Frenchy went into the room, presumably to listen for the "tick-tock" sound; but actually to find his knife. He came out with the latter in his pocket; but he also showed a rather pale face and he had not much to say until Seven Knott went away.
The latter crept away, plainly in great trouble of spirit. Ikey asked his chum:
"Did you hear it again?"
"Ye-es," admitted Frenchy. "It does sound queer. What do you suppose it can be?"
"Don't know. Let's tell Whistler," said Ikey, who had a deal of confidence in Morgan.
"That's all right. But don't tell him anything about our being in that room before. Remember, Ikey, we don't know a livin' thing about that first periscope the lookouts spied."
"Sure I won't tell," agreed the other. "It wasn't such a good joke after all, was it, Frenchy?"
And Frenchy agreed with a solemn nod of his head.
TheKennebunkshook throughout her structure at that moment and Ikey darted for the between-decks ladder.
"Another submarine!" he shouted. "Oi, oi!"
"Hold on!" drawled Frenchy. "Nothing like it. There goes another. They are at practice. The target's in range."
The four Seacove boys had seen something of gun practice on the destroyerColodia;but the secondary batteries of the smaller vessel made no such racket as did the big guns of theKennebunk.
The discharge of a turret gun aboard the superdreadnaught was an important matter, and a costly one as well. The gun crews practiced all the movements save the actual discharge of the guns every day. To burn up several hundred pounds of powder and fire away the expensive projectiles in rehearsal was a serious matter.
The gun crew that had made a clean hit on the submarine with its first shell, had already shown what value practice shooting was. The high standard of the gunnery in our Navy pays for all it costs.
These gunners had practiced at the schools and on other vessels before being assigned to the superdreadnaught. No matter how much good powder and shot had already been flung away in training that particular crew of Turret Number Two, the sinking of the German submarine had paid for it all.
Whistler and Torry did not, of course, actually fire the gun. The gun captain did that. But the exact team work of the crew had much to do with the score of the gun in target practice; and the two friends did their work commendably.
There was a sharp lookout kept during target practice for other submarines. The disappearance of the first periscope which had been hailed from the masthead was the cause of much discussion. It was generally believed that this first submarine had wisely made off when its sister ship was so promptly sunk by the battleship.
Frenchy and Ikey almost burst from their desire to tell what they knew about the mystery. But they did not dare.
It had been a lesson which the two mischief-loving boys would not easily forget. While the whole ship's company was watching the imitation periscope Frenchy and Ikey had slipped overboard through the ash-chute, the real submarine might have torpedoed theKennebunk.
The score of each gun crew was transmittedto Washington by favor of the auxiliary steamer which towed the target, and she disappeared coastward just at sunset. The superdreadnaught was under orders to proceed on a southerly course, and parallel with the coast, for some considerable distance. She was doing outside patrol duty on this, her first real cruise.
Men and officers were first of all expected to get used to each other and to the ship. This familiarity could only come about through drills and practice work in every branch. The men must have confidence in their officers, and the officers know their men thoroughly before the commander could feel that he had a smoothly working ship's company.
The excitement caused by the first blow struck at the enemy and the successful target practice that followed would not soon wear off. And both incidents helped the morale of the crew.
Almost every enlisted man showed delight in his face. Only Hans Hertig displayed a woful countenance. The solemnity of the boatswain's mate attracted even Ensign MacMasters' attention.
"What's the matter with you, Hans?" he demanded of the petty officer.
It was difficult to get any explanation out of Seven Knott; but finally the tale of the ghostly"clock" on the lower deck was blurted out by the superstitious petty officer.
"What do you mean, a ghost?" growled the ensign. "Don't let me hear of your repeating such nonsense, Hertig. Let me tell you it will interfere with your advance in rating if you do circulate the story. I'll take the matter up with Captain Trevor if I hear anything more about it."
But it was impossible to stop the circulation of such a story on shipboard. Rumor flies from deck to deck on wings. A hint of the strange noise below decks made others besides Seven Knott investigate. Many declared they heard the "tick-tock" sound.
There never was a crew at sea yet in which some of its members were not superstitious. Seven Knott was not the only one troubled by the ghostly clock. Stories of haunted ships became common among certain groups of seamen and marines during the hours off duty.
To most of the boys and enlisted men it was all a huge joke; nevertheless there were enough of the crew really superstitious for the tale of the clock-ticking sound to interfere with the general morale of the ship's company.
The chief master-at-arms finally made what he deemed a thorough investigation of the report. But it was evident that he had made up his mindto counteract the influence of the strange sound upon the men by denying its existence.
This, of course, did no good at all. The men, or, at least, some of them, could hear the "tick-tock!tick-tock!tick-tock!" for themselves. Those who wandered into the room where the lumber was stowed were strongly impressed by the unexplained sounds. By and by the men as a rule fought shy of entering that part of the ship.
When Whistler was told by Frenchy and Ikey that they had first heard the "ghost-clock" after the subsiding of the storm, he declared it to be nonsense, pure and simple.
"Don't you fellows forget the scare we all got aboard theGraf von Posenover that old lead coffin in her hold? I should think you would know better than to circulate such yarns about the ship," he declared in some heat.
"We didn't say a word about it," Frenchy denied. "Only to you and Torry. Seven Knott started the row, not us."
"And he ought to be keelhauled for it," growled Torry.
Nothing would satisfy Frenchy and Ikey, however, until Phil and Al went down with them to listen to the strange sound themselves. It was there, all right. When their ears became used to the steady thumping of the engines, they were able to distinguish the clock-like noise.
"It's some trick," declared Torrance, with conviction. "Sure you chaps haven't started a joke on us?"
"No joke!" denied Ikey.
"We've sworn off practical jokes," joined in Frenchy earnestly.
"Huh! what's the matter with you?" sniffed Torry suspiciously. "Why this eleventh-hour conversion?"
But the two smaller fellows refused to be "drawn." They merely reiterated that they knew nothing about the cause of the ghostly sound. The four overhauled all the stowed tackle and lumber in the compartment, but found nothing but a locked carpenter's chest that was too heavy to move. And the noise did not seem to come from that.
"It's in the air—it's all about us," declared Whistler seriously. "I doubt if the source of the noise is in this room at all; it is somewhere near and by some freak of acoustics the sound is heard more plainly in this place."
"You can try to explain it as you will," returned Torry. "It's mighty mysterious."
"'Mysterious' is no name for it," said Frenchy. "It'll be more than that before all's said and done. By St. Patrick's piper that played the last snake out of Ireland! some of these garbies are getting blue around the gills already."
"Laugh at them," commanded Whistler. "We're Americans. We ought not to have a superstitious bone in our bodies."
"Arrah!" grunted Frenchy. "I don't know rightly that it's me bones that are superstitious. But that 'tick-tock' gives me the creeps, just the same."
In a week the bulk of theKennebunk'screw were keeping strictly away from the compartment on the lower deck from which came the strange sound. In addition, a run of small accidents broke out which seemed to the minds of many of the crew to assure that the ship was doomed to bad luck.
"The ship is haunted," continued to be whispered from division to division. The sternness of the petty officers could not halt the spreading feeling.
"How about our very first gun sinking a submarine?" demanded Philip Morgan of one group.
"Oh, that was just a chance," was the reply.
"Hump!" said Whistler with disgust. "I have an idea the oldKennebunkis going to be blessed with similar chances."
There followed, however, a really serious accident. A pipe in the boiler room burst, and several men were scalded, one so badly that the ship's surgeons declared he must be transported to a shore hospital as soon as possible.
The operation of skin grafting could not be performed successfully on shipboard, and nothing else would save the unfortunate victim of the accident from having a terribly disfigured face.
Many of the man's shipmates would gladly have aided by giving patches of healthy skin for the benefit of the patient; but the operation was too delicate to be undertaken on the battleship, and the healing of the unfortunate man would be too tedious.
After communicating with the Navy Department by wireless, Captain Trevor decided to send the steam runner into Hampton Roads with the injured man, while the battleship continued her southerly course in compliance with her orders.
The steam-screw tender of theKennebunkwas a good sized craft and perfectly seaworthy. They were too far from shore to trust a motor boat; and to use one of the big whaleboats under sail would take too long.
The derrick swung the big boat overside, and she was lowered into the sea as lightly as though she were a featherweight. Meanwhile Ensign MacMasters was assigned to her command and he had the privilege of picking his crew to suit himself.
The steamer mounted a gun forward and one aft. To the delight of Phil and Al, the ensign chose them as members of the gun crews.
Immediately Frenchy and Ikey clamored to be taken, too. Ensign MacMasters without doubt displayed favoritism at this time. He acquiesced in the desires of the two younger boys from Seacove.
"I suppose you would pine away and refuse your chow if you were separated from Morgan and Torrance," the ensign said laughingly. "Get your hammock-rolls and go aboard. I'll fix it with the executive officer."
So, when the steamer started from the towering side of the battleship, the four Navy boys were members of her crew, and likely to experience a variety of adventures.
The change from the hugeKennebunkto the comparatively tiny steamer was great indeed; and for the first few hours of the run shoreward the boys were afraid they would be ill. There was a heavy swell on, and the tender rode up the hill of each roller, and slid down the other side, dizzily.
They were two hundred miles off shore and three hundred from Hampton Roads. The time occupied in the journey could not be much less than three days and two nights. She was much slower than the motor boats; but she sailed much more safely, and the injured man could be made more comfortable on deck under the awning.
The poor fellow complained a good deal about having had his voyage cut short.
"No chance for me to get a crack at the Huns," he repeated again andagain.
The boys from Seacove tried to comfort him. Ensign MacMasters told him that he had done his share, even if his fate was not so brilliant as that of men shot down in battle.
"I wouldn't mind being shot for my country," said the poor fellow. "But I hate like a dog to be boiled for it! There ain't nothing heroic in this, Ensign."
The cruise of the steamer was not unattended with peril. They were confident that German U-boats were beginning to infest the sea bordering on the Atlantic coast of the United States. One might pop up at any time and take a shot at the tender.
A sharp lookout was kept, and the gun crews scarcely slept. Every sail or streamer of smoke created excitement on board.
But the first night passed in safety and the day broke charmingly. The steamer was kept at top speed. Everything was going smoothly when, about midforenoon, they sighted a strange vessel hull down and somewhat to the northeast of their course.
It was rather hazy, and the strange craft was at some distance. Her course was not one to bring her very near that of the battleship's steamer.
She did not appear to be more than two hundred feet long, and the concurrence of opinion was that she was some small tramp freight boat and was laden heavily. She had a high bow, rail all around, and, as far as could be seen, she flew no flag at all.
"Some old tub taking a chance with a richcargo," suggested the warrant officer, as Ensign MacMasters' second in command. "Why, at the present time, freight rates are so high and wages so much advanced, that shipowners can find skippers and crews willing to take regular sieves to sea!"
"She looks peculiar," Mr. MacMasters said. "If it wasn't for Grant, here, being in such pain, poor fellow, I'd throw a shell at her and hold her up. But we've got our orders to hasten to the Roads and return again to theKennebunkas soon as possible."
Therefore the strange craft was allowed to pass unchallenged. Later they had reason to believe that they had made a small mistake regarding the unknown vessel, yet they had made no mistake in allowing her to go unmolested.
In time they raised the Capes of Virginia, and a few hours later steamed into the dock at Fortress Monroe. Grant, the injured fireman from theKennebunk, was taken ashore and sent to the marine hospital.
Ensign MacMasters had his full orders from the commander of the battleship; but he had a wireless message relayed to theKennebunkstating his arrival. The wireless instrument aboard the steamer was of too narrow a radius to reach the superdreadnaught in her present position.
Orders were soon repeated for the auxiliarycraft to make for the battleship again, and laying the course for Ensign MacMasters to follow. There were storm signals flying; but the steamer was to keep near the shore until she got around Hatteras. It was presumed that she would find theKennebunkwithin a week at the most, and the tender was well provisioned and took on extra fuel at the dock.
She went to sea without the boys having had an hour of shore leave; but they did not mind that. The fun of running on the steamer was all right; but they were getting eager now to return to the superdreadnaught.
They ran out between the Capes into what the warrant officer called "a Liverpool particular," meaning a fog almost thick enough to cut with a cheese-knife.
Every once in a while the nose of a steel-gray ship, small or large, poked through the mist, and her growling siren warned the smaller craft to get out of the way.
These patrol boats were very plentiful off the Virginia Capes at that time. A mine-laying enemy submarine would have small chance getting into Hampton Roads.
But that such a craft was in the vicinity the crew of theKennebunk'stender learned was the fact within a few hours. Their course was southerly, and almost in sight of the coast inclear weather. But they broke out of the fog bank the next morning to see dead ahead two boats, each pulled by four pair of oars, wearily approaching the course of the coastwise steamships.
"I smell a U-boat about!" declared Ensign MacMasters, when he had directed the steamer's course to be changed to run down to the row-boats.
He was right. The boats contained the crew of the schoonerHattie May, out of Baltimore, which had been shelled and sunk twenty-four hours before by a German undersea craft.
And the report of the wearied crew included a description of the submarine. She was camouflaged by a high bow and a rail all around, as well as by a canvas smokestack to make her look like a tramp freighter.
"The craft we raised going into the Roads!" ejaculated the warrant officer. "It's her, for a penny!"
"No argument," growled Ensign MacMasters. "We fell down that time. Although we might have had our hands full if we had tackled her with our two small guns."
It seemed that the disguised undersea boat mounted four guns on her deck, but she was a slow sailer. She had moved up close to the schooner before showing her teeth.
Then she dropped two shells near theHattie Mayto show the skipper that she had the range of his schooner. He had to surrender, and the U-boat moved up and gave him and his crew ten minutes to get into the boats. Then they sank theHattie Mayby hanging bombs over her sides and exploding them simultaneously by an electric arrangement.
The skipper of the schooner was taken aboard the U-boat and said he was shown all over the ship. The German captain seemed to be inordinately proud of his craft and what she could do.
"She's got torpedoes, but she don't use 'em because they are expensive," said the skipper. "They are saved for a last resort. But she is a mine layer, for I saw two wells and saw the mines, too. She has been out five weeks and is numbered U-Two Hundred Fifty."
"Two hundred fifty!" gasped Whistler to his chums, who were hanging over the rail to listen to this report. "What do you know about that?"
"That's the very number that man Blake used in the restaurant, talking with the skipper of the oil tender, wasn't it?" asked Frenchy of the quick memory.
"You mean Franz Linder, the German spy!" ejaculated Torry, with emphasis. "He spoke of this very sub."
"You bet!" agreed Ikey.
The steamer's wireless operator was sending out an S O S call and a destroyer quickly answered. The steamer remained by the two boats from the sunken schooner until the fast-flying naval vessel appeared in the west.
After that the boys on the steamer kept their eyes open for sight of the camouflaged U-boat. As the boat picked up speed again and kept to her course. Whistler Morgan and his mates discussed the matter with much excitement.
"Do you s'pose Mr. MacMasters will let us shell the Hun?" demanded Frenchy eagerly.
"She'll more likely shell us," declared Torry, inclined to be pessimistic.
"I bet we can run away from her," cried Ikey Rosenmeyer.
"Say! this tender is no sub chaser. In a race with the S. P. 888, for instance, she wouldn't have a chance."
"Aw, well," Frenchy broke in, "that U-boat will not have a speed of over fourteen knots on the surface. We can do better than that."
"But if she sneaks up on us as that other one did on theKennebunk," Whistler observed, "we might easily be potted."
"Right-o!" declared Torry. "Whichever way you put it, I don't want to see that U-boat till we're aboard theKennebunkagain—if ever."
After leaving the crew of theHattie Mayto bepicked up by the destroyer, the tender continued to run parallel with the coast. Land was seldom wholly out of sight, for Mr. MacMasters had orders as to his course, expecting to meet the superdreadnaught on that vessel's return from the south.
The fog in which they had run out from the Capes was the forerunner of a storm which increased as the day advanced. The gale was behind them, however, so there was no fear of the tender being cast ashore.
The sea around Cape Hatteras is notoriously rough in a gale, and the outlook was not promising when they sighted Hatteras Light that evening. Seaworthy as the steamer was, she pitched terrifically in the seas that threatened now tooverwhelmher.
There was a pale and watery moon that evening, with wind-driven clouds scurrying across its face and quenching its light every few minutes. The steamer pitched so that her propeller was frequently entirely out of the sea.
Phil Morgan, in his watch on deck, thought the situation was as nasty as any he had experienced since joining the Navy. With every hatch and door battened to keep the seas from flooding her, they ran on, making scarcely five knots an hour. Now and then they were completely overwhelmed with the seas; and always the craftplunged and kicked as though she actually had to fight for supremacy with each wave.
As the bitter night crept on they wore around the Cape, and then, when it seemed safe to do so, Ensign MacMasters ordered the helm shifted and they edged farther in toward the land.
In time the out-thrust of the coast partly sheltered them and the steamer ran into more quiet waters. But the gale still held, and from the same quarter.
They sighted only smacks and other small fry, including some few coastwise steamers whose routes hugged the land. Surely they might expect safety from submarines so far inshore, for this coast is treacherous.
Another day and night passed. The wireless operator had thus far failed to raise theKennebunk, although he called every hour.
Mr. MacMasters and the warrant officer studied the chart anxiously. There were shallow waters hereabout, and although the steamer demanded little depth, there were bights between the reefs that were dangerous.
At daybreak of the fourth day out they were in the track of Charleston craft and quite near to a string of islands. There was plenty of water between the two outer islands. The passage was, indeed, a popular channel for both steam and sailing vessels.
TheKennebunk'stender was half way through this gut when suddenly, and without warning, it seemed as though the bow of the craft hit squarely upon a rock.
She stopped with an awful shock, seemed to rebound, and then the forward part rose on a wave that shot it into the air. The explosion that followed was muffled; but the sea about the doomed craft fairly boiled.
"We're sinking! All hands on deck!" shouted the warrant officer.
The boatswain's mate piped his shrillest. Those below swarmed upon the already settling deck. It was plain at once that the steamer had but a few moments to live.
"A mine!" declared Ensign MacMasters. "That is what did it! That Hun mine-sower has been this way!"
The men and boys went to quarters coolly. They had been drilling every day on the steamer just as though they were aboard theKennebunk.
There was both a liferaft and a tight yawl aboard. These were got over into the comparatively quiet sea, water and an emergency ration-cask put aboard each, and Mr. MacMasters brought his instruments and papers, taking his place in the stern of the boat. The latter had a small engine, and there was a hawser with which she might tow the raft.
Meanwhile the wireless operator had been calling for help. He got a reply from a land station, but none from any sister naval ship. However, they were so near land that it did not seem that this mattered.
"Let her go, boy!" shouted the ensign to the operator. "Come on! She's going down."
They pulled away just in time, and got the little engine to kicking as the wrecked auxiliary craft of theKennebunksank stern foremost under the sea. As she went down her bows rose out of the water and the castaways saw the great wound torn in two of her water-tight compartments by the mine.
Philip Morgan and Al Torrance both were in the yawl, and were assigned to pull oars if the engine went dead from any cause. The two younger Seacove boys were taken by the warrant officer, Mr. Mudge, aboard the buoyant raft.
"Well, old man," muttered Torry in his mate's ear, "this is a new experience. We've never been shipwrecked before."
Ikey on the raft was bewailing the loss of some of his duffle. "Oi, oi! And a nice new black silk neckerchief, too! Oi, oi! All for the fishes yet."
Mr. MacMasters laughed, and did not order the boys to cease talking as a sterner officer might have done.
"We may as well take it cheerfully," he said. "I'm thankful there's nobody lost. And there can be no blame attached to any of us because of the loss of the boat."
"Ah, that's all right," grumbled the warrant officer on the raft. "But think of those miserable Huns, sneaking away in here and droppinga mine in a channel where nothing but small craft dare sail."
"Excursion steamers from Charleston use this channel," Mr. MacMasters said. "I know it to be a fact."
"Ah! That's the Hun of it," repeated the second. "To sink a craft having aboard a lot of innocent and helpless folk out on a pleasure excursion would be just his delight."
First of all the two officers had looked over their charts and decided on the course to pursue. Charleston was not the nearest port.
The barometer was falling again and there was every promise of more bad weather. It was decided to make for a small town behind the islands, and instead of continuing through the channel where theKennebunk'sauxiliary steamer had been mined, it seemed better to take advantage of the tide and run back to the open sea.
There they proposed to skirt along the outer beaches of the islands until they reached another passage marked on thechartsas being the entrance to the sheltered harbor of the port in question. The distance was about ten miles.
There was no danger from reefs in this direction, and if they had to beach the boat and the raft the shores of the islands would seem to offer safe landings. They were yet to learn different.
Yet the decision was wise as far as the twoofficers could be expected to know without a special knowledge of the conditions. What mainly they failed to apprehend was the swiftness with which the new storm was approaching.
The little yawl chugged away cheerfully and drew the life raft out of the channel. No other craft had been in sight when theKennebunk'sauxiliary steamer was blown up, and therefore none had come to their assistance.
The local fishermen and navigators of small craft appreciated the coming of this second storm on the heels of the first. It would probably pounce upon the coast with suddenness, so thefishingboats had already run for cover.
The yawl and raft got out into the open sea safely, and Mr. MacMasters steered for the harbor in which they expected to take refuge.
The first island was long and narrow—a mere windrow of rock and sand breaking the force of the sea. The huge combers coursing up its strand broke twenty feet high and offered nothing but utter destruction to any small craft that attempted a landing.
"That is no welcome coast," Mr. MacMasters said. "I wonder if we shouldn't have gone behind the islands after all, in spite of the reefs."
But it was too late to change their plans now. The first strait that opened between the islands was a mass of white water.
The raft was clumsy, and the yawl could make but slow headway. Suddenly the wind fell; but with its falling the sea began to rise.
"What does it look like to you, Mr. Mudge?" Ensign MacMasters asked the officer on the raft.
"More trouble. The wind's going to spring on us from a new quarter," was the reply. "See yonder!"
Away to the northwest a cloud seemed rolling upon the very surface of the sea it was so low. At its foot, at least, the sea sprang up in a foamy line to meet the pallid cloud. There was a moaning in the air, but distant.
"That's going to hit us hard!" cried Mr. MacMasters. "It's more than an ordinary gale."
"That's what it is, sir," admitted Mudge.
"Wish we were ashore!" shouted the ensign.
"Any chance, that you see?"
They were off the coast of the second island now. That was heavily wooded and the shore was more broken. But it seemed as inhospitable as that of the one of wider beach.
The newly risen gale was yet a long way from them, the low moaning of the tempest seemed distant.
The swell beneath the yawl's keel suddenly heaved into a gigantic wave upon the summit of which the boat was lifted like a chip in a mill-stream.
Some of the crew shouted aloud, in both amazement and fear. The propeller raced madly; then the engine stopped—dead.
"Out oars! Look alive, men!" was the ensign's command.
The clumsy raft tugged at the end of her hawse. The yawl went over the top of the wave and began to coast dizzily down the descent.
The rope which held it to its tow cut through the swell. It tautened—it snapped!
The loose end whipped the length of the yawl viciously and threw two of the crew flat into the boat's bottom.
The oars were out. Ensign MacMasters yelled an order to pull. Philip Morgan and Al Torrance found themselves throwing their entire strength against the oars.
The raft rose staggeringly upon the huge wave behind the boat. Mr. Mudge had a steering oar out; but the raft wabbled on the summit of the swell as though drunken. They saw the castaways upon the raft cowering helplessly.
Then like a shot the white wave rode down upon them with the pallid storm-cloud overhead. The yawl was headed into the gale and the oarsmen pulled like mad.
Mr. MacMasters yelled at them. They did their very best. The sleet whipped their shoulders like a thousand-lashed knout. The darknessof the tempest shut down upon them and the raft was instantly lost to sight.
"Frenchy! Ikey!" Whistler Morgan gasped, and Torry heard him.
But they could do nothing to aid their chums. Duty in any case held them to their work. They pulled with the very last ounce of strength they possessed.
The yawl's head was kept to the wind and sea; but it was doubtful if she made any progress.
"Pull, men! Pull!" shouted the ensign again and again.
He inspired them, and perhaps their straining at the oars did keep the yawl from overturning at that time. Yet such ultimate fate for it seemed unavoidable. The wind and sea lashed it so furiously that Whistler told himself he would not have been surprised if the boat and crew were driven completely under the surface.
He had seen a good bit of bad weather before this; but nothing like what they suffered at this time. The warring elements fairly bruised their bodies. Sometimes the boys felt themselves pounded so viciously between the shoulders that they could scarcely draw their breaths.
Now and then, above the tumult of the tempest, the ensign's voice encouraged them. Whistler, sitting three yards away, could not see the officer at all.
Then, with the unexpectedness that is the greatest danger of these off-shore gales, the wind changed once more. It snapped around in a moment to due west. The cross seas lashed the yawl impetuously.
Whistler heard an oar snap. The man behind him fell upon his back in the bottom of the yawl. His broken oar entangled with Whistler's, and the latter lost stroke.
There was a yell from the ensign. Whistler heard Al Torrance shriek. The next moment the yawl rolled completely over, and he was struggling in the sea and in the pitchy darkness underneath the overturned boat!
Whistler kept cool in his mind. As far as his body went, that was icy.
He knew that, after all, he was personally in less danger than those who had been thrown far from the boat. He could hear nothing of what went on outside; the rolling and plunging of the overturned yawl continued.
Where had Torry gone? And the ensign, and the other members of the yawl's crew? Once Whistler had spent a long time in the sea, drifting about on a hatchcover; having been saved from that perilous adventure, he was not likely easily to give up hope now.
There was air enough under the overturned yawl, and he knew her water-tight compartments would keep her afloat indefinitely. But there might be work for him to do outside.
He might help the other members of the shipwrecked crew. Therefore he filled his lungs with air and dived under the side of the yawl.
Just as he came out into the open sea he collided with another person coming down. Theyseized each others' hands and rose to the surface.
It was Torry! When they popped up and expelled the air from their lungs and blinked the water from their eyes, each boy instantly recognized the other.
"Crickey!" coughed Torrance. "I thought we'd lost you."
"Are you all right?" demanded Morgan.
"Just as all right as a fellow can be when he—he can't walk ashore," chattered Torry.
"Here's the yawl!" cried Whistler. "Where's Mr. MacMasters? And Rosy and Slim? And the others?"
But when his eyes were well cleared of the water he beheld the entire crew of the yawl, including Ensign MacMasters, perched along the yawl's keel like a string of very much bedrabbled crows on a rail fence.
Strangely enough the gale seemed to have lulled for the time. Having done its worst to them, it gave the unfortunate castaways a breathing spell.
With the aid of their mates, Whistler Morgan and Torry were able to reach the keel of the overturned boat. There they perched, too, and, chattering in the cold wind, tried to look about them.
Where was the raft? This question, first andforemost in Whistler's mind, troubled him intensely. It was impossible to see far across the tossing sea; but he was sure that the life raft was nowhere within the range of their vision.
"Poor Frenchy and Ikey!" groaned Whistler.
"That raft can't sink," urged Torry in his ear.
"But they could easily be torn off it by the waves."
"Don't look at it in that way. They may be better off than we are," returned his chum.
"What's that yonder?" shouted Slim suddenly.
"Land!" Mr. MacMasters cried.
"And a lot of good that'll do us," growled Slim. "We'll be dumped ashore, maybe, like a ton of trap-rock."
The sodden boat was drifting steadily toward the island. The surf thundered against its ramparts most threateningly. But the outlook did not seem so serious as that upon the other island they had passed.
Ensign MacMasters, after some fishing, secured the loose end of the broken hawser. With the help of those nearest to him he hauled this out of the water. Then, by his advice, they all lashed themselves to the long rope with their belts or neckerchiefs.
"No matter what happens, we want to hang together," he declared. "No one man can fight this sea alone."
His cheerfulness and optimism raised their spirits. At least they hung on to their insecure refuge with much ardor, and not uncheerfully waited to be cast upon the strand.
A great swell suddenly caught the yawl and drove it shoreward. Mr. MacMasters uttered a warning shout and waved his hand in a gesture of command. They all cast loose from the keel, and the boat was carried high upon the breast of the breaker.
Still fastened together by the rope, the castaways were tumbled over and over in the surf. The yawl was east upon the strand with dreadful force and if they had continued to cling to it their chances of being seriously injured would have been great indeed.
Lightly the men and boys lashed to the rope were tossed by the surf—rolling over and over, but still clinging to each other and to the hawser. Mr. MacMasters at one end and Whistler Morgan at the other managed to obtain a footing on the sand despite the undertow.
They threw themselves upon the beach and clung "tooth and toenail" when the breaker receded. Slim was completely exhausted; but before another comber rolled in those who were strong managed to drag the weaker ones out of the reach of the undertow.
There was only a fitful light on sea and shore.The castaways lay in a panting group, looking at each other dripping with brine, and very miserable.
"Begorra!" exclaimed Irish Jemmy at last, "I broke me poipe. Lend me a cigareet, will you, Rosy?"
Rosy gravely reached into his blouse and brought forth a little package filled with tobacco pulp.
"You're welcome, Jemmy," he said gravely. "Help yourself."
"Begorra!" growled the Irishman, "ye might have kept thim dry."
"That's a good word!" exclaimed Mr. MacMasters, briskly, struggling to rise. "We all need to get dry. I have matches in a bottle in my pocket, and the bottle didn't get broken. Come on and find some dry wood. We'll have a fire. We may have to camp out here till morning."
"Oh, Mr. MacMasters!" urged Whistler, who was loosening himself likewise from the rope. "Let us look for the fellows who were on the raft first."
"Shout for them," advised the ensign. "But don't worry if they do not answer at once. This is a big piece of land, this island."
Whistler and Torry shouted loudly; but after fifteen minutes they were hoarse, and the wind seemed to blow their voices back into their teeth.
"Save your breath to cool your porridge," advised Jemmy. "You're wastin' it. If ye shout from now till doomsday ye won't bring them back if they're drowned. And if they are all right we'll find them safe and sound."
That was sensible; but it did not make Phil and Al any the less anxious regarding Frenchy and Ikey. The younger lads had always been in their care, and the situation looked serious.
Whistler and Torry knew they were expected to help gather wood, and so they gave up shouting and followed Rosy and the others toward the forest. The whole island, as far as they had seen, was forest-covered.
There had been a heavy fall of rain that day, and to find dry fuel was not an easy task. While they were thus engaged the two boys came upon an opening in the trees. In the dusk it seemed that the opening was the beginning of a well-tramped path, leading inland.
Whistler called to Mr. MacMasters to show him this sign of human occupancy of their refuge. Before the ensign arrived at the spot Torry made a second discovery.
"Look who's here!" called the boy in a low voice. "Here's a Man Friday, sure enough!"
There was a light approaching through the forest path. It was a torch, and before long the wavering brand revealed a strange figure—noMan Friday but, as Whistler whispered, a Woman Friday!
She was a peculiar looking being, indeed, dressed in a single loose flowing garment, which covered her from neck to ankles. She was barefooted and bareheaded, her iron-gray hair tossed about her weather-beaten face in wild elflocks.
Her eyes were as brilliant as coals. Either she was not right in her mind or she assumed that manner. At first she merely glowered at the two boys and the Navy officer, and said nothing in reply to the latter's queries.
Her hands and fingers were gnarled from hard work. She looked as tough as bale wire, to quote Torry.
When she finally spoke her voice was as deep and coarse as a man's. She said:
"You-uns was blowed up in yon channel. And you lost your boat, ain't you?"
"Crickey!" gasped Torry to Whistler. "She's a German—a German with a southern accent! What do you know about that?"
Meanwhile Mr. MacMasters was interrogating her to some purpose.
"Have you seen others of our party?" he asked. "There were fourteen men and boys on a raft."
"Ain't seen no stranger befo' to-day, but you-uns," she declared. Her eyes seemed as lidless as a snake's. They did not blink at all.
"Then how did you know that our steamer was blown up?" the ensign queried.
"Old Mag knows a heap other folks don't know," croaked the woman.
The rest of the party came up and heard this statement. Jemmy gave her one look and crossed his fingers.
"She's a witch, and the banshees do her bidding," he whispered hoarsely.
"Well," said Mr. MacMasters, much puzzled, "is there any place where we can get dry—and get some food?"
"I'll take you all to my cabin," she said. "That's what I come for."
She turned around abruptly and strode back along the path. There seemed nothing for the castaways to do but to follow her. But they certainly did discuss the queer woman in whispers while they kept on her trail.
"She's a witch sure enough," repeated Jemmy. "Sure you kin see that easy from the cut of her jib. The ensign had better have no doin's with her. Maybe she'll charm the whole of us with her evil eye."
The island was half a mile or more across. It was almost dark by the time the party of castaways with their strange leader came out upon the other shore.
Here the sound between the islands and themainland was mist-enshrouded, and it was evident that a nasty night had shut down. Whistler and Torry were terribly anxious about their friends who had been on the life raft.
However, they could not start off alone to hunt for Michael Donahue and Ikey Rosenmeyer. They were just as much under Mr. MacMasters' orders ashore as they were at sea.
They had confidence in the ensign's judgment, too. They believed he would make a search for the rest of their party just as soon as it was practicable.
The cabin to which the woman led them was a large log hut of only one room, but with a number of bunks, built in two tiers, along the walls. At one end was an open hearth and chimney and arrangements for cooking. A long table and some rough-hewn benches were in the middle of the open space.
It was more like a barracks than a home; and from the ancient and fishy smell about the place, the party from the battleship was sure that it had not long since housed fishermen and their nets.
Mr. MacMasters and most of the others turned in at once for a nap; but Whistler Morgan was much too anxious to sleep. The old woman who called herself "Mag" went to work at once to prepare a meal, and the boy offered to help her.
He peeled the vegetables and cut corn fromthe cob for a sort of Brunswick stew which she prepared. Mag put into it a rabbit, a pair of squirrels and a guinea fowl, the neck of which she wrung and then skinned and cleaned in a most skilful manner.
While she was thus engaged she talked to Whistler. The boy noted, as his chum had, that she arranged her spoken sentences much as Germans do who are not well drilled in English. Yet she had the southern drawl and accent.
"I know whar yo' boys come from," she advanced almost at once. "Yo' are from theKennebunkbattleship—and she's a fur ways from here."
"You have seen the rest of our crowd, then!" cried Whistler earnestly, "haven't you, Missus?"
"No, no!" the old hag said, wagging her head. "Old Mag sees strange sights and knows more'n most folks. Oh, yes! Your little steamboat was blowed up by a big bomb in yon channel."
"It was blown up by a Hun mine," declared Whistler bitterly.
The old woman's eyes flashed at him threateningly. "What yo' mean by 'Hun'? Them that put that bomb there is just as good as yo' folks. I ain't got no use fo' Yankees yet."
"You don't call yourself a Southerner, do you?" asked the boy curiously.
"What am I then?"
"You're German. At least, your folks were," Whistler declared with conviction.
The woman scowled at him and said nothing more. When Whistler had finished helping her he moved his chair back from the fireplace, for the heat from the live coals was intense. He saw a scrap of torn paper upon the earth floor, near his foot.
His suspicions had been aroused now and he covered the paper with his foot until he could get a chance to pick it up without the old woman observing him. Having secured it he moved still farther back to the table. There was a smoky hanging-lamp over the board which gave him light enough to see by. Secretly he examined the torn paper.
It seemed to be part of a letter, and was closely written on both sides of the scrap. On one side was the beginning of the missive, and after a minute Whistler realized that it was written in German script.
At the head of the letter was a line that not alone amazed, but startled the boy. Coincidence often has a long arm, and in this case the adage proved true. The letter was addressed to
"Herr Franz Linder."
Whistler had been assured when he attended the session in the sheriff's office at home, before joining the crew of theKennebunk, that the enemy alien named Franz Linder, who was supposed to have blown up the Elmvale dam, was an influential member of that band of spies that were doing so much harm in the United States.
It was surprising to find this scrap of a letter addressed to the spy in this island cabin off the coast of North Carolina. Yet it smacked of no improbability.
Whistler had heard the spy tell the skipper of the oil carrier, theSarah Coville, that his work was done in that vicinity. Linder, or Blake as he was known at Elmvale, had naturally got well away from the neighborhood of the dam after it was blown up.
That he was on this island at the present time was not so likely; but that he had been here, and in this cabin, was very possible. Perhaps had the castaways from the wrecked yawl arrived a few hours before at the cabin of Mag they might have seen the German spy.
The old woman who tried to make Whistler believe she possessed second sight, or some gift quite as uncanny, was in league with or had some knowledge of Franz Linder. The boy was confident on this point.
She was of German descent at least, and she showed bitterness toward "the Yankees." However, she proved herself to be a hospitable hostess. It was her southern, not her Teutonic, training probably that led to this.
Whistler could not read German, and he did not know that any member of his party could do so. Nevertheless, he crumpled the bit of paper in his hand and thrust it into his pocket, biding his time until he could show it to Mr. MacMasters.
It was ten o'clock before the stew was ready to be dished up. The aroma of it awakened the hungry men.
"This must be heaven, for it smells like mother's cooking!" declared Slim. "Oh, yum, yum! Oh, boy!"
"The old lady ain't no angel," put in Jemmy; "but she sure can cook."
"And angels can't, I guess," added Torrance, grinning.
"Say, boy!" grinned Rosy, "didn't you ever eat angel cake?"
Whistler found his chance to speak to Mr. MacMasters when the others crowded around the table. Mag put the steaming kettle of stew in the middle of the bare board and ladled it out into brown earthen bowls.
"See what I found on the floor here, Mr. MacMasters," Whistler said quietly, and thrusting the paper into the ensign's hand. "Don't let the old woman see it, sir."
Mr. MacMasters was cautious. He held the paper under the edge of the table and saw almost instantly what the communication was and to whom it was addressed.
"That's the name of that spy you boys say blew up the Elmvale dam, and was out on that oil tender we chased in the submarine patrol boat, isn't it?" whispered the ensign. "I declare! Did you find it here?"
"Yes, sir. You see, the edge of the paper is browned. The whole letter was probably thrown into the fire on the hearth and this piece failed to be destroyed."
"You've hit it right, I fancy," agreed the officer. "Something queer about this old woman and about this place."
"She knows we are from theKennebunk, too. How should she know so much if she wasn't in with the spies?"
"And she knew too much about the steamerbeing mined in the channel over there," muttered Mr. MacMasters.
"It looks as if we were watched by the spies and that she is in cahoots with them," Whistler suggested.
"Humph! Maybe. You can't read this letter, I suppose, Morgan?"
"No, sir. None of us boys read German. Not even Ikey, although he understands the language quick enough when it is spoken. And poor Ikey isn't here!"
"Don't worry about that," advised Mr. MacMasters. Then: "I do not think any of the men can translate German. Of course there is probably nothing on this paper of present moment to us.
"What we should do first is to find the rest of our crowd and get off this island. TheKennebunkwill be coming back up the coast and we'll miss her altogether."
"I hope the other boys are safe," sighed Whistler anxiously.
"I hope they have as good a refuge and are treated as kindly as we are. But we can't make a search of the island in the dark. Besides, they may not have landed on this island at all. There are other beaches quite as hospitable as this one proved, I have no doubt."
Whistler and Torry helped the old womanclear up and wash the bowls and spoons after supper. She sat in the chimney corner and puffed away slowly at a short-stemmed and very black pipe.
The seamen were rather afraid of Mag, Jemmy especially. He carefully crossed his fingers whenever she chanced to glance in his direction.
Mr. MacMasters went outside to assure himself that nothing could be done toward searching for the rest of the crew of the auxiliary steamer before daybreak. It was as dark as Erebus without, and the gale still blew strongly off shore.
The ensign politely asked the strange old woman what arrangements they should make for the night.
"We don't wish to turn you out of your bed, you know, Ma'am," he said.
She waved him away, the pipe in her hand. "Tumble into yo' bunks," she ordered. "Old Mag doesn't sleep—hasn't slept for more years than you-uns are bo'n already. That is why she knows more than others—yes! The spirits of the night come and whisper to her while she stays awake."
"Arrah! D'ye hear that now?" whispered Irish Jemmy hoarsely. "'Tis as much as our lives are worth to stay here."
Superstitious as he was, Jemmy was afraid toleave the cabin alone. Most of the castaways were glad to retire to the berths again and, blessed with full stomachs, it was not a great while before they fell asleep.
The two Seacove boys finished helping the old woman.
"You are a pair of good boys," she said after looking at them for some time and muttering to herself the while. "Why don't you run away? I'll get you off the island yet, befo' that officer man wakes up."
"Why, Mother! we don't want to run away," Torry told her, laughing. "We belong to one of the Navy's crack superdreadnaughts."
"Aye, I know. TheKennebunk," said Mag, nodding gloomily.
"Sure," Torry rejoined. "We want to see some fighting."
"'Tis not fighting you-uns'll see," croaked the woman. "Old Mag tells you, and she knows. Yo' fine, big ship will go down in the midst of the seas and her crew with her. Better yo' luck if it happens befo' yo' git back to her already."
"You don't mean that?" Whistler cried.
"I'm a-tellin' yo' so," said the queer old woman. "Old Mag knows mo' than other folks. Oh, yes! She'll sink. Better yo' boys stay ashore."
"What do you know about 'the witch's warning'?" whispered Torry to Whistler. "Shethinks she's got second sight. Knows more than anybody else. She's like one of the Seven Sutherland Sisters—she prophesies."
"Shucks!" chuckled Whistler in the same cautious tone, "they weren't prophetesses; they sold hair restorer."
But to himself Whistler muttered:
"Maybe she does know more than we do. But how does she know it? There's something awfully queer about this whole business."
Although Whistler was quite sure "Old Mag," as she called herself, possessed no powers of divination, he knew she did have certain knowledge that he considered she had no moral right to have.
Here she was, an ignorant old creature living on a well nigh uninhabited island off an isolated coast, with some mysterious means of information upon subjects that she should know nothing about.
She claimed not to have seen the other party of castaways; yet she knew at once that Mr. MacMasters and his companions were from a craft that had been blown up miles away from her cabin, and completely out of sight and hearing of this island.
Whistler did not believe any fishing boat, or other craft, had brought this information to Mag. There had been no vessel in sight when theKennebunk'stender was blown up by the floating mine.
The scrap of a letter addressed to "Herr FranzLinder" he had found in the cabin connected the old crone, in Whistler's mind, with the German spy system. She was of Teutonic extraction herself.
Clearly the old woman was trying to befool her visitors. She probably possessed some local celebrity as a witch or wise woman.
Whistler, however, was not ready to believe her any wiser than her neighbors.
He thought out the matter back to the time the auxiliary steamer was blown up in the channel between the islands. The wireless operator sent out S O S messages till the very last. Small as the radius of the instrument was, a station along the adjacent coast would surely pick up the cry for help.
It was an important thought, but he had no time that evening to mention it to Mr. MacMasters. He and Torry shared one of the wide and fishy smelling bunks together, and they did not wake up until it was broad daylight.
There was a heavy smell of rank, boiling coffee in the air. Bacon was sizzling over the fire and a huge corn pone was baking on a plank before the coals. Mag did not propose to starve her guests, that was sure.
The sun had burst through the clouds and the gale had ceased. The surf still thundered upon the outer shores of the island; but the sound, upon which the cabin fronted, was smoothand sparkling. It was a pretty view from the cabin door.
And almost at once, when Whistler and his chum ran out of the cabin to look about, they saw a number of familiar figures approaching along the rock-strewn shore. These newcomers were as shabby and bedraggled as themselves, and it was easy to identify them.
"Here they come!" yelled Torry, and rushed toward the approaching party.
Whistler was not behind him; but when they reached the refugees they discovered that Mr. MacMasters was already with them. The ensign had been up since before dawn and had searched out Mr. Mudge and his companions at the other end of the island.
"Oi, oi!" wailed Ikey Rosenmeyer, meeting the older boys. "Such a time! I swallowed enough salt water to make me a pickled herring yet!" Ikey could not get away from memories of the delicatessen shop.
"By St. Patrick's piper that played the last snake out of Ireland!" was Frenchy Donahue's complaint, "it was holdin' a wake over you two fellers, we was, all the night long."
"Where did you put in the night, anyway?" asked Whistler.
"Say! we didn't have no more home than a rabbit," cried Ikey.
"After we got ashore," began Frenchy, when Torry interrupted to ask:
"How did you do that? Give us the particulars."
"Why, when you fellers went off and left us without sayin' 'by your leave,' even——"
"What's that?" growled Whistler. "You know that hawser snapped."
"Just the same you parted company from us mighty brusk," grinned Frenchy. "We drifted in with the tide. Mr. Mudge took a line ashore—Oh, boy! he's some swimmer. So we followed him along the line, hand over hand——"
"And head under water," grunted Ikey. "Oi, oi!"
"Aw, Ike would kick if you was hangin' him," scoffed Frenchy, "unless you tied his feet. We all got out of the water safe, and that's enough. The wind and the rain beat us so that we went up into the woods for shelter. And then we found a clearing and in it a cabin."
"Ah-ha!" ejaculated Whistler. "Another cabin like this one?"
"Not on your life!" said Frenchy.
"No," added Ikey. "Nothing like it."
"It was a little cabin without any windows, and the door was padlocked. We couldn't get into it; but we camped there in the clearing all night. I'm as soggy right now as a sponge."
"There was a flagstaff sticking out of the roof of the cabin," Ikey observed. "And somebody must have thought a deal of whatever's in the shack, by the size of the padlock on the door."
There was a call to breakfast from the cabin just then. Whistler slipped aside and caught Mr. MacMasters' attention.
"Something mysterious, Morgan?" asked the ensign, observing Whistler's expression of countenance.
The young fellow briefly related what the old woman had said to him and Torry the night before, and then told the officer of the suspicions that her words had aroused in his mind.
In addition, he told Mr. MacMasters what Frenchy and Ikey had said about the locked cabin in the woods. Whistler put great stress upon this matter.
"Why, I did not see the cabin myself, although Mudge mentioned it," said the ensign. "I met them marching out of the woods up along the shore yonder."
"Can't we find that cabin and have a look at it?" urged Whistler earnestly.
"But we can't get into it."
"No, sir. But we can see it. I have an idea."
"I presume you have, Morgan," returned the ensign, smiling grimly. "And I have a glimmer of an idea myself."
When the men trooped in to breakfast the officer and Whistler Morgan stole away. The old woman was too busy just then to notice their absence.
In half an hour they found the place where the warrant officer and his companions had broken through the jungle. They retraced their course and soon came to the clearing in the wood.
It was a secret place, indeed. The cabin was ten feet square, built of heavy logs, and as Whistler had been told, had no window openings. The door of heavy planks was fastened by a huge hasp held in place by the padlock mentioned so particularly by Ikey Rosenmeyer.
"I guess we can't get into it without tools," said the ensign.
"I don't suppose so, sir. But see that pole on top of the cabin? That had the upperworks of a wireless attached to it, I'm sure. The bolts are still up there. It is no flagpole."
"Right again, Morgan," agreed Mr. MacMasters.
"And that piece of a letter to Linder," the boy eagerly reminded him. "Don't you think with me, sir, that the old woman is linked up with the German spy system?"
"It seems reasonable. At least, I shall make a report as soon as we get away from the island. And the old woman should be watched, too."
"Indeed she should!" cried Whistler. "What do you suppose she meant, Mr. MacMasters, about ourKennebunkbeing sunk?"
"The speech was fathered by the wish, perhaps."
"But she seemed so certain—so assured," murmured Whistler.
He was not satisfied by this explanation of Mr. MacMasters, and was silent all the way back to Mag's cabin. They came in sight of the place just as the men poured out of the cabin in great excitement.
"What do you suppose is the matter with them now?" demanded the ensign.
But he spied the cause of the excitement as soon as Whistler did. Crossing the sound was a swift revenue cutter, and one of the seamen, under direction from Mr. Mudge, leaped upon a bowlder and began to signal, semaphore fashion.
The signals were returned and the cutter swung in shoreward and soon dropped a boat for the castaways. The shipwrecked seamen from theKennebunkswarmed down to the strand.
Mr. MacMasters whispered to Whistler that they would have their breakfast aboard the Coast Guard boat. Then he went to the scowling old woman who, after all, had been a most hospitable hostess. Some of the sailors had given her money in small sums; but the ensign forced herto accept an amount that he thought generous payment for what she had done for them, and Mag seemed to agree.