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       [Illustration: "You Are Not Likely to Be of Any Use Here."]

               “You Are Not Likely to Be of Any Use Here.”


                             _ Frontispiece._





                   The Submarine Boys and the Middies

                                   OR

                      The Prize Detail at Annapolis

                           By Victor G. Durham

Author of The Submarine Boys on Duty, The Submarine Boys’ Trial Trip, The
                   Submarine Boys and the Spies, Etc.

_Illustrated_

THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY
Akron, Ohio · New York
Made in U.S.A.





CONTENTS


CHAPTER I: THE PRIZE DETAIL
CHAPTER II: HOW EPH FLIRTED WITH SCIENCE
CHAPTER III: “YOU MAY AS WELL LEAVE THE BRIDGE!”
CHAPTER IV: MR. FARNUM OFFERS ANOTHER GUESS
CHAPTER V: TRUAX SHOWS THE SULKS
CHAPTER VI: TWO KINDS OF VOODOO
CHAPTER VII: JACK FINDS SOMETHING “NEW,” ALL RIGHT
CHAPTER VIII: A YOUNG CAPTAIN IN TATTERS
CHAPTER IX: TRUAX GIVES A HINT
CHAPTER X: A SQUINT AT THE CAMELROORELEPHANT
CHAPTER XI: BUT SOMETHING HAPPENED!
CHAPTER XII: JACK BENSON, EXPERT EXPLAINER
CHAPTER XIII: READY FOR THE SEA CRUISE
CHAPTER XIV: THE “POLLARD” GOES LAME
CHAPTER XV: ANOTHER TURN AT HARD LUCK
CHAPTER XVI: BRAVING NOTHING BUT A SNEAK
CHAPTER XVII: THE EVIL GENIUS OF THE WATER FRONT
CHAPTER XVIII: HELD UP BY MARINES
CHAPTER XIX: THE LIEUTENANT COMMANDER’S VERDICT
CHAPTER XX: CONCLUSION





LIST OF FIGURES


“You Are Not Likely to Be of Any Use Here.”
Down Dropped the Bag.
Eph Raced After Jack, Barking at Him.






                       CHAPTER I: THE PRIZE DETAIL


“The United States Government doesn’t appear very anxious to claim its
property, does it, sir?” asked Captain Jack Benson.

The speaker was a boy of sixteen, attired in a uniform much after the
pattern commonly worn by yacht captains. The insignia of naval rank were
conspicuously absent.

“Now, that I’ve had the good luck to sell the ’Pollard’ to the Navy,”
responded Jacob Farnum, principal owner of the shipbuilding yard, “I’m not
disposed to grumble if the Government prefers to store its property here
for a while.”

Yet the young shipbuilder—he was a man in his early thirties, who had
inherited this shipbuilding business from his father—allowed his eyes to
twinkle in a way that suggested there was something else behind his words.

Jack Benson saw that twinkle, but he did not ask questions. If the
shipbuilder knew more than he was prepared to tell, it was not for his
young captain to ask for information that was not volunteered.

The second boy present, also in uniform, Hal Hastings by name, had not
spoken in five minutes. That was like Hal. _He_ was the engineer of the
submarine torpedo boat, “Pollard.” Jack was captain of the same craft, and
could do all the talking.

Jacob Farnum sat back, sideways, at his rolltop desk. On top of the desk
lay stacked a voluminous though neat pile of papers, letters, telegrams
and memoranda that some rival builders of submarine torpedo boats might
have been willing to pay much for the privilege of examining. For, at the
present moment, there was fierce competition in the air between rival
American builders of submarine fighting craft designed for the United
States Navy. Even foreign builders and inventors were clamoring for
recognition. Yet just now the reorganized Pollard Submarine Boat Company
stood at the top of the line. It had made the last sale to the United
States Navy Department.

At this moment, out in the little harbor that was a part of the shipyard,
the “Pollard” rode gently at anchor. She was the first submarine torpedo
boat built at this yard, after the designs of David Pollard, the inventor,
a close personal friend of Jacob Farnum.

Moreover, the second boat, named the “Farnum,” had just been launched and
put in commission, ready at an hour’s notice to take the sea in search of
floating enemies of the United States.

“The United States will take its boat one of these days, Captain,” Mr.
Farnum continued, after lighting a cigar. “By the way, did Dave tell you
the name we are thinking of for the third boat, now on the stocks?”

“Dave” was Mr. Pollard, the inventor of the Pollard Submarine boat.

“No, sir,” Captain Jack replied.

“We have thought,” resumed Mr. Farnum, quietly, after blowing out a ring
of smoke, “of calling the third boat, now building, the ’Benson.’”

“The—the—what, sir?” stammered Jack, flushing and rising.

“Now, don’t get excited, lad,” laughed the shipbuilder.

“But—but—naming a boat for the United States Navy after me, sir—”

Captain Jack’s face flushed crimson.

“Of course, if you object—” smiled Mr. Farnum, then paused.

“Object? You know I don’t, sir. But I am afraid the idea is going to my
head,” laughed Jack, his face still flushed. “The very idea of there being
in the United States Navy a fine and capable craft named after me—”

“Oh, if the Navy folks object,” laughed Farnum, “then they’ll change the
name quickly enough. You understand, lad, the names we give to our boats
last only until the craft are sold. The Navy people can change those names
if they please.”

“It will be a handsome compliment to me, Mr. Farnum. More handsome than
deserved, I fear.”

“Deserved, well enough,” retorted the shipbuilder. “Dave Pollard and I are
well enough satisfied that, if it hadn’t been for you youngsters, and the
superb way in which you handled our first boat, Dave and I would still be
sitting on the anxious bench in the ante-rooms of the Navy Department at
Washington.”

“Well, I don’t deserve to have a boat named after me any more than Hal
does, or Eph Somers.”

“Give us time, won’t you, Captain?” pleaded Jacob Farnum, his face
straight, but his eyes laughing. “We expect to build at least five boats.
If we didn’t, this yard never would have been fitted for the present work,
and you three boys, who’ve done so handsomely by us, wouldn’t each own, as
you now do, ten shares of stock in this company. Never fear; there’ll be a
’Hastings’ and a ’Somers’ added to our fleet one of these days—even though
some of our boats have to be sold to foreign governments.”

“If a boat named the ’Hastings’ were sold to some foreign government,”
laughed Jack Benson, “Hal, here, wouldn’t say much about it. But call a
boat named the ’Somers,’ after Eph, and then sell it, say, to the Germans
or the Japanese, and all of Eph’s American gorge would come to the
surface. I’ll wager he’d scheme to sink any submarine torpedo boat, named
after him, that was sold to go under a foreign flag.”

“I hope we’ll never have to sell any of our boats to foreign governments,”
replied Jacob Farnum, earnestly. “And we won’t either, if the United
States Government will give us half a show.”

“That’s just the trouble,” grumbled Hal Hastings, breaking into the talk,
at last. “Confound it, why don’t the people of this country run their
government more than they do? Four-fifths of the inventors who get up
great things that would put the United States on top, and keep us there,
have to go abroad to find a market for their inventions! If I could invent
a cannon to-day that would give all the power on earth to the nation
owning it, would the American Government buy it from me? No, sir! I’d have
to sell the cannon to England, Germany or Japan—or else starve while
Congress was talking of doing something about it in the next session. Mr.
Farnum, you have the finest, and the only real submarine torpedo boat.
Yet, if you want to go on building and selling these craft, you’ll have to
dispose of most of them abroad.”

“I hope not,” responded the shipbuilder, solemnly.

Having said his say, Hal subsided. He was likely not to speak again for an
hour. As a class, engineers, having to listen much to noisy machinery, are
themselves silent.

It was well along in the afternoon, a little past the middle of October.
For our three young friends, Jack, Hal and Eph, things were dull just at
the present moment. They were drawing their salaries from the Pollard
company, yet of late there had been little for them to do.

Yet the three submarine boys knew that big things were in the air. David
Pollard was away, presumably on important business. Jacob Farnum was not
much given to speaking of plans until he had put them through to the
finish. Some big deal was at present “on” with the Government. That much
the submarine boys knew by intuition. They felt, therefore, that, at any
moment, they were likely to be called into action—to be called upon for
big things.

As Jack and Hal sat in the office, silent, while Jacob Farnum turned to
his desk to scan one of the papers lying there, the door opened. A boy
burst in, waving a yellow envelope.

“Operator said to hustle this wire to you,” shouted the boy, panting a
bit. “Said it might be big news for Farnum. So I ran all the way.”

Jacob Farnum took the yellow envelope, opening it and glancing hastily
through the contents.

“It _is_ pretty good news,” assented the shipbuilder, a smile wreathing
his face. “This is for you, messenger.”

“This” proved to be a folded dollar bill. The messenger took the money
eagerly, then demanded, more respectfully:

“Any answer, sir?”

“Not at this moment, thank you,” replied Mr. Farnum. “That is all; you may
go, boy.”

Plainly the boy who had brought the telegram was disappointed over not
getting some inkling of the secret. All Dunhaven, in fact, was wildly agog
over any news that affected the Farnum yard. For, though the torpedo boat
building industry was now known under the Pollard name, after the inventor
of these boats, the yard itself still went under the Farnum name that
young Farnum had inherited from his father.

While Jacob Farnum is reading the despatch carefully, for a better
understanding, let us speak for a moment of Captain Jack Benson and his
youthful comrades and chums.

Readers of the first volume in this series, “The Submarine Boys on Duty,”
remember how Jack Benson and Hal Hastings strayed into the little seaport
town of Dunhaven one hot summer day, and how they learned that it was here
that the then unknown but much-talked-about Pollard submarine was being
built. Both Jack and Hal had been well trained in machine shops; they had
spent much time aboard salt water power craft, and so felt a wild desire
to work at the Farnum yard, and to make a study of submarine craft in
general.

How they succeeded in getting their start in the Farnum yard, every reader
of the preceding volumes knows; how, too, Eph Somers, a native of
Dunhaven, managed to “cheek” his way aboard the craft after she had been
launched, and how he had always since managed to remain there.

Our same older readers will remember the thrilling experiences of this
boyish trio during the early trials of the new submarine torpedo boat,
both above and below the surface. These readers will remember, also, for
instance, the great prank played by the boys on the watch officer of one
of the stateliest battleships of the Navy.

Readers of the second volume, “The Submarine Boys’ Trial Trip,” will
recall, among other things, the desperate efforts made by George Melville,
the capitalist, aided by the latter’s disagreeable son, Don, to acquire
stealthy control of the submarine building company, and their efforts to
oust Jack, Hal and Eph from their much-prized employment. These readers
will remember how Jack and his comrades spoiled the Melville plans, and
how Captain Jack and his friends handled the “Pollard” so splendidly, in
the presence of a board of Navy officers, that the United States
Government was induced to buy that first submarine craft.

After that sale, each of the three boys received, in addition to his
regular pay, a bank account of a thousand dollars and ten shares of stock
in the new company. Moreover, Messrs. Farnum and Pollard had felt wholly
justified in promising these talented, daring, hustling submarine boys an
assured and successful future.

Jacob Farnum at last looked up from the final reading of the telegram in
his hands. Captain Jack Benson’s gaze was fixed on his employer’s face.
Hal Hastings was looking out of a window, with almost a bored look in his
eyes.

“You young men wanted action,” announced Mr. Farnum, quietly. “I think
you’ll get it.”

“Soon?” questioned Jack, eagerly.

“Immediately, or a minute or two later,” laughed the shipbuilder.

“I’m ready,” declared Captain Jack, rising.

“It’ll take you a little time to hear about it all and digest it, so you
may as well be seated again,” declared Farnum.

Hal, too, wandered back to his chair.

“You’ve been wondering how much longer the Government would leave the
’Pollard’ here,” went on Mr. Farnum. “I am informed that the gunboat
’Hudson’ is on her way here, to take over the ’Pollard.’”

“What are the Navy folks going to do?” demanded Captain Jack, all but
wrathfully. “Do they propose to _tow_ that splendid little craft away?”

“Hardly that, I imagine,” replied Farnum. “It’s the custom of the United
States Navy, you know, to send a gunboat along with every two or three
submarines. They call the larger craft the ’parent boat.’ The parent boat
looks out for any submarine craft that may become disabled.”

“The cheek of it,” vented Jack, disgustedly. “Why, sir, I’d volunteer to
take the ’Pollard,’ unassisted, around the world, if she could carry fuel
enough for such a trip.”

“But the Navy hasn’t been accustomed to such capable submarine boats as
ours, you know,” replied Mr. Farnum. “Hence the parent boat.”

“Parent boat?” interjected Hal Hastings, with his quiet smile. “You might
call it the ’Dad’ boat, so to speak.”

Mr. Farnum laughed, then continued:

“A naval crew will take possession of the ’Pollard,’ and the craft will
proceed, under the care of the Dad boat”—with a side glance of amusement
at Hal—“to the United States Naval Academy at Annapolis.”

“Annapolis—where they train the naval cadets, the midshipmen, into United
States Naval officers? Oh, how I’d like to go there!” breathed Captain
Jack Benson, eagerly.

“As a cadet in the Navy, do you mean?” asked Mr. Farnum.

“Why, that would have been well enough,” assented Jack, “before I had such
a chance in your submarine service. No; I mean I’d like to see Annapolis.
I’d like to watch the midshipmen at their training, and see the whole
naval life there.”

“It’s too bad every fellow can’t have his wish gratified as easily,”
continued Jacob Farnum.

“Do you mean we’re going to Annapolis, too?” asked Jack Benson, his eyes
glowing. Even Hal Hastings sat up straighter in his chair, watching the
shipbuilder’s face closely.

“Yes,” nodded Jacob Farnum. “Permission has been granted for me to send
our second boat, the ’Farnum,’ along with the ’Pollard’—both under the
care of the—”

“The Dad boat,” laughed Hastings.

“Yes; that will give us a chance to have the ’Farnum’ studied most closely
by some of the most capable officers in the United States Navy. It ought
to mean, presently, the sale of the ’Farnum’ to the Government.”

“That’s just what it will mean,” promised Captain Jack, “if any efforts of
ours can make the Navy men more interested in the boat.”

“You three youngsters are likely to be at Annapolis for some time,” went
on Mr. Farnum. “In fact—but don’t let your heads become too enlarged by
the news, will you?”

Hal, quiet young Hal, neatly hid a yawn behind one hand, while Benson
answered for both:

“We’re already wearing the largest-sized caps manufactured, Mr. Farnum.
Don’t tempt us too far, please!”

“Oh, you boys are safe from the ordinary perils of vanity, or your heads
would have burst long ago. Well, then, when you arrive at Annapolis, you
three are to act as civilian instructors to the middies. You three are to
teach the midshipmen of the United States Navy the principles on which the
Pollard type of boat is run. There; I’ve told you the whole news. What do
you think of it?”

Mr. Farnum’s cigar having burned low, he tossed it away, then leaned back
as he lighted another weed.

“What do we think, sir?” echoed Captain Jack, eagerly. “Why, we think
we’re in sight of the very time of our lives! Annapolis! And to teach the
middies how to run a ’Pollard’ submarine.”

“How soon are we likely to have to start, sir!” asked Hal Hastings, after
a silence that lasted a few moments.

“Whenever the ’Hudson’ shows up along this coast, and the officer in
command of her gives the word. That may be any hour, now.”

“Then we’d better find Eph,” suggested Captain Jack, “and pass him the
word. Won’t Eph Somers dance a jig for delight, though?”

“Yes; we’d better look both boats over at once,” replied Mr. Farnum,
picking up his hat. “And we’ll leave word for Grant Andrews and some of
his machinists to inspect both craft with us. There may be a few things
that will need to be done.”

As they left the office, crossing the yard, Captain Jack Benson and Hal
Hastings felt exactly as though they were walking on air. Even Hal, quiet
as he was, had caught the joy-infection of these orders to proceed to
Annapolis. To be sent to the United States Naval Academy on a tour of
instruction is what officers of the Navy often call “the prize detail.”

Farnum and his two youthful companions went, first of all, to the long,
shed-like building in which the third submarine craft to be turned out at
this yard was now being built. From inside came the noisy clang of hammers
against metal. The shipbuilder stepped inside alone, but soon came out,
nodding. The three now continued on their way down to the little harbor.
All of a sudden the three stopped short, almost with a jerk, in the same
second, as though pulled by a string.

At exactly the same instant Jacob Farnum, Captain Jack Benson and Engineer
Hal Hastings put up their hands to rub their eyes.

Their senses had told them truly, however. While the “Pollard” rode
serenely at her moorings, the “Farnum,” the second boat to be launched,
was nowhere to be seen!

“What on earth has happened to the other submarine?” gasped the
shipbuilder, as soon as he could somewhat control his voice.

What, indeed?

There was not a sign of her. At least, she had not sunk at her moorings,
for the buoys floated in their respective places, with no manner of tackle
attached to them.

“A submarine boat can’t slip its own cables and vanish without human
hands!” gasped the staggered Jack Benson.

“There’s something uncanny about this,” muttered Hal Hastings.

Jacob Farnum stood rooted to the spot, opening and closing his hands in a
way that testified plainly to the extent of his bewilderment.





                 CHAPTER II: HOW EPH FLIRTED WITH SCIENCE


Jack Benson was the first of the trio to move.

Without a word he broke into a run, heading for the narrow little shingle
of beach.

“Got an idea, Captain?” shouted Jacob Farnum, darting after his young
submarine skipper.

“Yes, sir!” floated back over Jack’s shoulder.

“Then what’s at the bottom—”

“Eph and the boat, both together, or I miss my guess,” Captain Jack
shouted back as he halted at the water’s edge, where a rowboat lay hauled
up on the shore.

Jacob Farnum’s face showed suddenly pallid as he, also, reached the beach.
Hal, who was in the rear, did not seem so much startled.

“Do you think Eph has gone off on a cruise all alone?—that he has come to
any harm?” gasped the shipbuilder.

“I don’t know, but I’m not going to worry a mite about Eph Somers until I
have to,” retorted Jack Benson, easily.

“Eph can generally take care of himself,” added Hal Hastings. “He rarely
falls into any kind of scrape that he can’t climb out of.”

“But this is a bad time for him to take the ’Farnum’ and cruise away,”
objected the owner of the yard. “The ’Hudson’ may be here at any hour, you
know, and we ought to be ready for orders.”

As he spoke, Mr. Farnum scanned the horizon away to the south, out over
the sea.

“There’s a line of smoke, now, and not many miles away,” he announced. “It
may, as likely as not, be smoke from the ’Hudson’s’ pipe.”

“Going out with us, sir?” inquired Captain Jack Benson, as Hal took his
place at a pair of oars.

“Yes,” nodded the owner of the yard, dropping into a seat at the stern of
the boat, after which Benson pushed off at the bow.

Down on the seashore, on this day just past the middle of October, the air
was keen and brisk. There had been frost for several nights past.
Sleighing might be looked for in another month.

“Cable’s gone from this buoy,” declared Captain Jack, as Hal rowed close.
“Over to the other one, old fellow.”

Here, too, the cable was missing. Evidently the “Farnum” had made a clean
get-away. If there had been any accident, it must have taken place after
the new submarine boat had slipped away from her moorings.

“Humph!” grunted Jack, scanning the sea. “No sign of the boat anywhere.
Eph may be anywhere within twenty miles of here.”

“Or within twenty feet, either,” grinned Hal, looking down into the waters
that were lead-colored under the dull autumn sky.

“What are we going to do, Captain?” inquired Jacob Farnum. “There are
Grant Andrews and three of his machinists coming down to the water.”

“I reckon, sir, we’d better put them aboard the ’Pollard’ first, sir,”
Benson suggested.

Mr. Farnum nodding, the boat was rowed in to the shore and Andrews and his
men were put aboard the “Pollard” at the platform deck. Captain Jack
Benson unlocking the door to the conning tower, was himself the first to
disappear down below. When he came back he carried a line to which was
attached a heavy sounding-lead.

“It won’t take us long to sound the deep spots in this little harbor,”
said the young skipper, as he dropped down once more into the bow of the
shore boat. “Row about, Hal, over the places where the submarine could go
below out of sight.”

As Hal rowed, Skipper Jack industriously used the sounding-lead.

For twenty minutes nothing resulted from this exploration. Then, all of a
sudden, Benson shouted:

“Back water, Hal! Easy; rest on your oars. Steady!”

Jack Benson raised the lead two or three feet, then let it down again,
playing it up and down very much as a cod fisherman uses his line and
hook.

“I’m hitting something, and it is hardly a rock, either,” declared young
Benson. “Pull around about three points to starboard, Hal, then steal
barely forward.”

Again Benson played see-saw with his sounding-line over the boat’s
gunwale.

“If my lead isn’t hitting the ’Farnum,’” declared the young skipper,
positively, “then it’s the ’Farnum’s’ ghost. Hold steady, now, Hal.”

Immediately afterward, Benson caused the lead fairly to dance a jig on
whatever it touched at bottom.

“What’s the good of that, anyway?” demanded Jacob Farnum.

“You don’t think I’m doing this just for fun, do you, sir?” asked Captain
Jack, with a smile.

“No; I know you generally have an object when you do anything unusual,”
responded the shipbuilder, good-humoredly.

“You know, of course, sir, that noises sound with a good deal of
exaggeration when you hear them under water?”

“Yes; of course.”

“You also know that all three of us have been practicing at telegraphy a
good deal during the past few weeks, because every man who follows the sea
ought to know how to send and receive wireless messages at need.”

“Yes; I know that, Benson.”

“Well, sir, I guess that the lead has been hitting the top of the
’Farnum’s’ hull, and I’ve been tapping out the signal—”

“The signal, ’Come up—rush!’” broke in Hal, with an odd smile.

“Right-o,” nodded Jack Benson.

“How on earth did _you_ know what the signal was, Hastings?” demanded Mr.
Farnum.

“Why, sir, I’ve been sitting so that I could see Jack’s arm. I’ve been
reading, from the motions of his right arm, the dots and dashes of the
Morse telegraph alphabet.”

“You youngsters certainly get me, for the things you think of,” laughed
the shipyard’s owner.

“And the ’Farnum,’ or whatever it is, is coming up,” called Captain Jack,
suddenly. “I just felt my lead slide down over the top of her hull.
Hard-a-starboard, Hal, and row hard,” shouted young Benson, breathlessly.

Though Hastings obeyed immediately he was barely an instant too soon. To
his dismay, Mr. Farnum saw something dark, unwieldy, rising through the
water. It appeared to be coming up fairly under the stern of the shore
boat, threatening to overturn the little craft and plunge them all into
the icy water.

Hal shot just out of the danger zone, though. Then a round little tower
bobbed up out of the water. Immediately afterward the upper third of a
long, cigar-shaped craft came up into view, water rolling from her
dripping sides, which glistened brightly as the sun came out briefly from
behind a fall cloud.

In the conning tower, through the thick plate glass, the three people in
the shore boat made out the carroty-topped head and freckled,
good-humored, honest, homely face of Eph Somers. The boat lay on the
water, under no headway, drifting slightly with the wind-driven ripples.
Then Eph raised the man-hole cover of the top of the conning tower,
thrusting out his head to hail them.

“Hey, you landsmen, do you know a buoy from an umbrella?”

“Do _you_ know the difference between a Sunday-school text and petty
larceny?” retorted Jack Benson, sternly. “What do you mean by taking the
submarine without leave?”

“I’ve been experimenting—flirting with science,” responded Eph, loftily.
“Say, if you landsmen know a buoy from a banana, get down to the bow
moorings of this steel mermaid, and I’ll pass you the bow cable. It’s a
heap easier to lead this submarine horse out of the stall, single-handed,
than it is to take him back and tie him.”

Hal rowed easily to the buoy, while Eph, returning to the steering wheel
and the tower controls, ran the “Farnum,” with just bare headway, up to
where he could toss the bow cable to those waiting in the boat. A few
moments later the stern cable, also, was made fast, in such a way as to
allow a moderate swing to the bulky steel craft.

“Now, you can take me ashore, if you feel like it,” proposed Eph, standing
on the platform deck.

“Not quite yet,” returned Skipper Jack, though the small boat lay
alongside. “We’ve got some inspecting to do. But how did you get on board
in the first place?”

“Why, the night watchman was in the yard for a few minutes, and I got him
to put me on board. I figured I could hail somebody else when I was ready
to go on shore.”

“But what on earth made you do such a thing?” demanded Captain Jack, in a
low tone. “It’s really more than you had a right to do, Eph, without
getting Mr. Farnum’s permission.”

“Why, I’ve known you to take the ’Pollard’ and try something when Mr.
Farnum wasn’t about,” retorted Somers, looking surprised.

“You never knew me to do it when I could ask permission, although, as
captain, I have the right to handle the boat. But that leave doesn’t
extend to all the rest, Eph. What were you doing down there, anyway?”

“Why, I came on board, and left the manhole open for ten minutes,”
answered Somers. “Then I found the cabin thermometer standing at 49
degrees. I wondered how much warmth could be gained by going below the
surface. I had been down an hour and five minutes when you began to signal
with that sledge-hammer—”

“Sounding-lead,” Jack corrected him.

“Well, it sounded like a sledge-hammer, anyway,” grinned young Somers.
“While I was down below I found that the temperature rose four degrees.”

“Part of that was likely due to the warmth of your body, and the heat of
the breath you gave off,” hinted Benson.

“You could have gotten it up to eighty or ninety degrees by turning on the
electric heater far enough,” suggested Hal.

“I wanted to see whether it would be warmer in the depths; wanted to find
out how low I could go and be able to do without heat in winter,” Somers
retorted.

“I could have told you that, from my reading, without any experiment,”
retorted Skipper Jack. “Close your conning tower and go down a little way,
and the temperature would gradually rise a few degrees. That’s because of
the absence of wind and draft. But, if you could go down very, very deep
without smashing the boat under the water pressure, you’d find the
temperature falling quite a bit.”

“Where did you read all that?” inquired Eph, looking both astonished and
sheepish.

“Here,” replied Jack, going to a small wall book-case, taking down a book
and turning several pages before he stopped.

“Just my luck,” muttered Eph, disconsolately. “Here I’ve been dull as
ditch-water for an hour, trying to find out something new, and it’s all
stated in a book printed—ten years ago,” he finished, after rapidly
consulting the title-page.

Jacob Farnum had been no listener to this conversation. Taking the marine
glasses from the conning tower, the shipbuilder was now well forward on
the platform deck, scanning what was visible of the steam craft to the
southward. At last the yard’s owner turned around to say:

“I don’t believe you young men can have things ship-shape a second too
soon. The craft heading this way has a military mast forward. She must be
the ’Hudson.’ If there’s anything to be done, hustle!”

Jack and Hal sprang below, to scan their respective departments. Five
minutes later Grant Andrews hailed from the “Pollard,” and Eph rowed over
in the shore boat to ferry over the machinists.

Half an hour later Andrews and his men had put in the few needed touches
aboard the newer submarine boat. The sun, meanwhile, had gone down,
showing the hull of a naval vessel some four miles off the harbor.

Darkness came on quickly, with a clouded sky. As young Benson stepped on
deck Grant Andrews followed him.

“All finished here, Grant?” queried the yard’s owner.

“Yes, sir. There’s mighty little chance to do anything where Hal Hastings
has charge of the machinery.”

“That’s our gunboat out there, I think,” went on Mr. Farnum, pointing to
where a white masthead light and a red port light were visible, about a
mile away.

“Dunhaven must be on the map, all right, if a strange navigating officer
knows how to come so straight to the place,” laughed Jack Benson.

“Oh, you trust a United States naval officer to find any place he has
sailing orders for,” returned Jacob Farnum. “I wonder if he’ll attempt to
come into this harbor?”

“There’s safe anchorage, if he wants to do so,” replied Captain Jack.

While Somers was busy putting the foreman and the machinists ashore, Mr.
Farnum, Jack and Hal remained on the platform deck, watching the approach
of the naval vessel, which was now plainly making for Dunhaven.

Suddenly, a broad beam of glaring white light shot over the water, resting
across the deck of the “Farnum.”

“I guess that fellow knows what he wants to know, now,” muttered Benson,
blinking after the strong glare had passed.

“There, he has picked up the ’Pollard,’ too,” announced Hastings. “Now,
that commander must feel sure he has sighted the right place.”

“There go the signal lights,” cried Captain Jack, suddenly. “Hal, hustle
below and turn on the electric current for the signaling apparatus.”

Then Benson watched as, from the yards high up on the gunboat’s signaling
mast, colored electric lights glowed forth, twinkling briefly in turn.
This is the modern method of signaling by sea at night.

“He wants to know,” said Benson, to Mr. Farnum, as he turned, “whether
there is safe anchorage for a twelve-hundred-ton gunboat of one hundred
and ninety-five feet length.”

Reaching the inside of the conning tower at a bound, the young skipper
rapidly manipulated his own electric signaling control. There was a low
mast on the “Farnum’s” platform deck, a mast that could be unstepped
almost in an instant when going below surface. So Captain Jack’s
counter-query beamed out in colors through the night:

“What’s your draught?”

“Under present ballast, seventeen-eight,” came the answer from the
gunboat’s signal mast.

“Safe anchorage,” Captain Jack signaled back.

“Can you meet us with a pilot?” questioned the on-coming gunboat.

“Yes,” Captain Jack responded.

“Do so,” came the laconic request.

“That’s all, Hal,” the young skipper called, through the engine room
speaking tube. “Want to row me out and put me aboard the gunboat?”

In another jiffy the two young chums had put off in the boat, Hal at the
oars, Jack at the tiller ropes. The gunboat was now lying to, some seven
hundred yards off the mouth of the little harbor. Hastings bent lustily to
the oars, sending the boat over the rocking water until he was within a
hundred yards of the steam craft’s bridge.

“Gun boat ahoy!” roared Hal, between his hands. Then, by a slip of the
tongue, and wholly innocent of any intentional offense, he bellowed:

“Is that the ’Dad’ boat?”

“What’s that?” came a sharp retort from the gunboat’s bridge. “Don’t try
to be funny, young man!”

“Beg your pardon, sir. That was a slip of the tongue,” Hal replied,
meekly, as he colored. “Are you the gunboat ’Hudson?’”

“No; I’m her commanding officer, young man! Who in blazes are you?”

“I’m the goat, it seems,” muttered Hastings, under his breath. But, aloud,
he replied:

“I have the pilot you requested.”

“Then why don’t you bring him on board?” came the sharp question. “Did you
think I only wanted to look at a pilot?”

“All right, sir. Shall I make fast to your starboard side gangway?” Hal
called.

“In a hurry, young man!”

“That’s the naval style, I guess,” murmured Jack to his chum. “No fooling
in the talk. I wonder if that fellow eats pie? Or is his temper due to
coffee?”

Answering only with a quiet grin, Hal rowed alongside the starboard side
gangway. Jack, waiting, sprang quickly to the steps, ascending, waving his
hand to Hal as he went. Young Hastings quickly shoved off, then bent to
his oars.

“Where’s the pilot?” came a stern voice, from the bridge, as Jack Benson’s
head showed above the starboard rail.

“I am the pilot, sir,” Jack replied.

“Why, you’re a boy.”

“Guilty,” Jack responded.

“What does this fooling mean? You’re not old enough to hold a pilot’s
license.”

By this time Benson was on the deck, immediately under the bridge. A half
dozen sailors, forward, were eyeing him curiously.

“I have no license, sir,” Jack admitted. “Neither has anyone else at
Dunhaven. For that matter, the harbor’s a private one, belonging to the
shipyard.”

“Hasn’t Mr. Farnum a _man_ he can send out?”

“No one who knows the harbor better than I do, sir.”

“Who are you? What are you?”

“Jack Benson, sir. Captain of the Pollard submarine boats.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

The question came sharply, almost raspingly.

“Beg your pardon, sir, but you didn’t ask me,” Jack replied.

“Come up here, Benson,” ordered the lieutenant commander, in a loud voice
intended to drown out the subdued titter of some of the sailors forward.

Jack ascended to the bridge, to find himself facing a six-footer in his
early thirties. There was a younger officer at the far end of the bridge.

“Does Mr. Farnum consider you capable of showing us the way into the
harbor?” demanded the commanding officer of the “Hudson.”

“I think so, sir. He trusts me with his own boats.”

“Then you are—”

“Benson, Mr. Farnum’s captain of the submarine boats.”

Lieutenant Commander Mayhew gazed in astonishment for a moment, then held
out his hand as he introduced himself, remarking:

“I was told that I would find a very young submarine commander here, but—”

“You didn’t expect to find one quite as young,” Jack finished, smiling.

“No; I didn’t. Mr. Trahern, I want you to know Captain Jack Benson, of the
Pollard submarines.”

Ensign Trahern also shook hands with young Benson.

“And now,” went on the commander of the “Hudson,” “I think you may as well
show us the way into the harbor.”

“You’ll want to go at little more than headway, sir,” Jack replied. “The
harbor is small, though there’s enough deep water for you. In parts there
are some sand ledges that the tide washes up.”

“I can’t allow you to pilot us, exactly, but you’ll indicate the course to
me, won’t you, Mr. Benson?”

The “mister” was noticeable, now. Naval officers are chary of their
bestowal of the title “captain” upon one who does not hold it in the Army
or Navy service.

At Mr. Mayhew’s order the “Hudson” was started slowly forward, the
searchlight playing about the entrance to the harbor.

“For your best anchorage, sir,” declared Captain Jack, after he had
brought the gunboat slowly into the harbor, “you will do well to anchor
with that main arc-light dead ahead, that shed over there on your
starboard beam, and the front end of the submarine shed about four points
off your port bow.”

Mr. Mayhew slowly manœuvred his craft, while men stood on the deck below,
forward, prepared to heave the bow anchors.

“Go four points over to port, Mr. Trahern,” instructed Mr. Mayhew. “Now,
back the engines—steady!”

Jack Benson opened his mouth wide. Then, as he saw the way the “Hudson”
was backing, he suddenly called:

“Slow speed ahead, quick, sir!”

“You said—” began Mr. Mayhew.

Gr-r-r-r! The stern of the gunboat dug its way into a sand ledge, lifting
the stern considerably.

“Slow speed ahead!” rasped Lieutenant Commander Mayhew, sharply.

But the gunboat could not be budged. She was stuck, stern on, fast in the
sand-ledge.

“Benson!” uttered the lieutenant commander, bitterly, “I congratulate you.
You’ve succeeded in grounding a United States Naval vessel!”





             CHAPTER III: “YOU MAY AS WELL LEAVE THE BRIDGE!”


There was so much of overwhelming censure in the naval officer’s tone that
Jack’s spirit was stung to the quick.

“It’s your mistake, sir,” he retorted. “You didn’t follow the course I
advised. You swung the ship around to port, and—”

“Silence, now, if you please, while men are trying to get this vessel out
of a scrape a boy got her into,” commanded Mr. Mayhem, sternly.

Jack flushed, then bit his tongue. In another moment a pallor had
succeeded the red in his face.

He was blamed for the disaster, and he was not really at fault.

Yet, under the rebuke he had just received, he did not feel it his place
to retort further for the present.

Mr. Mayhew and Mr. Trahern conferred in low tones for a moment or two.

“You may as well leave the bridge, young man,” resumed Mr. Mayhew, turning
upon the submarine boy. “You are not likely to be of any use here.”

As Jack, burning inwardly with indignation, though managing to keep
outwardly calm, descended to the deck below, he caught sight of Hal
Hastings, hovering near in the rowboat. Hal signaled to learn whether he
should put in alongside to take off his chum, but Benson shook his head.

Over on the “Farnum” the yard’s owner and Eph Somers watched wonderingly.
They understood, well enough, that the new, trim-looking gunboat was in
trouble, but they did not know that Jack Benson was held at fault.

Down between decks the engines of the “Hudson” were toiling hard to run
the craft off out of the sand. Then the machinery stopped. An engineer
officer came up from below. He and Mr. Mayhew walked to the stern, while a
seaman, accompanying them, heaved the lead, reading the soundings.

“We’re stuck good and fast,” remarked the engineer officer. “We can’t
drive off out of that sand for the reason that the propellers are buried
in the grit. They’ll hardly turn at all, and, when they do, they only
churn the sand without driving us off.”

“Confound that ignoramus of a boy!” muttered Mr. Mayhew, walking slowly
forward. It was no pleasant situation for the lieutenant commander. Having
run his vessel ashore, he knew himself likely to be facing a naval board
of inquiry.

Hal, finding that the shore boat was not wanted for the present, had rowed
over to the “Farnum’s” moorings. Now Jacob Farnum came alongside in the
shore boat.

“May I speak with your watch officer?” he called.

“I am the commanding officer,” Mr. Mayhew called down, in the cold, even,
dulled voice of a man in trouble.

“I am Mr. Farnum, owner of the yard. May I come on board?”

“Be glad to have you,” Lieutenant Commander Mayhew responded.

So Mr. Farnum went nimbly up over the side.

“May I ask what is the trouble here, sir?” asked the yard’s owner.

“The trouble is,” replied Mr. Mayhew, “that your enterprising boy pilot
has run us aground—hard, tight and fast!”

Jacob Farnum glanced swiftly at his young captain. Jack shook his head
briefly in dissent. Jacob Farnum, with full confidence in his young man,
at once understood that there was more yet to be learned.

“Come up on the bridge, sir, if you will,” requested the commander of the
gunboat, who was a man of too good breeding to wish any dispute before the
men of the crew. “You may come, too, Benson.”

Jack followed the others, including the engineer officer of the “Hudson.”
Yet Benson was clenching his hands, fighting a desperate battle to get
full command over himself. It was hard—worse than hard—to be unjustly
accused.

Jacob Farnum wished to keep on the pleasantest terms with these officers
of the Navy. At the same time he was man enough to feel determined that
Jack, whether right or wrong, should have a full chance to defend himself.

“I understand, sir,” began Mr. Farnum, “that you attach some blame in this
matter to young Benson?”

“Perhaps he is not to be blamed too much, on account of his extreme
youth,” responded Mr. Mayhew.

“Forget his youth altogether,” urged Mr. Farnum. “Let us treat him as a
man. I’ve always found him one, in judgment, knowledge and loyalty. Do you
mind telling me, sir, in what way he erred in bringing you in here?”

“An error in giving his advice,” replied Mr. Mayhew. “Or else it was
ignorance of how to handle a craft as large as this gunboat. For my
anchorage he told me—”

Here the lieutenant commander repeated the first part of Jack’s directions
correctly, but wound up with:

“He advised me to throw my wheel over four points to port.”

“Pardon me, sir,” Jack broke in, unable to keep still longer. “What I
said, or intended to say, was to bring your vessel so that the forward end
of the submarine shed over there would be four points off the port bow.”

“What did you hear Mr. Benson say, Mr. Trahern?” demanded the gunboat’s
commander, turning to the ensign who had stood with him on the bridge.

“Why, sir, I understood the lad to say what he states that he said.”

“You are sure of that, Mr. Trahern?”

“Unless my ears tricked me badly,” replied the ensign, “Mr. Benson said
just what he now states. I wondered, sir, at your calling for slow speed
astern.”

Lieutenant Commander Mayhew gazed for some moments fixedly at the face of
Ensign Trahern. Then, of a sudden, the gunboat’s commander, who was both
an officer and a gentleman, broke forth, contritely:

“As I think it over, I believe, myself, that Benson advised as he now
states he did. It was my own error—I am sure of it now.”

Wheeling about, Mayhew held out his right hand.

“Mr. Benson,” he said, in a deep voice full of regret, “I was the one in
error. I am glad to admit it, even if tardily. Will you pardon my too
hasty censure?”

“Gladly, sir,” Benson replied, gripping the proffered hand. Jacob Farnum
stood back, wagging his head in a satisfied way. It had been difficult for
him to believe that his young captain had been at fault in so simple a
matter, or in a harbor with which he was so intimately acquainted.

As for the young man himself, the thing that touched him most deeply was
the quick, complete and manly acknowledgment of this lieutenant commander.

“Mr. Farnum,” inquired the gunboat’s commander, “have you any towboats
about here that can be used in helping me to get the ’Hudson’ off this
sand ledge?”

“The only one in near waters, sir,” replied the yard’s owner, “is a craft,
not so very much larger than a launch, that ties up some three miles down
the coast. She’s the boat I use when I need any towing here. Of course, I
have the two torpedo boats, though their engines were not constructed for
towing work.”

“May I offer a suggestion?” asked Jack, when the talk lagged.

“I’ll be glad to have you, Mr. Benson,” replied Mr. Mayhew, turning toward
the submarine boy.

“Flood tide will be in in about two hours and a half, sir,” Benson
followed up. “That ought to raise this vessel a good deal. Then, with the
towboat Mr. Farnum has mentioned, and with such help as the engines of the
submarines may give, together with your own engines, Mr. Mayhew, I think
there ought to be a good chance of getting the ’Hudson’ afloat with plenty
of water under her whole keel. We can even start some of the engines on
shore, and rig winches to haul on extra cables. Altogether, we can give
you a strong pull, sir.”

“That sounds like the best plan to me,” nodded Jacob Farnum. “I’ll have a
message sent at once for that towboat.”

A white-coated steward now appeared on deck, moving near the lieutenant
commander.

“Is dinner ready, Greers?” called Mr. Mayhew.

“Yes, sir.”

“Lay two more plates, then. Mr. Farnum, I trust you and your young
submarine commander will sit as my guests to-night.”

This invitation the yard’s owner accepted, asking only time enough to
arrange for keeping some of his workmen over-time, awaiting the coming of
flood-tide.

So, presently, Jack and his employer found themselves seated at table in
the gunboat’s handsome wardroom. Besides the lieutenant commander there
were Lieutenant Halpin, two ensigns, two engineer officers and a young
medical officer. In the “Hudson’s” complement of officers there were also
four midshipmen, but these latter ate in their own mess.

The time passed most pleasantly, Mr. Mayhew plainly doing all in his power
to atone for his late censure of the submarine boy.

Before dinner was over the small towboat was in the harbor. At the coming
of flood tide this towing craft had a hawser made fast to the gunboat.
With the help of some of the naval machinists aboard the “Hudson,” both
submarine craft were also manned and hawsers made fast. Two cables were
passed ashore to winches to which power was supplied by the shipyard’s
engines. When all was ready a mighty pull was given, the gunboat’s own
propellers taking part in the struggle. For two or three minutes the
efforts continued. Then, at last, the “Hudson,” uninjured, ran off into
deep water and shortly afterwards anchored in safety.

It was a moment of tremendous relief for Mr. Mayhew.

“Call the tugboat captain aboard, and I’ll settle with him at my own
expense,” proposed the lieutenant commander.

“I trust you will think of nothing of the sort,” replied Jacob Farnum,
quickly. “In this harbor I wish to consider you and your vessel as my
guests.”

Again Mr. Mayhew expressed his thanks. Presently, glancing ashore through
the night, he asked:

“What sort of country is it hereabouts?”

“Mostly flat, as to the surface,” Mr. Farnum replied. “If your question
goes further, there are some fine roads and several handsome estates
within a few miles of here. Mr. Mayhew, won’t you and a couple of your
officers come on shore with me? I’ll telephone for my car and put you over
quite a few miles this evening.”

“Delighted,” replied the commander of the gunboat.

One of the “Hudson’s” cutters being now in the water alongside, the party
went ashore in this. Jack, after bidding the naval officers good-night,
found Hal and Eph, who had just come ashore from supper on board the
“Farnum.”

“No sailing orders yet, I suppose?” Hal asked.

“None,” Jack replied. “I reckon we’ll start, all right, some time
to-morrow morning.”

“What’ll we do to-night?” Eph wondered.

“I don’t know,” replied Jack. “We’ve few friends around here we need to
take the trouble to say good-bye to. We could call on Mrs. Farnum, but I
imagine we’d run into the naval party up at the Farnum house. We want to
keep a bit in the background with these naval officers, except when they
may ask for our company.”

“Let’s take a walk about the old town, then,” Hal suggested.

So the three submarine boys strolled across the shipyard. Just as they
were passing through the gate a man of middle height and seemingly about
thirty years of age quickened his pace to reach them.

“Is this shipyard open nights?” he queried.

“Only to some employees,” Jack answered.

“I suppose Mr. Farnum isn’t about?”

“No.”

“Captain Benson?”

“Benson is my name.”

“This letter is addressed to Mr. Farnum,” went on the stranger, “but Mr.
Pollard told me I could hand it to you.”

Captain Jack took the letter from the unsealed envelope.

“My dear Farnum,” ran the enclosure, “since you’re short a good machinist
for the engine room of the ’Farnum,’ the bearer, Samuel Truax, seems to me
to be just the man you want. I’ve examined him, and he understands the
sort of machinery we use. Better give him a chance.” The note was signed
in David Pollard’s well-known, scrawly handwriting.

“I’m sorry you can’t see Mr. Farnum to-night,” said Benson, pleasantly.
“He’ll be here early in the morning, though.”

“When do you sail?” asked Truax, quickly.

“That you would have to ask Mr. Farnum, too,” smiled Jack.

“But, see here, Mr. Pollard engaged me to work aboard one of your
submarines.”

“It looks that way, doesn’t it?” laughed the young skipper.

“And you’re the captain?”

“Yes; but I can’t undertake to handle Mr. Farnum’s business for him.”

“You’ll let me go aboard the craft to sleep for to-night, anyway?” coaxed
Truax.

“Why, that’s just what I’m not at liberty to do,” replied the young
submarine captain. “No; I couldn’t think of that, in the absence of Mr.
Farnum’s order.”

“But that doesn’t seem hardly fair,” protested Truax. “See here, I have
spent all my money getting here. I haven’t even the price of a lodging
with me, and this isn’t a summer night.”

“Why, I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” Benson went on, feeling in one of his
pockets. “Here’s a dollar. That’ll buy you a bed and a breakfast at the
hotel up the street. If you want to get aboard with us in time, you’d
better show up by eight in the morning.”

“But—”

“That’s really all I can do,” Jack Benson hastily assured the fellow. “I’m
not the owner of the boat, and I can’t take any liberties. Oh, wait just a
moment. I’ll see if there’s any chance of Mr. Farnum coming back
to-night.”

Jack knew well enough that there wasn’t any chance of Mr. Farnum
returning, unless possibly at a very late hour with the naval officers,
but the boy had seen the night watchman peering out through the gateway.

Retracing his steps, Jack drew the night watchman inside, whispering:

“Just a pointer for you. You’ve seen that man on the street with us? He
has a letter from Mr. Pollard to Mr. Farnum, but I wouldn’t let him in the
yard to-night, unless Mr. Farnum appears and gives the order.”

“I understand,” said the night watchman, nodding.

“That’s all, then, and thank you.”

Jack Benson hastily rejoined the others on the sidewalk.

“I don’t believe, Mr. Truax, it will be worth your while to come here
earlier than eight in the morning. Better go to the hotel and tie up to a
good sleep. Good night.”

“Say, why did you take such a dislike to the fellow?” queried Eph, as the
three submarine boys strolled on up the street, Truax following slowly at
some distance in the rear.

“I didn’t take a dislike to him,” Jack replied, opening his eyes wide.

“You choked him off mighty short, then.”

“If it looked that way, then I’m sorry,” Benson protested, in a tone of
genuine regret. “All I wanted to make plain was that I couldn’t pass him
on to our precious old boat without Mr. Farnum’s order.”

Truax plodded slowly along behind the submarine boys, a cunning look in
the man’s eyes as he stared after Jack Benson.

“You’re a slick young man, or else a wise one,” muttered Truax. “But I
think I’m smart enough to take it out of you!”

Nor did Sam Truax go to the hotel. He had his own plans for this
evening—plans that boded the submarine boys no good.

The three boys strolled easily about town, getting a hot soda or two, and,
finally, drifting into a moving picture show that had opened recently in
Dunhaven. This place they did not leave until the show was over. They were
half-way home when Captain Jack remembered that he had left behind him a
book that he had bought earlier in the evening.

“You fellows keep right on down to the yard. I’ll hurry back, get the book
and overtake you,” he proposed.

Jack ran back, but already the little theatre was closed.

“I’m out that book, then, if we sail in the morning,” he muttered, as he
trudged along after his friends.

On the way toward the water front Benson had to pass a vacant lot
surrounded by a high board fence on a deserted street. He had passed about
half way along the length of the fence, when a head appeared over the top
followed by a pair of arms holding a small bag of sand. Down dropped the
bag, striking Jack Benson on the top of the head, sending him unconscious
to the ground.





               CHAPTER IV: MR. FARNUM OFFERS ANOTHER GUESS


Close at hand there was a loose board in the fence. Through this Sam Truax
thrust his head, peering up and down the street. Not another soul was in
sight.

With a chuckle Truax stepped through the hole in the fence. Swiftly he
gathered up the young submarine captain, bearing him through the aperture
and dropping him on the ground behind the fence. At the same time he took
with him the small bag of sand.

“Knocked you out, but I don’t believe you’ll be unconscious long,” mused
Truax, standing over his young victim, regarding him critically. “There
wasn’t steam enough in the blow to hurt you for long. You’re sturdy,
following the sea all the time, as you do.”

With a thoughtful air Sam Truax drew a small bottle from his pocket,
sprinkling some of the contents over Jack’s uniform coat. Immediately the
nauseating smell of liquor rose on the air.

“Now, if someone finds you before you come to, you’ll look like a fellow
that has been drinking and fighting,” muttered Truax under his breath. “If
you come to and get back to the yard without help, you’ll walk unsteadily
and have that smell about your clothes. Usually, it needs only a breath of
suspicion to turn folks against a boy!”

                  [Illustration: Down Dropped the Bag.]

                          Down Dropped the Bag.


Pausing only long enough to learn that Jack’s pulses were beating, and
that the submarine boy was breathing, Truax stole off into the night,
carrying the bag of sand under his overcoat. At one point he paused long
enough to empty the sand from the bag over a fence. The bag itself he
afterwards burned in the open fireplace in the room assigned to him at
Holt’s Hotel.

For twenty minutes Jack Benson lay as he had been left. Then he began to
stir, and groan. Then he opened his eyes; after a while he managed to sit
up.

“Ugh!” he grunted. “What’s the odor? Liquor! How does that happen? Oh, my
head!”

He got slowly to his feet, using the board fence as a means to help steady
himself. Then, though he found himself weak and tormented by the pain in
his head, Benson managed to feel his way along the fence until he came to
the opening made by the loose board. Holding himself here, he thrust his
head beyond.

Now, Hal and Eph, having waited for some time at the shore boat, before
going out on board the “Farnum,” had at last made up their minds to go
back and look for their missing leader. They came along just at the moment
that the young captain’s head appeared through the opening in the fence.

“There he is,” muttered Hal, stopping short. “Gracious! He acts queerly. I
wonder if anything can have happened to him? Come along, Eph!”

The two raced across the street.

“Jack, old fellow! What on earth’s the matter?” demanded Hal Hastings,
anxiously.

“I wish you could tell me,” responded Jack Benson, speaking rather
thickly, for he was still somewhat dazed. “Oh, my head!”

“There has been some queer work here,” muttered Hal in Eph’s ear. “Don’t
torment him with questions. Just help me to get him down to the yard.”

While the two submarine boys were guiding their weak, dizzy comrade out to
the sidewalk a man came by with a swinging stride. Then he stopped short,
staring in amazement.

“Hullo, boys! What on earth has happened?”

It was Grant Andrews, foreman of the submarine work at the yard, and a
warm personal friend of Benson’s.

“I don’t believe the old chap feels like telling us just now,” muttered
Hal, with a sour face.

“Whiskey!” muttered Andrews, almost under his breath. “What does it mean?
Benson never touched a drop of that vile stuff, did he?”

“He’d sooner drown himself,” retorted Hal, with spirit.

“Of course he would,” agreed Grant Andrews. “But what is the meaning of
all this?”

“Oh, there’s some queer, hocus-pocus business on foot,” muttered Hal,
bitterly. “But I don’t believe Jack feels much like telling us anything
about it at present.”

In truth, Jack didn’t seem inclined to conversation. He was too sore and
dazed to feel like talking. He couldn’t collect his ideas clearly. The
most that he actually knew was that the pain in his head was tormenting.

“I’ll pick him right up in my arms and carry him,” proposed Andrews. “I’ll
take him to Mr. Farnum’s office. Then I’ll get a doctor. We don’t want
much noise about this, or folks will be telling all sorts of yarns against
Jack Benson and his drinking habits, when the truth is he’s about the
finest, steadiest young fellow alive!”

Just as Andrews was about to carry his purpose into action, however, an
automobile turned the nearest corner and came swiftly toward them. In
another instant it stopped alongside. It contained Mr. Farnum and his
chauffeur, besides three naval officers.

“What’s wrong, Andrews?” called the yard’s owner. “Why, that’s Jack
Benson! What has happened to him?”

Hal and Eph stood supporting their comrade, almost holding him, in fact.
Jacob Farnum leaped from his automobile. Lieutenant Commander Mayhew
followed him.

“Liquor, eh?” exclaimed the naval officer, the odor reaching his nostrils.

“No such thing,” retorted Farnum, turning upon the officer. “At least,
Jack Benson has been drinking no such stuff.”

“It was only a guess,” murmured Mr. Mayhew, apologetically. “You know your
young man better than I do, Mr. Farnum.”

“There is liquor on his clothing,” continued the shipbuilder. “It looks as
though someone had assaulted the lad, laid him out, and then sprinkled
him. It’s a wasted trick, though. I know him too well to be fooled by any
such clumsy bit of nonsense.”

“A stupid trick, indeed,” agreed Lieutenant Commander Mayhew, but the
naval officer did not quite share the shipbuilder’s confidence in the
submarine boy’s innocence. Mr. Mayhew had known of too many cases of naval
apprentices ruined through weak indulgence in liquor. Indeed, he had even
known of rare instances in which cadets had been dismissed from the Naval
Academy for the same offense. The lieutenant commander’s present doubt of
Jack Benson was likely to work to that young man’s disadvantage later on.

Others of the party left the auto. Hal and Mr. Farnum got into the
tonneau, supporting Jack there between them. Thus they carried him to Mr.
Farnum’s office at the yard, Grant Andrews then going in the car after a
doctor, while the others stretched Jack on the office sofa. The naval
officers returned to the “Hudson,” at anchor in the little harbor below.

“The young man acts as though he had been struck on the head,” was the
physician’s verdict. “No bones of the skull are broken. The odor of liquor
is on his coat, but I can’t seem to detect any on the breath.”

“Of course you can’t,” commented Jacob Farnum, crisply. “Will Benson be
fit to sail in the morning?”

“I think so,” nodded the doctor. “But there ought to be a nurse with him
to-night.”

“Take my car, Andrews, and get a man nurse at once,” directed Mr. Farnum.
“Doctor, can the young man be moved to his berth on the ’Farnum’?”

“Safely enough,” nodded the medical man. They waited until the nurse
arrived, when Jack was put to bed on the newer submarine craft.

Jack slept through the night, moaning once in a while. Mr. Farnum and the
Dunhaven doctor were aboard early to look at him. The surgeon from the
“Hudson” also came over.

Under the effects of medicine Jack Benson was asleep when, at ten o’clock
that morning, the two submarine torpedo boats slipped their moorings,
following the “parent boat,” the “Hudson,” out of the harbor.

Ten minutes later the motion of the sea awoke the young skipper.





                     CHAPTER V: TRUAX SHOWS THE SULKS


“Hullo!” muttered the young submarine skipper, staring curiously about the
little stateroom aft. He had it to himself, the nurse having been put on
shore. “Under way, eh? This is the queerest start I ever made on a
voyage.”

Nor was it many moments later when Jack Benson stood on his feet. His
clothes were hung neatly on nails against the wall. One after another Jack
secured the garments, slowly donning them.

“How my head throbs and buzzes!” he muttered, his voice sounding unsteady.
“Gracious! What could have happened? Let me see. The last I
remember—passing that high fence—”

But it was all too great a puzzle. Benson finally decided to stop guessing
until some future time. He went on with his dressing. Finally, with his
blouse buttoned as exactly as ever, and his cap placed gingerly on his
aching head, he opened the stateroom door, stepping out into the cabin.

Accustomed as he was to sea motion, the slight roll of the “Farnum” did
not bother the young skipper much. He soon reached the bottom of the short
spiral stairway leading up into the conning tower. Up there, in the
helmsman’s seat, he espied Hal Hastings with his hands employed at the
steering apparatus. Hal was looking out over the water, straight ahead.

“Sailing these days without word from your captain, eh?” Jack called, in a
voice that carried, though it shook.

“Gracious—you?” ejaculated Hal, looking down for an instant. Then Hastings
pressed a button connecting with a bell in the engine room.

“I’m going up there with you,” Jack volunteered.

“Right-o, if you insist,” clicked Eph Somers, appearing from the engine
room and darting to the young skipper’s side. True, Jack’s head swam a bit
dizzily as he climbed the stairs, but Eph’s strong support made the task
much easier. There was space to spare on the seat beside Hal, and into
this Jack Benson sank.

“Say, you ought to sleep until afternoon,” was Hastings’s next greeting,
but Jack was looking out of the conning tower at the scene around him.

The three craft were leaving the coast directly behind. About three
hundred yards away, abeam, steamed the “Hudson” at a nine-knot gait.

“The ’Pollard’ is on the other side of the gunboat, isn’t she?” asked
Jack.

“Yes,” Hal nodded.

“Naval crew aboard her?”

“Yes; Government has taken full possession of the ’Pollard.’”

“Who’s running this boat? Just you and Eph?”

“No; that new man, Truax, is on board, and at the last moment Mr. Farnum
put Williamson, one of the machinists, aboard, also. You can send
Williamson back from Annapolis whenever you’re through with him.”

“Williamson is all right,” nodded Jack, slowly. “But how about Truax?”

“I think he’s going to be a useful man,” Hal responded. “He seems familiar
with our type of engines. Of course, he knows nothing about the apparatus
for submerging the boat or making it dive. But he doesn’t need to. Now,
Jack, old fellow, we’re going along all right. Why not let Eph help you
back to your bunk, or one of the seats in the cabin, and have your sleep
out?”

“I’ve had it out,” Benson declared, with a laugh. “I’m ready, now, to take
my trick at the wheel.”

“Nonsense,” retorted Hal Hastings. “I’ve been here a bare quarter of an
hour, and I’m good for more work than that. Jack, you’re nothing but a
fifth wheel. You’re not needed; won’t be all day, and at night we anchor
in some harbor down the coast. Go and rest, like a good fellow.”

“Can’t rest, when I know I’m doing nothing,” Benson retorted, stubbornly.
“Besides, this is the first time I’ve ever found myself moving along in
regular formation with the United States Navy. I feel almost as if I were
a Navy officer myself, and I mean to make the most of the sensation. Say,
Hal, wouldn’t it be fine if we really _did_ belong to the Navy?”

“Gee-whiz!” murmured young Hastings, his cheeks glowing and his eyes
snapping.

“If we only belonged to the old Flag for life, and knew that we were
practising on a boat like this as a part of the preparation for real war
when it came?”

“_Don’t!_” begged Hal, tensely. “For you know, old fellow, it can’t come
true. Why, we haven’t even a residence anywhere, from which a Congressman
could appoint one of us to Annapolis!”

“_One_ of us?” muttered Jack, scornfully. “Then it would have to be you.
_I_ wouldn’t go, even as a cadet at Annapolis, and leave you behind in
just plain, ordinary life, Hal Hastings!”

“Well, it’s no use thinking about it,” sighed Hal, practically. “Neither
one of us is in any danger of getting appointed to Annapolis, so there’s
no chance that either one of us ever will become an officer in the Navy.
Let’s not talk about it, Jack. I’ve been contented enough, so far, but now
it makes me almost blue, to think that we can only go on testing and
handling submarine craft like these, while others will be their real
officers in the Navy, and command them in any war that may come.”

Though his head throbbed, and though a dizzy spell came over him every few
minutes, Jack Benson stuck it out, up there beside his chum, for an hour.
Then, disdaining aid, he crept down the stairs, stretching himself out on
one of the cabin seats. Eph brought him a pillow and a blanket. Jack soon
slept, tossing uneasily whenever pain throbbed dully in his head.

“Guess I’ll go out and have a little look at the young captain,” proposed
Sam Truax, an hour later.

“Try another guess,” retorted Eph, curtly. “You’ll stay here in the engine
room. Jack Benson isn’t going to be bothered in any way.”

“I’m not going to bother him; just going to take a look at him,” protested
Truax, moving toward the door that separated the engine room from the
cabin.

But young Somers caught the stranger by the sleeve of the oily jumper that
Sam had donned on beginning his work.

“Do you know what folks say about me?” demanded Eph, with a significant
glare.

“What do they say?”

“Folks have an idea that, at most times, I’m one of the best-natured
fellows on earth,” declared Eph, solemnly. “Yet they _do_ say that, when
I’m crossed in anything my mind’s made up to, I can be tarnation ugly. I
just told you I don’t want the captain disturbed. Do you know, Sam Truax,
I feel a queer notion coming over me? I’ve an idea that that feeling is
just plain ugliness coming to life!”

Truax came back from the door, a grin on his face. Yet, when he turned his
head away, there was a queer, almost deadly flash in the fellow’s eyes.

Jack slept, uneasily, until towards the middle of the afternoon. As soon
as Eph found him awake, that young man brought the captain a plate of
toast and a bowl of broth, both prepared at the little galley stove.

“Sit up and get away with these,” urged Eph, placing the tray on the cabin
table. “Wait a minute. I’ll prop you up and put a pillow at your back.”

“This boat isn’t a bad place for a fellow when he’s knocked out,” smiled
Jack.

“Any place ought to be good, where your friends are,” came, curtly, from
young Somers.

As Captain Jack ate the warm food he felt his strength coming back to him.

“Poor old Hal has been up there in the conning tower all these hours,”
muttered Captain Jack, uneasily. “He must have that cramped feeling in his
hands.”

“Humph!” retorted Eph. “Not so you could notice it much, I guess. It’s a
simpleton’s job up in the conning tower to-day. All he has to do is to
shift the wheel a little to port, or to starboard, just so as to keep the
proper interval from the ’Dad’ boat. Besides, I’ve been up there on
relief, for an hour while you slept, and Hal came down and sat with the
engines. Cheer up, Jack. No one misses you from the conning tower.”

Benson laughed, though he said, warningly:

“I reckon we’ll do as well to drop calling the gunboat the ’Dad boat’
instead of the ’parent vessel.’”

“Well, you needn’t bother at all about the conning tower to-day,” wound up
Eph, glancing at his watch. “It’s after half-past three at this moment and
I understand we’re to drop anchor about five o’clock.”

So Skipper Jack settled back with a comfortable sigh. Truth to tell, it
was pleasant not to have any immediate duty, for his head throbbed, every
now and then, and he felt dizzy when he tried to walk.

“Who could have hit me in that fashion, last night, and for what earthly
purpose?” wondered the boy. “I’ve had some enemies, in the past, but I
don’t know a single person about Dunhaven, now who has any reason for
wishing me harm.”

Never a thought crossed his mind of suspecting Sam Truax. That worthy had
come with a note from David Pollard, the inventor of the boats. Sam,
therefore, must be all right, the boy reasoned.

Jack lay back on the upholstered seat. He sat with his eyes closed most of
the time, though he did not doze. At last, however, he heard the engine
room bell sound for reduced speed. Getting up, the young captain made his
way to the foot of the conning tower stairs.

“Making port, Hal?” he called.

“Yep,” came the reply. “We’ll be at anchor in five minutes more.”

Jack made his way slowly to the door of the engine room.

“Eph,” he called, “as soon as you’ve shut off speed, take Truax above and
you two attend to the mooring.”

“Take this other man up with you,” urged Sam Truax. “I don’t know anything
about tying a boat up to moorings.”

“Time you learned, then,” returned Eph Somers, “if you’re to stay aboard a
submarine craft.”

“Take this other man up with you,” again urged Truax.

Eph Somers turned around to face him with a good deal of a glare.

“What ails you, Truax? You heard the captain’s order. You’ll go with me.”

“Don’t be too sure of that,” uttered Sam Truax, defiantly.

“If you don’t go above with me, and if you don’t follow every order you
get aboard this boat, I know where you _will_ go,” muttered Eph,
decisively.

“Where?” jeered Sam.

“Ashore—in the first boat that can take you there.”

“You seem to forget that I’m on board by David Pollard’s order,” sneered
Truax.

“All I am sure of,” retorted Eph, “is that Jack Benson is captain on board
this craft. That means that he’s sole judge of everything here when this
boat is cruising. If you were here by the orders of both owners, Jack
Benson would fire you ashore for good, just the same, after you’ve balked
at the first order.”

“Humph! I—”

Clang! Jangle! The signal bell was sounding.

“Shut up,” ordered Eph Somers, briskly. “I’ve got the engine to run on
signal from the watch officer.”

There followed a series of signals, first of all for stopping speed, then
for a brief reversing of engines. A moment later headway speed ahead was
ordered. So on Eph went through the series of orders until the “Farnum”
had been manœuvred to her exact position. Then, from above, Captain Jack’s
voice was heard, roaring in almost his usual tones:

“Turn out below, there, to help make fast!”

“Take the lever, Williamson,” directed Eph. “Come along lively, Truax.”

“Humph! Let Williamson go,” grumbled Truax.

“You come along with me, my man!” roared Eph, his face blazing angrily.
“Hustle, too, or I’ll report you to the captain for disobedience of
orders. Then you’ll go ashore at express speed. Coming?”

Sam Truax appeared to wage a very brief battle within himself. Then,
nodding sulkily, he followed.

“Hustle up, there!” Jack shouted down. “We don’t want to drift.”

Jack Benson stood out on the platform deck, holding to the conning tower
at the port side. A naval launch had just placed a buoy over an anchor
that had been lowered.

“Get forward, you two,” Jack called briskly, “and make the bow cable fast
to that buoy.”

Hal still sat at the wheel in the tower. As Eph and Truax crept forward
over the arched upper hull of the “Farnum,” Hal sounded the engine room
signals and steered until the boat had gotten close enough to make the bow
cable fast. Then the stern cable was made fast, with more line, to another
buoy.

“A neat hitch, Mr. Benson,” came a voice from the bridge of the “Hudson,”
which lay a short distance away. Jack, looking up, saw Lieutenant
Commander Mayhew leaning over the bridge rail.

“Thank you, sir,” Jack acknowledged, saluting the naval officer.

The parent vessel and her two submarine charges now lay at anchor in the
harbor at Port Clovis, one of the towns down the coast from Dunhaven. This
mooring overnight was to be repeated each day until Annapolis should be
reached.

Within fifteen minutes the craft were surrounded by small boats from
shore. Some of these contained merchandise that it was hoped sailors would
buy. Other boats “ran” for hotels, restaurants, drinking places, amusement
halls, and all the varied places on shore that hope to fatten on Jack
Tar’s money.

“I’d like to go ashore, sir,” announced Sam Truax, approaching Captain
Jack.

“When?”

“Now.”

“For how long?”

“Until ten o’clock to-night.”

“Be back by that hour, then,” Jack replied. “If you’re not, you’ll find
everything shut tight aboard here.”

Truax quickly signaled one of the hovering boats, and put off in it. Eph
watched the boat for a few moments before he turned to Captain Jack to
mutter:

“Somehow, I wouldn’t feel very badly about it if that fellow got lost on
shore!”





                     CHAPTER VI: TWO KINDS OF VOODOO


On the second day of the cruise Jack Benson returned to full duty.

For four nights, in all, the submarine squadron tied up at moorings in
harbors along the coast. On the fifth night, as darkness fell, the
squadron continued under way, in Chesapeake Bay, for Annapolis was but
three hours away.

Immediately after supper Captain Jack took his place in the conning tower.
He concerned himself principally with the compass, his only other task
being to keep the course by the “Hudson’s” lights, for the parent boat
supplied in its own conduct all the navigation orders beyond the general
course. The “Farnum’s” searchlight was not used, the gunboat picking up
all the coast-marks as they neared land.

“Annapolis is the place I’ve always wanted to see,” Jack declared, as Hal
joined him in the conning tower.

“It’s the place where I’ve always wanted to be a cadet,” sighed Hal. “But
there’s no chance for me, I fear. Jack, I’d rather be an officer of the
Navy than a millionaire.”

“Same here,” replied Jack, steadily. “It’s hard to have to feel that I’ll
never be either.”

As she entered the mouth of the Severn River the “Hudson” signaled to the
submarines to follow, in file, the “Pollard” leading. A little later the
three craft entered the Basin at the Academy. While the gunboat anchored
off the Amphitheatre, the two submarine boats were ordered to anchorage
just off the Boat House. Then a cutter came alongside.

“The lieutenant commander’s compliments to Mr. Benson. Will Mr. Benson go
aboard the ’Hudson’?” asked the young officer in command of the cutter.
Captain Jack lost no time in presenting himself before the lieutenant
commander.

“Mr. Benson,” said Mr. Mayhew, after greeting the submarine boy, “your
craft will be under a marine guard to-night, and at all times while here
at the Naval Academy. If you and your crew would like to spend the night
ashore, in the quaint little old town of Annapolis, there’s no reason why
you shouldn’t. But you will all need to report back aboard, ready for
duty, by eight in the morning.”

Jack thanked the naval commander, then hastened back to the “Farnum” to
communicate the news.

“Me for the shore trip,” declared Eph, promptly. All the others agreed
with him.

“I’ll come back by ten o’clock to-night, though,” volunteered Sam Truax.
“One of the crew ought to be aboard.”

“We’ll stay ashore,” decided Jack, “and return in the morning.”

“I’m coming back to-night,” retorted Truax.

“Keep still, and follow orders,” muttered Eph, digging his elbow into
Truax’s ribs. “The captain gives the orders here.”

Jack, however, had turned away. Within five minutes a boat put off from
shore, bringing two soldiers of the marine guard alongside. With them, in
the shore boat, was a corporal of the guard.

“Any of your crew coming back to-night, sir?” asked the corporal.

“None,” Benson answered. “Will you instruct the sentries to see that none
of the crew are allowed aboard during the night?”

“Very good, sir.”

The shore boat waited to convey them to the landing. Before going, young
Captain Benson closed and locked the manhole entrance to the conning
tower. A sullen silence had fallen over Truax. The instructions to the
corporal of the guard, and the prompt acceptance of those instructions,
told Sam, beyond any doubt, that he was _not_ coming back on board that
night.

Truax followed the others as they passed through the Academy grounds.
Beyond the large, handsome buildings, there was not much to be seen at
night. Lights shone behind all the windows in Cadet Barracks. Nearly all
of the cadets of the United States Navy were in their quarters, hard at
study. Here and there a marine sentry paced. A few naval officers, in
uniform, passed along the walks. That was all, and the submarine party had
crossed the grounds to the gate through which they were to pass into the
town of Annapolis.

“Coming with us, Truax?” asked Williamson, as the party passed out into a
dimly lighted street.

“No,” replied the fellow, sullenly. “I’ll travel by myself.”

“You’re welcome to,” muttered Eph, under his breath.

The others climbed the steps to the State Capitol grounds, continuing
until they reached one of the principal streets of the little town.

“Say, but this place must have gone to sleep before we got ashore,”
grumbled Eph. “Hanged if I don’t think Dunhaven is a livelier little
place!”

“There isn’t much to do, except to wander about a bit, then go to the
Maryland House for a good sleep on shore,” Jack admitted.

For more than an hour the submarine boys wandered about. The principal
streets contained some stores that had a bright, up-to-date look, and in
these principal streets the evening crowds much resembled those to be
found in any small town. There were other streets, however, on which there
was little traffic. In some of these quieter streets were quaint,
old-fashioned houses built in the Colonial days.

“Annapolis is more of a place to see by daylight, I reckon,” suggested
Hal. “How about that sleep, Jack?”

“The greatest fun, by night, I guess, consists in finding a drug-store and
spending some of our loose change on ice cream sodas,” laughed the young
submarine skipper.

This done, they found their way to the Maryland House. Jack and Hal
engaged a room together, Eph and Williamson taking the adjoining one.

“As for me, in an exciting place like this,” grimaced Eph, “I’m off for
bed.”

Williamson followed him upstairs. For some minutes Hal sat with his chum
in the hotel office. Then Jack went over and talked with the night clerk
for a few moments.

“There’s a place near here, Hal, where a fellow can get an oyster fry,”
Benson explained, returning to his chum. “With that information came the
discovery that I have an appetite. Come and join me?”

“No,” gaped Hal. “I reckon I’ll go up and turn in.”

“I’ll be along in half an hour, then.”

Jack found the oyster house readily. As he entered the little, not
over-clean place, he found himself the only customer. He gave his order,
then picked up the local daily paper. As he ate, Jack found himself
yawning. The drowsiness of Annapolis by night was coming upon him. Little
did he dream how soon he was to discover that Annapolis, in some of its
parts, can be lively enough.

As he paid his bill and stepped to the street, a young mulatto hurried up
to him.

“Am Ah correct, sah, in supposin’ yo’ Cap’n Jack Benson?”

“That’s my name,” Jack admitted.

“Den Ah’s jes’ been ’roun’ to de hotel, lookin’ fo’ yo’, sah. One ob yo’
men, Mistah Sam Truax, am done took sick, an’ he done sent me fo’ yo’.”

“Truax ill? Why, I saw him a couple of hours ago, and he looked as healthy
as a man could look,” Jack replied, in astonishment.

“I reckon, sah, he’s mighty po’ly now, sah,” replied the mulatto. “He done
gib me money fo’ to hiah a cab an’ take yo’ to him. Will yo’ please to
come, sah?”

“Yes,” agreed Jack. “Lead the way.”

“T’ank yo’, sah; t’ank yo’, sah. Follow me, sah.”

Jack’s mulatto guide led him down the street a little way, then around a
corner. Here a rickety old cab with a single horse attached, waited. A
gray old darkey sat on the driver’s seat.

“Step right inside, sah. We’ll be dere direckly. Marse Truax’ll be
powahful glad to see yo’, sah.”

“See here,” demanded Jack, after they had driven several blocks at a good
speed, “Truax hasn’t been getting into any drinking scrapes, has he?
Hasn’t been getting himself arrested, has he?”

For young Benson had learned, from the night clerk at the hotel, that,
quiet and “dead” as Annapolis appears to the stranger, there are “tough”
places into which a seafaring stranger may find his way.

“No, sah; no, sah,” protested the mulatto. “Marse Truax done got sick
right and proper.”

“Why, confound it, we’re leaving the town behind,” cried Jack, a few
moments later, after peering out through the cab window.

“Dat’s all right, sah. Dere ain’ nuffin’ to be ’fraid ob, sah.”

“Afraid?” uttered Jack, scornfully, with a side glance at the mulatto. The
submarine boy felt confident that, in a stretch of trouble, he could
thrash this guide of his in very short order.

“Ah might jess well tell yo’ wheah we am gwine, sah,” volunteered the
mulatto, presently.

“Yes,” Benson retorted, drily. “I think you may.”

“Marse Truax, sah, he done hab er powah ob trouble, sah, las’ wintah, wid
rheumatiz, sah. He ’fraid he gwine cotch it again dis wintah, sah. Now,
sah, dere am some good voodoo doctahs ’roun’ Annapolis, so Marse Truax, he
done gwine to see, sah, what er voodoo can promise him fo’ his rheumatiz.
I’se a runnah, sah, for de smahtest ole voodoo doctah, sah, in de whole
state ob Maryland.”

“Then you took Truax to a voodoo doctor to-night?” demanded Jack, almost
contemptuously.

“Yes, sah; yes, sah.”

“I thought Truax had more sense than to go in for such tomfoolery,” Jack
Benson retorted, bluntly.

The mulatto launched into a prompt, energetic defense of the voodoo
doctors. Young Benson had heard a good deal about these clever old colored
frauds. In spite of his contempt, the submarine boy found himself
interested. He had heard about the charms, spells, incantations and other
humbugs practised on colored dupes and on some credulous whites by these
greatest of all quacks. The voodoo methods of “healing” are brought out of
the deepest jungles of darkest Africa, yet there are many ignorant people,
even among the whites, who believe steadfastly in the “cures” wrought by
the voodoo.

While the mulatto guide was talking, or answering Jack’s half-amused
questions, the cab left Annapolis further and further behind.

“Yo’ see, sah,” the guide went on, “Marse Truax wa’n’t in no fit
condition, sah, to try de strongest voodoo medicine dat he called fo’. So,
w’ile de voodoo was sayin’ his strongest chahms, Marse Truax done fall
down, frothin’ at de mouth. He am some bettah, now, sah, but he kain’t be
move’ from de voodoo’s house ’cept by a frien’.”

“I’ll get a chance to see one of these old voodoo frauds, anyway,” Jack
told himself. “This new experience will be worth the time it keeps me out
of my bed. What a pity Hal missed a queer old treat like this!”

When the cab at last stopped, Benson looked out to find that the place was
well down a lonely country road, well lined with trees on either side. The
house, utterly dark from the outside, was a ramshackle, roomy old affair.

“Shall Ah wait fo’ yo’?” asked the old colored driver.

“Yes, wait for me,” directed Jack, briefly.

“Yeah; wait fo’ de gemmun. He’s all right,” volunteered the mulatto.

“Mebbe yo’ kin see some voodoo wo’k, too, ef yo’s int’rested,” hinted the
guide, in a whisper, as he fitted a key to a lock, and swung a door open.
In a hallway stood a lighted lantern, which the guide picked up.

“Now, go quiet-lak, on tip-toe. Sh!” cautioned the guide, himself moving
stealthily into the nearest room. Jack Benson began to feel secretly
awestruck and “creepy,” though he was too full of grit to betray the fact.

At the further end of the room the guide, holding the lantern behind his
body as though by accident, threw open another door.

“Pass right on through dis room, ahead ob me, sah,” begged the guide,
respectfully.

But Jack drew back, instinctively, out of the darkness.

“Don’ yo’, a w’ite man, be ’fraid ob ole voodoo house,” advised the
mulatto, still speaking respectfully.

Afraid? Of course not. Relying on his muscle and his agility, Jack stepped
ahead. By a sudden jerk of his arm the mulatto guide shook out the flame
in the lantern.

“Here, you! What are you about?” growled Jack Benson, wheeling like a
flash upon his escort.

“Go ’long, yo’ w’ite trash!” jeered the mulatto. He gave the boy a sudden,
forceful shove.

Jack Benson, under the impetus of that push, staggered ahead, seeking to
recover his balance. Without a doubt he would have done so, but, just
then, the floor under his feet ended. With a yell of dismay, the submarine
boy tottered, then plunged down, alighting on a bed of soft dirt many feet
below.





            CHAPTER VII: JACK FINDS SOMETHING “NEW,” ALL RIGHT


Jack Benson was on his feet in an instant. An angrier boy it would have
been hard to find.

From overhead came the sound of a loud guffaw.

“Oh, you infernal scoundrel!” raged the submarine boy, shaking his fist in
the dark.

“W’at am de matter wid yo’, w’ite trash?” came the jeering query.

“Let me get my hands on you, and I’ll show you!” quivered Benson.

“Yah! Listen to yo’! Yo’ wait er minute, an’ Ah’ll show yo’ a light.”

Gr-r-r-r! Gr-r-r-r! That sound from overhead was not pleasant. Jack, in
the few seconds that were left to him, could only guess as to the cause of
the sounds. Then, some fifteen feet over his head, a tiny flame sputtered.
This match-end was carried to the wick of the lantern that the yellowish
guide had been carrying, and now the light illumined the place into which
Jack Benson had fallen.

That place was a square-shaped pit, with boarded sides. Up above, on a
shelf of flooring, knelt the late guide, grinning down with a look of
infernal glee. On either side of the mulatto stood a heavy-jowled
bull-dog. Both brutes peered down, showing their teeth in a way to make a
timid man’s blood run cold.

“Put those dogs back and come down here,” challenged Jack, shaking his
fist. “Come down, and I’ll teach you a few things, you rascal!”

“Don’ yo’ shake yo’ fist at me, or dem dawgs will sure jump down and
tackle yo’,” grinned the guide, gripping at the collars of the brutes,
which, truly, showed signs of intending to spring below.

Jack fell back, his hands dropping to his sides. Had there been but one
dog, the submarine boy, with all his grit forced to the surface, might
have chosen to face the brute, hoping to despatch it with a well-aimed
kick. But with two dogs, both intent on “getting” him, young Benson knew
that he would stand the fabled chance of a snow-flake on a red-hot stove.

“Dat’s right, gemmun, yo’ keep cool,” observed the mulatto, mockingly.

“You’ve decoyed me—trapped me here with a mess of lies,” flung back
Captain Jack, angrily. “What’s your game?”

“Dis am a free lodgin’ house—ho, ho, ho!” chuckled the late guide. “Ah’s
gwine gib yo’ er place to sleep fo’ de night. Yo’ sho’ly must feel
’bleeged to me—ho, ho, ho!”

“You lied to me about Sam Truax!”

“Yeah! Ah done foun’ dat was de name ob a gemmun in yo’ pahty dat wasn’t
wid yo’. Truax do as well as any odder name—yah! Now, Ah’s gwine leab yo’
heah t’ git a sleep. Ah’ll toss down some blankets. ’Pose yo’se’f and
gwine ter sleep, honey. Don’t try to clim’ up outer dat, or dem dawgs’ll
sho’ly jump down at yo’. Keep quiet, an’ go ter sleep, an’ de dawgs done
lay heah an’ jest watch. But don’ try nuffin’ funny, or de dawgs’ll sho’ly
bring trubble to yo’. Dem is trained dawgs—train’ fo’ dis business ob
mine. Ho, ho, ho!”

Mulatto and light vanished, but enraged, baffled, helpless Captain Jack
could hear the two dogs moving about ere they settled down on the shelf of
flooring overhead.

“No matter how much of a liar that rascal is, he didn’t lie to me about
the dogs,” reflected Jack, his temper cooling, but his bitterness
increasing. “They’re fighting dogs, and one wrong move would bring them
bounding down here on me—the two together. Ugh-gh!”

After a few moments the mulatto reappeared with a light and tossed down
three heavy blankets.

“Now, Ah’s gwine leave yo’ fo’ de night,” clacked the late guide. “Ef yo’
done feel lonesome, yo’ jes’ whistle de dawgs down to yo’. Dey’ll come!”

While the light was still there Benson, in raging silence, gathered the
blankets and arranged them.

“Roll up one fo’ a pillow, under yo’ haid,” grinned the mulatto. “Dat’s
all right, sah. Now, good night, Marse Benson. Ef yo’ feel lonesome, Marse
Benson, jes’ whistle fo’ de dawgs. _Dey’ll come!_”

The light vanished while the mulatto’s sinister words were ringing in the
boy’s ears. Would the dogs jump down? Jack knew they would, at the first
false move or sound on his part. He huddled softly, stealthily, on the
blankets, there in the darkness.

As he lay there, thinking, Benson’s sense of admiration gradually got to
the surface.

“Well, of all the slick man-traps!” he gasped. “I never heard of anything
more clever. Nor was there ever a bigger idiot than I, to walk stupidly
into this same trap! What’s the game, I wonder? Robbery, it must be. And I
have a watch, some other little valuables and nearly a hundred and fifty
dollars in money on me. Oh, I’m the sleek, fat goose for plucking!”

Lying there, in enforced stillness, Jack Benson, after an hour or so,
actually fell asleep. A good, healthy sleeper at all times, he slumbered
on through the night. Once he awoke, just a trifle chilled. He heard one
of the dogs snoring overhead. Crawling under one of the blankets, Benson
went to sleep again.

“Hey, yo’, Marse Benson. It am mawnin’. Time yo’ was wakin’ up an’ movin’
erlong!”

It was the voice of the same mulatto, calling down into the pit. Again the
rays of the lantern illumined the darkness. Both bull-dogs displayed their
ferocious muzzles over the edge of the pit. Jack sat up cautiously, not
caring to attract unfriendly interest from the dogs.

“Ah want yo’ to take off all yo’ clothes ’cept yo’ undahclothes, an’ den
Ah’ll let down a string fo’ yo’ to tie ’em to,” declared the mulatto,
grinning. “Yo’ needn’t try ter slip yo’ wallet, nor nuffin’ outer mah
sight, cause Ah’ll be watchin’. Now, git a hurry on, Marse Benson, or
Ah’ll done push dem dawgs ober de aidge ob dis flooring.”

Jack hesitated only a moment. Then, with a grunt of rage, he began
removing his outer garments. Down came a twine, to the lower end of which
the boy made fast his garments, one after another. His money and valuables
went up in the pockets, for the sharp eyes of the mulatto could not have
been eluded by any amateur slight-of-hand.

“Now, yo’ cap an’ yo’ shoes,” directed the grinning monster above.

These, too, Benson passed up at the end of the cord. The mulatto
disappeared, leaving the two dogs still on guard. At last, back came the
light and the yellowish man with it.

“Yo’ sho’ is good picking, Marse Benson,” grinned the guide of the night
before. “Yo’ has good pin feathers. Ah hope Ah’ll suttinly meet yo’
again.”

“I hope we do meet at another time!” Jack Benson flared back, wrathily.
The cool insolence of the fellow cut him to the marrow, yet where was the
use of disobeying a rascal flanked by two such willing and capable dogs?

“Now, yo’ jes’ put dese t’ings on, Marse Benson, ef yo’ please, sah,”
mocked the mulatto, tossing down some woefully tattered, nondescript
garments, and, after them, a battered, rimless Derby hat and a pair of
brogans out at the toes.

“I’ll be hanged if I’ll put on such duds!” quivered Jack.

“Jes’ as yo’ please, ob co’se, Marse Benson,” came the answer, from above.
“But, ef yo’ don’ put dem t’ings on, yo’ll sho’ly hab ter gwine back ter
’Napolis in yo’ undahclo’s. An’ yo’s gwine back right away, too, so, ef
yo’ wants ter gwine back weahin’ ernuff clo’es—”

“Oh, well, then—!” ground out the submarine boy, savagely enough.

He attired himself in these tattered ends of raiment. Had he not been so
angry he must have roared at sight of his comical self when the dressing
was completed.





                 CHAPTER VIII: A YOUNG CAPTAIN IN TATTERS


“Now, yo’ll do, Ah reckons.”

With that, the mulatto guide of the night before threw down one end of an
inch rope.

“Ah reckon yo’s sailor ernuff to clim’ dat. Come right erlong, ’less yo’
wants de dawgs ter jump down dar.”

“But they’ll tackle me if I come up,” objected Jack Benson.

“No, dey won’t. Dem dawgs is train’ to dis wo’k. Ah done tole yo’ dat.
Come right erlong. Ah’ll keep my two eyes on dem dawgs.”

It looked like a highly risky bit of business, but Jack told himself that,
now he had been deprived of his valuables, this yellow worthy must be
genuinely anxious to be rid of the victim. So he took hold of the rope and
began to climb. The mulatto and the dogs disappeared from the upper edge
of the pit.

As his head came up above the level of the flooring Benson saw the mulatto
and the dogs in the next room, the connecting door of which had been taken
from its hinges.

“Come right in, Marse Benson. Dere ain’ nuffin’ gwineter hu’t yo’,” came
the rascal’s voice reassuringly. Jack obeyed by stepping into the next
room, though he kept watch over the dogs out of the corners of his eyes.

“Now, yo’ lie right down on de flo’, Marse Benson,” commanded the master
of the situation. “Ah’s gotter tie yo’ up, befo’ Ah can staht yo’ back ter
’Napolis, but dere ain’ no hahm gwine come ter yo’.”

Making a virtue of necessity, Captain Jack lay down as directed, passing
his hands behind his back. These were deftly secured, after which his
ankles were treated in the same fashion. Immediately the mulatto, who was
strong and wiry, lifted the boy and the lantern together. The dogs
remaining behind, Jack was carried out into the yard, where he discovered
that daylight was coming on in the East. He was dumped on the ground long
enough to permit his captor to lock the door securely. Then the submarine
boy was lifted once more, carried around the corner of the house and
dumped in the bottom of a shabby old delivery wagon. A canvas was pulled
over him, concealing him from any chance passer. Then the mulatto ran
around to the seat, picking up the reins and starting the horse.

It seemed like a long drive to the boy, though Benson was certainly in no
position to judge time accurately. At last the team was halted, along a
stretch of road in a deep woods. The mulatto lifted the submarine boy out
to the ground.

“Now, w’en yo’s got yo’ se’f free, yo’ can take de road in dat
direckshun,” declared the fellow, pointing. “Bimeby yo’ come in sight ob
de town. Now, Marse Benson, w’at happen to yo’ las’ night am all in de
co’se ob a lifetime, an’ Ah hope you ain’t got no bad feelin’s. Yo’
suttinly done learn somet’ing new in de way ob tricks. Good-bye, sah, an’
mah compliments to yo’, Marse Benson.”

With that the guide of the night before swiftly cut the cords at Jack’s
wrists, then as swiftly leaped to the seat of the wagon, whipping up the
horse and disappearing in a cloud of dust.

Jack, having now no knife, and the bonds about his ankles being tied with
many hard knots, spent some precious minutes in freeing his feet. At last
he stood up, fire in his eyes.

“Oh, pshaw! There’s no sense in trying to run after that rascal and his
wagon,” decided the young submarine skipper. “I haven’t the slightest idea
what direction he took after he got out of sight, and—oh, gracious! I’m
under orders to be aboard the ’Farnum’ at eight this morning. And on Mr.
Farnum’s business, at that!”

Clenching his hands vengefully, Jack started along in the direction
pointed out by his late captor. Brisk walking wore some of the edge off
his great wrath. Catching a comprehensive glimpse of himself, Jack could
not keep back a grim laugh.

“Well, I certainly am a dandy to spring myself on the trim and slick Naval
Academy!” he gritted. “What a treat I’ll be to the cadets! That is, if the
sentry ever lets me through the gate into the Academy grounds.”

As he hurried along, Jack Benson decided that he simply could not go to
the Naval Academy presenting any such grotesque picture as he did now. Yet
he had no money about him with which to purchase more presentable clothes
in town. So he formed another plan.

Within a few minutes he came in sight of Annapolis. Hurrying on faster, he
at last entered the town. The further he went the more painfully conscious
the boy became of the ludicrous appearance that he made. He saw men and
women turn their heads to look after him, and his cheeks burned to a deep
scarlet that glowed over the sea-bronze of his skin.

“The single consolation I have is that not a solitary person in town knows
me, anyway,” he muttered. Then he caught sight of a clock on a church
steeple—twenty-five minutes of eight.

“That means a fearful hustle,” he muttered, and went ahead under such
steam that he all but panted. At last he came to the Maryland House,
opposite the State Capitol grounds. Into the office of the hotel he
darted, going straight up to the desk.

A clerk who had been on duty for hours, and who was growing more drowsy
every moment, stared at the boy in amazement.

“See here, you ragamuffin, what—”

“My name is Benson,” began the boy, breathlessly. “I’m a guest of the
house—arrived last night. I—”

“You, a guest of _this_ house?” demanded the clerk of the most select
hotel in the town. “You—”

That was as far as the disgust of the clerk would permit him to go in
words. A score of well-dressed gentlemen were staring in astonishment at
the scene. The clerk nodded to two stout porters who had suspended their
work nearby.

It had been Jack Benson’s purpose to go to his room and keep out of sight,
while despatching one of the colored bell-boys of the hotel with a note to
Hal Hastings, asking that chum to send him up a uniform and other articles
of attire. However, before the young submarine captain fully realized what
was happening, the two porters had seized him. Firmly, even though gently,
they hustled him out through the entrance onto the street.

“Scat!” advised one of the pair.

Jack started to protest, then realized the hopelessness of such a course.
In truth, he did not blame the hotel folks in the least.

“Oh, well,” he sighed, paling as soon as the new flush of mortification
had died out, “there’s nothing for it but to hurry to the Academy. I hope
the sentries won’t shoot when they see me,” he added, bitterly.

Across the State Capitol grounds he hurried, then down through a side
street until he arrived at the gate of the Academy grounds.

“Halt!” challenged a sentry, as soon as Jack showed his face through the
gateway.

Young Benson stopped, bringing his heels together with a click.

“What do you want? Where are you going?” demanded the marine.

“I know I look pretty tough,” Jack admitted, shamefacedly. “But I belong
aboard the ’Farnum,’ one of the submarines that arrived last night. And
I’m due there at this minute. Please don’t delay me.”

“All right,” replied the sentry, after surveying the boy from head to foot
once more. Then he added, in a lower tone, with just the suspicion of a
grin showing at the corners of his mouth:

“Say, friend, for a stranger, you must have had a high old frolic in the
town last night.”

Jack frowned. The sentry’s grin broadened a bit. As he did not offer to
detain the boy longer, Benson hurried on along one of the walks. He took
as short a course as he could making straight for the Basin, where he made
out the “Hudson” and the two submarines.

“Hey! There’s the captain!” shouted Eph, wonderingly, for Somers’s eyes
were sharp at all times.

Out of the conning tower sprang Hal Hastings, looking eagerly in the
direction in which Eph Somers pointed:

“Eh?” muttered another person, lounging near the rail of the gunboat. Then
Lieutenant Commander Mayhew, after a keen, wholly disapproving look at the
hard-looking figure of a young man at the landing, started, as he
muttered:

“Benson, by all that’s horrible! How did he come to be in that fearful
shape? He must have been in one of the worst resorts within miles of
Annapolis!”

“This isn’t the first time the young man has come back the worse for
wear,” the lieutenant commander continued, under his breath. “His friends
were loyal enough to him, that time. I wonder if they can be, to-day?”

One of the shore boats, waiting about in the Basin, put young Benson
aboard the “Farnum” as soon as he explained who he was. Hal and Eph stood
awaiting the coming of their young commander, their faces full of concern
and anxiety. Both gripped Jack’s hand as soon as he gained the platform
deck of the submarine.

“Come below,” whispered Hal. “We’ll talk there. You need a bath and to get
into a uniform as quickly as you can.”

This need Jack Benson proceeded to realize without an instant’s delay.
While he washed himself off, in one of the staterooms aft, he talked
through the door, which had been left ajar. He continued his story while
he dressed.

“We were fearfully anxious this morning,” Hal confessed. “I went to sleep
last night, and didn’t know of your absence until this morning. Then Eph
and I decided to come on down to the boat to see if you were here. We were
just planning to send quiet word to the Annapolis police when Eph spotted
you coming.”

“And Truax?” inquired Captain Jack.

“He and Williamson are forward in the engine-room, now, at breakfast.”

“Oh, well, Truax wouldn’t know anything about the scrape, anyway,”
returned Jack. “His name was learned and used—that’s all.”

“Are you going to try to find that place, catch the mulatto and force the
return of your money?” demanded Eph Somers.

“I’ve got to think that over,” muttered Jack, as he drew on a
spick-and-span uniform blouse. “I don’t know whether there’ll be any use
in trying to find that mulatto. I haven’t the least idea where his place
is. Even if I found it, it’s ten to one I wouldn’t find the fellow there.”

“’Farnum,’ ahoy!” roared a voice alongside, the voice coming down through
the open conning tower.

Eph ran to answer. When he returned, he announced:

“Compliments of Lieutenant Commander Mayhew, and will Mr. Benson wait on
the lieutenant commander on board the parent boat?”

“I will,” assented Jack, with a wry face, “and here’s where I have to do
some tall but truthful explaining to a man who isn’t in the least likely
to believe a word I say. I can guess what Mr. Mayhew is thinking, and is
going to keep on thinking!”





                      CHAPTER IX: TRUAX GIVES A HINT


It was a tailor-made, clean, crisp and new-looking young submarine
commander who stepped into the naval cutter alongside.

Jack Benson looked as natty as a young man could look, and his uniform was
that of a naval officer, save for the absence of the insignia of rank.

Up the side gangway of the gunboat Jack mounted, carrying himself in the
best naval style. On deck stood a sentry, an orderly waiting beside him.

“Lieutenant Commander Mayhew will see you in his cabin, sir,” announced
the orderly. “I will show you the way, sir.”

Mr. Mayhew was seated before a desk in his cabin when the orderly piloted
the submarine boy in. The naval officer did not rise, nor did he ask the
boy to take a seat. Jack Benson was very well aware that he stood in Mr.
Mayhew’s presence in the light of a culprit.

“Mr. Benson,” began Mr. Mayhew, eyeing him closely, “you are not in the
naval service, and are not therefore amenable to its discipline. At the
same time, however, your employers have furnished you to act, in some
respects, as a civilian instructor in submarine boating before the cadets.
While you are here on that duty it is to be expected, therefore, that you
will conform generally to the rules of conduct as laid down at the Naval
Academy.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Jack.

“As I am at present in charge of the submarine purchased by the United
States from your company, and at least in nominal charge of the ’Farnum,’
as well, I am, in a measure, to be looked upon, for the present, as your
commanding officer.”

“Yes, sir,” assented the boy.

“You came aboard your craft, this morning, in a very questionable looking
condition.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jack Benson’s composure was perfect. His sense of discipline was also
exact. He did not propose to offer any explanations until such were asked
of him.

“Have you anything to say, Mr. Benson, as to that condition, and how you
came to be in it?”

“Shall I explain it to you, sir?”

“I shall be glad to hear your explanation.”

Thereupon, the submarine boy plunged into a concise description of what
had happened to him the night before. The lieutenant commander did not
once interrupt him, but, when Jack had finished, Mr. Mayhew observed:

“That is a very remarkable story, Mr. Benson. Most remarkable.”

“Yes, sir, it is. May I ask if you doubt my story?”

Jack looked straight into the officer’s eyes as he put the question
bluntly. An officer of the Army or of the Navy _must not_ answer a
question untruthfully. Neither, as a rule, may he make an evasive answer.
So the lieutenant commander thought a moment, before he replied:

“I don’t feel that I know you well enough, Mr. Benson, to express an
opinion that might be wholly fair to you. The most I can say, now, is that
I very sincerely hope such a thing will not happen again during your stay
at the Naval Academy.”

“It won’t, sir,” promised Jack Benson, “if I have hereafter the amount of
good judgment that I ought to be expected to possess.”

“I hope not, Mr. Benson, for it would destroy your usefulness here. A
civilian instructor here, as much as a naval instructor, must possess the
whole confidence and respect of the cadet battalion. I hope none of the
cadets who may have seen you this morning recognized you.”

Then, taking on a different tone, Mr. Mayhew informed his young listener
that a section of cadets would board the “Farnum” at eleven that morning,
another section at three in the afternoon, and a third at four o’clock.

“Of course you will have everything aboard your craft wholly shipshape,
Mr. Benson, and I trust I hardly need add that, in the Navy, we are
punctual to the minute.”

“You will find me punctual to the minute before, sir.”

“Very good, Mr. Benson. That is all. You may go.”

Jack saluted, then turned away, finding his way to the deck. The cutter
was still alongside, and conveyed him back to the “Farnum.”

“Mr. Mayhew demanded your story, of course?” propounded Hal Hastings.
“What did he think?”

“He didn’t say so,” replied Jack Benson, with a wry smile, “but he let me
see that he thought I was out of my element on a submarine boat.”

“How so?”

“Why, it is very plain that Mr. Mayhew thinks I ought to employ my time
writing improbable fiction.”

“Oh, Mayhew be bothered!” exploded Eph.

“Hardly,” retorted Jack. “Mr. Mayhew is an officer and a gentleman. I
admit that my yarn _does_ sound fishy to a stranger. Besides, fellows, Mr.
Mayhew represents the naval officers through whose good opinion our
employers hope to sell a big fleet of submarine torpedo boats to the
United States Government.”

“Then what are you going to do about it?” asked Hal, as the three boys
reached the cabin below.

“First of all, I’m going to rummage about and get myself some breakfast.”

“If you do, there’ll be a fight,” growled Eph Somers. “I’ll hash up a
breakfast for you.”

“And, afterwards?” persisted Hal.

“I’m going to try to win Mr. Mayhew’s good opinion, and that of every
other naval officer or cadet I may happen to meet.”

“Why the cadets, particularly?” asked Eph Somers.

“Because, for one business reason, the cadets are going to be the naval
officers of to-morrow, and the Pollard Submarine Boat Company hopes to be
building craft for the Navy for a good many years to come.”

“Good enough!” nodded Hal, while Eph dodged away to get that breakfast
ready.

Sam Truax lounged back in the engine room, smoking a short pipe. With him
stuck Williamson, for Eph had privately instructed the machinist from the
Farnum yard not to leave the stranger alone in the engine room.

“Why don’t you go up on deck and get a few whiffs of fresh air?” asked
Truax.

“Oh, I’m comfortable down here,” grunted the machinist, who was stretched
out on one of the leather-cushioned seats that ran along the side of the
engine room.

“I should think you’d want to get out of here once in a while, though,”
returned Truax.

“Why?” asked the machinist. “Anything you want to be left alone here for?”

“Oh, of course not,” drawled Truax, blowing out a cloud of tobacco smoke.

“Then I guess I’ll stay where I am,” nodded Williamson.

“Sorry, but you’ll have to stop all smoking in here now,” announced Eph,
thrusting his head in at the doorway. “There’ll be a lot of cadets aboard
at eleven o’clock, and we want the air clear and sweet. You’d better go
all over the machinery and see that everything is in applepie order and
appearance. Mr. Hastings will be in here soon to inspect it.”

“Just what rank does _that_ young turkey-cock hold on board?” sneered
Truax, when the door had closed.

“Don’t know, I’m sure,” replied Williamson. “All I know is that the three
youngsters are aboard here to run the boat and show it off to the best
advantage. My pay is running right along, and I’ve no kick at taking
orders from any one of them.”

“This is where I go on smoking, anyway,” declared Truax, insolently,
striking a match and lighting his pipe again. Williamson reached over,
snatching the pipe from between the other man’s teeth and dumping out the
coals, after which the machinist coolly dropped the pipe into one of his
own pockets.

“If you go on this way,” warned Williamson, “Captain Benson will get it
into his head to put you on shore in a jiffy, and for good.”

“I’d like to see him try it,” sneered Sam Truax.

“You’ll get your wish, if you go on the way you’ve been going!”

“Humph! I don’t believe the Benson boy carries the size or the weight to
put me ashore.”

“He doesn’t need any size or weight,” retorted Williamson, crisply. “If
Captain Benson wants you off this boat, it’s only the matter of a moment
for him to get a squad of marines on board—and you’ll march off to the
’Rogues’ March.’”

“So that’s the way he’d work it, eh?” demanded Sam Truax, turning green
and ugly around the lips.

“You bet it is,” retorted the machinist. “We’re practically a part of the
United States Navy for these few days, and naval rules will govern any
game we may get into.”

On that hint things went along better in the engine room. When Hal
Hastings came in to inspect he found nothing to criticise.

At the minute of eleven o’clock a squad of some twenty cadets came
marching down to the landing in front of the boat house. There Lieutenant
Commander Mayhew and one of his engineer officers met them. Two cutters
manned by sailors brought the party out alongside, where Jack and Hal
stood ready to receive them.

A very natty looking squad of future admirals came aboard, grouping
themselves about on the platform deck. It was rather a tight squeeze for
so many human beings in that space.

After greeting the submarine boys, Mr. Mayhew turned to the cadets,
calling their attention to the lines and outer construction of the
“Farnum.” Then he turned to the three submarine boys, signing to them to
crowd forward.

“These young gentlemen,” announced the lieutenant commander, “are Mr.
Benson, Mr. Hastings and Mr. Somers. All three are thoroughly familiar
with the Pollard type of boat. As the Navy has purchased one Pollard boat,
and may acquire others, it is well that you cadets should understand all
the working details of the Pollard Submarine Company’s crafts. A few of
you at a time will now step into the conning tower, and Mr. Benson will
explain to you the steering and control gear used there.”

Half a dozen of the cadets managed to squeeze into the conning tower. Jack
experienced an odd feeling, half of embarrassment, as he explained before
so many attentive pairs of eyes. Then another squad of cadets took the
place of the first on-lookers. After a while all had been instructed in
the use of the conning tower appliances.

“Mr. Benson,” continued the lieutenant commander, “will now lead the way
for all hands to the cabin. There he will explain the uses of the diving
controls, the compressed air apparatus, and other details usually worked
from the cabin.”

Down below came the cadets, in orderly fashion, without either haste or
lagging. Having warmed up to his subject, Jack Benson lectured earnestly,
even if not with fine skill. At last he paused.

“Any of the cadets may now ask questions,” announced Lieutenant Commander
Mayhew.

There was a pause, then one of the older cadets turned to Jack to ask:

“What volume of compressed air do you carry at your full capacity?”

“Mr. Benson’s present status,” rapped Mr. Mayhew, quickly, “is that of a
civilian instructor. Any cadet who addresses Mr. Benson will therefore say
’sir,’ in all cases, just as in addressing an officer of the Navy.”

The cadet so corrected, who was at least twenty-one years old, flushed as
he glanced swiftly at sixteen-year-old Jack. To say “sir” to such a
youngster seemed almost like a humiliation. Yet the cadet repeated his
question, adding the “sir.” Jack quickly answered the question. Then two
or three other questions were asked by other cadets. It was plain,
however, that to all of the cadets the use of “sir” to so young a boy
appealed, at least, to their sense of humor.

Through the engine room door Sam Truax and Williamson stood taking it all
in. Sam saw a flash in the eye of one big cadet when the question of “sir”
came up.

Presently the squad filed into the engine room. Here Hal Hastings had the
floor for instruction. He did his work coolly, admirably, though he asked
Jack Benson to explain a few of the points.

Then the questions began, directed at Hal. This time none of the cadets,
under the watchful eyes of Mr. Mayhew, forgot to say “sir” when speaking
to Hastings.

Sam Truax edged up behind the big cadet whose eyes he had seen flash a few
moments before.

“Go after Benson, good and hard,” whispered Truax.

The cadet looked keenly at Truax.

“You can have a lot of fun with Benson,” whispered Truax, “if you fire a
lot of questions at him, hard and fast. Benson is a conceited fellow, who
knows a few things about the boat, but you can get him rattled and
red-faced in no time.”





               CHAPTER X: A SQUINT AT THE CAMELROORELEPHANT


The big cadet wheeled upon Jack.

“Mr. Benson, how long have you been engaged on submarine boats, sir?”

“Since July,” Jack replied.

“July of this year?”

“Yes.”

“And it is now October. Do you consider that enough time, sir, in which to
learn much about submarine boats?”

“That depends,” Skipper Jack replied, “upon a man’s ability in such a
subject.”

“Is it long enough time, sir, for a boy?”

That was rather a hard dig. Instantly the other cadets became all
attention.

“It depends upon the boy, as it would upon the man,” Jack answered.

“Do you consider, Mr. Benson, that you know all about submarine boats,
sir?”

“Oh, no.”

“Who does, sir?”

“No one that I ever heard of,” Jack answered. “Few men interested in
submarine boats know much beyond the peculiarities of their own boats.”

“And that applies equally to boys, sir?”

“Yes,” Jack smiled.

“Do you consider yourself, sir, fully competent to handle this craft?”

“I’d rather someone else would say it,” Jack replied. “My employers,
though, seem to consider me competent.”

“What is this material, sir?” continued the cadet, resting a hand on a
piston rod.

“Brass,” Benson replied, promptly.

“Do you know the specific gravity and the tensile strength of this brass?”

Before Jack could answer Mr. Mayhew broke in, crisply:

“That will do, Mr. Merriam. Your questions appear to go beyond the limits
of ordinary instruction, and to partake more of the nature of a
cross-examination. Such questions take up the time of the instruction tour
unnecessarily.”

Cadet Merriam flushed slightly, as he saluted the naval officer. Then the
cadet’s jaws settled squarely. He remained silent.

A few more questions and the hour was up.

Lieutenant Commander Mayhew gave the order for the cadets to pass above
and embark in the cutters. He remained behind long enough to say to the
three submarine boys:

“You have done splendidly, gentlemen—far better than I expected you to do.
If you manage the sea instruction as well, in the days to come, our cadets
will have a first-class idea of the handling of the Pollard boats.”

“I wish, sir,” Jack replied, after thanking the officer, “that the cadets
were not required to say ’sir’ to us. It sounds odd, and I am quite
certain that none of the young men like it.”

“It is necessary, though,” replied Mr. Mayhew. “They are required to do it
with all civilian instructors, and it would never do to draw distinctions
on account of age. Yes; it is necessary.”

When the second squad of cadets arrived, in the afternoon, the three
submarine boys found themselves ready for their task without misgivings.
Eph took more part in the explanations than he had done in the forenoon.
Then came a third squad of cadets, to be taken over the same ground. The
young men of both these squads used the “sir” at once, having been
previously warned by one of the naval officers.

“That will be all for to-day, Mr. Benson, and thank you and your friends
for some excellent work,” said Lieutenant Commander Mayhew, when the third
squad had filed away.

“Say, for hard work I’d like this job right along,” yawned Eph Somers,
when the three were alone in the cabin. “Just talking three times a
day—what an easy way of living!”

“It’s all right for a while,” agreed Jack. “But it would grow tiresome
after a few weeks, anyway. Lying here in the Basin, and talking like a
salesman once in a while, isn’t like a life of adventure.”

“Oh, you can sigh for adventure, if you wish,” yawned Eph. “As for me,
I’ve had enough hard work to appreciate a rest once in a while. Going into
the town to-night, Jack?”

“Into town?” laughed the young skipper. “I went last night—and some of the
folks didn’t do a thing to me, did they?”

“Aren’t you going to report the robbery to the police?” demanded Hal,
opening his eyes in surprise.

“Not in a rush,” Jack answered. “If I do, the police may start at once,
and that mulatto and his friends, being on the watch, will take the alarm
and get away. If I wait two or three days, then the mulatto’s crowd will
think I’ve dropped the whole thing. I reckon the waiting game will fool
them more than any other.”

“Yes, and all the money they got away from you will be spent,” muttered
Eph.

Jack, none the less, decided to wait and think the matter over.

Supper over, the submarine boys, for want of anything else to do, sat and
read until about nine o’clock. Then Jack looked up.

“This is getting mighty tedious,” he complained. “What do you fellows say
to getting on shore and stretching our legs in a good walk?”

“In town?” grinned Eph, slyly.

Jack flushed, then grinned.

“No!” he answered quietly; “about the Academy grounds.”

“I wonder if it would be against the regulations for a lot of rank
outsiders like us to go through the grounds at this hour?”

“’Rank outsiders’?” mimicked Jack Benson, laughing. “You forget, Hal, old
fellow, that we’re instruct—hem! civilian instructors—here.”

“I wonder, though, if it would be in good taste for us to go prowling
through the grounds at this hour?” persisted Hal.

“There’s one sure way to find out,” proposed Benson. “We can try it, and,
if no marine sentry chases us, we can conclude that we’re moving about
within our rights. Come along, fellows.”

Putting on their caps, the three went up on the platform deck. The engine
room door was locked and Williamson and Truax had already turned in. There
was a shore boat at the landing. Jack sent a low-voiced hail that brought
the boat out alongside.

“Will it be proper for us to go through the Academy grounds at this hour?”
Jack inquired of the petty officer in the stern.

“Yes, sir; there’s no regulation against it. And, anyway, sir, you’re all
stationed here, just now.”

“Thank you. Then please take us ashore.”

At this hour the walks through the grounds were nearly deserted. A few
officers, and some of their ladies living at the naval station, were out.
The cadets were all in their quarters in barracks, hard at study, or
supposed to be.

For some time the submarine boys strolled about, enjoying the air and the
views they obtained of buildings and grounds. Back at Dunhaven the air had
been frosty. Here, at this more southern port, the October night was
balmy, wholly pleasant.

“I wonder if these cadets here ever have any real fun?” questioned Eph
Somers.

“I’ve heard—or read—that they do,” laughed Hal.

“What sort of fun?”

“Well, for one thing, the cadets of the upper classes haze the plebe
cadets a good deal.”

“Humph! That’s fun for all but the plebes. Who are the plebes, anyway?”

“The new cadets; the youngest class at the Academy,” Hal replied.

“What do they do to the plebe?” Eph wanted to know.

“I guess the only way you could find that out, Eph, would be to join the
plebe class.”

“Reckon, when I come to Annapolis, I’ll enter the class above the plebe,”
retorted Somers.

The three submarine boys had again approached the cadet barracks building.

“Here comes a cadet now, Eph,” whispered Jack. “If he has the time, I
don’t doubt he’d be glad to answer any questions you may have for him.”

Young Benson offered this suggestion in a spirit of mischief, hoping the
approaching cadet, when questioned, would resent it stiffly. Then Eph
would be almost certain to flare up.

The cadet, however, suddenly turned, coming straight toward them, smiling.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” was the cadet’s greeting.

“Good evening,” was Jack’s hearty reply.

“You’ve never been here before, have you, sir?”

“Never,” Jack confessed.

“Then I take it you have never, sir, seen the camelroorelephant?”

“The cam—” began Eph Somers.

Then he stopped, clapping both hands to his right jaw.

“Won’t you please hand that to us in pieces?” begged Eph, speaking as
though with difficulty.

The cadet laughed heartily, then added:

“Don’t try to pronounce it, gentlemen, until you’ve seen the
camelroorelephant. It’s a cadet joke, but it’s well worth seeing. Shall I
take you to it?”

“Why, yes, if you’ll be good enough,” Jack assented, heartily.

The cadet glanced quickly about him, then said in a low voice:

“This way, please, gentlemen.”

He led the strangers quickly around the end of barracks to an open space
in the rear. Here he halted.

“Gentlemen, I must ask you to close your eyes, and keep them closed, on
honor, until I ask you to open them again. You won’t have to keep your
eyes closed more than sixty seconds before the camelroorelephant will be
ready for inspection. Now, eyes closed, please.”

Lingering only long enough to make sure that his request had been met, the
cadet stole noiselessly away.

Nor was it many seconds later when all three of the submarine boys began
to feel suddenly suspicious.

“I’m going to open my eyes,” whispered Eph.

“You’re on honor not to,” warned Jack Benson, also in a whisper.

“I didn’t give my word,” retorted Eph, “and I’m going to—oh, great shades
of Santiago!”

The very genuine note of concern in Eph’s voice caused Jack and Hal to
open their own eyes instantly.

Nor could any of the three repress a quick start.

From all quarters naval cadets were advancing stealthily upon them.
Something in the very attitude and poise of the young men told the
submarine boys that these naval cadets were out for mischief.

“We’re in for it!” breathed Jack, in an undertone. “We’re in for something
real and startling, I reckon. Fellows, brace up and take your medicine,
whatever it is, like men!”





                   CHAPTER XI: BUT SOMETHING HAPPENED!


Nor was Jack’s guess in the least wrong.

Even had the submarine boys attempted to bolt they would have found it
impossible. They were surrounded.

The cadets closed quickly in upon them. There were more than thirty of
these budding young naval officers.

It was Cadet Merriam who stepped straight up to Jack, giving him a
grotesque and exaggerated salute, as he rumbled out:

“Good evening, SIR!”

Like a flash Jack Benson comprehended. These cadets intended fully to even
up matters for having been obliged to say “sir” to these very youthful
“civilian instructors.”

“Good evening,” Jack smiled.

"You have come to see the camelroorelephant, SIR?"

“We’ve been told that we might have that pleasure,” Jack responded, still
smiling.

“Perhaps you may,” retorted Cadet Merriam, “though, first of all, it will
be necessary to prove yourselves worthy of the privilege, SIR.”

“Anything within our power,” promised Jack.

“Then, SIR, let me see you all three stand ’at attention.’”

“At attention” is the rigid attitude taken by a United States soldier or
sailor when in the presence of his officers. Jack had already seen men in
that attitude, and did his best to imitate it in smart military manner.
Eph and Hal did likewise.

“No, no, no, you dense blockheads!” uttered Cadet Midshipman Merriam. “’At
attention’ upside down—on your hands!”

The other cadet midshipmen now hemmed in closely about the three. Jack
thought he caught the idea. He bent over, throwing his feet up in the air
and resting on his hands. Unable to keep his balance, he walked two or
three steps.

“I didn’t tell you to walk your post, blockhead!” scowled Mr. Merriam.
“Stand still when at attention.”

Jack tried, but of course made a ludicrous failure of standing still on
his hands. So did Hal and Eph. The latter, truth to tell, didn’t try very
hard, for his freckled temper was coming a bit to the surface.

“You’re the rawest recruits, the worst landlubbers I’ve ever seen,”
declared Cadet Midshipman Merriam, with severe dignity. “Rest, before you
try it any further.”

The smile had all but left Jack Benson’s lips, though he tried to keep it
there. Hal Hastings made the most successful attempt at looking wholly
unconcerned. Eph’s face was growing redder every minute. It is a
regrettable fact that Eph was really beginning to want to fight.

“See here,” ordered Mr. Merriam, suddenly, taking Jack by the arm, “you’re
a horse, a full-blooded Arab steed—understand!”

He gave young Benson a push that sent that youngster down to the ground on
all fours.

“You’re General Washington, out to take a ride on your horse,” announced
Mr. Merriam, turning to Hal. “It’s a ride for your health. Do you
understand? It will be wholly for your health to take that ride!”

Hal Hastings couldn’t help comprehending. With a sheepish grin he sat
astride of Jack Benson’s back as the latter stood on all fours.

“Go ahead with your ride, General,” called Mr. Merriam.

Jack pranced as best he could, on all fours, Hal making the load of his
own weight as light as he could. Over the ground the pair moved in this
nonsensical ride, the cadets following and grinning their appreciation of
the nonsense.

Two of the young men followed, holding Eph by the arms between them. Mr.
Merriam now turned upon the unhappy freckled boy.

“Down on all fours,” ordered Mr. Merriam. “You’re the measly dog that
barked at General Washington on that famous ride. Bark, you wretched
yellow cur—bark, bark, _bark_!”

Though Eph Somers was madder than ever, he had just enough judgment
remaining to feel that the wisest thing would be to obey instructions. So,
on all fours, Eph raced after Jack, barking at him.

“See how frightened the horse is,” muttered one of the midshipmen.

Taking the hint, Jack shied as well as he could.

“That’s all,” said Mr. Merriam, at last. “All of that, at least.”

As the three submarine boys rose, each found himself gently held by a pair
of cadet midshipmen. It was a more or less polite hint that the ordeal was
not yet over. Mr. Merriam turned to whisper to one of the cadets, who
darted inside the barracks building. He was back, promptly, carrying a
folded blanket on his arm.

A grin spread over the faces of the assembled cadet midshipmen. The bearer
of the blanket at once unfolded it. As many of the cadets as could got
hold of the edges, bending, holding the blanket spread out over the
ground.

Jack Benson’s two captors suddenly hurled him across the length of the
blanket with no gentle force. Instantly the cadets holding the blankets
straightened up, jerking it taut. Up into the air a couple of feet bounded
Jack. As his body came down the cadets holding the blanket gave it a still
harder jerk. This time Jack shot up into the air at least four feet. It
was the same old blanket-tossing, long popular both in the Army and Navy.
Every time Jack landed the blanket was given a harder jerk by those
holding it. Benson began to go higher and higher.

          [Illustration: Eph Raced After Jack, Barking at Him.]

                  Eph Raced After Jack, Barking at Him.


And now the cadets broke into a low, monotonous chant, in time to their
movements. It ran:

  Sir, sir, surcingle!
    Sir, sir, circle!
  Sir, sir, with a shingle—
    Sir, sir, sir!

As regular as drumbeats the cadets ripped out the syllables of the
refrain. At each word Jack Benson’s body shot higher and higher. These
young men were experts in the gentle art of blanket-tossing. Ere long the
submarine boy was going up into the air some eight or nine feet at every
tautening of the blanket.

As for escape, that was out of the question. No sooner did the submarine
boy touch the blanket than he shot skyward again. Had he desired to he
could not have called out. The motion and the sudden jolts shook all the
breath out of him.

“Ugh! Hm! Pleasant, isn’t it?” uttered Hal Hastings, grimly, under his
breath.

“If they try to do that to me,” whispered Eph, hotly, under his breath,
“I’ll fight.”

“More simpleton you, then!” Hal shot back at him in warning. “What chance
do you think you stand against a crowd like this?”

Just as suddenly as it had begun the blanket-tossing stopped. Yet, hardly
had Jack been allowed to step out than Hal Hastings was unceremoniously
dropped athwart the blanket. The tossing began again, to the chant of:

  Sir, sir, surcingle!
    Sir, sir, circle!

Right plentifully were these cadet midshipmen avenging themselves for
having had to say “sir” to these young submarine boys that day.

“Woof!” breathed Jack, as soon as breath entered his body again. Eph
clenched his fists tightly, as Hal continued to go higher and higher. But
at last Hastings’s ordeal was over.

“I suppose they’ll try that on me!” gritted Eph Somers to himself. “If
they do—”

That was far as he got, for Eph was suddenly flung upon the blanket.

  Sir, sir, surcingle!

Then how Eph _did_ go up and down! It was as though these cadet midshipmen
knew that it would make Eph mad, madder, maddest! These budding young
naval officers fairly bent to their work, tautening and loosening on the
blanket until their muscles fairly ached.

It was lofty aerial work that Eph Somers was doing. Up and up—higher and
higher! Without the need of any effort on his own part young Somers was
now traveling upward at the rate of ten or eleven feet at every punctuated
bound.

Then, suddenly, there came a sound that chilled the blood of every young
cadet midshipman hazer present.

“_Halt!_ Where you are!”

Under the shadow of the barracks building a naval officer had appeared. He
now came forward, a frown on his face, eyeing the culprits.

It is no merry jest for cadet midshipmen to be caught at hazing! And here
were some thirty of them—red-handed!





                CHAPTER XII: JACK BENSON, EXPERT EXPLAINER


At the first word of command from the officer several of the cadet
midshipmen who were near enough to an open doorway vanished through it.

As the officer strode through the group of startled young men a few more,
left behind his back, made a silent disappearance.

There were left, however, as the officer looked about him, sixteen of the
young men, all too plainly headed and led by Cadet Midshipman Merriam.

“Young gentlemen,” said the officer, severely, “I regret to find so many
of you engaged in hazing. It is doubly bad when your victims are men
outside the corps. And, if I mistake not, these young gentlemen are here
as temporary civilian instructors in submarine work.”

Mr. Merriam and his comrades made no reply in words. Nor did their faces
express much. They stood at attention, looking stolidly ahead of them,
though their faces were turned toward the officer. It was not the place of
any of them to speak unless the officer asked questions.

Severe as the hazing had been, however, Jack and Hal, at least, had taken
it all in good part. Nor was Jack bound by any of the rules of etiquette
that prevented the cadets from speaking.

“May I offer a word, sir?” asked Jack, wheeling upon the officer.

“You were one of the victims of a hazing, were you not?” demanded the
officer, regarding Jack, keenly.

“Why, could you call it that, sir?” asked Jack, a look of innocent
surprise settling on his face. “We called it a demonstration—an
explanation.”

“Demonstration? Explanation?” repeated the officer, astonished in his
turn. “What do you mean, Mr.—er—?”

“Benson,” Jack supplied, quietly.

“I think you would better tell me a little more, Mr. Benson,” pursued the
unknown naval officer.

“Why, it was like this, sir,” Jack continued. “My two friends—Hastings and
Somers—and myself were talking about the West Point and Annapolis hazings,
of which we had heard and read. We were talking about the subject when a
cadet came along. I suggested to Somers that we ask the cadet about
hazing. Well, sir, to make a long story short, some of the cadets
undertook to show us just how hazing is—or used to be—done at Annapolis.”

“Oh! Then it was all thoroughly good-natured, all in the way of a joke, to
show you something you wanted to know?” asked the naval officer, slowly.

“That’s the way I took it,” replied Jack. “So did Hastings and Somers.
We’ve enjoyed ourselves more than anyone else here has.”

This was truth surely enough, for, in the last two minutes, not one of the
cadet midshipmen present could have been accused of _enjoying_ himself.

“Then what took place here, Mr. Benson, really took place at your
request?” insisted the naval officer.

“It all answered the questions that we had been asking,” Jack replied,
promptly, though, it must be admitted, rather evasively.

“This is your understanding, too, Mr. Hastings?” demanded the officer.

“Surely,” murmured Hal.

“You, Mr. Somers?”

“I—I haven’t had so much fun since the gasoline engine blew up,” protested
Eph.

“We entered most heartily into the spirit of the thing,” Jack hastened on
to say, “and feel that we owe the deepest thanks to these young gentlemen
of the Navy. Yet, if our desire to know more about the life—that is, the
former life—of the Academy is to result in getting our entertainers into
any trouble, we shall never cease regretting our unfortunate curiosity.”

For some moments the naval officer regarded the three submarine boys,
solemnly, in turn. From them he turned to look over the cadet midshipmen.
The latter looked as stolid, and stood as rigidly at attention, as ever.

“Under this presentation of the matter,” said the officer, after a long
pause, “I am not prepared to say that there has been any violation of
discipline. At least, no grave infraction. However, some of these young
gentlemen are, I believe, absent from their quarters without leave. Mr.
Merriam?”

“I have permission to be absent from my quarters between nine and ten,
sir.”

“Mr. Caldwell?”

“Absent from quarters without permission, sir.”

So on down through the list the officer ran. Nine of the young men proved
to have leave to be away from their quarters. The other seven did not have
such permission. The names of these seven, therefore, were written down to
be reported. The seven, too, were ordered at once back to their quarters.

Having issued his instructions, the naval officer turned and walked away.
Jack and his comrades, too, left the scene.

Yet they had not gone far when they heard a low hail behind. Turning, they
saw Cadet Midshipmen Merriam hastening toward them.

“Gentlemen,” he said, earnestly, as he reached them, “it may not be best
for me to be seen lingering here to talk with you. But my comrades wanted
me to come after you and to say that we think you bricks. You carried that
off finely, Mr. Benson. None of us will ever forget it.”

“It wasn’t much to do,” smiled Jack, pleasantly.

“It was quick-witted of you, and generous too, sir,” rejoined Mr. Merriam,
finding it now very easy to employ the “sir.” “Probably you agree with us
that no great crime was committed, anyway. But, just the same, hazing is
under a heavy ban these days. If you hadn’t saved the day as you did, sir,
all of our cadet party might have been dismissed the Service. Those absent
from quarters without leave will get only a few demerits apiece. We have
that much to thank you for, sir, and we do. All our thanks, remember. Good
night, sir.”

“My courage was down in my boots for a while,” confessed Hal Hastings, as
the three chums continued their walk back to the Basin.

“When?” demanded Eph, grimly. “When your boots—and the rest of you—were so
high up in the air over the blanket?”

“No; when the cadets were caught at it,” replied Hal.

“Say, Jack,” demanded Eph, “do you ever give much thought to the future
life?”

“Meaning the life in the next world?” questioned Benson.

“Yes.”

“I sometimes give a good deal of thought to it,” Jack confessed.

“Then where do you expect to go, when the time comes?”

“Why?”

“After the whoppers you told that officer?”

“I didn’t tell him even a single tiny fib,” protested Jack, indignantly.

“Oh, you George Washington!” choked Eph Somers.

“Well, I didn’t,” insisted Jack. “Now, just stop and think. Weren’t we all
three discussing hazing?”

“Yes.”

“Then that part of what I told the officer was straight. Now, Eph, when we
saw that first cadet come along, didn’t I suggest to you to ask him about
hazing?”

“Ye-es,” admitted Somers, thoughtfully.

“Then, didn’t the cadet midshipmen offer to show us all about hazing
pranks, and didn’t they do it?”

“Well, rather,” muttered Eph.

“Now, young man, that’s all I told the officer, except that we enjoyed our
entertainment greatly.”

“_Did_ we enjoy it, though?” demanded Eph Somers, bridling up.

“I did,” replied Jack, “and I spoke for myself. I enjoyed it as I would
enjoy almost any new experience.”

“So did I,” added Hal, warmly. “It was rough—mighty rough—but now I know
what an Annapolis hazing is like, and I’m glad I do.”

“Well, I want to tell you I didn’t enjoy it,” blazed Eph. “It was a mighty
cheeky—”

“Then why did you let the officer imagine you enjoyed it?” taunted Jack.

While Hal put in, slyly:

“Eph, you’re too quick to talk about others fibbing. From the evidence
just put in, it’s evident that you’re the only one of the three who fibbed
any. Won’t you please walk on the other side of the road? I never did like
to travel with liars.”

“Oh, you go to Jericho!” flared Eph. But, as he walked along, he blinked a
good deal, and did some hard thinking.

“I’ll tell you,” broke out Jack, suddenly, “who thanks us even more than
the cadets themselves do.”

“Who?” queried Hal.

“That officer who caught the crowd at it.”

“Do you think he cared?”

“Of course he did,” said Jack, positively. “He’d rather have gone hungry
for a couple of days than have to report that bunch for hazing.”

“Then why was he so infernally stiff with the young men?”

“He had to be; that’s the answer. That officer, like every other officer
of the Navy detailed here, is sworn to do his full duty. So he has to
enforce the regulations. But don’t you suppose, fellows, that officer was
hazed, and did some hazing on his own account, when he was a cadet
midshipman here years ago? Of course! And that’s why the officer didn’t
question us any more closely than he did. He was afraid he might stumble
on something that would oblige him to report the whole crowd for hazing.
_He_ didn’t want to do it. That officer, I’m certain, knew that, if he
questioned us too closely, he’d find a lot more beneath the surface that
he simply didn’t want to dig up.”

“Would you have told the truth, if he had questioned you searchingly, and
pinned you right down?” demanded Eph Somers.

“Of course I would,” Jack replied, soberly. “I’m no liar. But I feel
deeply grateful to that officer for not being keener.”

Before nine o’clock the next morning news of the night’s doings back of
barracks had spread through the entire corps of cadet midshipmen.

With these young men of the Navy there was but one opinion of the
submarine boys—that they were trumps, wholly of the right sort.

As a result, Jack, Hal and Eph had hundreds of new friends among those who
will officer the Navy of the morrow.

Not so bad, even just as a stroke of business!





                  CHAPTER XIII: READY FOR THE SEA CRUISE


For the next ten days things moved along without much excitement for the
submarine boys.

During that time they had an average of four sections a day of cadet
midshipmen to instruct in the workings of the Pollard type of submarine
torpedo boat.

During the last few days short cruises were taken on the Severn River, in
order that the middies might practise at running the motors and handling
the craft. At such times one squad of midshipmen would be on duty in the
engine room, another in the conning tower and on the platform deck.

Of course, when the midshipmen handled the “Farnum,” under command of a
Navy officer, the submarine boys had but little more to do than to be on
board. Certainly they were not overworked. Yet all three were doing fine
work for their employers in making the Navy officers of the future like
the Pollard type of craft.

After waiting a few days Jack Benson reported to the Annapolis police his
experience with the mulatto “guide.” The police thought they recognized
the fellow, from the description, and did their best to find him. The
mulatto, however, seemed to have disappeared from that part of the
country.

There came a Friday afternoon when, as the last detachment of middies
filed over the side into the waiting cutter, Lieutenant Commander Mayhew
announced:

“This, Mr. Benson, completes the instruction desired in the Basin and in
the river. To-morrow and Sunday you will have for rest. On Monday, at 10
A.M., a section will report aboard for the first trip out to sea. Then you
will show our young men how the boat dives, and how she is run under
water. As none of our cadet midshipmen have ever been below in a submarine
before, you will be sure of having eager students.”

“And perhaps some nervous ones,” smiled Skipper Jack.

“Possibly,” assented Mr. Mayhew. “I doubt it, though. Nervousness is not a
marked trait of any young man who has been long enrolled at the Naval
Academy.”

“Can we have a slight favor done us, Mr. Mayhew?” Jack asked.

“Any reasonable favor, of course.”

“Then, sir, we’d like to spend a little time ashore, as we’ve been
confined so long aboard. If I lock up everything tight on the boat until
Sunday night, may we know that the ’Farnum’ will be under the protection
of the marine guard?”

“I feel that there will not be the slightest difficulty in promising you
that,” replied Mr. Mayhew. “I will telephone the proper authorities about
it as soon as I go on shore.”

All hands on board were pleased over the prospect of going ashore, with
the exception of Sam Truax.

“You don’t need any guard on the boat,” he protested. “I don’t want to go
ashore. Leave me here and I’ll be all the guard necessary.”

“We’re all going ashore,” Jack replied.

“But I haven’t any money to spend ashore,” objected Truax.

“I’ll let you have ten dollars on account, then,” replied Jack, who was
well supplied with money, thanks to a draft received from Jacob Farnum.

“I don’t want to go ashore, anyway.”

“I’m sorry, Truax, but it doesn’t really make any difference. The boat
will be closed up tight, and there wouldn’t be any place for you to stay,
except on the platform deck.”

“You’re not treating me fairly,” protested Sam Truax, indignantly.

“I’m sorry you think so. Still, if you’re not satisfied, all I can do is
to pay you off to date. Then you can go where you please.”

“I’m here by David Pollard’s order. Do you forget that?”

“He sent you along to us, true,” admitted Jack, “but I have instructions
from Mr. Farnum to dismiss anyone whose work on board I don’t like. Now,
Truax, you’re a competent enough man in the engine room, and there’s no
sense in having to let you go. You’re well paid, and can afford the time
on shore. I wouldn’t make any more fuss about this, but do as the rest of
us are going to do.”

“Oh, I’ll have to, then, since you’re boss here,” grumbled Truax, sulkily.

“I don’t want to make it felt too much that I _am_ boss here,” Jack
retorted, mildly. “At the same time, though, I’m held responsible, and so
I suppose I’ll have to have things done the way that seems best to me.”

Sam Truax turned to get his satchel. The instant his back was turned on
the young commander Sam’s face was a study in ugliness.

“Oh, I’ll take this all out of you,” muttered the fellow to himself. “I
don’t believe, Jack Benson, you’ll go on the cruising next week. If you
do, you won’t be much good, anyway!”

Ten minutes later a shore boat landed the entire party from the submarine
craft.

“Going with the rest of us, Truax?” inquired Jack, pleasantly.

“No; I’m going to find a boarding-house. That will be cheaper than the
hotel.”

So the other four kept straight on to the Maryland House, giving very
little more thought to the sulky one.

It was not until after supper that Eph turned the talk back to Sam Truax.

“I don’t like the fellow, at all,” declared young Somers. “He always wants
to be left alone in the engine room, for one thing.”

“And I’ve made it my business, regular,” added Williamson, the machinist,
“to see that he doesn’t have his wish.”

“He’s always sulky, and kicking about everything,” added Eph. “I may be
wrong, but I can’t get it out of my head that the fellow came aboard on
purpose to be a trouble-maker.”

“Why, what object could he have in that?” asked Captain Jack.

“Blessed if I know,” replied Eph. “But that’s the way I size the fellow
up. Now, take that time you were knocked senseless, back in Dunhaven. Who
could have done that? The more I think about Sam Truax, the more I suspect
him as the fellow who stretched you out.”

“Again, what object could he have?” inquired Benson.

“Blessed if I know. What object could anyone have in such a trick against
you? It was a state prison job, if the fellow had been caught at the
time.”

“Well, there’s one thing Truax was innocent of, anyway,” laughed Captain
Jack. “He didn’t have any hand in the way I was tricked and robbed by the
mulatto.”

“Blamed if I’m so sure he didn’t have a hand in that, too,” contended Eph
Somers, stubbornly.

“Yet Mr. Pollard recommended him,” urged Jack.

“Yes, and a fine fellow Dave Pollard is—true as steel,” put in Hal
Hastings, quietly. “Yet you know what a dreamer he is. Always has his head
in the air and his thoughts among the stars. He’d as like as not take a
fellow like Truax on the fellow’s own say-so, and never think of looking
him up.”

“Oh, we’ve no reason to think Truax isn’t honest enough,” contended Jack
Benson. “He’s certainly a fine workman. As to his being sulky, you know
well enough that’s a common fault among men who spend their lives
listening to the noise of great engines. A man who can’t make himself
heard over the noise of a big engine hasn’t much encouragement to talk.
Now, a man who can’t find much chance to talk becomes sulky a good many
times out of ten.”

“We’ll have trouble with that fellow, Truax, yet,” muttered Eph.

“Oh, I hope not,” Jack answered, then added, significantly:

“If he _does_ start any trouble he may find that he has been trifling with
the wrong crowd!”

Very little more thought was given to the sulky one. The submarine boys
and their companion, Williamson, enjoyed Saturday and Sunday ashore.

All of them might have felt disturbed, however, had they known of one
thing that happened.

The naval machinists aboard the first submarine boat, the “Pollard,” now
owned by the United States Government, found something slightly out of
order with the “Pollard’s” engine that they did not know exactly how to
remedy.

Sam Truax, hanging around the Basin that Sunday forenoon, was called upon.
He gladly responded to the call for help. For four hours he toiled along
in the “Pollard’s” engine room. Much of that time he spent there alone.

The job done, at last, Truax quietly received the thanks of the naval
machinists and went ashore again.

Yet, as he turned and walked toward the main gate of the grounds, there
was a smile on Sam Truax’s face that was little short of diabolical.

“Now, if I can only get the same chance at the ’Farnum’s’ engines!” he
muttered, to himself. “If I can, I think Mr. Jack Benson will find himself
out of favor with his company, for his company will be out of favor with
the Navy Department at Washington!”





                   CHAPTER XIV: THE “POLLARD” GOES LAME


“The submarine boats when out in the Bay will keep abreast of the
’Hudson,’ two hundred yards off on either beam. The speed will be fourteen
knots when the signal is given for full speed. The general course, after
leaving the mouth of the Bay will be East.”

Such were the instructions called from the rail of the gunboat, through a
megaphone, Monday forenoon.

On each of the submarine craft were sixteen cadet midshipmen, out for
actual practice in handling a submarine in diving and in running under
water. On board the gunboat were eighty more cadets. Thus a large class of
the young men were to receive instruction during the cruise, for the
detachments aboard the submarines could be changed at the pleasure of
Lieutenant Commander Mayhew, who was in charge of the cruise.

Captain Jack, his own hands on the conning tower wheel, ran the “Farnum”
out into the river, first of all. Then the “Pollard,” under command of a
naval officer, followed. Both backed water, then waited for the “Hudson”
to come out, for the gunboat was to lead the way until the Bay was
reached. Then the formation ordered would be followed.

Though it was nearing the first of November, the day, near land, was
ideally soft and balmy. As many of the midshipmen as could sought the
platform deck of the “Farnum.” Those, however, who belonged to the
engineer division were obliged to spend the greater part of their time
below.

By the time that the three craft were in the ordered formation, abreast,
and well started down Chesapeake Bay, the parent vessel signaled that the
designated cadets were to take charge of the handling of the submarine
boats.

Jack Benson cheerfully relinquished the wheel to Cadet Midshipman Merriam,
and stepped out on to the platform deck. At need, as in case of accident
or misunderstanding of signals or orders, Benson was still in command.
While all ran smoothly, however, Mr. Merriam enjoyed command.

Hal, being likewise relieved in the engine room, came also out on deck.

“Where’s Eph?” inquired the young commander of the “Farnum.”

“In the engine room,” smiled Hal. “He said I could leave, if I wanted, but
that he’d be hanged if he’d let Truax out of his sight while I was away.”

“Eph seems to have Truax on the brain,” laughed Jack.

“Well, Truax _is_ a queer and surly one,” Hal admitted. “This morning he
gives one the impression of peeking over his shoulder all the time to see
whether he’s being watched.”

“So Eph means to humor him by watching him, eh?” asked Jack.

Hal laughed quietly.

Some of the cadets who were familiar with the landmarks of Chesapeake Bay
pointed out many of the localities and sights to the two submarine boys.

At last, however, Eph was obliged to call for Hal.

“You know, Hal, old fellow, I’ve got to look out for the feeding of a lot
of boarders to-day,” complained Eph, whimsically.

This task of Eph’s took time, though it was not a hard one. The food for
the cadets had been sent aboard. Eph had to make coffee and heat soup. For
the rest, cold food had to do. The young men, on this trip, were required
to wait on themselves.

Hal found Sam Truax sitting moodily in a corner of the engine room, though
there was something about the fellow’s appearance that suggested the
watchfulness of a cat.

“Why don’t you go on deck a while, Truax?” asked Hal, kindly.

“Don’t want to,” snapped the fellow, irritably. So Hal turned his back on
the man.

“Doesn’t that part need loosening up a bit, sir?” asked the cadet in
charge of the engineer division.

“Yes,” replied Hastings, after watching a moment; “it does.”

“I’ll do it, then,” proposed Truax, roughly. He attempted to crowd his way
past Hal, but the latter refused to be crowded, and stood his ground until
the midshipman passed him a wrench. Then Hastings loosened up the part.

“You might let me do a little something,” growled Sam Truax, in a tone
intentionally offensive.

“Don’t forget, Truax, that I’m in command in this department,” retorted
Hal, in a quieter tone than usual, though with a direct, steady look that
made Sam Truax turn white with repressed wrath.

“You won’t let me forget it, will you?” snarled the fellow.

“No; for I don’t want you to forget it, and least of all on this cruise,”
responded Hal Hastings.

“You don’t give me any chance to—”

“Silence!” ordered Hal, taking a step toward him.

Sam Truax opened his mouth to make some retort, then wisely changed his
mind, dropping back into his former seat.

The noon meal was served to all hands. By the time it was well over the
mouth of the Bay was in sight, the broad Atlantic rolling in beyond.

The sea, when reached, proved to be almost smooth. It was ideal weather
for such a cruise.

Then straight East, for an hour they went, getting well out of the path of
coasting vessels.

“Hullo! What in blazes does that mean?” suddenly demanded Hal, pointing
astern at starboard.

The “Pollard” lay tossing gently on the water, making no headway. Hardly
ten seconds later the “Hudson” signaled a halt.

Then followed some rapid signaling between the gunboat and the submarine
that had stopped. There was some break in the “Pollard’s” machinery, but
the cause had not yet been determined.

“Blazes!” muttered Jack, uneasily. “It couldn’t have happened at a worse
time. This looks bad for our firm, Hal!”

The “Farnum” now lay to, as did the “Hudson,” for the officer in command
of the “Pollard” signaled that his machinists were making a rapid but
thorough investigation of the unfortunate submarine’s engines.

Finally, a cutter put off from the “Hudson,” with a cadet midshipman in
charge. The small boat came over alongside, and the midshipman called up:

“The lieutenant commander’s compliments, and will Mr. Benson detail Mr.
Hastings to go over to the ’Pollard’ and assist?”

“My compliments to the lieutenant commander,” Jack replied. “And be good
enough to report to him, please, that Mr. Hastings and I will both go.”

“My orders, sir, are to convey you to the ’Pollard’ before reporting back
to the parent vessel,” replied the midshipman.

The cutter came alongside, taking off the two submarine boys, while Eph
Somers devoted himself to watching Sam Truax as a bloodhound might have
hung to a trail.

Arrived on board the good, old, familiar “Pollard,” Jack and Hal hurried
below.

“The machinery is too hot to handle, now, sir,” reported one of the naval
machinists, “but it looks as though something was wrong right in
there”—pointing.

“Put one of the electric fans at work there, at once,” directed Hal. “Then
things ought to be cool enough in half an hour, to make an examination
possible.”

After seeing this done, the two submarine boys left for the platform deck,
for the engine room was both hot and crowded.

“How long is it going to take you, Mr. Hastings?” asked the naval officer
in command of the “Pollard.”

“Half an hour to get the parts cool enough to examine, but I can’t say,
sir, how long the examination and repairs will take.”

So the officer in command signaled what proved to be vague and
unsatisfactory information to Lieutenant Commander Mayhew.

“This is a bad time to have this sort of thing happen,” observed the naval
officer in charge.

“A mighty bad time, sir,” Jack murmured.

“And the engines of the ’Pollard’ were supposed to be in first-class
condition.”

“They _were_ in A-1 condition, when the boat was turned over to the Navy,”
Jack responded.

“Do you imagine, then, Mr. Benson, that some of the naval machinists have
been careless or incompetent?”

“Why, that would be a wild guess to make, sir, when one remembers what
high rank your naval machinists take in their work,” Jack Benson replied.

“And this boat was sold to the Navy with the strongest guarantee for the
engines,” pursued the officer in charge.

Jack and Hal were both worried. The sudden break had a bad look for the
Pollard boats, in the success of which these submarine boys were most
vitally interested.

At last, from below, the suspected parts of the engine were reported to be
cool enough for examination. The naval officer in charge followed Jack and
Hal below.

Taking off his uniform blouse and rolling up his sleeves, Hal sailed in
vigorously to locate the fault. Machinists and cadets stood about, passing
him the tools he needed, and helping him when required.

At last, after disconnecting some parts, Hal drew out a long, slender
brass piston.

As he held it up young Hastings’s face went as white as chalk.

“Do you see this?” he demanded, hoarsely.

“Filed, crazily, and it also looks as though the inner end had been heated
and tampered with,” gasped Jack Benson.

“This, sir,” complained Hal, turning around to face the naval officer in
charge, “looks like a direct attempt to tamper with and damage the engine.
Someone has done this deliberately, sir. It only remains to find the
culprit.”

“Then we’ll find out,” retorted the naval officer, “if it takes a court of
inquiry and a court martial to do it. But are you sure of your charge, Mr.
Hastings?”

“Am I sure?” repeated Hal, all the soul of the young engineer swelling to
the surface. “Take this piston, sir, and examine it. Could such a job have
been done, unless by sheer design and intent?”

“Will the lieutenant permit me to speak?” asked the senior machinist,
taking a step forward and saluting.

“Yes; go ahead.”

“Yesterday morning, sir,” continued the senior machinist, “we thought the
engines needed some overhauling by someone more accustomed to them than we
were. We saw one of the machinists of the ’Farnum,’ sir, hanging about on
shore. So we invited him aboard and asked him to look the engines over.”

“Describe the man,” begged Jack.

The senior machinist gave a description that instantly denoted Sam Truax
as the man in question.

“Did you leave him alone in here, at any time?” demanded Hal.

“Let me see. Why, yes, sir. The man must have been alone in here some
three-quarters of an hour.”

Jack and Hal exchanged swift glances.

There seemed, now, very little need of carrying the investigation further.





                  CHAPTER XV: ANOTHER TURN AT HARD LUCK


When he could trust himself to speak Hal Hastings addressed the naval
officer.

“I think Mr. Benson and myself understand, sir, how it happened that this
damage was done. There are extra parts in the repair kit. In twenty
minutes, sir, I think we can have the engines running smoothly once more.”

The naval officer was wise enough not to press the questioning further
just then. Instead, he went on deck.

Working like beavers, and with the assistance of others standing about,
Jack and Hal had the piston replaced and all the other parts in place
within fifteen minutes. Then, once more, Hal turned on the gasoline, set
the ignition, and watched.

The engine ran as smoothly as ever.

“There won’t be any more trouble, unless someone is turned loose here with
files and a blast lamp,” pronounced Hal. Then he and his chum sought the
deck, to report to the officer in charge.

“You think we’re in running order, now?” asked that officer.

“If you give the speed-ahead signal, sir, I think you’ll feel as though
you had a live engine under your deck,” Hal assured him.

The signal was given, the “Pollard” immediately responding. She cut a wide
circle, at good speed, returning to her former position, where the
propellers were stopped.

“You suspect your own machinist, who was aboard?” asked the naval officer,
in a low tone, of the submarine boys.

“If you’ll pardon our not answering directly, sir,” Captain Jack replied,
“we want to have more than suspicions before we make a very energetic
report on this strange accident. But we shall not be asleep, sir, in the
matter of finding out. Then we shall make a full report to Mr. Mayhew.”

“Success to you—and vigilance!” muttered the naval officer.

The gunboat’s cutter came alongside, transferring Jack and Hal back to the
“Farnum.”

Hal went directly below to the engine room.

“You fixed the trouble with the ’Pollard’?” demanded Eph Somers, eagerly.

“Yes,” Hal admitted.

“What was wrong?”

“Why, I don’t know as I’d want to commit myself in too offhand a way,”
replied Hal, slowly, as though thinking.

“What appeared to be at the bottom of the trouble?”

“Why, it _may_ have been that one of the naval machinists, not
understanding our engines any too well, allowed one of the pistons to get
overheated, and then resorted to filing,” Hal replied.

“What? Overheat a piston, and then try to correct it with a file?” cried
young Somers, disgustedly. “The crazy blacksmith! He ought to be set to
shoeing snails—that’s all he’s fit for.”

“It looks that way,” Hal assented, smiling.

Artful, clever Hal! He had carried it all off so coolly and naturally that
Sam Truax, who had been closely studying Hastings’s face from the
background, was wholly deceived.

“This fellow, Hastings, isn’t as smart as I had thought him,” muttered
Truax, to himself.

The interrupted cruise now proceeded, the parent vessel signaling for a
temporary speed of sixteen knots in order to make up for lost time.

Twenty minutes later came the signal from the “Hudson:”

“At the command, the submarines will dash ahead at full speed, each making
its best time. During this trial, which will end at the firing of a gun
from the parent vessel, all cadets will be on deck.”

Word was immediately passed below, and all the cadets of the engineer
division came tumbling up.

To these, who had been in the engine room constantly for hours, the cool
wind blowing across the deck was highly agreeable.

For the speed dash Captain Jack Benson had again taken command. He passed
word below to Eph Somers to take the wheel in the conning tower.

Eph, therefore, came up with the last of the cadets from below. In the
excitement of the pending race it had not been noticed by any of the
submarine boys that Williamson was already on deck, aft. That left Sam
Truax below in sole possession of the boat’s engine quarters.

The gunboat now fell a little behind, leaving the two submarines some four
hundred yards apart, but as nearly as possible on a line.

“Look at the crowd over on the ’Pollard’s’ decks,” muttered Hal. “They’re
all Navy folks over there.”

“And they mean to beat such plain ’dubs’ as they must consider us,”
laughed Captain Jack, in an undertone.

“Will they beat us, though?” grinned Hal Hastings. “You and I, Jack,
happen to know that the ’Farnum’ is a bit the faster boat by rights.”

Suddenly the signal broke out from the gunboat.

“Race her, Eph!” shouted Captain Jack.

“Aye, aye, sir!”

Eph Somers’s right hand caught at the speed signals beside the wheel. He
called for all speed, the bell jangling merrily in the engine room.

A little cheer of excitement went up from the cadets aboard the “Farnum”
as that craft shot ahead over the waters. The cadets were catching the
thrill of what was virtually a race. At the same time, though, these
midshipmen could not help feeling a good deal of interest in the success
of the “Pollard,” which was manned wholly by representatives of the Navy.

In the first three minutes the “Farnum” stole gradually, though slowly,
ahead of the “Pollard.” Then, to the disgust of all three of the submarine
boys, the other craft was seen to be gaining. Before long the “Pollard”
had the lead, and looked likely to increase it. Already gleeful cheers
were rising from the all-Navy crowd on the deck of the other submarine.

Behind the racers sped the “Hudson,” keeping just far enough behind to be
able to observe everything without interfering with either torpedo craft.

From looking at the “Pollard” Captain Jack glanced down at the water. His
own boat’s bows seemed to be cutting the water at a fast gait. The young
skipper, knowing what he knew about both boats, could not understand this
losing to the other craft.

“The Navy men must know a few tricks with engines that we haven’t
guessed,” he observed, anxiously, to young Hastings.

“I don’t know what it can be, then,” murmured Hal, uneasily. “There aren’t
so confusingly many parts to a six-cylinder gasoline motor. They aren’t
hard engines to run. More depends on the engine itself than on the
engineer.”

“But look over there,” returned Captain Jack Benson. “You see the
’Pollard’ taking the wind out of our teeth, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Hal admitted, looking more puzzled.

“Do you think our engines are doing the top-notch of their best?” asked
Benson.

“Yes; for Williamson is a crackerjack machinist. He knows our engines as
well as any man alive could do.”

“Do you think it would do any good for you to go below, Hal?”

“I will, if you say so,” offered Hastings. “Yet there’s another side to
it.”

“What?”

“Williamson might get it into his head that I went below because I thought
he was making a muddle of the speed. As a matter of fact, he knows every
blessed thing I do about our motors, and Williamson is loyal to the core.”

“I know,” nodded Captain Jack. “I’d hate to hurt a fine fellow’s feelings.
Yet—confound it, I _do_ want to win this burst of speed. It means,
perhaps, the quick sale of this boat to the Navy. If we’re beaten it
means, to the Secretary of the Navy, that he already has our best boat,
and he might not see the need of buying the ’Farnum’ at all.”

“Give Williamson two or three minutes more,” begged Hal. “You might tell
Eph, though, to repeat, and repeat, the signal for top speed. That’ll show
Williamson we’re losing.”

Jack Benson walked to the conning tower, instructing Eph Somers in a low
tone.

“I’ve signaled twice, since the first time,” Eph replied. “But here goes
some more.”

“I wonder what’s going wrong with our engines, then,” muttered Captain
Jack, uneasily.

“It ain’t in careless steering, anyway,” grumbled Eph. “I’m going as
straight as a chalk line.”

“I noticed that,” Captain Jack admitted.

He continued to look worried, for, by this time, the “Pollard” was at
least a good two hundred and fifty yards to the good in the lead.

“I’m afraid,” muttered Hal, rejoining Benson, “that I’ll simply have to go
below.”

“I’m afraid so,” nodded Jack. “We simply can’t afford to lose this or any
other race to the ’Pollard.’”

“Williamson knows that fully as well as we do, though,” Hal Hastings went
on. “And Williamson—”

Of a sudden Hal stopped short. He half staggered, clutching at a rail,
while his eyes stared and his lips twitched.

“Why—why—there’s Williamson—aft on the deck!” muttered Hastings.

“What!”

Jack, too, wheeled like a flash. Back there in a crowd of cadets stood the
machinist upon whom the submarine boys were depending for the best showing
that the “Farnum” could make.

“Williamson up here!” gasped Hal. “And—”

“That fellow, Truax, all alone with the motors!” hissed Captain Jack.
Then, after a second or two of startled silence:

“Come on, Hal!”

The naval cadets were too much absorbed in watching the race to have
overheard anything. Williamson, too, standing at the rail, looking out
over the water, had not yet discovered that Hal Hastings was up from the
engine room.

Jack Benson stole below on tip-toe, though with the machinery running so
much stealth was not necessary. Right behind him followed Hal.

As the two gained the doorway of the engine room Sam Truax had his back
turned to them, and so did not note the sudden watchers.

There was a smile of malicious triumph on Truax’s face as he turned a
lever a little way over, thus decreasing the ignition power of the motors.

Both Jack and Hal could see that the gasoline flow had been turned on
nearly to the full capacity. It was the poor ignition work that was making
the motors respond so badly. A little less, and a little less, of the
electric spark that burned the gasoline and air mixture—that was the
secret of the gradually decreasing speed, while all the time it looked as
though the “Farnum” was doing her level best to win the race.

Whistling, as he bent over, Sam Truax caught up a long, slender steel bar.
With this he stepped forward, intent upon his next wicked step.

“Gracious! The scoundrel is going to run that bar in between the moving
parts of the engine and bring about a break-down!” quivered Hal.

Sam Truax stood watching for his chance to thrust the steel bar in just
where it would inflict the most damage. Then raising the bar quickly, he
poised for the blow.

“Stop that, you infernal sneak!” roared Jack Benson, bounding into the
engine room.





                 CHAPTER XVI: BRAVING NOTHING BUT A SNEAK


“You—here?” hissed Truax, wheeling about.

He had not had time to make the thrust with the steel bar.

Instead, as he wheeled, he raised it above his head, drawing back in an
attitude of guard.

As he did so, a vile oath escaped Truax’s lips.

“Put that bar down!” commanded Jack Benson, standing unflinchingly before
the angry rascal.

“I’ll put it down on your head, if you don’t get out of here!” snarled the
wretch.

“Put it down, and consider yourself off duty here, for good and all,”
insisted Jack.

“Are you going to get out of here, or shall I brain you?” screamed Truax,
his face working in the height of his passion.

“Neither,” retorted Captain Jack, coolly. “I command here, and you know
it. Put that bar down, and leave the engine room.”

“Come and take the bar from me—if you dare!” taunted the fellow, a more
wicked gleam flashing in his eyes.

“Hal!” called Jack, sharply.

“Aye!”

“Call two or three of the cadets down here. Don’t make any noise about
it.”

This order was called without Benson’s turning his head. He still stood
facing the sneak while Hal sped away.

“Now, I’ve got you alone!” gloated Truax. “I’ll finish you!”

A scornful smile curled Jack’s lips as he gazed steadily back at his foe.

“Truax, you’re a coward, as well as a sneak.”

“I am—eh?”

With another nasty oath Truax stepped quickly forward, the steel bar
upraised.

He took but one step, however, for Captain Jack Benson had not retreated
an inch.

Nor did Jack have his hands up in an attitude of guard.

“Are you going to put that bar down, Truax?” the young skipper demanded,
in a voice that betrayed not a tremor.

“No.”

“Then you’ll have to make good in a moment, for we’re going to attack
you.”

“Bah! I can stave in two or three heads before any number of you could
stop me,” sneered the fellow, in an ugly voice.

“You could, but you won’t dare.”

“I won’t?”

“Not you!”

At that instant rapid steps were heard. Hal Hastings returned with three
of the midshipmen, behind them Williamson trying to crowd his way into the
scene.

“Just tell us what you want, Mr. Benson,” proposed Cadet Merriam, amiably.

“This fellow has been ’doping’ our engines,” announced Captain Jack. “And
now he’s threatening to stand us off. We’ll close in on him from both
sides. If he tries to use that steel bar on any of us—”

“If he does, he’ll curse his unlucky star,” declared Midshipman Merriam.
“Come on, gentlemen. We’ll show him some of the Navy football tactics!”

The three midshipmen approached Truax steadily from the right. Jack, Hal
and Williamson stepped in on the left.

With a yell like that of a maniac Sam Truax swung the bar.

Having to watch both sides at once, however, he made a fizzle of it. The
bar came down, but struck the floor.

Then, with a yell, the midshipmen leaped in on one side, Jack leading the
submarine forces on the other. Mr. Merriam’s trip and Jack’s smashing blow
with the fist brought Truax down to the floor in a heap.

“Now, cart this human rubbish out of here!” ordered Jack Benson, sternly.
“Don’t hit him—he isn’t man enough to be worthy of a blow!”

Swooping down upon the prostrate one, Hal and the midshipmen seized Sam
Truax by his arms and legs, carrying him bodily out of the engine room.

“Williamson,” commanded Captain Jack, “stop the speed.”

“In the race, sir. We—”

“Stop the speed,” repeated Benson.

“You’re the captain,” admitted Williamson. Grasping the twin levers of the
two motors he swung them backward.

“Disregard any signal to go ahead until we’ve had a chance to inspect the
motors,” added Captain Jack.

Then the submarine skipper darted out into the cabin.

Sam Truax lay sprawling on the floor. Midshipman Merriam, a most cheerful
smile on his face, sat across the fellow, while Hal and the other two
midshipmen stood by, looking on.

“Hold him please, until I can have the wretch taken care of,” requested
Captain Jack, making for the spiral stairway to the conning tower.

Just as the young skipper stepped out on deck he heard the “Hudson’s”
bow-gun break out sharply in the halting signal.

Taking a megaphone, Benson stood at the rail until the gunboat ranged up
alongside.

“Have you broken down?” came the hail from the gunboat’s bridge.

“I thought it best to stop speed, sir. We’ll have to look over our engines
before it will be safe to attempt any more speed work,” Captain Jack
answered. “I’ve caught a fellow tampering with our machinery. We hold him
a prisoner, now. Can you take him off our hands, sir?”

“One of _your own_ men?” came back the question.

“Of course, sir.”

“We’ll send a marine guard to take him, on your complaint, Mr. Benson.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The gunboat’s engines slowed down. Ere long her port side gangway was
lowered. Jack saw not only two marines and a corporal come down over the
side, but Lieutenant Commander Mayhew appeared in person. That officer
came over in the cutter.

“You’ve had treachery aboard, have you?” asked the lieutenant commander,
as he climbed up over the side.

“Rather. A new machinist, taken aboard just before we sailed from
Dunhaven. The same fellow who must have played the trick on the
’Pollard’s’ engines yesterday,” Benson replied.

“I’ll be glad to have a fellow like that in irons in the brig aboard the
’Hudson,’ then,” muttered Mr. Mayhew. “I couldn’t understand, Mr. Benson,
how you were doing so badly in the full speed ahead dash.”

“The prisoner below is the answer, sir,” Captain Jack replied. He then led
the corporal and two marines below. The corporal produced a pair of
handcuffs, which he promptly snapped over Truax’s wrists.

“You’ll be sorry for this, one of these days,” threatened Truax, with a
snarl that showed his teeth.

“Some day, then, if you please, when I have more leisure than I have now,”
Jack retorted, dryly. “This man is all yours, corporal.”

Truax was foolish enough to try to hang back on his conductors. A slight
jab through the clothing from one of the marines’ bayonets caused the
prisoner to stop that trick. He was taken on deck and over the side.

“Coxswain, return for me after you’ve taken the prisoner to the ’Hudson,’”
directed Mr. Mayhew. “Now, Mr. Benson, I would like to see what has been
done to your engines.”

“That’s just what I want to know, too,” responded Jack.

They found Hal and Williamson hard at work, inspecting the motors.

“The ignition power was lowered, and that may have been the most that the
fellow did,” said Hal. “Yet, at the same time, before putting these
engines to any severe test, I believe they ought to be cooled and looked
over.”

Lieutenant Commander Mayhew frowned.

“These delays eat up our practice cruise time a whole lot,” he grumbled.

“I’ll put the engines through their paces, and chance mischief having been
done to them, if you wish, sir.”

“No; that won’t do either, Mr. Hastings,” replied the naval officer. “This
craft is private property, and I have no right to give orders that may
damage private property. I’ll hold the fleet until you’ve had time to
inspect your engines properly. By that time, however, we’ll have to put
back to the coast for the night, for our practice time will be gone.”

“In the days to follow, sir,” put in Benson, earnestly, “I think we can
more than make up for this delay. We won’t have the traitor aboard after
this.”

“What earthly object can the fellow have had for wanting to damage your
motors?” demanded the naval officer, looking hopelessly puzzled.

“I can’t even make a sane guess, sir,” Jack Benson admitted.

An hour and a half later the “Hudson” and the two submarines headed back
for a safe little bay on the coast. Here the three craft anchored for the
night.





             CHAPTER XVII: THE EVIL GENIUS OF THE WATER FRONT


It was nearly eight in the evening when the three craft were snug at
anchor.

The bay was a small one, hardly worthy of the name. The only inhabited
part of the shore thereabouts consisted of the fishing village known as
Blair’s Cove, a settlement containing some forty houses.

Hardly had all been made snug aboard the “Farnum” when Jack, standing on
the platform deck after the cadets had been transferred to the “Hudson”
for the night, saw a small boat heading out from shore.

“Is that one of the new submarine crafts?” hailed a voice from the bow of
the boat.

“Yes, sir,” Jack answered, courteously.

No more was said until the boat had come up alongside.

“I thought maybe you’d be willing to let me have a look over a craft of
this sort,” said the man in the bow. He appeared to be about forty years
of age, dark-haired and with a full, black beard. The man was plainly
though not roughly dressed; evidently he was a man of some education.

“Why, I’m mighty sorry, sir,” Captain Jack Benson replied. “But I’m afraid
it will be impossible to allow any strangers on board during this cruise.”

“Oh, I won’t steal anything from your craft,” answered the stranger,
laughingly. “I won’t be inquisitive, either, or go poking into forbidden
corners. Who’s your captain?”

“I am, sir.”

“Then you’ll let me come aboard, just for a look, won’t you?” pleaded the
stranger.

Such curiosity was natural. The man seemed like a decent fellow. But Jack
shook his head.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m positive our owners wouldn’t approve of our
allowing any strangers to come on board.”

“Had any trouble, so far, with strangers?” asked the man.

“I didn’t say that,” Jack replied, evasively. “But the construction of a
submarine torpedo boat is a secret. It is a general rule with our owners
that strangers shan’t be allowed on board, unless they’re very especially
vouched for. Now, I hate to appear disobliging; yet, if you’ve ever been
employed by anyone else, you will appreciate the need of obeying an
owner’s orders.”

“You’re under the orders of the boss of that gunboat?” asked the stranger,
pointing to the “Hudson.”

“On this cruise, yes, sir,” Jack nodded.

“Maybe, if I saw the fellow in command of the gunboat, then he’d give me
an order allowing me to come on board.”

“I’m very certain the lieutenant commander wouldn’t do anything of the
sort,” Benson responded.

The stranger gave a comical sigh.

“Then I’m afraid I don’t see a submarine boat to-night—that is, any more
than I can see of it now.”

“That’s about the way it looks to me, also,” Jack answered, smiling. “Yet,
believe me, I hate awfully to seem discourteous about it.”

“Oh, all right,” muttered the stranger, nodding to the two boatmen, who
had rowed him out alongside.

“Good!” grunted Eph. “I’m glad you didn’t let him on board, Captain. On
this cruise our luck doesn’t seem to run with strangers.”

“It doesn’t, for a fact,” laughed Jack Benson.

“Hi, ho—ah, hum!” yawned young Somers, stretching. “It will be mine for
early bunk to-night, I reckon.”

At this moment a boat was observed rounding the stern of the “Hudson.” It
came up alongside, landing a marine sentry.

“Anybody on the ’Farnum’ want to go ashore to-night?” hailed a voice from
the gunboat’s rail. “The shore boat will be ready in five minutes.”

“I believe I would like to take just a run through the village,” declared
Jack, turning to his chum. “Do you feel like a land-cruise with me, Hal?”

“I think I’d better go,” laughed Hastings. “You seem to get into trouble
when you go alone.”

“All right, then. And, Eph since you’re so sleepy, you can turn in as soon
as you want. The boat will be under sufficient protection,” Jack added,
nodding toward the marine slowly pacing the platform deck.

Williamson was called too, but declared that he felt like turning in
early. So, when the shore boat came, it had but two passengers to take
from the submarine. There were a few shore-leave men, however, from the
gunboat.

“This boat will return to the fleet, gentlemen, every hour up to
midnight,” stated the petty officer in charge, as Jack and Hal stepped
ashore at a rickety little wharf.

“Judging from what we can see of the town from here, we’ll be ready to go
back long before midnight,” Jack Benson laughingly told his companion.

“All I want is to shake some of the sea-roll out of my gait,” nodded
Hastings. “It surely doesn’t seem to be much of a town.”

By way of public buildings there turned out to be a church, locked and
dark, a general store and also a drug-store that contained the local
post-office. But the drug-store carried no ice cream or soda, so the
submarine boys turned away.

There was one other “public” place that the boys failed to discover at
once. That was a low groggery at the further end of the town. Here two of
the sailors who had come on shore leave turned in for a drink or two. They
found a suave, black-bearded man quite ready to buy liquor for Uncle Sam’s
tars.

Three-quarters of an hour later Jack and Hal felt they had seen about as
much of the town as they cared for, when a hailing voice stopped them.

“Finding it pretty dull, gentlemen?”

“Oh, good evening,” replied Captain Jack, recognizing the bearded man whom
he had refused admittance to the “Farnum.”

“Pretty stupid town, isn’t it, Captain?” asked the stranger, holding out
his hand, which Jack Benson took.

“As lively as we thought it would be,” Hal rejoined. “We just came ashore
to stretch ourselves a bit. Thought we might lay a course to an ice-cream
soda, too, but failed.”

“These fishermen don’t have such things,” smiled the stranger. “They are
content with the bare necessities of life, with a little grog and tobacco
added. Speaking of grog, would you care to try the best this town has,
gentlemen?”

“Thank you,” Jack answered, politely. “We’ve never either of us tasted the
stuff, and we don’t care to begin.”

“Drop into the drug-store and have a cigar, then?”

“We don’t smoke, either, thank you,” came from Hal.

“You young men are rather hard to entertain in a place like this,” sighed
the stranger, but his eyes twinkled.

“We are just as grateful for the intention,” Jack assured him.

“Tell you what I can do, gentlemen,” proposed the stranger, suddenly. “I
might invite you down to my shack for a little while, and show you my
books and some models of yachts and ships that I’ve been collecting. I’m
quite proud of my collection in that line. Won’t you come?”

Anything in the line of yacht or ship-models interested both of these
sea-loving boys from the shipyard at Dunhaven. Jack graciously accepted
the invitation for them both.

“And, though I have no soda fountain,” continued the bearded one, “I can
offer you some soft drinks. I always keep some about the place.”

“How do you come to be living in a place like this, if I’m not too
inquisitive?” queried Benson, as the three strolled down the street.

“Doctor’s orders,” replied the bearded one. “So I’ve rented the best old
shack I could get here, down by the water. I spend a good deal of my time
sailing a sloop that I have. Curtis is my name.”

Jack and Hal introduced themselves in turn.

Curtis’s shack proved to be well away from the village proper, and down
near the waterfront. A light shone from a window near the front door as
the three approached the small dwelling.

“I think I can interest you for an hour, gentlemen,” declared the bearded
one, as he slipped a key in the lock of the door.

He admitted them to a little room off the hallway, a room that contained
not much beyond a table and four chairs, a side-table and some of the
accessories of the smoker.

“Just take a seat here,” proposed Curtis, “while I get some sarsaparilla
for you. I’ll be right back in a moment.”

It was four or five minutes before Curtis came back, bearing a tray on
which were three tall glasses, each containing a brownish liquid.

“The stuff isn’t iced, yet it’s fairly cold,” the bearded one explained.
“Well, gentlemen, here’s to a pleasant evening!”

Hal, who was thirsty, took a long swallow of the sarsaparilla, finding the
flavor excellent. Jack drank more slowly, though he enjoyed the beverage.

“If you don’t mind,” suggested Curtis, “I will light a cigar. And say, by
the way, gentlemen, what if we take a little walk down to my beach? Before
showing you the models I spoke of, I’d like to have your opinion of the
lines of my sloop.”

“We’ll go down and take a look with great pleasure,” Jack Benson agreed,
rising. “And I’m glad, sir, that you’re able to show us more courtesy than
we were able to offer you to-night.”

“Oh, that was all right,” declared their host, smiling good-humoredly.
“Rules are rules, and you have your owners to please. No hard feelings on
that score, I assure you.”

Curtis led the way through a dark yard down to a pier. Moored there lay a
handsome white sloop, some forty-two feet in length—a boat of a good and
seaworthy knockabout type.

“This is a sloop, all right,” Jack agreed, cordially. “Rather different
from the lumbering fishing craft hereabouts.”

“Oh, hah, yum!” yawned Hal, at which Curtis shot a quick glance at him.

“Come on board,” invited Curtis, stepping down to the deck of the craft.
“Let me show you what a comfortable cruising cabin I have.”

“Hi, oh, yow!” yawned Hal, again. “Jack, I think I shall enjoy my rest
to-night.”

“Same case here,” agreed Benson, stifling a yawn that came as though in
answer to Hal’s.

“I won’t keep you long, gentlemen, if I am boring you,” agreed their host,
amiably. “Now, I’ll go below first and light up. So! Now, come down and
take a look. Do you find many yacht cabins more comfortable than this
one?”

It was, indeed, a cozy place. Up forward stood a miniature sideboard,
complete in every respect with glass and silver. In the center of the
cabin was a folding table. There were locker seats and inviting looking
cushions. The trim was largely of mahogany. On either side was a broad,
comfortable-looking berth.

“Just get into that berth and try it, Mr. Hastings,” urged the bearded
one.

“I—I’m afraid to,” confessed Hal, stifling another yawn.

“Afraid?”

“Very sure thing!”

“Why?”

“I’m—hah-ho-hum!” yawned Hal Hastings. “I’m afraid I’d—yow!—abuse your
hospitality by going to sleep.”

Jack Benson leaned against the edge of the opposite berth, feeling
unaccountably drowsy.

“Oh, nonsense,” laughed Curtis. “Just pile into that berth for a moment,
Hastings, and see what a soft, restful place it is. I’ll agree to pull you
out, if necessary.”

Not realizing much, in his approaching stupor, Hal Hastings allowed
himself to be coaxed to stretch himself at full length in the downy berth.

Almost immediately he closed his eyes, drifting off into stupor.

“Why, your friend _is_ drowsy, isn’t he?” laughed the bearded one, turning
to the submarine skipper.

Jack Benson’s own eyelids were suspiciously close together.

“Why—what—ails you?”

Curtis spoke in a low, droning, far-away voice that caused Jack Benson’s
upper eyelids to sink. Curtis stood watching him, in malicious glee, for
some moments. Then, at last, he took hold of the young skipper.

“Come, old fellow,” coaxed the bearded one, “you’ll do best to join your
friend in a good nap. Get up in the berth.”

“Lemme alone,” protested the boy, thickly, feeling that he was being
lifted. Jack struggled, partly rousing himself.

“Come, get up into the berth. You’ll be more comfortable there.”

“Lemme alone. What are you trying to do?” demanded Jack, swinging an arm.

Curtis dodged the light blow, then gripped Jack Benson resolutely.

“Now, see here, young man,” hissed the bearded one, “I’m not going to have
any more nonsense out of you. Up into the berth you go! Do you want me to
hit you?”

Another man thrust his head down the cabin hatchway, showing an evil,
grinning face.

“Got ’em right?” demanded the one from the hatchway.

“Yes,” snapped the bearded one, then turned to give his attention to Jack
Benson, who was putting up an ineffectual fight while Hal slumbered on.
“Now, see here, Benson, quit all your fooling!”

“You lemme up,” insisted the submarine boy, in a low, dull voice, though
he swung both his arms in an effort to assert himself. “’M not goin’ t’
stay here. Lemme up, I say! ’M goin’ back to—own boat.”

“The submarine?” jeered the bearded man.

“Yep.”

“Guess again, son,” laughed Curtis, jeeringly. “You’re not going back
aboard the submarine to-night.”

“Am so,” declared Benson, obstinately, though his tone was growing more
drowsy every instant, and his busy hands moved almost as weakly as an
infant’s.

“Listen, if you’ve got enough of your senses left,” growled the bearded
men. “You’re not going back to the ’Farnum’—neither to-night, nor at any
other time during the next few months. You’re bound on a long cruise, but
not on a submarine boat. I am the captain here, and I’ll name the cruise!”





                    CHAPTER XVIII: HELD UP BY MARINES


It was barely a minute afterward that Jack Benson lapsed into a very
distinct snore.

“No more trouble from this pair,” laughed the bearded one to his companion
at the hatchway. “Now, I’ll douse the cabin light, and then we’ll cast
off. This thing has moved along very slickly.”

Eph, after having made up his mind to turn in early, had found his sleepy
fit passing. He read for a while in the cabin, then pulled on a reefer and
went up on deck. Williamson was already in a berth, sound asleep.

“It would be a fine night if there was a moon,” Eph remarked to the marine
sentry on deck.

“Yes, sir.”

The marine—“soldier, and sailor, too”—not being there for conversational
purposes, continued his slow pacing, his rifle resting over his right
shoulder.

As Eph strolled about in the limited space of the platform deck he heard a
distant creaking. It was a sound that he well knew—the hoisting of sail.

“I wonder if the local fishermen start out at this time of the night?” Eph
Somers remarked, musingly, to the sentry.

“It may be so, sir; I don’t know,” replied the marine.

Presently Eph made out the lines and the spread of canvas of a handsome
knockabout sloop standing on out of the harbor.

The course being narrow, the sloop was obliged to sail rather close to the
fleet.

“That’s no fisherman!” muttered Somers, watching, his hands thrust deep in
his pockets.

Presently the sloop’s hull was lost to Eph’s sight beyond the gunboat.
Then the boy heard a voice from the “Hudson’s” deck roar out:

“Look alive, you lubber! Do you want to foul our anchor chain?”

“No, sir,” came from the sloop’s deck. “We’ll clear you all right.”

“See that you do, then!”

Then the sloop’s hull came into view again, as the craft headed out toward
the open water beyond.

“That’s the kind of a craft Jack would give a heap to be on,” thought Eph.
“Queer that he should spend all his time on gasoline peanut-roasters when
he’s so fond of whistling for a breeze behind canvas.”

As the sloop neared the mouth of the little bay, and her lines became
rather indistinct in the darkness, Eph Somers turned to resume his pacing
of the deck.

“Hullo,” muttered the submarine boy, two or three minutes later. “Here’s
the shore boat coming on its regular trip. I wonder if Jack and Hal are in
it? It’s about time for them to be coming on board.”

But the shore boat, instead of coming out to the submarine, lay in at the
side gangway of the gunboat opposite, and Eph discovered that his two
comrades were not in the boat.

“I say,” hailed Eph, “have you seen Mr. Benson and Mr. Hastings on shore!”

“No, sir,” replied the petty officer in charge.

Then one of the sailors in the boat spoke in an undertone.

“This man says, sir,” continued the petty officer, “that he saw your
friends, sir, going aboard a white knockabout sloop.”

“He did, eh?” demanded the astonished Eph. “How long ago was that?”

“Only a few minutes ago, sir,” replied the sailor.

“You’re sure you saw Mr. Benson and Mr. Hastings?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s queer,” reflected Eph. “It wouldn’t be like them to go sailing at
this time of the night, and without notifying me, either. But, then, I
didn’t see anything of ’em aboard that sloop, either.”

Eph was silent for a few moments, thinking. Then, suddenly, he leaped up
in the air, coming down flat-footed.

“Crackey!” ejaculated Eph Somers.

For a moment or two his face was a study in bewilderment.

“Mighty strange things have been happening all through this cruise,” Eph
muttered, half-aloud. “Especially happening to Jack! Now, the two of them
go aboard that sloop, and immediately after the boat puts out to sea in
the dead of night. What if Jack and Hal have been shanghaied on that
infernal sloop?”

Cold chills began to chase each other up and down the spine of Eph Somers.
He was not, ordinarily, an imaginative youth, but just now the gruesome
thought that had entered his mind persisted there.

He began to pace the platform deck in deep agitation.

“Anything wrong, sir?” questioned the marine sentry, halting and throwing
his rifle over to port arms.

“That’s just what I’d give a million dollars and ten cents to know!”
exploded Eph.

“Gunboat, ahoy!” he shouted, some twenty seconds later.

“’Farnum,’ ahoy!”

“I half believe, sir,” Eph rattled on, “that my two comrades, Mr. Benson
and Mr. Hastings have been tricked, in some way, and carried out to sea on
that knockabout. They’d have been back from shore by this time, if nothing
had happened.”

“What do you want to do, Mr. Somers?”

“Want to do, sir?” retorted Eph. “I know what I’m going to do. I’m going
to slip moorings and chase after that knockabout. What I wish to know from
you, sir, is whether you’ll send another marine or two on board, so that I
can back up my demand to find my friends?”

“I’ll have to ask the lieutenant commander about that, Mr. Somers.”

“Can you do it, now, sir?” asked Eph, energetically.

“Instantly. I’ll let you know the decision as soon as it’s made.”

Eph, hanging at the rail in the silence that followed, had no notion of
whether his request had been a correct one. All he knew was that his
suspicions had surged to the surface, and were threatening to boil over.
It was a huge relief to the boy when Mr. Mayhew’s voice sounded from the
rail of the gunboat. Somers swiftly answered all questions.

“Your craft and crew are in a measure under our protection and orders,”
decided Mr. Mayhew. “I think we may properly extend you some help. I will
send some men to you, and a cadet midshipman who will have my
instructions.”

“Will you send them quickly, sir?” begged Eph.

“I’ll have men on board of you by the time that your engines are running,”
promised the lieutenant commander.

“Engines?” That word came as a fortunate reminder to the submarine boy. He
darted below, almost yanking Williamson from his berth, nearly pulling the
machinist into his clothes. By the time that Williamson was really wide
awake he found himself standing by the motors forward.

Then young Somers darted onto deck again, just in time to see the boat
coming alongside. It brought two more marines, one of them a corporal.
There were also two sailors. A cadet midshipman commanded them.

“Mr. Somers,” reported the cadet midshipman, “I am not intended to
displace you from the command of this boat. I am here only with definite
instructions in case you succeed in overhauling that white sloop.”

“What—” began Eph. Then he paused, with a half-grin. “Really,” he added,
“I ought to know better than to quiz you about your instructions from your
superior officer.”

“Yes, sir,” assented the midshipman, simply.

Eph turned on the current to the search-light, swinging the ray about the
bay. Then, too impatient to sit in the conning tower, the submarine boy
took his place by the deck wheel.

“Will your seamen cast loose from the moorings?” Somers asked.

“Yes, sir,” replied the midshipman.

“If there’s anything wrong, good luck to you,” sounded the cool voice of
Lieutenant Commander Mayhew, from the gunboat’s rail.

“Thank you, sir.”

No sooner had the moorings been cast loose from than Eph sounded the slow
speed ahead bell. Within sixty seconds the propellers of the “Farnum” were
doing a ten-knot stunt, which was soon increased to fourteen.

One of the seamen now stood by to swing the searchlight under Eph’s
orders.

By the time that the submarine reached the mouth of the bay the light
faintly picked up a spread of white sail, off to the East.

“That’s the knockabout,” cried Eph, excitedly. “Now, see here, keep that
ray right across the boat as soon as we get half a mile nearer.”

“It’ll show the boat that you’re chasing ’em, sir,” advised the
midshipman.

“I know it,” admitted Eph. “But it will also keep the rascals from dumping
my friends overboard without our catching ’em at it.”

“What do you think the men in charge of that boat are, sir—pirates?”

“They’re mighty close to it, if they’ve shanghaied Mr. Benson and Mr.
Hastings and put to sea with ’em,” rejoined Eph. Then he rang for more
speed. Down below, Williamson almost instantly responded. The “Farnum” now
fairly leaped through the water.

“Turn the light on the knockabout, now, and keep it there,” directed the
submarine boy.

There was a seven-knot breeze blowing. At the speed at which the submarine
boat was traveling the distance was soon covered.

And now the searchlight revealed two men in the standing-room of the
sloop, one of whom, a bearded man, was looking backward over his wake much
of the time.

“Can one of the marines fire a shot to stop those fellows?” asked Eph
Somers.

“In the air, do you mean, sir?” asked the midshipman. “Certainly.”

“Then I wish he’d do it.”

Bang! The discharge of the rifle sounded sharply on the night air.

“It ain’t stopping ’em any,” muttered Eph, after a few seconds had gone
by.

“Nothing would, unless fired into them,” volunteered Midshipman Terrell.

It did not take long, however, to run the submarine up alongside of the
sloop, at a distance of about one hundred yards.

“Now, we want you men to stop,” called Midshipman Terrell, between his
hands. “We are United States naval forces, from the gunboat, and you will
regard this as an order that you must obey. No!” thundered the midshipman,
suddenly, as the bearded one started to step down into the cabin. “You
will both keep on deck. Otherwise we shall be obliged to fire into you. We
mean business, remember!”

“What do you want to board us for?” demanded Curtis, pausing.

“We will explain when we come aboard.”

“How are you coming, aboard? You’ve no small boat.”

“We can land this submarine right up beside you,” responded the
midshipman, “if you keep straight to your present course.”

“And scrape all the paint off our side,” objected Curtis.

“That has no bearing on my instructions, sir. I direct you to keep
straight to your present course. We will come up alongside.”

“What if we don’t do it?” demanded Curtis, with sudden bluster.

“Then your danger will be divided between being shot where you stand and
having your craft cut in two by the bow of our craft,” retorted Mr.
Terrell. “You will realize, I think, that there can be no parleying with
our orders.”

The bearded one swore, but the corporal and his two marines stood at the
rail with their rifles ready, waiting only the midshipman’s order to aim
and fire.

Eph allowed the “Farnum” to fall back a little way. Then he exerted
himself to show his best in seamanship as he ran the submarine up to board
the sloop by the starboard quarter. The two boats barely touched. Mr.
Terrell, his three marines and two seamen leaped to the standing room of
the yacht. Eph, all aquiver, let the nose of the “Farnum” fall back
slightly. Then he trailed along, under bare headway.

Then a shout came from the sloop, as the two seamen reappeared, bearing
the forms of Jack and Hal.

“We’ve found them aboard, Mr. Somers,” shouted Terrell. “Drugged, I think,
sir. Will you come alongside, sir.”

Eph quickly rang the signal, then did some careful manœuvring. As he
touched, one of the marines leaped back to the platform deck, then passed
a line to Mr. Terrell. The two craft were held together until Jack and Hal
had been passed, still unconscious, over the side. The naval party quickly
followed, then cast loose from the sloop.

“This whole proceeding is high-handed,” growled Curtis, as soon as he saw
that he was not to be molested.

“Oh, you shut up, and keep your tongue padlocked,” retorted Midshipman
Terrell, in high disgust. “You’re lucky as it is. Now, Mr. Somers, are you
going back to the bay, sir?”

“Aren’t you going to take those two—body-snatchers?” demanded Eph, glaring
venomously at the pair on the sloop.

“My instructions don’t cover that, sir,” replied the cadet midshipman.

“Then hang your orders!” muttered young Somers, but he kept the words
behind his teeth. Eph veered off, next headed about, while the two seamen
bore Jack and Hal below to their berths.

“Will you take the wheel, Mr. Terrell?” asked Eph, edging away, with one
hand on the spokes.

“Yes, sir.”

Eph hurried below to the port stateroom. Jack lay in the lower berth, Hal
in the upper. The two seamen, after feeling for pulse, stood by looking at
the unconscious submarine boys.

“What’s been done to them?” demanded Eph.

“The same old knockout drops, sir, that sailors in all parts of the world
know so well, sir, I think,” answered one of the men, with a quiet grin.

“Humph!” gritted Eph, bending over Jack’s face. “Smell his breath.”

“Yes, sir,” said the sailor, obeying.

“There’s no smell of liquor, there, is there?”

“No, sir,” admitted the sailor, looking up, rather puzzled.

“There is some infernally mean trick in all this,” growled Eph. “I am
mighty sorry we didn’t bring those rascals back with us.”

When he went on deck again the submarine boy relieved Mr. Terrell at the
wheel, completing the run in to moorings.

“Did you find your comrades aboard the sloop, Mr. Somers?” hailed the
lieutenant commander, from the gunboat.

“Yes, sir.”

“Are they all right?”

“Drugged, sir.”

“Hm! Mr. Terrell and his detachment will return to this vessel.”

The boat took them away. It was five minutes later when the boat returned,
bringing the lieutenant commander, Doctor McCrea, the surgeon, and a
sailor belonging to the hospital detachment aboard the “Hudson.” Eph
conducted them below.

“Drugged,” announced the medical officer, after a brief examination.

“Humph!” uttered Mr. Mayhew. “That sort of trick isn’t played on folks in
any decent resort on shore. I don’t understand Mr. Benson’s conduct. I
remember his mishap at Dunhaven. I remember the plight he got into at
Annapolis; and now he and Mr. Hastings are found in this questionable
shape. I am very much afraid these young men do not conduct themselves, on
shore, in the careful manner that must be expected of civilian instructors
to cadets.”

Eph Somers felt something boiling up inside of him.





             CHAPTER XIX: THE LIEUTENANT COMMANDER’S VERDICT


“Let me try to get at your meaning, sir, if you please,” begged Somers,
after standing for a few seconds with clenched fists. “Do you mean that my
friends have been going into tough resorts on shore?”

“Where else do sailors usually get drugged?” inquired Mr. Mayhew. “What
kind of people usually feed sea-faring men with what are generally known
as knock-out drops?”

“How should I know?” demanded Eph, solemnly.

“You see your friends, and you see their condition.”

“Smell their breaths, sir. There isn’t a trace of the odor of liquor.”

The surgeon did so, confirming Eph’s claim.

“But I remember that Mr. Benson came aboard, at Dunhaven, with a very
strong odor of liquor,” continued the lieutenant commander.

“That had been sprinkled on his clothes, sir,” argued Somers.

“Perhaps. But then there was the Annapolis affair.”

“Mr. Benson explained that to you, sir.”

“It’s very strange,” returned the lieutenant commander, “that such things
seem to happen generally to Mr. Benson when he gets on shore. I know I
have been ashore, in all parts of the world, without having such things
happen to me.”

“There is something behind this, sir, that doesn’t spell bad conduct on
the part of either of my friends,” cried Eph, hotly. “There’s some plot,
some trick in the whole thing that we don’t understand. And we might
understand much more about it, sir, if your midshipman had arrested that
pair of blackguards on the sloop, and brought them back with us.”

“Had Mr. Benson and Mr. Hastings been members of the naval forces we could
have done that,” replied Mr. Mayhew. “Probably you don’t understand, Mr.
Somers, how very careful the Navy has to be about making arrests in times
of peace, when the civil authorities are all-supreme. We carried our right
as far as it could possibly be stretched when we boarded and searched that
sloop for you.”

“I don’t care so much about that,” contended Eph, warmly. “But it does jar
on me, sir, to have you take such a view of my friends. You don’t know
them; you don’t understand them as Mr. Farnum and Mr. Pollard do.”

“Perhaps you wouldn’t blame me as much for my opinions,” replied Mr.
Mayhew, “if you could look at the matter from my viewpoint, Mr. Somers. I
am in charge of this cruise, which is one of instruction to naval cadets,
and I am in a very large measure responsible for the conduct and good
behavior of young men who have been selected as instructors to the cadets.
If you were in my place, Mr. Somers, would you be patient over young men
who, when they get ashore, get into one unseemly scrape after another? Or
would you wonder, as I do, whether it will not be best for me to end this
practice cruise and sail back to Annapolis, there to make my report in the
matter?”

“For heaven’s sake don’t do that,” begged Eph Somers, hoarsely. “At least,
not until you have talked with Mr. Benson and Mr. Hastings. You’ll wait
until morning, sir?”

“I’m afraid I shall have to, if I want to talk with your friends,” replied
the lieutenant commander, smiling coldly. “And now, Mr. Somers, you and I
had better leave here. The doctor and his nurse will want the room cleared
in order to look after their patients. I hope your friends will be all
right in the morning,” added the naval officer, as the pair gained the
deck.

“Now, see here, sir,” began Eph, earnestly, all over again. “I hope you’ll
soon begin to understand that, whatever has happened, there are no two
straighter boys alive than Jack Benson and Hal Hastings.”

“I trust you’re right,” replied Mr. Mayhew, less coldly. “Yet, what can
you expect me to think, now that Benson has been in such scrapes three
different times? And, in this last instance, he drags even the quiet Mr.
Hastings into the affair with him.”

“I see that I’ll have to wait, sir,” sighed Eph, resignedly.

“Yes; it will be better in every way to wait,” agreed the lieutenant
commander. “It is plain justice, at the least, to wait and give the young
men a chance to offer any defense that they can.”

“Now, of course, from his way of looking at it, I can’t blame him so very
much,” admitted Eph Somers, as he leaned over the rail, watching Mr.
Mayhew going back through the darkness. “But Jack—great old Jack!—having
any liking at all for mixing up in saloons and such places on shore! Ha,
ha! Ho, ho!”

Williamson, now able to leave his motors, came on deck, asking an account
of what had happened. The machinist listened in amazement, though, like
Eph, he needed no proof that the boys, whatever trouble they had
encountered, had met honestly and innocently.

“Of course that naval officer is right, too, from his own limited point of
view,” urged Williamson.

“Oh, yes, I suppose so,” nodded Somers, gloomily. “I’ve been trying to
tell myself that. But it would be fearful, wouldn’t it, if the ’Farnum’
were ordered away from the fleet, and Jack disgraced, just because of
things he really didn’t do.”

“It’s a queer old world,” mused the machinist, thoughtfully. “We hear a
lot about the consequences of wrong things we do. But how often people
seem to have to pay up for things they never did!”

“Oh, well,” muttered Eph, philosophically, “let’s wait until morning. A
night’s sleep straightens out a lot of things.”

Williamson, however, having had some sleep earlier in the night, was not
drowsy, now. He lighted a pipe, lingering on the platform deck. Eph, not
being a user of tobacco, went below to find that Doctor McCrea, from the
gunboat, was sitting in the cabin, reading a book he had chosen from the
book-case.

“I’ve brought the young men around somewhat,” reported the physician.
“I’ve made them throw off the drug, and now I’ve left some stuff with the
nurse to help brace them up. They’ll have sour stomachs and aching heads
in the morning, though.”

“But you noticed one thing, Doctor?” pressed Somers.

“What was that?”

“That there were no signs of liquor about them? Those boys never tasted a
drop of the vile stuff in their lives!”

“I’m inclined to believe you,” nodded the surgeon. “They have splendid,
clear skins, eyes bright as diamonds, sound, sturdy heart-beats, and
they’re full of vitality. I’ve met boys from the slums, once in a
while—beer-drinkers and cigarette-smokers. But such boys never show the
splendid physical condition that your friends possess.”

“You know, then, as well as I do, Doctor, that neither of my chums are
rowdies, and that, whatever happened to them to-night, they didn’t get to
it through any bad habits or conduct?”

“I’m much inclined to agree with you, Mr. Somers.”

“I hope, then, you’ll succeed in impressing all that on Lieutenant
Commander Mayhew in the morning.”

With that the submarine boy passed on to the starboard stateroom. He would
have given much to have stepped into the room opposite, but felt, from the
doctor’s manner, that the latter did not wish his patients disturbed.

Eph slept little that night. Though Jack and Hal fared better in that
single respect, Somers looked far the best of the three in the morning.

Jack and Hal came out with bandages about their heads, which buzzed and
ached.

The two, however, told their story to Somers and Williamson as soon as
possible.

“Just as I supposed,” nodded Eph, vigorously.

“Why, how did you guess it all?” asked Benson, in astonishment.

“I mean, I knew you hadn’t been in any low sailor resorts.”

“Who said we had?” demanded Jack, flaring in spite of his dizziness.

“Some of the Navy folks didn’t know but you had,” replied Eph, then bit
his tongue for having let that much out of the bag.

Doctor McCrea came aboard early. He looked the boys over.

“Eat a little toast, if you want, and drink some weak tea,” he suggested.
“After that, eat nothing more until to-night.”

“But the day’s work—?” hinted Jack.

“I don’t know,” replied the doctor, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m not a
line officer, and therefore know nothing about the fleet’s manœuvres.”

That reply, however, was quite enough to send Jack Benson’s suspicions
aloft.

“Eph,” he cried, wheeling upon his friend the moment Doctor McCrea was
gone, “there’s something you haven’t told us.”

“Such as—what?” asked Somers, doing his best to look mighty innocent.

“Doctor McCrea as good as admitted that we won’t have anything to do
to-day. What’s wrong?” Then, after a brief pause: “Good heavens, does Mr.
Mayhew believe we’ve been acting disgracefully? Are we barred out of the
instruction work?”

Hal had been raising a glass of cold water to his lips. The glass fell,
with a crash. He wheeled about, then clutched at the edge of the cabin
table, most unsteadily.

“We-e-ll,” admitted Somers, reluctantly, “Mr. Mayhew said he would want to
question you some, perhaps, this morning.”

“What did he say? Out with it all, Eph!”

A moment before Jack Benson had been pallid enough. Now, two bright,
furious spots burned in either cheek.

The red-haired boy, however, was spared the pain of going any further,
for, at that moment, a heavy tread was heard on the spiral staircase. Then
Lieutenant Commander Mayhew, holding himself very erect, one hand resting
against the scabbard of the sword that he wore at his side, came into view
below.

Many were the questions that the naval officer put to the victims of the
night’s mishap.

“Well, gentlemen,” Mr. Mayhew said at last, rising, “your story is
strange. Yet, I believe you are young men of honor. I’m sorry we have not
in custody the men who sailed that sloop.”

“Pardon me, sir!” burst out Eph.

“Well, Mr. Somers?”

“Perhaps, sir, if you should question Truax you could learn something from
him. I tell you, sir, there’s a scheme to ruin Jack Benson; and that’s
only part of a bigger plot to discredit our company with the Navy!”

Mr. Mayhew, looking thoughtful, replied:

“I’ll find some way of questioning Truax. And now, Mr. Benson, since you
and Mr. Hastings are not fit to instruct the cadets to-day, I’ll send out
sections under Lieutenant Halpin on board the ’Pollard’ only. To-morrow
you should be in shape to resume your duties. Meanwhile, I must make one
condition.”

“It will not be necessary, sir, to make any conditions with us,” Jack
replied. “Your instructions will be sufficient.”

“While you are on this present tour of duty, I shall ask Mr. Benson and
Mr. Hastings not to leave the ’Farnum’ without my consent.”

As soon as Mr. Mayhew had left the “Farnum” Eph Somers cried bitterly:

“You heard the verdict in the case! A great verdict! Not guilty—but don’t
do it again!”

At half past eight the next morning a section of cadets, under the command
of Ensign Trahern, came aboard the “Farnum.”

“The lieutenant commander sends word, with his compliments,” reported
Trahern, “that after leaving the bay the formation will be as usual. The
signal to halt and be ready for the tour of instruction will be given when
we’re about ten miles off shore.”

Six of the cadets, of the engineer division, went below to the engine
room. To one of the ten left on deck Jack turned and said:

“You will take charge, Mr. Surles. Assume all the responsibilities of the
officer of the deck.”

In all, five of the midshipmen had commanded briefly before the laying-to
signal was given. Hal Hastings then appeared on deck.

“Captain Benson,” Hal stated, saluting, “I have inspected all the
submerging machinery, and I find everything in good order. We can go below
the surface at any time.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hastings. All below!” ordered Jack crisply.

After the cadets and the ensign had filed below, Jack, having seen that
all was in order, followed. He made all fast in the conning tower, then
called Midshipman Surles up the stairway to the tower wheel.

“Do you think you can head due east and keep to that course under water,
Mr. Surles?”

“Yes, sir.”

Going down to the cabin floor, Jack ordered two more midshipmen to the
tower as observers.

“The rest crowd about me and ask questions while I handle the submerging
machinery.”

Under the impetus from the electric motors, the propeller shafts began to
throb. The next instant the submarine shot below, going down at so steep
an angle that many of the middies were forced to reach for new footing.

“The gauge registers sixty feet below,” announced Jack.

In another moment, by the quick flooding of some of the compartments
astern, the young skipper brought the boat to an even keel.

Having finished the prescribed distance under water, Captain Jack turned
on the compressed air to expel the water from the compartments. The
conning tower soon rose above the water, and a moment later the “Pollard”
also emerged.

Other cadets were transferred from the gunboat to the submarines, and the
instruction proceeded. The manœuvers for the day were ended with a
half-hour run under water.

“By the way, sir, did you question Truax to see what you could learn about
his reasons for acting as he did on the ’Farnum’?” asked Jack Benson the
next day. Jack and Doctor McCrea were talking with Mr. Mayhew.

“I had him before me last night, and again this morning,” replied Mr.
Mayhew. “He said he hadn’t an idea what I meant, and that is all I could
get out of him.”

Jack looked thoughtfully at Doctor McCrea for a moment before he
exclaimed:

“Doctor, if I had anything like your chance, I’d have Sam Truax talking!”

“How?” Doctor McCrea looked interested.

“Why, I’d—” Jack hesitated, glancing toward the gunboat’s commanding
officer.

“I’d better go and see how the midshipmen are doing,” laughed Mr. Mayhew,
rising.

For some minutes Jack talked with Doctor McCrea. As the medical officer
listened, he grinned, then laughed unrestrainedly.

“Mr. Benson, you’re certainly ingenious!”

“Will you do what I’ve suggested?”

“Why, I—er—er—” Doctor McCrea hesitated. “I—well, I’ll think it over.”
Again Doctor McCrea roared with laughter.





                          CHAPTER XX: CONCLUSION


Sam Truax sat in the brig, between decks on the “Hudson,” his scowling
face turned toward the barred door, when the marine guard, taking a turn,
peered in.

“Good heavens, man! What ails you?” demanded the marine.

“I’m all right,” growled the prisoner.

“I’ll be hanged if you look it.”

“What are you talking about!” demanded the prisoner angrily.

“Man alive, I wish you could see your face!”

Three minutes later a sailor halted at the door, looked at Truax, then
wheeled about to the marine.

“Say, what ails that man? What’s the matter with his face?”

“Don’t know. Looks fearful, doesn’t he?”

“Awful! Ought to have the doctor.”

Sam shifted uneasily.

Five minutes later a sailor wearing on one sleeve the Red Cross of the
hospital squad came along.

“Say,” said the marine, “I wish you’d look at the feller in the brig.”

The hospital man showed his face at the grating and looked at Truax
keenly.

“Wow! The sawbones officer has got to look at this chap!”

Sam Truax sprang to his feet, but his legs wobbled. He felt his
heart-beats racing and his face flushing.

“I felt all right a little while ago, but I certainly feel queer now,” he
muttered.

Doctor McCrea soon hurried below.

“Sentry, unlock the door! Let me in there!”

Doctor McCrea made a brief examination.

“How long have you been feeling ill?”

“N-not long,” faltered Truax.

“Hospital man!” called Doctor McCrea.

“Aye, aye, sir!”

“Have the stretcher brought here at once.”

“Aye, aye, sir!”

The stretcher was brought, and the attendants put Truax on it.

“I can walk, Doctor,” he protested feebly.

“Can’t risk it! To the ’sick bay,’ men.”

“What’s wrong, Doctor?” Truax asked, when he was lifted from the stretcher
and placed in one of the berths.

“Don’t talk, my man. Just lie quietly and let us get you on your feet—if
we can,” he added under his breath, but not so softly but that Sam Truax
heard him.

The attendant came with a glass of liquid.

“Drink this,” ordered the surgeon, “and in a few minutes you’ll feel
better.”

“I—I feel awful,” Truax groaned.

The dose was repeated, but the patient continued to grow worse. His nausea
was overwhelming and he vomited over and over. In an interval of quiet the
doctor leaned over him.

“Have you anything on your mind, man? Any wrong you’d like to set straight
before—before—”

A look of fright came into Truax’s eyes.

“Doctor, I—I wonder if Jack Benson would come to see me?”

“I’ll see,” replied the doctor, rising and leaving the “sick bay.”

Ten minutes later the naval surgeon returned with Benson. Hal Hastings,
Mr. Mayhew and Ensign Trahern followed Jack and the doctor.

“Here’s Mr. Benson, Truax,” announced Doctor McCrea. “If there’s anything
you wish to confess, the rest of us can bear witness and help straighten
matters out if you’ve done any wrong that you now regret.”

Sam Truax feebly stretched out a hand that was hot and dry.

“Benson, will you give me your hand?”

“Certainly.”

“Can you ever forgive me?” moaned the man.

“Why, what have you done?” asked Jack.

“That assault back in Dunhaven—”

“Was it you who knocked me out there?” demanded Benson sharply.

“Yes.” In a shaking voice Truax confessed the details of the affair and
from that passed to Jack’s trip to the suburbs of Annapolis.

“I found the mulatto in a low den. I told him you carried a lot of money
and that he could have it all if he’d decoy you somewhere, keep you all
night, and send you back to the Naval Academy looking like a tramp.” He
then added the name of the mulatto.

“But why have you done this?” demanded Jack. “What have you against me?”

“I didn’t do it on my own account. I did it for Tip Gaynor, a salesman for
Sidenham.”

“The Sidenham Submarine Company?” cried Jack, deeply interested. “The
Sidenham people are our nearest competitors in the submarine business!” he
exclaimed.

“Yes; and they wanted to get the business away from the Pollard Company.
They told Tip Gaynor it would be worth ten thousand dollars to him for
each Sidenham boat he could sell to the Government. Tip hired me—”

“One moment, please,” interrupted Jack. “Did the Sidenham officials know
that Gaynor intended to use such methods?”

“I don’t believe they did,” replied Truax.

“Humph! So Gaynor hired you to do all you could to disgrace me in the eyes
of the naval authorities and to injure the machinery in the engine room of
the submarine!”

“Yes. Tip said it was highly important that the Pollard boats should break
down while under the eyes of all Annapolis, so that it would seem that
they could not be depended upon.”

Truax here became so ill that his audience had to wait until he could
proceed. Then Jack asked:

“What sort of looking fellow is Gaynor?”

“He was the black-bearded man who shanghaied you in the white knockabout.
He doesn’t usually wear a beard. He grew it for the occasion.”

“So, acting for Tip Gaynor, you undertook to ruin us all and the good name
of our boats! You even met Dave Pollard and got him to take you on as a
machinist for our boats!”

“Tip knew a man who was willing to introduce me to Mr. Pollard.”

“It was like kindly, unsuspicious Dave Pollard to be taken in by a rascal
like that,” muttered Jack to himself.

Sam Truax added a few more details to his confession, then said:

“I couldn’t die without telling you this, Benson. I hope you forgive me.”

Before Jack Benson could reply Lieutenant Commander Mayhew stepped
forward.

“Truax, have you told us the exact truth?”

“I have.”

“You thought it would be easy to get the better of a boy like Benson, I
suppose.”

“Easy enough,” admitted Sam. “So did Tip.”

“You shot far below the mark in guessing at Benson’s ingenuity and
brains,” remarked Doctor McCrea, laughing. “It was he who suggested this
way of inducing you to make this confession after you had refused to
answer the lieutenant commander’s questions.”

“What?” demanded Truax harshly.

“When I was first called in to you, you were not sick, only scared by the
remarks of others. After we got you in here, we dosed you with ipecac.
That started your stomach to moving up and down.”

“What? You poisoned me?”

“The ipecac was my choice. It isn’t poison. The general idea was Captain
Benson’s. With a lad like him you haven’t a chance.”

“Benson, you infernal cheat, you!” muttered Truax, and started to get out
of the berth. But he was weak, and the attendant had no difficulty in
thrusting him back.

“In view of what you’ve been telling us, you’d better not sprinkle bad
names about,” said the surgeon, turning on his heel. He was followed by
the others, all chuckling.

“Mr. Benson,” said Doctor McCrea, when the party was in the cabin, “are
you my friend?”

“I certainly am, sir,” cried Jack warmly.

“Thank you,” said the doctor, making a comical face. “With your head for
doing things, Mr. Benson, I feel safer with your friendship than I should
if I had your enmity.”

While they were still chatting in the cabin of the gunboat a shot sounded
on deck. Then a corporal of marines rushed in, saluting.

“The prisoner, Truax, sir, escaped while walking under guard on deck. He
dived headlong, sir. The marine guard fired after him through the
darkness, sir. The officer of the deck sends his compliments, sir, and
wants to know if Truax is to be pursued in a small boat.”

“At once, and with all diligence,” ordered the lieutenant commander.

Though a thorough search was made, Truax was not found. It was thought
that the fellow had been drowned. But months later it was learned that he
was skulking in Europe with Tip Gaynor, who had received word in time to
make his escape also.

For two days more the instruction continued at sea. Then, the tour of
instruction over, the little flotilla returned to the Academy at
Annapolis. From there Captain Benson wired Mr. Farnum for further orders.
Without delay came back the dispatch:

“Navy Department requests that for present ’Farnum’ be left at Annapolis.
You and crew return by rail when ready.”

Soon after this Jack was informed that the Annapolis police had run down
the mulatto who had decoyed the young submarine skipper on that memorable
night. Jack’s money, watch and other valuables were later recovered and
returned to him.

Just before Jack and his mates were to leave the “Farnum” for the last
time, Lieutenant Commander Mayhew came aboard, followed by Ensign Trahern
and three of the midshipmen who had been under submarine instruction.

“Mr. Benson and gentlemen,” said Mr. Mayhew, “I shall not make a set
speech. What I have to say is that the cadet midshipmen who have been
under your capable and much-prized instruction of late wish each of you to
take away a slight memento of your stay here.”

Machinist Williamson had not been omitted. Each of the four received from
the lieutenant commander a small box, each containing a small gold shield.
In the center was the coat of arms of the United States Naval Academy. At
the top of each pin was the name of the one to whom it was given. Across
the bottom were the words:

                                FROM THE
                        BATTALION OF NAVAL CADETS
                          IN KEEN APPRECIATION
                        OF ADMIRABLE INSTRUCTION

"I think," said Mr. Mayhew, "that none of you will hesitate to wear this
pin on vest or coat lapel. The gift is a simple one, but it practically
makes you honorary members of the United States Navy of the future, and I
am glad of it."