“That,” said Bill, as he stowed away their mooring, “is the usual procedure when cranes are used. Sometimes up—sometimes down—and—chew on this one thoughtfully, for this is the point of the story: Sometimes when the tackle slips on a haul, there is a tendency to slip sideways. And then, little chatterbox, since it is this amphibian which is to be hauled upward, and you who will be sitting in said amphibian—the aforementioned safety belt is likely to prove mighty useful.Nowdo you savez?”
“Yup. But my teacher usta tell me that a straight line is the shortest distance between two points.”
“And when,” replied Bill with a grin, “you want to make a home run, it is absolutely necessary to touch all three bases and the plate!”
“Oh, yeah? Well, I think it’s pretty tough when a feller can’t open his mouth without bein’ told to pipe down every other minute!”
“Cheer up, Charles. It’s a long worm—you know. And you’ve got this one on his back with your chatter. The Baron said that this was war, and I, for one, believe he’s right!”
“And,” Charlie chortled, “Sherman said that war was—”
“All thatandmore. Nothing slow about you when it comes to pickup. Well, there’s the crane showing topside. Reckon I’d better feed the old girl a little more gas and mosey over there.”
TheAmtoniahad stopped her engines and now lay broadside on to the gentle groundswell. Bill landed to leeward of the great ship, and taxied the amphibian upwind to a point off her leeward quarter. Then he shut off his motor and when the plane’s momentum carried her to within a few yards of the hull, towering high above the little aircraft, he ordered Charlie to fling out the sea anchor. Their drift, of course, was to leeward, so the manoeuver brought them nose on to the ship’s side, directly below the long arm of the hoist.
In order that seaplanes may be taken aboard ships, flying boats are provided with slings. Bill’s craft being an amphibian, was equipped with retractible landing gear, operated electrically from the cockpits. But inasmuch as theAmtoniaboasted no deck upon which an airplane might land, the hoist was the only means available.
A heaving line was cast to the amphibian as soon as her propeller stopped, and made secure while Bill and Charlie worked like beavers to secure the wing lines. That accomplished, the lads broke out the sling, and after considerable trouble, passed it completely around the hull of their craft, using spreaders to prevent crushing during the hoist aboard.
While they were working on these details, the hoisting hook was let down to them and presently the sling was made fast to it.
“Gee whiz! Look at the gallery now!” cried Charlie, staring up at the line of faces along the deck rails of the steamer. “Say! there’s Dad—and Mother! And there’s Uncle Arthur! See them up there, next to the top deck! They’re waving to us! Hi, Dad! Hello, Mother! Hello, Uncle Arthur!”
“Swell,” was Bill’s preoccupied comment. “I’m glad you’ve found your people, kid. But get into the rear cockpit now, and pipe down a bit, please. This is a ticklish job and unless you keep quiet so I can do a bit of talking to those guys on the ship, it’s likely to turn into a first class accident instead of a reunion.”
Charlie, only slightly abashed, subsided in his seat, but he kept on waving frantically to his parents.
Then a chief petty officer, who stood by the rail just below the arm of the hoist, raised a megaphone to his lips.
“Avast below!” he roared, showing a strong foreign accent. “Is that sling secure, sir?”
“All secure!” called back Bill. “But be sure your men keep the slack out of our wing lines when you hoist us. I don’t want the plane to start swinging.”
“Aye, aye, sir. Are you quite ready, sir?”
“All ready.”
“Stand by to be hoisted, sir.”
The officer raised a hand. There came a creaking of the sling as the hoist hook caught up the slack, then very slowly the plane rose out of the water on her upward journey.
“Sit down and keep perfectly quiet, Charlie,” ordered Bill. “If we start the plane see-sawing, there’ll be the dickens and all to pay.”
Charlie did as he was told. “Don’t worry about me, skipper,” he answered in a somewhat aggrieved tone. “It’s not me that’s raising all the row now.”
The passengers, or possibly they might better be termed prisoners on board the liner, were waving handkerchiefs and calling greetings to the boys. Any break in the monotony of ship life is always made the most of, and Bill surmised that many of these people had been held on board the liner for weeks.
The plane in its sling went slowly upward, watched by the enthusiastic gallery on the promenade deck. The hoist was situated far forward and as the amphibian topped the bulwarks, it was swung aboard and deposited on deck beside an open hatch. No more had she been landed and braced than Charlie jumped out and raced off to seek his parents.
Bill, in the meantime, had his hands full. It was explained to him that inasmuch as theAmtoniawas not equipped for the carrying of aircraft, the plane must be dissembled in order to permit its being stowed away in the hold. A number of men were told off to assist him and for the next couple of hours, he was busily engaged directing the work. Wing sections were removed first and lowered through the hatchway. The tail plane came next, and at the same time, the propeller was taken from the engine. Last of all, lines were riven about the hull and made fast to heavy fittings on the plane, such as engine bearers. Then the denuded hull was hoisted from the deck and lowered nose first into the hold. Even then Bill’s work was not completed, for it was necessary, of course, to secure everything below against possible damage from the rolling or pitching of the ship.
Sandwiches and coffee were served to him by a steward, while he was still on deck. He had sent his excuses when the captain had asked him to lunch, as he felt it imperative that he stay with the men on the job.
It was three-thirty before the work was finished to his satisfaction, and with a petty officer as guide, he located the Baron in his cabin. TheAmtoniahad got under way again several hours earlier. Upon coming topside, he saw that the ship was steaming into the north-east. Close in their wake, theFlying Fish, once more a submarine, ploughed the smooth surface of the ocean.
When Bill entered the captain’s cabin, he found the Baron seated at his desk, reading a paper which had just been handed him by the wireless operator.
“Stand by for a few minutes, Mr. Bolton,” he said, putting the note aside. “Take a seat on the couch. I have need of you again.”
Bill sat down while Baron von Hiemskirk went on talking to the operator.
“Do your best to find out what other craft are in the vicinity and report to me on the bridge as soon as possible.” He said this in German which Bill understood but did not speak well.
“Aye, aye, sir,” returned the man, saluted and departed.
The Baron stood up, picked up his cap and turned to Bill who also rose.
“All secure with the plane below?”
“All secure, sir.”
“Good. Come along then.”
Together they passed through the thwartship passage and out on deck. They reached the top deck of the superstructure by a steep stair and went forward. From this deck another stair led to the bridge, where a sailor with rifle and sidearms stood sentry. The man brought his gun to “present” and both the Baron and Bill punctiliously returned the salute. Long before this Bill had come to realize that strict naval discipline was enforced to the letter aboard this pirate ship.
Once they were on the bridge an officer came forward and saluted.
The Baron said stiffly: “Commander Geibel—Mr. Bolton—in charge of flight operations.”
The Commander and Bill shook hands.
“Has the lookout reported anything during the past quarter of an hour?” inquired the Baron.
“Not a thing, sir.”
Commander Geibel and the others instinctively glanced toward the foremast where about halfway to the top was located the ship’s first lookout station. This station, Bill was to learn, always held an officer and his assistant. Still higher up the mast in the crow’s nest, a sharp-eyed seaman, especially trained to this service, kept a vigilant scrutiny on the horizon. When the man in the crow’s nest discerned smoke or haze which seemed to indicate a ship, he called to the men in the lookout below. Instantly all glasses would be trained in the direction he gave them, and the bridge would make ready to act upon the result of their discovery.
The Baron turned to Commander Geibel again. “We have just received a wireless that the French linerOrleansis about sixty miles to the northward, steaming east. She carries the mails, you know, and a capacity load of first class passengers. I think she will be worth detaining.”
“Decidedly so, sir.”
“Make ready to stop the ship, if you please. Also signal theFlying Fishto prepare for a flight. While I am away, you will be in supreme command, as usual.”
“Very good, Herr Baron. Any further orders?”
“No. You will maintain the usual routine. Good afternoon, Herr Commander.”
“May I wish the Herr Baron his usual success and a pleasant trip?”
“Thank you, Herr Geibel.” The two shook hands. “Auf wiedersehn!”
“Auf wiedersehn, Herr Baron!Auf wiedersehn, Herr Bolton.”
“Auf wiedersehn, Commander.”
They saluted. Commander Geibel stepped to the engine room telegraph and the Baron with Bill at his heels left the bridge.
“Come to my cabin. I want to say a few words to you.”
Bill knew that Commander Geibel had given the order “All engines ahead one-third.” So he was not surprised by the time they entered the Captain’s cabin to find that the vibration from the ship’s propellers had ceased.
“You understand, Mr. Bolton,” the Baron said, “that we are about to capture a trans-Atlantic liner?”
“I understand that such is your purpose, sir.”
“You are ready to obey orders—to pilot theFlying Fishas we agreed?”
Bill was silent for a moment. “And if I refuse?” he asked at last.
“Then it will be my painful duty to place both you and Chief Osceola in the brig and keep you there until we make port.”
“Where is Osceola now?”
“He is still aboard theFlying Fish. He is to act as your assistant. You see, my dear fellow,” the Baron went on, his manner changing from curtness to affability. “As a midshipman in the United States Navy, you are too dangerous a person to allow you to mix freely with the other passengers of this ship, unless—shall I put it frankly?—unless I have a hold of some kind over you. Those people, wealthy men and women, or they should not be here, are nevertheless but a flock of sheep. You and the Chief proved in Florida that you were made of different stuff. Aboard theMerrymaid, I gave you my reasons for the offer. What is your final answer, now that you have had time to think it over?”
Bill hesitated no longer. “I will fly the plane as agreed,” he said. “But there, my duty to you and your organization ends.”
“That satisfies me. I am glad to take your word as an officer and a gentleman on this matter.” He rose from his chair and beamed at Bill. “My organization is perfect, Mr. Bolton—perfect. You will have no chance to escape—there is no where to escape to—but if you and your friend should wish to try—you have my permission to do so!”
Bill smiled, and said nothing.
“Time to shove off now,” continued the Baron bruskly. “The boat will be waiting for us.”
They went overside by means of a ship’s ladder and were rowed over to theFlying Fish. Her airplane engines were making their appearance topside by the time they stepped aboard. For a few minutes Bill watched them rise one by one, and slide on grooved tracks into place. At the same time, he noticed that the decking just forward of the central motor was moving upward to reveal itself as the roof of a glass-sided structure about two feet high.
“What’s under that?” he asked the Baron, “the pilot’s cockpit?”
“Just so. Come below and we’ll inspect it.”
While they had been talking, Bill saw the conning tower lower itself until it stood not more than a foot above the deck aft of the huge wings.
“This certainly is the most remarkable ship I’ve ever seen, or ever hope to see,” he exclaimed as they descended into the hull through the conning tower hatch.
“I designed most of these gadgets before the close of the last war,” replied the Baron in his usual pompous manner. “The armistice interrupted my experiments and as there was no government that amounted to anything in my country then, I kept the results of my work for myself. Some little time ago, speculation in your American stocks gave me sufficient capital to build that ship with added improvements. Now I am cashing in on her.”
The Diesel engines were drawing air from an intake valve just under the small bridge as they dropped into the control room where Bill and the Baron studied the charts for a while, and he was given the course he was to fly. They passed through the battery room where the walls were lined with the crews’ bunks and into the pilot’s glassed-in cockpit.
“Hello!” Osceola beamed at them from one of the pilot’s seats. “It’s sure good to see you again, Bill, old boy. How do you do, Baron?”
The Baron was annoyed.
“It is customary aboard my ships for a superior officer to receive a salute when spoken to. And the salute should be rendered standing.”
Osceola smiled, stood up, clicked his heels together and brought the fingers of his right hand smartly to the edge of the soft helmet he wore.
“Thank you.” The Baron punctiliously returned the salute. “Good afternoon, Chief.”
Then he turned his back on the young Seminole and spoke again to Bill.
“When the buzzer rings in here, Mr. Bolton, you will start idling your engines and take off as soon as possible immediately afterward. You know your course and you have instructions with regard to landing. Further orders will be sent to you should I consider them necessary.”
“I understand, sir,” said Bill.
Both young fellows saluted. The Baron returned their salutes and left the cockpit, sliding the door to behind him.
“Gosh!” exploded Osceola. “That lad gives me the jim-jams with his confounded bowing and saluting. I’ll turn into a Prussian Yunker myself if we don’t get out of this soon!”
“Reckon you weren’t cut out for a Naval man,” laughed Bill, “I admit I’ve had my fill of that stuff at the Academy, but the Herr Baron certainly goes the whole hog. Let’s see what kind of a crate I’ve got to run,” he mused—“ten motors—dual control—aeromarine inertia starter!”
He studied the layout thoughtfully and glanced at the instrument board. Then he turned to Osceola again.
“Thank heaven, they’ve fitted this bus with the wheel and column type of control. The clever bird has stolen some of the Fokker features. That worm gear, operated by a crank and shaft from the pilot’s seat to adjust the stabilizer in flight proves it.”
“Maybe,” grinned his friend. “That’s all Greek to me. The joke of it is that these bozos think I understand—that I’m an aviator like you!”
“Well, I’ve given you some pointers, haven’t I? You ought to recognize a few of these gadgets.”
The Chief snorted. “Fewis right. Your amphibian is one thing—but this bus is fitted out like the engine room of an ocean liner!”
Bill laughed and picked up a soft helmet.
“Ever been in one?”
“An engine room?”
“Yes.”
“Not yet—and I hope never.”
“I thought so. Well, Mr. Assistant Pilot, get into your seat and look pretty. I’ll do the work. Confound, there goes the buzzer!”
He slipped into his seat and his hand sought the inertia starter. With her multiple engines roaring in deafening crescendo, theFlying Fishleapt through the water and was jerked onto her step, quite as easily as the smallest seaplane. A few seconds later she was in the air, nosing upward into the ether.
Bill ran her up to thirty-five hundred feet, leveled off, did a sharp bank to port, then straightened out once more and spoke to Osceola.
“Some bus! Runs like a ladies’ wristwatch.”
“Aren’t you keeping pretty low?”
“There’s no sense climbing higher. The skipper wants to get there in a hurry.”
“Er—you know this is rank piracy?”
“I do, Osceola. But it’s a long chance—and a darned sight better for our plans than being cooped up in the brig. If I wasn’t driving this plane, the Baron would be. Friend von Hiemskirk is so sure of himself he says that we have his permission to escape—if we can. I’d like to give him a run, you know.”
“Yes, nice of him, isn’t it? Still, we got away from the Shell Island gang, didn’t we?”
“Sure did—and put those guys in a place where they belong.”
“Well, I’m entirely willing to try it with this bunch—but between you and me, I’m almost inclined to agree with the Baron—I don’t think we’ve the ghost of a show.”
“Maybe not. But we’ll make a good stab at it, just the same. First of all, we’ve got to know how they work their game. That’s the principal reason why I took over this job. It’s not only escape I’m after, but it’s busting up this organized piracy, as well.”
“Ambitious, aren’t you?”
“Well—hello! there’s smoke on the horizon!”
“Oh, yes, I see it. Dead ahead. Think she’s the ship we want?”
“Hope so. We’re following the course. Herr Pomposo plotted it himself, so he can’t strafe us if it isn’t.”
Osceola clapped a pair of glasses to his eyes and studied the distant smudge of black that was curling up a blue horizon.
“Three funnels. Looks like a pretty big ship—and she sure is moving along.”
“TheOrleansis a three-stacker. Also, she’s plenty big and fast. Push that button on the instrument board marked ‘C.R.’, will you?”
Osceola complied. “What’s C.R. mean?”
“Control room. I want to let his high-mightiness know we’ve sighted his prey.”
“This,” said Osceola, “begins to get exciting.”
“It will,” said Bill, “get a good deal more exciting than we bargained for unless you pipe down, old man. There’s some ticklish business ahead of us and I can’t afford to crack it. Now—get these instructions, and get ’em right. That handle yonder works the bomb release. When I say the word, take hold of it—but don’t pull until I tell you to.”
“But—Bill!” protested the Seminole. “You surely aren’t taking orders from von Hiemskirk or anyone else to bomb that liner!”
“Not if I know it,” Bill answered curtly. “Get your mind on the job. When I say NOW—you pull. Not one instant sooner, or an instant later. It’s a matter of life and death—so be careful.”
“Trust me,” said his mystified friend, lifting a nervous gaze to stare at the great steamer they were approaching so swiftly.
TheOrleanswas a beautiful sight; a racing greyhound of the seas, tearing through a glassy ocean, bound for Europe with mail and passengers.
TheFlying Fishcame upon her from the south. As he drew nearer the leviathan, Bill decreased the plane’s altitude to a meager five hundred feet. Below the belching funnels he could see passengers and crew crowding the starboard rails, for even the mostblasétraveler is still thrilled by the sight of an airplane in mid-ocean.
The great plane circled the ship. Then Bill dropped behind for a moment, did a flipper turn to port, levelled off and came racing up from the rear. When theFlying Fishwas directly over the steamer’s stern, Bill spoke to Osceola.
“Get ready!” he said.
“Good Lord! You can’t do it, Bill. It’s murder!”
“Shut up—and obey orders!” commanded his pilot. “This is my funeral—not yours.”
Osceola grasped the bomb release, his brain whirling in consternation and confusion.
Slowly they forged ahead, over the stacks, the foremast, the bow, and on until they had gained a lead of possibly two hundred yards on theOrleans.
“NOW!”
Back came Osceola’s hand, yanking the handle and at the same time Bill banked the plane in a sharp left turn. Osceola descried an object darting seaward beneath them. He glimpsed it strike the water and a geyser shot upward in front of the racing liner. Then as theFlying Fishcame about and landed, he saw that theOrleanswas slowing down. By the time their own craft was moored to a sea anchor, the liner’s propellers no longer turned and she lay like a “painted ship upon a painted ocean.”
Both lads stripped off their headgear as the Baron walked into the cockpit.
“I am about to board theOrleans,” he stated in that overbearing tone that was so irritating to Osceola. “You young gentlemen will accompany me. We leave directly. Once aboard, it will be your duty to make note of the quantity of gasoline and lubricating oils carried by the liner and render a report to me. I shall probably be found in the First Class dining salon, where passengers will be interviewed. Come now, it is time we were off.”
When Bill and Osceola came out on deck they saw that a three-inch gun had been brought topside and was trained on theOrleans. Signals had evidently passed between theFlying Fishand the liner, which lay motionless a few hundred yards off their port quarter. Even as the boarding party, armed to the teeth, stepped into a small launch, a gangway was let down from the side of the leviathan.
The journey across took but a very few minutes. Bill had only time to note that theOrleansno longer flew her colors and that the decks were still crowded with passengers, when the seaman in the bow of their launch caught the grating at the bottom of the steep flight of steps with his boathook.
The Baron immediately sprang onto the grating and, followed by another officer, Bill, Osceola and four seamen bearing rifles, mounted the gangway. The launch in the meantime hastened back toward theFlying Fishto pick up another load of men.
An indignant officer, whose uniform proclaimed him to be the ship’s captain, met them as they stepped on deck.
“This is an outrage!” he thundered, addressing the Baron. “By what right do you threaten my ship and board her?”
Von Hiemskirk smiled cynically at the scowling captain, and bowed, including the row of ship’s officers and men who stood close behind him, in his salutation.
“You make a mistake, Captain,” he replied affably, “when you say ‘my ship.’ Allow me to inform you that she is no longer yours—but mine—by right of conquest!”
“But this is—piracy!”
“I am glad,” said the Baron, “that you realize the fact.” He changed his tone abruptly. “Permit me to inform you also that unless my orders are obeyed—obeyed on the instant,—it will be my unpleasant duty to sink this ship.”
A man in the uniform of the ship’s wireless operator pushed his way through the crowd of protesting passengers and saluting theOrleanscaptain, whispered a few words in his ear.
“No secrets,” snapped the Baron. “Operator, what message have you brought?”
It was now the captain’s turn to smile.
“I will answer your question,” he returned. “We have been in touch with the United States CruiserStamford. At the present moment, she is steaming at full speed to this spot!”
Baron von Hiemskirk roared with laughter. “Splendid, Captain—splendid! To use an American expression, Herr Captain—we pirates are not always as dumb as we may look. I know all about that warship. It will take her five hours, fast steaming, to reach this ship.”
He turned his back contemptuously on the furious skipper and walked to the rail. A glance overside told him that the launch, crowded to the gunwales with more men from theFlying Fishwas nosing the landing stage below. He again approached the choleric officer.
“I now take over this ship. Order your crew to the forecastle and your officers to their cabins. You and I, my friend, will repair to your quarters. I want to look over your ship’s papers.”
By this time the second boarding party reached the deck, and commands snapped from the Baron like reports from a machine gun.
Accompanied by an armed seaman from theFlying Fish, Bill and Osceola followed the chief commissary steward below. The man had been told off for the duty by the Baron, with a promise that if there were any complaints upon their return, he would be shot. On second thought, he had expanded Bill’s orders.
“You will attend to the oil and gas,” he said, “and in addition, you will commandeer all stores leaving two days’ crews’ rations for the passengers. Break out what men you need and get the supplies to this deck on the port side. And just as quickly as possible, Mr. Bolton.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Arrived at the chief steward’s office, he was amazed to learn from the man’s lists the vast amount of eatables carried by the liner.
“Gosh, there’s everything here from caviar to oatmeal!”
“Well, orders are orders,” said Osceola. “While you’re deciding what to take and what to leave, I’ll get hold of the crew and meet you below in the storerooms.”
“Right-o! I’ll be with you in a jiffy. I hate to have to do this, but if we don’t make a clean job of it, you and I will finish out this cruise in the well-known brig!”
For the next few hours, both lads worked like beavers superintending the transportation of supplies. Leaving Osceola in charge below, Bill went up to the deck where the boxes, barrels and crates from the storerooms were being stacked by members of the captured liner’s crew. TheFlying Fish, now transformed into her guise of submarine, came along side, a hoist was brought into use and the provisions lowered to her.
It soon became evident that the underseas boat’s cargo capacity would take but a fraction of the plunder, so Bill ordered theOrleans’lifeboats to be lowered. One by one, these were loaded. The first boat to receive its quota of goods was secured to theFlying Fishby a tow-line, and the bow of each succeeding lifeboat made fast by a line to the stern of the one ahead. When the last load of crates was being lowered overside, Bill found Osceola at his elbow.
“That tears it, I reckon. Good plan that—using the boats. I wondered how you were going to load all that stuff in theFlying Fish.”
“I hated to do it,” admitted his friend, “but now that theOrleansis practically without provisions, she will have to return to New York, and she can make port in less than twenty-four hours. With this fine weather, there’s little or no danger of the passengers needing the boats.”
“What are we to do now?” asked Osceola.
“Report to Herr Baron, I reckon.”
Bill hailed one of the submarine’s petty officers who was herding the crew back to their quarters.
“Do you know where we’ll find Baron von Hiemskirk?”
“He is in the main dining salon, sir.”
“Come along, Osceola,” said Bill. “He must be pretty nearly finished with his own particular job. I hope so, anyway. If that cruiser shows up and we’re caught—well, it will take a lot of explaining to justify our part in this. The chances are, I’d be handed my discharge from the Navy, if nothing worse.”
Osceola nodded gloomily and the two made their way along an almost empty deck to the main companionway.
“I wonder where the passengers have disappeared to,” mused the young Seminole, as they descended the broad staircase.
“They’ve probably been sent to their cabins for the time being. If my guess is a good one, the big boy is at present engaged in robbing the entire first class of their valuables.”
“It’s certainly a bad bit of work, Bill.”
“Gee, I know it. But some day we may be able to get even with this polite pirate. Just now all we can do is to smile and take orders.”
They found the Baron seated at the head of the captain’s table. An angry gentleman, his wife and two pretty daughters, under guard of a seaman, stood before him.
“Mr. Rodney Conway and family, of New York.” The Baron glanced at a list he held. “I am glad to say that this little interview will conclude my business aboard theOrleans.”
“Look here!” cut in the passenger. “This whole thing is preposterous! Why, your men have ransacked our cabins and stolen nearly everything of value we have with us. If, as you seem to be, you are German citizens, I shall certainly make a complaint in person to the German ambassador, when this ship lands us in England!”
The Baron von Hiemskirk smiled, but the smile was not a pleasant one. “I do not recognize the present German government,” he said sneeringly, “and it also may interest you to know that they are quite as keen to apprehend me and put a stop to my business ventures as you are. Furthermore, Mr. Conway, you and your family are not going to England—not by this ship.”
Mr. Conway started visibly. Then he drew himself up: “I do not care for myself—but I must beg of you to spare my wife and daughters—”
The Baron put up a restraining hand. “There is no cause for alarm, Mr. Conway. Unless, of course, you prove to be unreasonable. Who’s Who tells me that you are president of the Western Hemisphere Bank in New York City, and that you are on the board of directors of other important financial institutions. Now, there will be a small matter of ransom to go into before we part company. At present, time presses. You and your family will go for a cruise with me—an agreeable one, I trust—until this business of ransom can be attended to. You will go on deck with this seaman now. Your cabin baggage has already left the ship. That will be all, I think.” He stood up in dismissal, and bowed.
“Good afternoon,” he beamed, “and bon voyage!”
The Conway family, under guard, left the salon. Baron von Hiemskirk beckoned to Bill and Osceola who had been silent witnesses of this charming scene.
“I have to report, sir,” said Bill at once, “that the supplies have been placed aboard theFlying Fishand the lifeboats. They are now ready for transport to theAmtonia.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bolton, and you, too, Chief. I was certain that I could trust you with the job. That was a good idea to use the lifeboats. If a heavy sea had been running the greater part of the stuff must have been left behind.”
“I should think,” said Osceola, “that you would have brought up theAmtoniaand placed the stuff aboard her direct.”
The Baron smiled goodhumoredly. “Mr. Bolton can you tell him my reason for not doing so? I am not really a blood-thirsty person by nature, Chief.”
“Baron von Hiemskirk does not wish vessels like theOrleansto know that theAmtoniais in his service, Osceola.”
“But what has bloodthirstiness got to do with it, if I may ask?”
Bill answered this too. “I suppose the Baron feels it would be necessary to sink such vessels whose crews or passengers guess his secret. Am I right, Sir?”
“Quite, Mr. Bolton. That warship, for instance, will arrive here in an hour or so. All that she can learn from those left aboard this ship is that theFlying Fishand theOrleansboats have departed in such and such a direction—which, of course, will not be the one they will eventually take.”
“But won’t they wireless that news to theStamfordjust as soon as we leave the ship?” inquired the Chief.
“Nobody,” replied the Baron gently, “will use the wireless after we leave, for the simple reason that this ship’s wireless will not be in working order. Now we will go on deck.”
He led the way up the staircase without speaking further. At the entrance to the companionway, they were met by one of the Baron’s men.
“Beg to report, sir, that all decks have been cleared. Passengers and crew are locked in their cabins. The fires have been drawn and the wireless has been put out of commission.”
“Good. We shall shove off at once.”
The officer preceded them toward the gangway where a squad of armed seamen were drawn up.
“By Jove!” cried Osceola. “What’s become of theFlying Fish? She’s disappeared. Surely she can’t have submerged and carried the boats down with her.”
“No such luck,” muttered Bill sotto voce. “There she is, with her blooming boats in tow, off to the westward. She probably got underway about the time we went below. What’s the matter, Osceola? You seem to be in the dumps.”
“Well, I hate this work we’ve been doing, that’s all, Bill. Unless we can act pretty soon—do something to stop this robbing of innocent people, I’ll be so low, I’ll have to reach up to touch bottom!”
“Gosh, I’m with you. I could hardly keep quiet when that interview with the Conways took place. But tonight, we’ll talk. Keep smiling now—here we are at the gangway. Gee, we’re swiping theOrleanslaunch! I wondered how we were going to get back to theAmtonia.”
“These guys,” said Osceola disgustedly, “snatch everything that’s loose. What’s nailed down they pull up and charge the owners for the nails!”
Following the Baron, who was conversing with an officer, they went down the steps of the gangway, and took seats in the waiting launch.
The launch, a highpowered craft, soon caught up with the submarine and its string of loaded lifeboats. Darkness had fallen before the little flotilla reached the mothership, but the plunder was quickly taken aboard, and the lifeboats were sunk. Within an hour of their arrival, theAmtoniawith her submarine pilot-fish were heading into the northeast again.
The two lads were given a large, comfortable cabin together, where they found the baggage from their amphibian had been stowed. They had just taken a shower in the luxuriously appointed bathroom off their cabin, when there came a knock at the door.
“The Captain’s compliments, sir,” said the steward when Bill opened to him, “and will you gentlemen dine with him and his officers at eight thirty in the Palm Garden? He asks me to inform you, sir, that you will find uniforms in your closet. He begs that you will not wear civilian clothes while aboard.”
“Thank Baron von Hiemskirk on behalf of Chief Osceola and myself. We shall be glad to join the officers’ mess at half past eight. We shall also put on the uniforms he has provided, although I must say that nothing looks worse than a uniform one hasn’t been fitted for!”
“Beg pardon, sir, but the tailor has already altered the uniforms. He took measurements from the suits in your bags. He and his men are working on more of them tonight. He tells me that they will all be finished soon.”
“Thank you,” said Bill. “That will be fine. By the way, where is the Palm Garden?”
“Off A deck, sir. Thank you, sir.” He was gone.
“Well,” grinned Bill, “some system they have aboard this packet!”
“You said it. Too much system to suit me, Bill. We’re likely to come a bad cropper when we buck it.”
“You know the adage about crossing bridges before you have to, Osceola. Let’s get into these uniforms. It’s nearly time for mess and I’m hungry enough to chew rubber.”
The uniforms proved to be made of white duck, and the lads found their names stitched inside the blouses. An officer’s cap and pair of white canvas shoes went with each suit. To their further surprise, they found that all these articles fitted them exactly.
“Gee!” exclaimed Bill, as he saw the two gold stripes on his black shoulder straps. “This is promotion with a vengeance! When I woke up this morning, I was only a midshipman. Tonight I’m a full lieutenant! What’s the Baron made you, big boy?”
“I’ve got a broad stripe like yours, Bill, and a narrow one. I suppose that rates me something—but what, I don’t know!”
“That’s the insignia of a lieutenant j.g.”
“And what’s the j.g. mean?”
“Junior grade. A j.g. ranks with a first lieutenant in the army.”
“And you, with your two broad stripes rank with an army captain, I suppose, and you’re my superior officer on board here, I take it?”
“Right. Only we say full stripes, not broad stripes. In Navy parlance, I’m a two-striper, and you are a one-and-a-half striper.”
“Sounds to me like a convict gang,” laughed the Seminole, as he buttoned up his blouse. “Well, if you’re ready, I am.”
“Don’t forget your cap,” Bill reminded him. “Strictly speaking, no naval officer is in uniform without it.”
“Pirate officer, you mean,” grunted Osceola as they entered the corridor. “Last time we were kidnapped and lacked all this luxury, but at least what clothes we wore were comfortable. I feel as if somebody had laced me into a tight corset.”