
“All secure, sir.”
“Good. Come along then.”
Together they passed through the thwartship passage and out on deck. They reached the top deck of the superstructure by a steep stair and went forward. From this deck another stair led to the bridge, where a sailor with rifle and sidearms stood sentry. The man brought his gun to “present” and both the Baron and Bill punctiliously returned the salute. Long before this Bill had come to realize that strict naval discipline was enforced to the letter aboard this pirate ship.
Once they were on the bridge an officer came forward and saluted.
The Baron said stiffly: “Commander Geibel—Mr. Bolton—in charge of flight operations.”
The Commander and Bill shook hands.
“Has the lookout reported anything during the past quarter of an hour?” inquired the Baron.
“Not a thing, sir.”
Commander Geibel and the others instinctively glanced toward the foremast where about halfway to the top was located the ship’s first lookout station. This station, Bill was to learn, always held an officer and his assistant. Still higher up the mast in the crow’s nest, a sharp-eyed seaman, especially trained to this service, kept a vigilant scrutiny on the horizon. When the man in the crow’s nest discerned smoke or haze which seemed to indicate a ship, he called to the men in the lookout below. Instantly all glasses would be trained in the direction he gave them, and the bridge would make ready to act upon the result of their discovery.
The Baron turned to Commander Geibel again. “We have just received a wireless that the French liner Orleans is about sixty miles to the northward, steaming east. She carries the mails, you know, and a capacity load of first class passengers. I think she will be worth detaining.”
“Decidedly so, sir.”
“Make ready to stop the ship, if you please. Also signal the Flying Fish to prepare for a flight. While I am away, you will be in supreme command, as usual.”
“Very good, Herr Baron. Any further orders?”
“No. You will maintain the usual routine. Good afternoon, Herr Commander.”
“May I wish the Herr Baron his usual success and a pleasant trip?”
“Thank you, Herr Geibel.” The two shook hands. “Auf wiedersehn!”
“Auf wiedersehn, Herr Baron! Auf wiedersehn, Herr Bolton.”
“Auf wiedersehn, Commander.”
They saluted. Commander Geibel stepped to the engine room telegraph and the Baron with Bill at his heels left the bridge.
“Come to my cabin. I want to say a few words to you.”
Bill knew that Commander Geibel had given the order “All engines ahead one-third.” So he was not surprised by the time they entered the Captain’s cabin to find that the vibration from the ship’s propellers had ceased.
“You understand, Mr. Bolton,” the Baron said, “that we are about to capture a trans-Atlantic liner?”
“I understand that such is your purpose, sir.”
“You are ready to obey orders—to pilot the Flying Fish as we agreed?”
Bill was silent for a moment. “And if I refuse?” he asked at last.
“Then it will be my painful duty to place both you and Chief Osceola in the brig and keep you there until we make port.”
“Where is Osceola now?”
“He is still aboard the Flying Fish. He is to act as your assistant. You see, my dear fellow,” the Baron went on, his manner changing from curtness to affability. “As a midshipman in the United States Navy, you are too dangerous a person to allow you to mix freely with the other passengers of this ship, unless—shall I put it frankly?—unless I have a hold of some kind over you. Those people, wealthy men and women, or they should not be here, are nevertheless but a flock of sheep. You and the Chief proved in Florida that you were made of different stuff. Aboard the Merrymaid, I gave you my reasons for the offer. What is your final answer, now that you have had time to think it over?”
Bill hesitated no longer. “I will fly the plane as agreed,” he said. “But there, my duty to you and your organization ends.”
“That satisfies me. I am glad to take your word as an officer and a gentleman on this matter.” He rose from his chair and beamed at Bill. “My organization is perfect, Mr. Bolton—perfect. You will have no chance to escape—there is no where to escape to—but if you and your friend should wish to try—you have my permission to do so!”
Bill smiled, and said nothing.
“Time to shove off now,” continued the Baron bruskly. “The boat will be waiting for us.”
They went overside by means of a ship’s ladder and were rowed over to the Flying Fish. Her airplane engines were making their appearance topside by the time they stepped aboard. For a few minutes Bill watched them rise one by one, and slide on grooved tracks into place. At the same time, he noticed that the decking just forward of the central motor was moving upward to reveal itself as the roof of a glass-sided structure about two feet high.
“What’s under that?” he asked the Baron, “the pilot’s cockpit?”
“Just so. Come below and we’ll inspect it.”
Baron von Hiemskirk roared with laughter. “Splendid, Captain—splendid! To use an American expression, Herr Captain—we pirates are not always as dumb as we may look. I know all about that warship. It will take her five hours, fast steaming, to reach this ship.”
He turned his back contemptuously on the furious skipper and walked to the rail. A glance overside told him that the launch, crowded to the gunwales with more men from the Flying Fish was nosing the landing stage below. He again approached the choleric officer.
“I now take over this ship. Order your crew to the forecastle and your officers to their cabins. You and I, my friend, will repair to your quarters. I want to look over your ship’s papers.”
By this time the second boarding party reached the deck, and commands snapped from the Baron like reports from a machine gun.
Accompanied by an armed seaman from the Flying Fish, Bill and Osceola followed the chief commissary steward below. The man had been told off for the duty by the Baron, with a promise that if there were any complaints upon their return, he would be shot. On second thought, he had expanded Bill’s orders.
“You will attend to the oil and gas,” he said, “and in addition, you will commandeer all stores leaving two days’ crews’ rations for the passengers. Break out what men you need and get the supplies to this deck on the port side. And just as quickly as possible, Mr. Bolton.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Arrived at the chief steward’s office, he was amazed to learn from the man’s lists the vast amount of eatables carried by the liner.
“Gosh, there’s everything here from caviar to oatmeal!”
“Well, orders are orders,” said Osceola. “While you’re deciding what to take and what to leave, I’ll get hold of the crew and meet you below in the storerooms.”
“Right-o! I’ll be with you in a jiffy. I hate to have to do this, but if we don’t make a clean job of it, you and I will finish out this cruise in the well-known brig!”
For the next few hours, both lads worked like beavers superintending the transportation of supplies. Leaving Osceola in charge below, Bill went up to the deck where the boxes, barrels and crates from the storerooms were being stacked by members of the captured liner’s crew. The Flying Fish, now transformed into her guise of submarine, came along side, a hoist was brought into use and the provisions lowered to her.
It soon became evident that the underseas boat’s cargo capacity would take but a fraction of the plunder, so Bill ordered the Orleans’ lifeboats to be lowered. One by one, these were loaded. The first boat to receive its quota of goods was secured to the Flying Fish by a tow-line, and the bow of each succeeding lifeboat made fast by a line to the stern of the one ahead. When the last load of crates was being lowered overside, Bill found Osceola at his elbow.
“That tears it, I reckon. Good plan that—using the boats. I wondered how you were going to load all that stuff in the Flying Fish.”
“I hated to do it,” admitted his friend, “but now that the Orleans is practically without provisions, she will have to return to New York, and she can make port in less than twenty-four hours. With this fine weather, there’s little or no danger of the passengers needing the boats.”
“What are we to do now?” asked Osceola.
“Report to Herr Baron, I reckon.”
Bill hailed one of the submarine’s petty officers who was herding the crew back to their quarters.
“Do you know where we’ll find Baron von Hiemskirk?”
“He is in the main dining salon, sir.”
“Come along, Osceola,” said Bill. “He must be pretty nearly finished with his own particular job. I hope so, anyway. If that cruiser shows up and we’re caught—well, it will take a lot of explaining to justify our part in this. The chances are, I’d be handed my discharge from the Navy, if nothing worse.”
Osceola nodded gloomily and the two made their way along an almost empty deck to the main companionway.
“I wonder where the passengers have disappeared to,” mused the young Seminole, as they descended the broad staircase.
“They’ve probably been sent to their cabins for the time being. If my guess is a good one, the big boy is at present engaged in robbing the entire first class of their valuables.”
“It’s certainly a bad bit of work, Bill.”
“Gee, I know it. But some day we may be able to get even with this polite pirate. Just now all we can do is to smile and take orders.”
They found the Baron seated at the head of the captain’s table. An angry gentleman, his wife and two pretty daughters, under guard of a seaman, stood before him.
“Mr. Rodney Conway and family, of New York.” The Baron glanced at a list he held. “I am glad to say that this little interview will conclude my business aboard the Orleans.”
“Look here!” cut in the passenger. “This whole thing is preposterous! Why, your men have ransacked our cabins and stolen nearly everything of value we have with us. If, as you seem to be, you are German citizens, I shall certainly make a complaint in person to the German ambassador, when this ship lands us in England!”
The Baron von Hiemskirk smiled, but the smile was not a pleasant one. “I do not recognize the present German government,” he said sneeringly, “and it also may interest you to know that they are quite as keen to apprehend me and put a stop to my business ventures as you are. Furthermore, Mr. Conway, you and your family are not going to England—not by this ship.”
Mr. Conway started visibly. Then he drew himself up: “I do not care for myself—but I must beg of you to spare my wife and daughters—”
The Baron put up a restraining hand. “There is no cause for alarm, Mr. Conway. Unless, of course, you prove to be unreasonable. Who’s Who tells me that you are president of the Western Hemisphere Bank in New York City, and that you are on the board of directors of other important financial institutions. Now, there will be a small matter of ransom to go into before we part company. At present, time presses. You and your family will go for a cruise with me—an agreeable one, I trust—until this business of ransom can be attended to. You will go on deck with this seaman now. Your cabin baggage has already left the ship. That will be all, I think.” He stood up in dismissal, and bowed.
“Good afternoon,” he beamed, “and bon voyage!”
The Conway family, under guard, left the salon. Baron von Hiemskirk beckoned to Bill and Osceola who had been silent witnesses of this charming scene.
“I have to report, sir,” said Bill at once, “that the supplies have been placed aboard the Flying Fish and the lifeboats. They are now ready for transport to the Amtonia.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bolton, and you, too, Chief. I was certain that I could trust you with the job. That was a good idea to use the lifeboats. If a heavy sea had been running the greater part of the stuff must have been left behind.”
“I should think,” said Osceola, “that you would have brought up the Amtonia and placed the stuff aboard her direct.”
The Baron smiled goodhumoredly. “Mr. Bolton can you tell him my reason for not doing so? I am not really a blood-thirsty person by nature, Chief.”
“Baron von Hiemskirk does not wish vessels like the Orleans to know that the Amtonia is in his service, Osceola.”
“But what has bloodthirstiness got to do with it, if I may ask?”
Bill answered this too. “I suppose the Baron feels it would be necessary to sink such vessels whose crews or passengers guess his secret. Am I right, Sir?”
“Quite, Mr. Bolton. That warship, for instance, will arrive here in an hour or so. All that she can learn from those left aboard this ship is that the Flying Fish and the Orleans boats have departed in such and such a direction—which, of course, will not be the one they will eventually take.”
“But won’t they wireless that news to the Stamford just as soon as we leave the ship?” inquired the Chief.
“Nobody,” replied the Baron gently, “will use the wireless after we leave, for the simple reason that this ship’s wireless will not be in working order. Now we will go on deck.”
He led the way up the staircase without speaking further. At the entrance to the companionway, they were met by one of the Baron’s men.
“Beg to report, sir, that all decks have been cleared. Passengers and crew are locked in their cabins. The fires have been drawn and the wireless has been put out of commission.”
“Good. We shall shove off at once.”
The officer preceded them toward the gangway where a squad of armed seamen were drawn up.
“By Jove!” cried Osceola. “What’s become of the Flying Fish? She’s disappeared. Surely she can’t have submerged and carried the boats down with her.”
“No such luck,” muttered Bill sotto voce. “There she is, with her blooming boats in tow, off to the westward. She probably got underway about the time we went below. What’s the matter, Osceola? You seem to be in the dumps.”
“Well, I hate this work we’ve been doing, that’s all, Bill. Unless we can act pretty soon—do something to stop this robbing of innocent people, I’ll be so low, I’ll have to reach up to touch bottom!”
“Gosh, I’m with you. I could hardly keep quiet when that interview with the Conways took place. But tonight, we’ll talk. Keep smiling now—here we are at the gangway. Gee, we’re swiping the Orleans launch! I wondered how we were going to get back to the Amtonia.”
“These guys,” said Osceola disgustedly, “snatch everything that’s loose. What’s nailed down they pull up and charge the owners for the nails!”
Following the Baron, who was conversing with an officer, they went down the steps of the gangway, and took seats in the waiting launch.
While they had been talking, Bill saw the conning tower lower itself until it stood not more than a foot above the deck aft of the huge wings.
“This certainly is the most remarkable ship I’ve ever seen, or ever hope to see,” he exclaimed as they descended into the hull through the conning tower hatch.
“I designed most of these gadgets before the close of the last war,” replied the Baron in his usual pompous manner. “The armistice interrupted my experiments and as there was no government that amounted to anything in my country then, I kept the results of my work for myself. Some little time ago, speculation in your American stocks gave me sufficient capital to build that ship with added improvements. Now I am cashing in on her.”
The Diesel engines were drawing air from an intake valve just under the small bridge as they dropped into the control room where Bill and the Baron studied the charts for a while, and he was given the course he was to fly. They passed through the battery room where the walls were lined with the crews’ bunks and into the pilot’s glassed-in cockpit.
“Hello!” Osceola beamed at them from one of the pilot’s seats. “It’s sure good to see you again, Bill, old boy. How do you do, Baron?”
The Baron was annoyed.
“It is customary aboard my ships for a superior officer to receive a salute when spoken to. And the salute should be rendered standing.”
Osceola smiled, stood up, clicked his heels together and brought the fingers of his right hand smartly to the edge of the soft helmet he wore.
“Thank you.” The Baron punctiliously returned the salute. “Good afternoon, Chief.”
Then he turned his back on the young Seminole and spoke again to Bill.
“When the buzzer rings in here, Mr. Bolton, you will start idling your engines and take off as soon as possible immediately afterward. You know your course and you have instructions with regard to landing. Further orders will be sent to you should I consider them necessary.”
“I understand, sir,” said Bill.
Both young fellows saluted. The Baron returned their salutes and left the cockpit, sliding the door to behind him.
“Gosh!” exploded Osceola. “That lad gives me the jim-jams with his confounded bowing and saluting. I’ll turn into a Prussian Yunker myself if we don’t get out of this soon!”
“Reckon you weren’t cut out for a Naval man,” laughed Bill, “I admit I’ve had my fill of that stuff at the Academy, but the Herr Baron certainly goes the whole hog. Let’s see what kind of a crate I’ve got to run,” he mused—“ten motors—dual control—aeromarine inertia starter!”
He studied the layout thoughtfully and glanced at the instrument board. Then he turned to Osceola again.
“Thank heaven, they’ve fitted this bus with the wheel and column type of control. The clever bird has stolen some of the Fokker features. That worm gear, operated by a crank and shaft from the pilot’s seat to adjust the stabilizer in flight proves it.”
“Maybe,” grinned his friend. “That’s all Greek to me. The joke of it is that these bozos think I understand—that I’m an aviator like you!”
“Well, I’ve given you some pointers, haven’t I? You ought to recognize a few of these gadgets.”
The Chief snorted. “Few is right. Your amphibian is one thing—but this bus is fitted out like the engine room of an ocean liner!”
Bill laughed and picked up a soft helmet.
“Ever been in one?”
“An engine room?”
“Yes.”
“Not yet—and I hope never.”
“I thought so. Well, Mr. Assistant Pilot, get into your seat and look pretty. I’ll do the work. Confound, there goes the buzzer!”
He slipped into his seat and his hand sought the inertia starter. With her multiple engines roaring in deafening crescendo, the Flying Fish leapt through the water and was jerked onto her step, quite as easily as the smallest seaplane. A few seconds later she was in the air, nosing upward into the ether.
Bill ran her up to thirty-five hundred feet, leveled off, did a sharp bank to port, then straightened out once more and spoke to Osceola.
“Some bus! Runs like a ladies’ wristwatch.”
“Aren’t you keeping pretty low?”
“There’s no sense climbing higher. The skipper wants to get there in a hurry.”
“Er—you know this is rank piracy?”
“I do, Osceola. But it’s a long chance—and a darned sight better for our plans than being cooped up in the brig. If I wasn’t driving this plane, the Baron would be. Friend von Hiemskirk is so sure of himself he says that we have his permission to escape—if we can. I’d like to give him a run, you know.”
“Yes, nice of him, isn’t it? Still, we got away from the Shell Island gang, didn’t we?”
“Sure did—and put those guys in a place where they belong.”
“Well, I’m entirely willing to try it with this bunch—but between you and me, I’m almost inclined to agree with the Baron—I don’t think we’ve the ghost of a show.”
“Maybe not. But we’ll make a good stab at it, just the same. First of all, we’ve got to know how they work their game. That’s the principal reason why I took over this job. It’s not only escape I’m after, but it’s busting up this organized piracy, as well.”
“Ambitious, aren’t you?”
“Well—hello! there’s smoke on the horizon!”
“Oh, yes, I see it. Dead ahead. Think she’s the ship we want?”
“Hope so. We’re following the course. Herr Pomposo plotted it himself, so he can’t strafe us if it isn’t.”
Osceola clapped a pair of glasses to his eyes and studied the distant smudge of black that was curling up a blue horizon.
“Three funnels. Looks like a pretty big ship—and she sure is moving along.”
“The Orleans is a three-stacker. Also, she’s plenty big and fast. Push that button on the instrument board marked ‘C.R.’, will you?”
Osceola complied. “What’s C.R. mean?”
“Control room. I want to let his high-mightiness know we’ve sighted his prey.”
“This,” said Osceola, “begins to get exciting.”
“It will,” said Bill, “get a good deal more exciting than we bargained for unless you pipe down, old man. There’s some ticklish business ahead of us and I can’t afford to crack it. Now—get these instructions, and get ’em right. That handle yonder works the bomb release. When I say the word, take hold of it—but don’t pull until I tell you to.”
“But—Bill!” protested the Seminole. “You surely aren’t taking orders from von Hiemskirk or anyone else to bomb that liner!”
“Not if I know it,” Bill answered curtly. “Get your mind on the job. When I say NOW—you pull. Not one instant sooner, or an instant later. It’s a matter of life and death—so be careful.”
“Trust me,” said his mystified friend, lifting a nervous gaze to stare at the great steamer they were approaching so swiftly.
The Orleans was a beautiful sight; a racing greyhound of the seas, tearing through a glassy ocean, bound for Europe with mail and passengers.
The Flying Fish came upon her from the south. As he drew nearer the leviathan, Bill decreased the plane’s altitude to a meager five hundred feet. Below the belching funnels he could see passengers and crew crowding the starboard rails, for even the most blasé traveler is still thrilled by the sight of an airplane in mid-ocean.
The great plane circled the ship. Then Bill dropped behind for a moment, did a flipper turn to port, levelled off and came racing up from the rear. When the Flying Fish was directly over the steamer’s stern, Bill spoke to Osceola.
“Get ready!” he said.
“Good Lord! You can’t do it, Bill. It’s murder!”
“Shut up—and obey orders!” commanded his pilot. “This is my funeral—not yours.”
Osceola grasped the bomb release, his brain whirling in consternation and confusion.
Slowly they forged ahead, over the stacks, the foremast, the bow, and on until they had gained a lead of possibly two hundred yards on the Orleans.
“NOW!”
Back came Osceola’s hand, yanking the handle and at the same time Bill banked the plane in a sharp left turn. Osceola descried an object darting seaward beneath them. He glimpsed it strike the water and a geyser shot upward in front of the racing liner. Then as the Flying Fish came about and landed, he saw that the Orleans was slowing down. By the time their own craft was moored to a sea anchor, the liner’s propellers no longer turned and she lay like a “painted ship upon a painted ocean.”
Both lads stripped off their headgear as the Baron walked into the cockpit.
“I am about to board the Orleans,” he stated in that overbearing tone that was so irritating to Osceola. “You young gentlemen will accompany me. We leave directly. Once aboard, it will be your duty to make note of the quantity of gasoline and lubricating oils carried by the liner and render a report to me. I shall probably be found in the First Class dining salon, where passengers will be interviewed. Come now, it is time we were off.”
When Bill and Osceola came out on deck they saw that a three-inch gun had been brought topside and was trained on the Orleans. Signals had evidently passed between the Flying Fish and the liner, which lay motionless a few hundred yards off their port quarter. Even as the boarding party, armed to the teeth, stepped into a small launch, a gangway was let down from the side of the leviathan.
The journey across took but a very few minutes. Bill had only time to note that the Orleans no longer flew her colors and that the decks were still crowded with passengers, when the seaman in the bow of their launch caught the grating at the bottom of the steep flight of steps with his boathook.
The Baron immediately sprang onto the grating and, followed by another officer, Bill, Osceola and four seamen bearing rifles, mounted the gangway. The launch in the meantime hastened back toward the Flying Fish to pick up another load of men.
An indignant officer, whose uniform proclaimed him to be the ship’s captain, met them as they stepped on deck.
“This is an outrage!” he thundered, addressing the Baron. “By what right do you threaten my ship and board her?”
Von Hiemskirk smiled cynically at the scowling captain, and bowed, including the row of ship’s officers and men who stood close behind him, in his salutation.
“You make a mistake, Captain,” he replied affably, “when you say ‘my ship.’ Allow me to inform you that she is no longer yours—but mine—by right of conquest!”
“But this is—piracy!”
“I am glad,” said the Baron, “that you realize the fact.” He changed his tone abruptly. “Permit me to inform you also that unless my orders are obeyed—obeyed on the instant,—it will be my unpleasant duty to sink this ship.”
A man in the uniform of the ship’s wireless operator pushed his way through the crowd of protesting passengers and saluting the Orleans captain, whispered a few words in his ear.
“No secrets,” snapped the Baron. “Operator, what message have you brought?”
It was now the captain’s turn to smile.
“I will answer your question,” he returned. “We have been in touch with the United States Cruiser Stamford. At the present moment, she is steaming at full speed to this spot!”
The launch, a highpowered craft, soon caught up with the submarine and its string of loaded lifeboats. Darkness had fallen before the little flotilla reached the mothership, but the plunder was quickly taken aboard, and the lifeboats were sunk. Within an hour of their arrival, the Amtonia with her submarine pilot-fish were heading into the northeast again.
The two lads were given a large, comfortable cabin together, where they found the baggage from their amphibian had been stowed. They had just taken a shower in the luxuriously appointed bathroom off their cabin, when there came a knock at the door.
“The Captain’s compliments, sir,” said the steward when Bill opened to him, “and will you gentlemen dine with him and his officers at eight thirty in the Palm Garden? He asks me to inform you, sir, that you will find uniforms in your closet. He begs that you will not wear civilian clothes while aboard.”
“Thank Baron von Hiemskirk on behalf of Chief Osceola and myself. We shall be glad to join the officers’ mess at half past eight. We shall also put on the uniforms he has provided, although I must say that nothing looks worse than a uniform one hasn’t been fitted for!”
“Beg pardon, sir, but the tailor has already altered the uniforms. He took measurements from the suits in your bags. He and his men are working on more of them tonight. He tells me that they will all be finished soon.”
“Thank you,” said Bill. “That will be fine. By the way, where is the Palm Garden?”
“Off A deck, sir. Thank you, sir.” He was gone.
“Well,” grinned Bill, “some system they have aboard this packet!”
“You said it. Too much system to suit me, Bill. We’re likely to come a bad cropper when we buck it.”
“You know the adage about crossing bridges before you have to, Osceola. Let’s get into these uniforms. It’s nearly time for mess and I’m hungry enough to chew rubber.”
The uniforms proved to be made of white duck, and the lads found their names stitched inside the blouses. An officer’s cap and pair of white canvas shoes went with each suit. To their further surprise, they found that all these articles fitted them exactly.
“Gee!” exclaimed Bill, as he saw the two gold stripes on his black shoulder straps. “This is promotion with a vengeance! When I woke up this morning, I was only a midshipman. Tonight I’m a full lieutenant! What’s the Baron made you, big boy?”
“I’ve got a broad stripe like yours, Bill, and a narrow one. I suppose that rates me something—but what, I don’t know!”
“That’s the insignia of a lieutenant j.g.”
“And what’s the j.g. mean?”
“Junior grade. A j.g. ranks with a first lieutenant in the army.”
“And you, with your two broad stripes rank with an army captain, I suppose, and you’re my superior officer on board here, I take it?”
“Right. Only we say full stripes, not broad stripes. In Navy parlance, I’m a two-striper, and you are a one-and-a-half striper.”
“Sounds to me like a convict gang,” laughed the Seminole, as he buttoned up his blouse. “Well, if you’re ready, I am.”
“Don’t forget your cap,” Bill reminded him. “Strictly speaking, no naval officer is in uniform without it.”
“Pirate officer, you mean,” grunted Osceola as they entered the corridor. “Last time we were kidnapped and lacked all this luxury, but at least what clothes we wore were comfortable. I feel as if somebody had laced me into a tight corset.”
“You’ll feel better after dinner.”
“Maybe. If the buttons hold!”
Together they mounted the stairs to A deck. A few of the Amtonia’s passengers were lounging about on deck. They paid not the slightest attention to them, in fact, Bill noticed that their indifference was so marked that it could not be other than studied.
Then a voice spoke behind them. “Hello, men!” As they turned, Charlie joined them. “I wanted Father to meet you,” he said, rather breathlessly, “but he says you’ve joined the pirates, and— But you haven’t, have you?”
Osceola looked down at him quizzically. “Only pro tem!”
“Gee, what does that mean? I wish you’d talk American.”
“If I spoke my own language, which is real American, youngster, you wouldn’t understand me any better.”
Bill grinned. “Pro tem means for the time being,” he said. “But I’d better tell you, Charlie, that the Chief is feeling low tonight, so don’t get fresh. He’ll tomahawk you one of these days if you don’t look out!”
“Oh, yeah?” Charlie seemed unimpressed by this dire threat. Then his tone changed suddenly. “Please, Bill,” he whispered eagerly, “let me be a pirate, too. Gee, it would be such fun. Can’t I?”
Both Bill and Osceola burst into a shout of laughter. “But how about your Dad?” asked the Seminole.
“Well, what about him?”
Bill shook his head. “Talk like that to him, and he’ll be offering you the choice of back or bristles!”
“Aw, cut it out! I’m serious, Bill. Please let me be a pirate!”
“I’ll think about it, Charlie.” Bill took him by the arm and moved over to the rail. “But I do want you to do something for me,” he said in lowered tones. “You must keep it entirely to yourself, though. If you mention it to a single soul, you’ll get us all into a heap of trouble.”
“I won’t—honest, Bill. I’ll shut up like a clam! What is it?”
“All right then, I’ll trust you. I want you to make friends with the wireless operators. There are two of them. Find out when they relieve each other, whether the door is kept locked—in fact, find out everything you can—without making them suspicious. Got that?”
“You bet. Take it from me, they’ll never guess what I’m after!”
“Attaboy! Do you know where our cabin is?”
“No.”
“Well, it’s number 126 on the deck below, starboard side.”
“I can find it.”
“Good. Come there at eleven tonight, and report what you’ve found out.”
“I’ll be there with bells on.”
“Now be careful that nobody sees you come to our door. It won’t be locked—we’ll be there. Just open it and come in.”
“All right, Bill. You can trust me.”
“That’s all, so cut along now, and remember, eleven sharp. We’ve got a date for dinner, and I’m afraid we’re going to be late as it is. So long, Charlie.”
“So long, Bill. So long, Chief.”
Charlie raced away, intent on the importance of his trust and his two friends hurried toward the Palm Garden.
They found the Baron and his officers awaiting them in the foyer of the restaurant. The Baron beamed approval on their uniforms and introduced them to the members of the group they had not already met. These gentlemen each bowed from the waist and shook hands with continental formality upon being presented. The Baron spoke a few words, and then as the single stroke of the ship’s bell clanged, the chief steward appeared in the doorway.
“Dinner is served, Herr Captain.”
The Baron leading, they went into the restaurant. The meal which they sat down to proved to be a long, sumptuous affair of many courses. Every delicacy, in and out of season, was served. Evidently the Baron believed in living well—on other people. Both lads did full justice to the banquet. Muffled strains of the ship’s orchestra, hidden behind palms, lent gaiety to the atmosphere, but could not cut through the rigid formality of their companions’ demeanor.
It was after ten thirty by the time they left the table and went out on deck. The stars were like jewels flashing in the great inverted bowl of night. The dark water gleamed quiet as a mill-pond, reflecting the slender crescent of a new moon that had just appeared above the horizon.
The Baron puffed a long cigar while he conversed at his ease in a deck chair.
“This voyage,” he remarked complacently, watching the red ash glow on the end of his cigar, “is becoming quite a successful undertaking. A few more months and we can well afford to retire, and go our own ways.”
“But surely, Herr Baron, you are not contemplating ending this splendid venture?” It was the Chief Engineer who spoke.
“We must not try providence too far, Bauer. To date, this ship is a mystery to the world at large, it is true. But we have already created some stir. Personally, I consider it a positive compliment that the navies of the world are seeking us out to destroy us!”
“It must,” Bill remarked, “afford you a good deal of satisfaction, as well as profit, Baron.”
He was becoming restive. It was nearing eleven o’clock. The cabin door was locked and Charlie could not get in. But how to break away without arousing the Baron’s suspicions, he could not see.
That gentleman puffed contemplatively for a moment or two.
“Yes, you have it right, Mr. Bolton,” he observed at last. “Pleasure and profit. Outside of the vast sums in money and jewels we have taken from captured liners, you perhaps do not realize that we have more than two hundred very wealthy people as passengers. Their ransoms, at the lowest estimate will run well over a million dollars apiece. Yes, this is a most profitable business, Mr. Bolton. But of course, a most dangerous one. We must not practice it for too long a time.”
“Herr Baron,” Bill leaned forward in his seat, and smiled his most engaging smile, “neither Chief Osceola nor I have had the opportunity this evening to thank you for your consideration in the matter of our cabin and the uniforms you have provided us.”
“Yes, indeed, Baron,” Osceola seconded him and threw the stub of his cigarette over the rail. “Very kind of you, I must say.”
“Oh, do not mention it, my dear fellows.” The Baron was joviality itself. “Those are small matters and easily attended to.”
“But we appreciate your wish to make us comfortable.” Bill rose, and Osceola followed his example. “And now, sir, we will say good night. It has been a long day and a busy one.”
“Good night, my young friends,” beamed von Hiemskirk. “Pleasant dreams, and auf wiedersehn until tomorrow.”
Everyone stood up and saluted and the lads marched off toward their cabin. Osceola was unlocking the door, when a stealthy figure appeared from out the shadows of a cross passage, and Charlie slipped into the room with them.
“Gee, I thought you were never coming,” he said, as Bill switched on the light.
“Sorry, Charles, so did we! Have you got any news?”
“Plenty, Bill. I—”
His words were cut short by a crash of gunfire from above. For an instant they stood listening to the thunder of the gun, then Bill broke their constrained silence.
“We’ll have to postpone our talk, Charlie, worse luck. There’s something doing out there, all right, and it’s up to the Chief and me to hustle up on deck pronto.”
Without further parley the three caught up their caps and ran out of the cabin.
The lads encountered a crowd of nervous and excited passengers on the stairs and were swept up with them and out on deck. By common instinct the flow was toward port. A few hundred yards away, the lights of a steamer, parallel with them, could be discerned. Signals were flashing, bells clanging, and the clamor of the startled passengers pressing the rail was deafening.
Bill gripped Osceola’s arm. “Let’s get out of this bedlam,” he shouted. “The skipper is sure to be on the bridge—come along!”
Diving across the ship they ran forward on the opposite deck and up the stair to the bridge. Baron von Hiemskirk stood with a pair of night glasses trained on the stranger across the water. Near him a group of white uniformed ship’s officers conversed in whispers. He lowered the binoculars as Bill and Osceola approached and rendered them a stiff salute.
“Good evening again, gentlemen. Thank you for your promptness. Chief Osceola, I want you and Lieutenant Schneider to go aft and quiet that rabble. Explain to the passengers that there is no cause for alarm. Tell them also in my name that unless they go at once to their cabins, they will be sent there forcibly.”
Osceola and the Lieutenant saluted and departed on their errand.
“Now, gentlemen,” continued the Baron, “as several of you already know, I have been aware for some time that we were overhauling that ship we see out there. Had she obeyed our signals and those of the Flying Fish, there would have been no need to waste shell fire on her. You will be interested to learn that she is the Blake of Cardiff, loaded with twenty-five hundred tons of coal—enough to keep us going for a week at good speed, or two weeks at low speed. Tomorrow morning, we will start coaling, and for the next few days, every one of us will be especially busy. Those of you who are not on duty, will please me by turning in at once, and getting a good night’s rest. Good night, gentlemen.”
Back in his cabin, Bill undressed and got into bed. He was lying there, with the lights burning, thinking over the day’s events, when Osceola came in.
He tossed his cap on the lounge, and began to unbutton his blouse. “Well, we got the sheep herded into their respective barns. Did you find out anything about that ship?”
Bill told him what the Baron had said. “Filthy business, coaling,” he ended with a yawn.
“It will be interesting to find out how they work it at sea, especially when we’ve got at least one warship on our trail.”
“I don’t think the Baron’s worrying about the Stamford. We’ve changed our course at least twice in the last few hours. It’s a big ocean, Osceola.”
“Guess so. And some queer people on it. The noble Baron makes me laugh. He’s probably the greatest thief unhung, yet he purposely chatted with us and the other officers after dinner, on the side of the deck away from this collier, so that we would go to bed early and get a good night’s rest.”
“He’s an odd beggar, all right,” yawned Bill. “Switch off the light, and hop into that bed of yours, big boy, or I’ll be talking in my sleep.”
A steward called them at five next morning. By five-thirty they had dressed in uniform cap and dungarees, breakfasted and were out on deck. The collier was now steaming slowly alongside the big liner. The ships were kept together by a hawser across the lips of the Amtonia’s bows, supplemented by a few lines across her poop; and a speed of two miles an hour was being maintained by both vessels. This kept their noses together. It also gave them a certain steadiness in the choppy sea that ran this morning. Above all, it kept the pirate ship constantly prepared, steamed up in readiness to dash away in case an enemy cruiser appeared. The lads noted that at each of the cables which held the vessels together, a man was stationed, ax in hand, to cut the strands should the emergency arise.
Bill and Osceola soon found that preparations for coaling on the high seas had already been made. Through the decks of the Amtonia the carpenters had cut large circular holes, one directly beneath the other. In these openings, ship’s ventilator tubes were at that moment being inserted. They were then spliced together in such a manner that coal dumped on to the deck merely had to be pushed into the tubes to slide swiftly down into the bunkers.
Three temporary derricks had been erected, one fore, another amidships, and one aft, all electrically equipped. Bill was presently put in charge of the fore derrick, while Osceola crossed over to the collier, where he helped to superintend the loading of sacks and baskets with coal. These when filled were transferred from the Blake’s derricks to those of the liner, in midair. The coal was then unloaded on the Amtonia’s deck and shoveled into the tubes by the crew.
As the sun grew higher, the weather became increasingly hotter. So hot was this work of coaling that the men were soon working clad only in pantaloons, cut short like boys’ trousers, or even in tights. There were no feminine eyes about, for all passengers were being kept below, so that occasionally the scanty loincloths were cast aside and the men worked naked. Covered from head to foot with sweat and coal dust, they soon looked like gangs of negroes. The officers fared quite as badly, for, though they were spared manual labor and so did not discard their uniforms, they soon became as grimy as the men and fully as uncomfortable.
Work was carried forward night and day, in alternate watches. To Bill it became a nightmare of heat and sweat and coal dust. The ship, usually so immaculate, took on the appearance of a coalyard, and the fine black dust filtered into even the remotest nooks and crannies. When relieved of duty, the black counterpart of that smart young Lieutenant Bolton would satisfy his hunger at a buffet, get under a shower and then to bed. Here, between coal dust coated sheets, he would snatch a few hours sleep—then hurry above for his next trick at the derrick. He began to find out that the life of an officer aboard this pirate craft was not the bed of roses it had first appeared to be. As Osceola worked and ate and slept on board the Blake, the two saw nothing of each other.
Late in the afternoon of the third day, the last of the twenty-five hundred tons of coal was transferred and shovelled down the chutes. Bill saw to the taking down of his derrick and then went below to his cabin, thankful that the dirty job had come to an end. He was getting out of filthy clothes when Osceola walked in.
“Coolheavers ahoy!” he greeted. “I’m one black warrior, if you ask me.”
“And I’ve had pleasanter jobs.”
“Oh, you’ve had a nice, comfortable deck to work on,” returned the Chief, diving into the bathroom. “You’ve nothing to complain about. I haven’t had these clothes off since the day before yesterday! Been working down in the hold of that collier at a temperature that blew the top off our thermometer.” His voice was drowned by the sound of the shower.
“That is tough! I missed you, old fellow. Where did you sleep?”
“Where did I sleep!” spluttered the Chief. “Not in a downy white bed like you—you son of luxury! I slept, or rather, I tried to sleep in a ship’s hammock!”
Bill chuckled, and began to unlace his shoes. “Pretty difficult to navigate until you get on to them. Hard to get into—”
“Harder still to stay put when you’re once in the darned thing! Gosh-all-hemlock, this water is sure a sweet, cool dream, of Paradise! Let me tell you that my hammock had to be slung between-decks—iron decks, at that. Sleep! I’ve forgotten what it is. Every time I moved in that hammock, the confounded thing dumped me onto that dirty iron deck with a jar that nearly split my head! Push that bell for a steward, please. I want food and plenty of it, and I’m going to eat it in my comfortable bed. Then, I’m going to sleep and sleep until tomorrow morning.”
“Oh, no, you’re not,” said Bill.
“And who says so?”
“Have your supper, by all means, and have it in bed if you like—but you and I have a date.”
“Date nothing! Keep it yourself. I’m only a poor Indian pirate. Neither am I popular with first class passengers.”
“Perhaps not—but this date isn’t with a passenger.”
“Who then?”
“Have you forgotten the wireless operator?”
“Gosh! Do you have to pull that stunt tonight? I’m half dead.”
“So are a few other people. That’s why I’m going to pull it off tonight. Snap out of it, old man. The fortunes, if not the lives of a lot of people depend on what we’re able to accomplish.”
“Well, what are we going to do? You never have spilled that plan of yours. Not to me, anyhow.” He came into the cabin, drying himself with a bath towel.
“You order your chow,” suggested Bill. “If you haven’t used all the hot water aboard ship, I want to get under that shower myself. When I’m dressed and you’re in your right mind, I’ve got to hunt up Charlie and see what he’s found out. We’ll be back later and I’ll explain the job in detail.”
He disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door after him to cut short further argument. It was after seven o’clock by the time Bill was dressed and ready to go on deck. He knew that Charlie would be in the passengers’ dining salon, and that was out of bounds for the ship’s officers. So leaving Osceola attending to a substantial dinner in bed, he went above to the Palm Garden, where the officers’ mess was held.
It was not a talkative crowd at dinner that evening. Every man at the table was dog tired and conversation flagged in consequence. The meal with its many courses seemed interminable to Bill. When at last it was over, he excused himself, while the others were smoking cigars and sipping liqueurs and went in search of young Evans.
Weary sailors were hard at work with hose and swabs on the promenade deck, getting rid of the accumulated grime of the coaling. Bill took a turn round to the opposite side of the ship, where he encountered a similar gang at work, but found no passengers about. Charlie was not in the smoking room. Eventually he found him, listening to the orchestra, which was playing in the lounge.
Without appearing to recognize the youngster, he caught his eye as he sauntered past, surreptitiously crooked a finger and went down to his cabin. There he found Osceola fast asleep in his bed, with all lights burning. He was wondering whether he should wake him then and there, or let him sleep, when Charlie softly opened the door and entered.
Bill put a hand up for silence, and led him into the bathroom. “Better let the poor Chief get some rest,” he said, closing the door. “He’s been going it night and day aboard that collier. He needs the sleep.”
“Well, I don’t, that’s a cinch! We’ve been kept off the decks ever since you fellows started coaling, and sleep was the only thing left to do. Say—did you see the Blake go down?”
“No. I was sure they’d sink her, though, for the Baron told me he was going to take her captain and crew aboard the Amtonia and dispose of her as soon as we got her coal. When did it happen?”
“Just before dinner—about quarter to seven.”
“I was cleaning up in here then.”
“Well, I got a peach of a view from the smoking room windows, with Dad’s field glasses. They cut the ropes and she drifted away from us. It wasn’t five minutes later, when she gave a great lurch and went down bow first. It certainly is a crime, the way the Baron sinks good ships. I guess he had dynamite planted on board just like he did with the Merrymaid.”
“Very likely. But there’s nothing we can do about it, Charlie. Not yet awhile. But tell me, what have you found out about that wireless room?”
“Well, since that first evening when we captured the Blake, I haven’t been able to get up there. But I did manage to get in soon after the gunfire that night. I copped a couple of Dad’s cigars and gave ’em to the guy who was on duty. These Heinies are a leadpipe cinch to kid. He isn’t such a bad guy at that—showed me the whole business—everything he had. I began to think he’s a swell fellow even if he is a pirate. I got a book on telegraphy out of the library and I’ve been boning up on the Morse Code ever since. That and sleeping. Say, I bet I could send a message now. Receiving’s not so easy, though.”
“Never mind that—”
“But I’m sure I can, Bill—”
“All right—I believe you—but lay off it. I want the dope first. How many operators does this ship run to? Did you find that out?”
“Yep. There’s three of ’em.”
“How long are their watches?”
“Four hours each. But sometimes they’re on for eight hours.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, there are two on duty daytimes—”
“Never mind that either—I’m not interested in their complete schedule. How many operators are in the wireless room now?”
“Only one. He’s doing his trick from eight till midnight.”
“Good. Now we’re getting somewhere. How about from midnight on?”
“Another guy comes on duty then.”
“For how long?”
“Till eight in the morning.”
“He’s alone all that time? Are you sure?”
“Yes. The other two lads relieve him then.”
“Do you know the operator who will go on at twelve tonight?”
“Well, I’m not sure. They vary their watches, you know.”
“I suppose it doesn’t matter,” Bill said to himself. “Tell me, is the door kept locked?”
“No, but they generally keep it shut.”
“Does the night operator sit facing it?”
“No. His back is toward the door.”
“Then that window in the wireless house must be to his right when he’s sending or receiving?”
“Yes, and it’s sure to be open now.”
“Thanks, Charlie. You’ve done splendidly. Run along to bed now. Osceola and I will attend to your friend later.”
Charlie’s face fell. “Aren’t you going to let me in on this?” he pleaded. “Oh, Bill, gee—I did all the work and you two are going to have all the fun!”
“Not much fun about it.” Bill grinned and was silent for a minute. “Well, I reckon we can use you. But you must remember that this is a very serious and dangerous business, Charlie. If anything goes wrong, von Hiemskirk is quite likely to have us shot out of hand. You’ll have to obey orders to the letter, and take no chances.”
“All right, Bill, of course, I will.”
“Okay. Then go to your cabin and turn in. And be back here at one o’clock sharp.”
Charlie’s face was transformed with joy. “Thanks, Bill!”
“Run along now,” directed the older lad. “I’ve got a lot to do before then. And be sure nobody sees you going or coming.”
“They won’t!” promised the youngster. “Say, are we going to shoot this operator?”
“Certainly not, you bloodthirsty wretch. None of us will have guns. Neither Osceola nor I have one.”
“What are we going to do then?”
“Obey orders, kid. Get out of here now—I’m busy!”
When Charlie had gone, Bill glanced at his wrist watch. It was just ten minutes to nine. With a sigh of satisfaction, he picked up his cap. Then, snapping off the electrics in the bathroom and the cabin, he, too, went out.
It had been impossible for him to make preparations for this venture of his since its inception at the beginning of the week. As he went out on deck and forward toward the bridge, he could hardly believe that no longer ago than Monday morning, he had been flying his amphibian north to New York, with Osceola as passenger. Then had come the Merrymaid, and capture by these pirates, their flying submarine and the raider, this huge liner whose decks he was walking. That afternoon had come the Orleans affair; in the evening the collier Blake had been taken. Tonight, only Thursday. After the monotony of three days’ coaling, the adventures of Monday seemed far away, except when he stopped to realize that ever since then he had had no leisure whatsoever to develop his plan.
“Good evening, sir.” The guard at the foot of the stair that led to the bridge saluted, and Bill came back to the actual present with a start.
“Good evening, Schmidt.” He returned the man’s salute, and recognized him as one of his derrick’s crew. “You look so spick and span I didn’t know you at first glance.”
“Thank you, sir.” Schmidt smiled, keeping his rifle at present. “And I feel a good bit more comfortable this way, sir. Coaling is filthy work, Lieutenant.”
“Nothing dirtier.” Bill nodded and passed on up the stairs.
Above he found Lieutenant Schneider pacing slowly up and down. “Good evening,” said Bill. “Mind if I join you for a few minutes?”
“I shall be honored, Herr Lieutenant,” returned the officer. “An unlooked-for pleasure. A beautiful night, is it not? But I surmised that like the rest of the mess you turned in directly after dinner.”
“I admit I’m tired,” Bill went on chattily, “quite as tired as the other chaps, after the grind of the last few days. Chief Osceola was completely done up. Had his dinner in bed, and I found him sound asleep when I went below.”
“Don’t speak of bed,” grumbled the officer. “I wish I were there now. It is just my luck to be on duty tonight.”
“I found the cabin hot and stuffy, so I thought I’d come up for a breath of air before turning in. Heading more to northward, since we sank the Blake, I see.”
“Yes, the course is nor’nor’east now. Captain von Hiemskirk is heading the ship for the transatlantic passenger ship lane.”
“We don’t seem to be in any hurry, Lieutenant.”
“No, our speed is only sixteen knots. Everybody needs a rest, and the Herr Baron, being a wise man, is saving coal.”
“It sounds foolish of me, a ship’s officer, to admit it, but I honestly have only the haziest idea of our position now.”
“I don’t wonder at that,” laughed Schneider. “The way we changed our course during the past week would make a snake break its back. At noon today we were in latitude 38 degrees north, longitude 62 degrees west—and we aren’t far from there now at the rate we’ve been steaming.”
“Mm—I thought we were much farther east,” remarked Bill, and then changed the subject.
As he had now gained the information he wanted, he chatted for ten minutes more with young Schneider, then, wishing him good night, went below to his cabin.
Here he set the tiny alarm on his watch for twelve-thirty. From the closet, he brought forth a civilian suit of his own, and one of Osceola’s. These, together with two pairs of tennis shoes and two soft felt hats that he found in their bags, he placed on the lounge. Again he dug into the bottom of a kit bag and pulled forth a coil of rope, two monkey wrenches and a flashlight. Placing these conveniently near the clothing, he began to undress. Osceola still slept the sleep of exhaustion. Without awaking him, Bill crept into his bed and turned off the light.
It seemed but a moment or two later, though in reality three hours had crept away, when the tinkle of his alarm bell brought Bill back to a sleepy realization of the job before him. He switched off the alarm and sat up in bed. Osceola’s voice cut the throbbing drone of the ship’s machinery.
“What’s the big idea?”
“Time to get on the job,” Bill murmured in a low tone. “Had you forgotten it? Don’t turn on the light.”
“No, I hadn’t forgotten. You said something about working out a plan of yours tonight. But can’t we put it off for twenty-four hours? I’m bleary-eyed, I’m so tired.”
Bill got out of bed. “So is everybody else aboard this packet. And that’s why we’re pulling it off tonight.”
He tossed Osceola’s clothes on to the chief’s bed. “Here’s an old suit of yours—get into it.”
“Oh, if you say so—” yawned his friend. “What are we going to do with those wrenches? Crack the Baron’s safe?”
“What a pair of eyes you’ve got! I’d forgotten you could see in the dark. No, you big galoot, this is not robbery you’re in for now. We’re going to tie up the wireless operator. I want to do some broadcasting on my own.”
“So that’s the way the wind blows!” Osceola, fully awake now, was pulling on his trousers. “I have to hand it to you, boy, when it comes to action—you act!”
“Come on—I know it’s risky business, but if we’re ever going to break up this nest of pirates, we’ve got to have help.”
“You’re going to wire our position to that cruiser who was on our trail Monday?”
“And to whomever else it may concern—yes, that’s the idea!”
Osceola grunted. “And what is the Herr Baron going to be doing to us while the cruiser is trying to catch us?”
“Not a blooming thing, if the wireless man doesn’t spot who we are. I’ve got a couple of handkerchiefs cut with slits for eyeholes. We can drape them over our lovely features just like real thugs, when we get on deck!”
“Swell!” responded his companion. “Gimme one of those wrenches. I’m all set if you are.”
Bill glanced at the luminous dial of his watch. “We’ll give him three minutes.”
“Give who three minutes?”
“Charlie’s coming with us.”
“What? Not that crazy kid! He’s sure to gum the show.”
“No, he won’t. And we need a lookout, Osceola. The youngster worked like a hero, getting dope about the wireless routine. I know it’s a responsibility to let him take the risk—but the chap was so keen on being in at the death—I simply hadn’t the heart to refuse him.”
“Well, so long as this is your party, I’ll say no more about dragging Charlie into it. But I’d hate to be you if his mother finds out what you’ve let him in for.”
A crack of light appeared under the door, and Charlie opened it, slipped inside and closed the door behind him.
“Here I am,” he whispered.
“Not really,” Osceola whispered back, “why, I thought it was Christmas Eve and Santa Claus had come to fill my stocking!”
“Try the other side of your bed when you get up next time, Chief,” Charlie snickered. “Why the grouch? Don’t lose your nerve. If anybody tries to hurt you, I’ll put salt on his tail.”
Osceola laughed good-humoredly. “You young scamp, if you don’t cut the comedy and do what you’re told tonight, you’ll think you’ve had salt rubbed on yours, along with the hiding you’ll get from me.”
“Thar she blows! thar she blows!” teased Charlie. “What a whale of a guy you are, Chief!”
“Pipe down—both of you!” commanded Bill. “You make more noise than an old maid’s tea party. What do you want to do—wake up the ship?”
“Well, let’s shove off then,” said Charlie in a lower tone, and started for the door.
Bill caught his arm. “Not that way,” he warned. “The ports to this cabin are regular windows, and we’re going out through them. There’s less chance of being seen.”
“Shall I lock the door?” asked Osceola.
“No. If we’re able to pull this off, it will be a case of speed in getting back here. The door may be handier then. Come on—mum’s the word. I’ll go first—”
He stepped onto the window seat. A moment later he was through the broad porthole, and out on deck. Not a soul was in sight. A nod to Osceola brought the Chief to his side and they waited until Charlie reached the deck.
With Bill in the lead, they walked swiftly forward until they came to the open stair leading up to the boat deck. Motioning caution, Bill went silently up the rubber-coated treads with the others close behind. He knew that once above, they would be in plain sight of the bridge. Therefore, before reaching the stairhead, he dropped to his knees and crawled up to the deck level, careful to keep his head below the skyline. Then, turning back to Charlie, he drew the boy’s head close to his lips.
“I want you to stay here!” he whispered. “If anyone comes off the bridge and makes for this stair, run down to the deck below and get out of his way. When he’s gone, come back here. If anyone comes up the stair, crawl into the shadow of that lifeboat. If you see anybody at all going toward the wireless house, whistle twice and beat it back to your cabin, no matter what occurs. Got it clear, now?”
Charlie, tense with excitement and proud of the responsibility given him, nodded mutely. Then he moved to one side while Osceola slipped past him, to lie beside Bill.
Diagonally across the deck from the stairhead aft of the ship’s second funnel was a small superstructure, the little wireless house. Light shone through the open window at the forward end of the structure. Charlie, who had never seen an Indian travel over an open space when the red man didn’t wish to be seen, was surprised to see Bill and Osceola move forward flat on their stomachs. With the sinuous, wriggling motion of snakes, the two slid across the starlit deck. In a few moments he lost sight of them in the shadow of the ship’s great funnel.
“Gee,” he thought. “That sure is some stunt. Some day I’ve got to get one of those guys to show me how they do it.”
In the obscurity of deep shadow, the two plotters got to their feet and adjusted their masks.
“Can you see all right?” whispered Bill. “I wasn’t sure about the eyeholes.”
“I can see. What next?”
“Get that lad in the wireless house from the window. I’ll take the door.”
“Okay. Good luck!”
“Good luck to you. I’ll wait until I hear you speak.”
“I get you.”
Keeping always within the shadow cast by the big stack, and careful to avoid the broad ray of light from the open window, Osceola glided swiftly toward his goal.
The blond young man who sat at the open window, dozing, with a magazine in his lap, awoke with a start.
“Stick up your hands and keep them there!” muttered a low voice.
Just outside the window, the dazed operator saw a white-faced blur in the darkness. The grim figure behind the mask held a black object pointed directly at his head.
Like most North Germans, the wireless expert was a sensible young man. He held up his hands.