In the doorway stood Merritt, revolver in hand.
In the doorway stood Merritt, revolver in hand.
In the doorway stood Merritt, revolver in hand.
"So you thought you'd tip us off to theManhattan, eh?" he snarled. "Well, you never made a bigger mistake in your life. I know something of wireless telegraphy myself."
Ned was conscious of nothing but a hot flame of anger that seemed to bathe him from head to foot in its fury. He flung the helmet from his head and sprang at Merritt like a tiger. Taken utterly by surprise, the fellow was carried clean off his feet by the assault. He crashed backward with Ned on top of him just as Herr Muller rushed out of Chance's cabin, waving the cipher message delightedly.
"The fleet is going to rendezvous at Blackhaven!" he was shouting. "I was right, and——"
He stopped short as he almost stumbled over the struggling forms of Ned and Merritt. In the semi-darkness of the cabin and his excitement he had not noticed them before.
"Donnervetter, vos is diss?" he cried as he took in the situation and speedily sensed the fact that Merritt was getting the worst of the struggle.
He picked up a heavy chair that stood close to his hand. He was swinging it and was about to bring it crashing down on Ned's head when something collided with his chin.
As Herr Muller, seeing a whole constellation of stars, reeled backward, dropping the chair with a bang, he dimly realized that that "something" had been the brawny and freckled fist of one Herc Taylor.
NED, CAST AWAY.
But as Herc and Herr Muller crashed floorward together a rush of footsteps came down the companionway stairs. The shot that had destroyed the sending key of the sloop's wireless had been heard on deck. Rescue was at hand for the two scoundrels who had been overborne by the Dreadnought Boys.
Before hands could be laid on Herc, however, the freckle-faced youth had banged his fists twice into Herr Muller's face. He raised his hand for a third blow when a sharp pain shot through him, and he sank back with a groan of helpless pain. Something had flashed in the anarchist's hand for an instant and had buried itself in Herc's side.
"Ned! Ned!" cried the lad in accents of shrill alarm, "the fellow's stabbed me."
With a superhuman effort, Ned flung Merritt's arms from him and dashed across the cabin. Herr Muller had struggled to his feet. He rose just in time to be spun clear across the cabin by the infuriated Dreadnought Boy. Such was the force in Ned's righteously indignant blow, that before the anarchist leader ceased spinning, he crashed clear through a wooden panel.
"Herc, old fellow!" cried Ned, sinking to his knees beside his comrade, "are you badly hurt?"
"I—I—I'm all right, old chap. Save the ships!" mumbled Herc and his eyes closed. The freckled face grew fearfully white.
Before any of the excited crew could lay a hand on him Ned picked up Herc as if he had been a child, and began backing toward one of the cabin doors with him.
"You scoundrels will pay dear for this!" he shouted angrily as he went out.
Paralyzed for the time being by the lightning-like rapidity of events, not one of the men made a move just then. Ned bore Herc into the cabinunmolested. Chance, leaning on one elbow, was lying in the lower bunk. His head was bandaged, but Ned tumbled him out by the scruff of his neck.
"Out of that, you traitor!" he shouted, "and make room for a real man-o'-war's-man."
While Chance, still weak from the effects of his blow, tottered about the cabin, Ned laid Herc on the bunk as gently as a woman might have done with an infant. Herc opened his eyes and smiled up at his shipmate.
"Thanks, old fellow," he breathed, "I—I'm all right. You——"
He lapsed into unconsciousness once more.
Ned ripped his shirt open with a quick movement. With another he tore it into sheds and bandaged the wound in the lad's side. Luckily, in the struggle, Herr Muller's aim had not been good, and the knife thrust was little more than a flesh wound, extending up under Herc's armpit. But the pain was considerable.
Ned had hardly finished his work before themen outside came out of their half-stunned period of inaction. Headed by Merritt, they charged at the cabin. Ned sprang for the door to close and lock it against them, but Chance was too quick for him. The fellow had been leaning back against the bulkhead. As Ned swept forward he extended his foot, and the Dreadnought Boy came to the floor in a heap. In another instant they were all piled on him. Ned struck out furiously.
His blows were driven by steel-plated muscles, but they had little effect on the sprawling mass of humanity piled above him. Before many minutes had passed Ned was a prisoner, tied and bound as securely as Herc had been when he was carried on board.
To his surprise, no violence was attempted by his captors. They worked in grim silence. Ned wondered vaguely what was going to happen to him. In his dazed state he didn't much care. Under Herr Muller's orders the lad was roughlythrust into the wireless room and the door locked upon him.
While this was being done he noted with satisfaction that upon the faces of both Herr Muller and Merritt sundry large, angry-looking swellings were beginning to obtrude themselves like purple plums.
"At any rate, I've spoiled Merritt's beauty for him," thought Ned with a grim satisfaction.
He was left unmolested in his prison place for what seemed hours. Finally, after an interminable period, he began to notice that the rough rolling motion of the sloop had ceased. Had the sea gone down, or were they at anchor in some sheltered haven, he wondered. He was not to be long in doubt.
The door was flung open. Merritt, Kennell and Muller entered. At a word from Muller the powerless Ned was shoved and half carried through the portal. Then he was propelled up the companionway stairs.
"Are they going to chuck me overboard?" he found himself wondering.
A swift glance showed him that the sloop was anchored in a small bay. The sky was clear and a bright moon showed the surroundings to be sand dunes and desolate barrens.
"Is the boat ready?" he heard Muller ask.
From over side, where the sloop's dinghy was floating, came a response in the affirmative. The next instant Ned found himself tumbled from the sloop's low side into the small craft. The fall bruised him considerably, but if his captors had expected him to make any outcry they were deceived. He uttered no word of complaint, although, what with the tightness of his bonds and the jouncing his fall had given him, he was in considerable pain.
Herr Muller, Chance, Merritt and Kennell dropped into the boat after him, taking the places of the two men who had unlimbered it from the stern davits.
Evidently their plans had been prearranged,for Chance and Merritt fell to the oars without uttering a word. Muller and Kennell, grim and silent, sat in the stern.
It was a short row to the shore, and presently the bow of the boat grated on a sandy beach.
"Chuck him out!" growled Herr Muller.
Ned was tumbled unceremoniously out on the sands. In the moonlight he could see that the men in the boat were keeping him covered with pistols. Muller leaped out by his side.
"Keep him covered while I cut him loose," Ned heard Muller grate out.
The anarchist bent over him and severed his bonds.
"What on earth is he doing that for?" wondered Ned. But he was duly grateful as he felt his limbs free once more.
The task of cutting the ropes completed, Herr Muller lost no time in jumping back into the boat. But he need not have feared Ned, the lad was too stiff and sore to do more than feebly stretch his limbs. As soon as Muller was on board, Chanceand Merritt laid hold of the bow of the boat and shoved off. They leaped nimbly on board as the little craft floated.
As they fell to their oars Muller stood up in the stern and shouted something back at Ned. The boy could not catch all of it, but he was to realize its import before long. All his ears could get of the message was something about "Island—rot there!"
Then came the rhythmic splash of oars as the boat was pulled swiftly back to the sloop. After a while Ned, although the effort made his cramped limbs wince, managed to get to his feet. He was just in time to see the sails of the sloop being hoisted and the little vessel, as they filled, stagger and move out toward the open sea once more.
"And poor Herc, wounded and alone, is on board her," was Ned's bitter thought; "but, thank goodness," he murmured the next instant, "I'm on land and free, and it won't be long beforeI find some means of running down that sloop."
He sat down and chafed his ankles and wrists, and after a while was able to move about freely. As soon as he did so he struck off across the sandy dunes on which he had been set ashore. A few minutes of walking brought him to a broad arm of water. It flowed swiftly under the moonlight.
A sudden flash of fear shot through Ned. He gave a slight shiver as an alarming idea shot through his mind. But he shook off his presentiment and struck out once more. It was not till he had made the third circuit of the shifting, grass-grown dunes that he realized, with a flash of horror, the bitter truth of his situation.
The inexplicable fact of his freedom and of his bonds being cast off was fully explained now.
Herr Muller had marooned the lad on a desolate island. It was cut off from the shore by a swift flowing arm of water, its current so broad and so rapid that even such a strong swimmer asNed did not dare trust himself to try to cross it.
By a stern effort of will Ned repressed a desire to cry aloud. Was this to be his destiny? To perish on a sandy islet off the Atlantic Coast, while the sloop forged ahead on her errand of destruction?
A STRIKE FOR UNCLE SAM.
How long it was that Ned sat reviewing the situation in all its bearings he never knew. But it must have been a considerable period, for, when he began to take notice of his surroundings once more, the first flush of an early summer's dawn was visible behind him as he faced what he judged to be the mainland.
The light showed the character of the country across the broad channel which separated him from it to be much the same as that of the island on which he had been marooned by the anarchists. It was criss-crossed with sand dunes till it resembled a crumpled bit of yellow parchment. Scanty, spear-like grass grew in hummocks on the undulations. As the light became stronger sea birds began to whirl about him, screaming weirdly.
Ned gazed seaward. Far out on the horizon was a smudge of black smoke. It was too great in volume for one vessel to have made. The cloud reached as far as the eye could see; as if a gigantic and dirty thumb had been swept across the sky line. To Ned it meant one thing.
"The fleet has passed down the coast on its way to Blackhaven," he mused. "Oh! for a chance to get to the mainland."
For a time he was in hopes that some fishing craft, or small boat, might pass within hail. But nothing of the kind occurred.
"I've got to get something to eat pretty soon," thought Ned, who was beginning to feel faint, "or—hullo! where have I seen that log before?"
His gaze was riveted on a big spar that was drifting idly through the arm of sea that swept between him and the land.
"I saw that fellow go through here last night; the tide must have turned and it's drifting back. Well, that settles it. There's almost as muchwater and current in there at low water as at high."
He fell to pacing the beach moodily. Once in desperation he waded into the turbid water and essayed to swim. But he was instantly swept from his feet, and a strong undertow seized on his legs and drew them down. When, panting and trembling, he stood once more on shore, he resolved not to risk his life in that manner again.
"An elephant couldn't swim that," he said to himself sadly.
All at once he looked up, from one of his despairing moods, to see something that caused him to choke and gasp with hope. Bobbing about on the water, not a hundred yards from the shore, was—of all things—a small boat!
Ned watched it fascinated.
Would the current drift it within his reach, or would it be carried tantalizingly past him? At the moment he gave little thought as to how it came to be there. It was enough for him thatit was a boat, and offered—providing he could reach it—a means of getting to the mainland.
In an agony of apprehension he watched the little craft as it came on, dancing merrily on the choppy ripples of the inlet. Now it shot in toward the shore, as if it meant to drive bow-on upon the beach, and then, as Ned sprang forth to grasp it, the current would sweep it out of his reach. At last it was abreast of him, and in the next second it had passed beyond. Ned grew desperate.
"Better die in the effort to get to land than perish here of starvation and thirst," he thought.
Without bothering to kick his shoes off he sprang into the water, which was deep right up to the margin of the shore, and swam out after the boat.
In a flash he felt the undertow grip him. He struck out with every ounce of reserve strength that he possessed, but the current proved the stronger of the two. Ned, weakened by his longfast and rough experiences, found himself being rapidly drawn under.
Fighting every inch of the way he was gradually submerged. With a last effort he struck out again, but the final struggle proved too much for his already depleted muscles.
The boy was sucked under like a straw.
Where his head had appeared a second before, there was now nothing but the whirl of the waters.
Suddenly, just as it felt as if his lungs must burst, Ned was shot up to the surface once more. Too weak to strike out he flung out his hands in a desperate effort to clutch at anything to sustain his weight.
His hands closed on something solid that buoyed him up refreshingly. It was the gunwale of the boat!
Ned hung limply to her side, getting back his strength as she glided along. After several minutes he felt equal to the effort of trying to boardher. He kicked his way round to the stern and clambered over the transom.
Once on board he lay languidly on the thwarts for some time, too much exhausted even to move. But by-and-bye, his strength began to trickle back. He raised himself and looked around him. About the first object his eyes lighted on was a bit of crumpled paper in the bottom of the craft.
"Maybe this is some sort of a clew as to how the boat happened along so providentially," thought Ned.
He opened the paper, scanned the few words it contained, and then his jaw dropped in sheer amazement. The words of the note were in Herc's big, scrawly handwriting.
"Ned, Hope you find the boat. I heard them say they had marooned you on an island, so I cut the rope. Herc."
Ned saw at once what had happened, even if a glance at the cut end of rope in the bow had not told him. Herc had managed to reach out of the cabin port and slash the rope by which thedinghy had been attached to the sloop's stern. It had been a long chance, but it had won out.
"I don't believe there's another chap in the world like good old Herc," thought Ned tenderly, with a suspicious mist in his eyes as he thought of his absent comrade; then he took up the oars.
"Now where shall I row to?" he asked himself, as he pulled the boat along.
He scanned the barren-looking coast, with its inhospitable sand dunes and melancholy-colored grass, with the sea birds wheeling and screaming above.
"Humph! Not much choice, apparently. I guess I'll pull just inside of that little point yonder, and then strike out across the country. I'll have to trust to luck to find somebody who'll give me a hand."
Half an hour later Ned pulled the small boat ashore and abandoned it.
When he landed he had cherished some hopes of finding a fisherman's hut, or "beachcomber's" dwelling behind the rampart of sand dunes. Butno trace of even such primitive habitations met his eye. Salt meadows, threaded by muddy, sluggish creeks, lay inland, and beyond was rising ground dotted with clumps of woodland.
This looked hopeful. Determined to keep pegging along to the uttermost that was in him, Ned struck out across the salt meadows.
It was harder work than he had thought. Under the hot sun the miasmic salt land steamed and perspired. Rank odors arose, and the muddy creeks steamed. Once or twice he had to wade through the foul water courses, and, at such times myriads of bloated-looking crabs, that had been sunning themselves, scuttled, with splashes, into the water.
To add to his discomfort, as the sun grew higher, millions of black flies and stinging midges arose to plague him. They settled on him in swarms. Every time Ned wiped out a legion of the tormentors that had settled on his face, his countenance bore a red smudge. By the time he had—he hardly knew how—traversed this bad bitof country and found himself on a dusty white highroad, Ned was scarcely a presentable-looking object. Mud, from the creeks he had waded, caked his legs; his face was red and bloody from the onslaughts of the insects. His clothes were tattered from his fight on the sloop, and, altogether, he was not an object to inspire confidence.
To add to his misfortunes, he had no money, and Ned knew enough of the world to know that a lad in his condition, tattered and penniless, does not, as a rule, excite any feeling but suspicion. However, when about half a mile further on he came to a small house nestling among rose vines and creepers, he walked bravely up to the door and knocked.
A prim-looking old maid, in a checked apron, opened the door. As soon as her eyes fell on Ned she uttered a shrill scream and slammed the door with an exclamation of alarm and indignation.
"Get along with you, you tramp!" she cried.
Ned turned and trudged down the footpath.But, as he reached the gate, he heard a commotion behind him. He turned just in time to face a big, savage-looking bulldog that was about to fly at his leg. Ned raised his foot and planted it fair and square on the snarling animal's mouth.
The dog fled with a yelp of pain. Ned followed it with his eyes.
"I'll bet that cur has fared better than I have for the last twenty-four hours," he muttered as he once more began his weary trudging along the dusty highroad.
SOME ADVENTURES BY THE WAY.
By noon his hunger was positively ravenous. Yet he did not like to risk another rebuff by asking for something to eat at any of the thrifty-looking farmhouses he passed.
Of course, Ned could have represented himself as one of Uncle Sam's sailors, but it was, somehow, repugnant to him—the idea of asking for food and urging, as an excuse for the petition, the uniform he was entitled to wear and the flag he served under.
All at once as he rounded a turn in the road he came upon a scene that quickened his hunger tenfold. A group of men, women and children were bivouacked under a tree enjoying the shade, and were evidently about to enjoy a picnic lunch. Two or three buggies, and an aged carry-all stoodnear at hand. Ned, with averted gaze, was hurrying by, when a voice hailed him.
"Hullo, there, shipmate!"
Ned turned quickly. It was a middle-aged man, with a sunburned face, dressed in a prosperous farmer's best, who had hailed him.
"Sam Topping!" exclaimed Ned, genuinely pleased, "what are you doing here?"
"Why, picnicking, as you see. But what on earth does all this mean?" his eyes roamed over Ned's disreputable figure. "What has happened? What are you tramping about in that rig for?"
Sam Topping had served on theManhattanduring Ned's days as a raw apprentice. He had retired, a short time before, on a well-earned pension, and his savings had served to buy him a farm. Ned recalled now having heard that Sam had settled down in that part of the country.
The lad colored as Sam put his question. He could feel the women and children of the group looking curiously at him, while the men regarded him with more frank curiosity. It was plain thatthey looked upon him as a tramp or something of the kind. A traveling peddler, possibly.
As Sam seemed to be waiting for an answer to his question, Ned drew him aside. He told him as much of his story as he thought advisable. Sam was sympathetic. He invited Ned to lunch with them, and after the lad had washed and made himself more presentable at a small stream, he joined the party. They made him welcome, and no embarrassing questions were asked. Sam had concocted a story to fit the case while Ned was at his wayside ablutions. How good that food tasted to the half-famished boy! He could not help thinking, in the midst of his enjoyment, of poor Herc. He wondered sadly how his shipmate was faring.
With this came another thought. The safety of the fleet was imperilled. Its salvation lay in his hands. He alone could give warning of the danger that threatened from the anarchists. When he got an opportunity, he questioned the friendly Sam.
"How far is it to Blackhaven?"
"Well, let's see," rejoined Sam thoughtfully, "it's about one hundred miles to the closest point. But Blackhaven Bay, where the warships go, is twenty miles from a railroad, and only a few fishing villages are on its shores. It's a wild and desolate spot."
"I've got to get there," said Ned.
Sam looked at him as if doubtful that he was in his right mind.
"Get to Blackhaven!" he exclaimed. "What for?"
"To join my ship," explained Ned, not wishing to go into details concerning the anarchists. Sam was a talkative person, and if all he knew was noised abroad it might defeat the justice Ned was grimly determined to visit on them.
Sam had already explained the occasion of the roadside picnic. The party was composed of himself and several of his neighbors on their way into Dundertown, about five miles off, to witness a performance of the circus. Ned had alreadynoted upon barns and outhouses as he came along the gaudy colored posters announcing its arrival. They had interested him particularly, as one flaming bill had set forth the wonderful aerial feats of one Professor Luminetti, who was modestly billed as "The King of the Air." The professor, it appeared, performed his feats in an aeroplane of similar construction to the one which Ned had been using.
"I'd like to see that chap," Ned had thought, as he regarded the pictures.
"Tell you what you do, Ned, old shipmate," quoth Sam suddenly. "You come into town with us and see the circus. There's a recruiting office in Dundertown. You can go there afterward and tell them your story. They'll probably advance you the money to get back to your ship."
Ned agreed that this would be a good idea. But he declined the circus invitation. He was too anxious, for reasons of which we know, to rejoin the fleet. The gravest danger threatened the flower of the American navy, and, for all Nedknew, its fate depended on the speed with which he could reach Blackhaven.
Soon afterward the farmers and their wives clambered into their rigs and started driving toward town. Sam, who was unmarried, drove alone, and Ned shared a seat in his buggy. It seemed to his tired frame and blistered, worn feet, the most luxurious conveyance he had ever known. Sam drove straight on to the circus lot. It presented a lively scene of shifting color and action.
Bright flags, huge erections of lumping canvas, blaring brass bands were everywhere. In front of the main tent a big crowd had gathered. Sam and Ned were caught in a swirl of humanity and rushed toward it. By a shifting of the crowd they soon found themselves in its midst. The throng was grouped about an aeroplane, the motor of which was already whirring and buzzing. By it stood a man in red tights, bright with spangles. He was lecturing on the points of themachine, which formed a "free attraction" to draw the crowds.
Ned smiled as he listened. The fellow evidently didn't know much about his subject. But even at that, he knew more than his listeners, who gazed on him, gaping and awestruck. It was the first time that most of them had seen an aeroplane at close range. The sight seemed to fascinate them.
"I will now make a short flight," announced the man as he finished, and as he clambered into the seat, a regular "barker" began shouting at the top of his voice:
"Lum-in-e-t-t-i! The King of the Ae-ar! See him in his unprecedented frantic, furious, thrilling flight into space! Watch him soar toward the haunt of the eagle bird and cloud-land! The sight of a century! The wonder of the nations! Lumin-e-t-t-i! Luminett-i-i-i-i-i! The Ke-eng of the Ae-ar!"
The crowd came running from all directions at the cry. It was soon packed so densely about "The King of the Air" that Ned and Sam foundthemselves almost within touching distance of the wing tips. All at once Ned's trained eye noted something. A link in one of the drive chains of the propellers was badly twisted.
Under a sudden strain it would be likely to snap.
He stepped forward and touched "The King of the Air" on the shoulder.
"Well," growled the King gruffly, "what's up?"
His gruffness was not unnatural. He saw in Ned only a rather tattered-looking member of the crowd, andnotone of the most competent airmen of the United States Navy.
"One of the links on your drive chain is twisted," said Ned; "I thought I'd tell you."
"Oh, it is, is it?" brusquely rejoined the other; "since when have you qualified as an expert?"
"It's dangerous," Ned warned him again in an earnest voice.
"Oh, mind your own business," was the impatient reply; "it's all right, I guess. Anyhow, I'm not taking lessons from a Rube."
The crowd began to laugh and jeer. A big man in a loud check suit, and with an aggressive black moustache, came bustling up.
"Now, then! Now, then!" he exclaimed truculently. "What's up here? What do you want, young man?"
"This man's machine is not in a condition for a flight," exclaimed Ned hotly.
"Oh, it isn't, eh?" he said sarcastically. "Well, I tell you what, young man, you be off, or you'll be in no condition for a flight, either, 'cause I'll have you locked up!"
"Ho! ho! ho!" roared the crowd.
"All right. If he's injured, it will be his own and your fault," said Ned sharply.
Burning with mortification, he elbowed his way through the crowd to its outskirts. As he reached them he heard a deep-throated murmur.
"He's off!"
"Hooray!" shouted the crowd, but in a jiffy their cheering changed to a groan of dismay. There was a sharp crack like a pistol shot. Thetwisted link had parted under the strain of the engine, as Ned knew it would.
Luckily, the accident had happened just as the aeroplane began to move, and no damage was done to machine or aviator. Waiting only to ascertain this, Ned took his leave of Sam, and set out for the recruiting office to tell his story.
"YOU ARE A PRISONER OF THE GOVERNMENT!"
He found it without much difficulty. It was located in a building in the centre of the town. The Stars and Stripes hung from the doorway. Ned saluted the flag as he passed under it. His heart beat more hopefully, and his step lightened and quickened. Already he felt as if his troubles were over.
A rather gruff-looking, red-faced quartermaster was in charge. He looked up sharply from a paper-littered desk as Ned entered.
"Well," he said quickly, "what can I do for you?"
"A good deal," rejoined Ned, and launched into his story forthwith.
"Humph!" said the man, when he concluded, "and so you want money to rejoin the fleet at Blackhaven?"
"Yes," said Ned. "I have, as I hinted, a good reason for my request. If I had had the money, I should have lost no time in communicating with Lieutenant De Frees."
"Humph! By the way, just tell me your name, young man."
"Strong—Ned Strong," rejoined Ned.
The red-faced man grew redder than ever, and burrowed among his papers like an industrious rabbit. At last he unearthed what he wanted and scanned it closely. He kept glancing from the paper to Ned, and from Ned to the paper, till the lad felt quite embarrassed. At last he finished.
"Humph!" he said, with his usual preparatory clearing of the throat, "so you are Ned Strong. It's a lucky thing you came in here, Strong."
"How is that?" asked Ned, with a smile. "Of course, I hope it's lucky for me," he added quickly.
"Humph! No, it's lucky for me," insisted the other.
"Is that so?" asked Ned, not knowing just what else to say.
The red-faced man rose to his feet, and, without another word, went into an adjoining room. Ned could hear him telephoning, but could not catch the words. He came back presently and sat down at his table once more.
"Can you advance me the money?" demanded Ned. "It's very important, you know, that I should start as soon as possible."
"Oh, yes; humph! by all means; humph! the money is on its way from the bank now."
"Thank you," said Ned simply.
"It must be a large sum," he thought to himself.
He picked up a paper that lay near at hand. Idly, to pass the time, he scanned it. Sandwiched in amidst the sensational news—for which Ned's wholesome mind did not care—was a headline that caught his eye:
"Fleet Sails for Blackhaven."
"Fleet Sails for Blackhaven."
Ned's heart pounded violently. The recollection of that fluttering wireless message he had caught came back to him. With it, also, came a vivid remembrance of the torpedoes under the floor of the anarchists' craft.
Suddenly another item caught his eye:
"Mysterious Happening at Naval Aero Station—Two Navy Aviators Missing With Sum of Money."
"Mysterious Happening at Naval Aero Station—Two Navy Aviators Missing With Sum of Money."
All at once Ned caught his own name and then Herc's. The type swam before him for an instant, but he steadied his vision and read on. The paper gave a sensational account of their mysterious disappearance from the hotel in Bartonville. It also stated that Herc had drawn some of the money intrusted to their care just before he left.
"The men are being sought for by the department," the despatch added, "and when arrested will be summarily dealt with. Every recruitingoffice and naval station in the country, as well as the police, have been notified."
Ned looked up from his paper with startled eyes. He caught the gaze of the red-faced quartermaster fixed accusingly on him.
"So you've read it?" said that dignitary.
"I've read a lot of sensational rubbish," was the hot reply.
"Not half so sensational or rubbishy as what you've told me," sniffed the quartermaster.
"That being the case," said Ned hotly, "I shall not bother you further. Good afternoon."
"Hold on there! Humph! humph! Not so fast!" exclaimed the other, rising and stepping swiftly between Ned and the door, "you've to wait here a while."
"Wait!" echoed Ned. "I can't wait. Why, man alive, the safety of the fleet depends on my reaching there."
"Oh, nonsense! You don't mean to say you've brooded over that story so much you believe it yourself?"
Ned was first thunderstruck and then horrified. In living through the extraordinary events of the recent past, it had never struck him how fantastic and impossible they would seem to the average man.
"But it's true, I tell you! I can prove it, every word!" he burst out.
"How?"
"Why, by my shipmate, Hercules Taylor."
"Where is he?"
"A prisoner on that sloop."
"Come, come, young man. You've been reading too many dime novels. Why, there isn't a court martial in the land that would believe such a cock-and-bull story. I'll wager that your chum Taylor is hiding some place around town while you came up here to try and raise some more money. I must say it was a nervy thing to do."
"Good heavens!" cried Ned. "Do you mean to say that you don't credit a word of my story?"
"Nary a word. A wilder yarn I never listenedto, and I've served on all kinds of craft, man and boy, for a good many years. Now, let me give you a bit of advice, young fellow. When you are on trial, don't spring any such gammoning as you've told me. Just stick to the plain truth and you may get off lighter than you otherwise would."
Ned gasped. For an instant he almost lost control of himself. But he realized that, if he was to be of service to the fleet, he must keep his self-possession.
"When I rejoin the fleet," he said, "it won't be as a prisoner."
"Won't, eh? Don't be too sure of that," was the response.
A sudden heavy tramping was heard on the stairs.
The quartermaster flung open the door.
"Here he is now," he called out, "the fellow Strong. Take him into custody and lock him up till I arrange with the naval authorities to have him sent back to his ship."
As he spoke, several heavy-footed men filed into the room. They all bore the unmistakable stamp of the country constable.
Ned's tongue almost stuck to the roof of his mouth, it grew so dry. Every nerve in his body quivered. Was it possible that all this was real? It seemed more like an ugly nightmare.
"Look here," he exclaimed, in a voice he tried to render calm and collected, "this has gone far enough. Everything can be explained. But you mustn't lock me up now. Let me go back to the fleet. There is a conspiracy on foot to destroy some of the ships. I must warn——"
A rough laugh interrupted him.
"What kind er moonshine be that, young chap?" grinned the constable. "Yer don't go ter thinkin' we puts any stock in such talk as thet, do yer? If yer do, yer mus' think we're 'dunderheads' jes 'cos this is Dundertown. Na-ow, come on! Air you comin' quiet, or air yer comin' rough?"
Ned turned to the quartermaster, who stoodpompously puffed up, surveying the civil authorities with a patronizing air.
"Remember, officer," he said, "humph! the prisoner is not a civil prisoner. He is only placed in your temporary care by me as a representative of the United States government."
"Ve-ree well," rejoined the constable; "we'll take care of him, by heck! Jes' bin pinin' ter put some 'un in ther new jail. Thet reminds me, we've got another prisoner ter pick up daown ter ther circus grounds."
"His name isn't Taylor, this chap's companion, humph?" demanded the quartermaster.
"No. It's jes' a pickpocket. We'll go by the circus on our way to ther lock-up. It's only a step out'n our way. Come on, young feller."
He extended a pair of handcuffs. Ned burned with shame and mortification. Suddenly he bethought himself of Sam and all the picnic party at the circus. What if they should see him with handcuffs on? What would they think?
"For heaven's sake," he begged, "don't putthose things on me. I'll give you my word of honor not to try to escape if you don't."
"Wa-al, I dunno," said the constable doubtfully, "handcuffs is reg-lar, but——"
"Put them on him—humph!" shrilled the quartermaster.
Luckily, this ill-natured interruption turned the tide in Ned's favor.
"Say, quartermaster," snapped the constable, "this man is er civil prisoner, fer the time being, an' what I say goes. Don't you go ter buttin' in."
"Ain't you going to put handcuffs on him?" exclaimed the naval officer.
"No, I bean't."
"I order you to."
"Keep yer orders fer ther navy. I'm constable uv this taown, an' I say this prisoner don't wear 'em."
"I'll report you to—to the president," was the tremendous threat of the pompous quartermaster, who had turned as red as an angry turkey cock.
"Even ther president of this United Statesain't a-goin' ter say ha-ow things is to be run in Dundertown," snapped the constable. He laid a hand on Ned's elbow.
"Come on, young man," he said, "you promised to come quietly, remember."
Ned turned imploringly to the quartermaster.
"You have taken the oath of allegiance to the navy," he said passionately. "Now act up to it. Find some means to warn the fleet at Blackhaven that anarchists are going to try to torpedo some of the ships. Warn them against a black sloop with a red line round her bulwarks."
"Warn them against a fiddlestick!" sniffed the quartermaster. "Who ever heard such nonsense? Humph!"
Ned almost groaned aloud as he was ushered out, with a deputy on either side of him. But he managed to control himself. The lad had been in many tight places in foreign lands, and in active service. But not one of them had been more trying to bear up under than this disaster thathad befallen him in a peaceful country town in his native land.
"When will my case be heard?" Ned asked, as they reached the street. He was in hopes that if it was to come up immediately he could convince the magistrate, or whatever dignitary he was tried by, that his arrest was absolutely unjustified.
"Wa-al, squire won't be back to ta-own till day arter ter-morrer," was the reply that dashed his hopes. "Anyhow, he couldn't do nuthin' fer yer. We're only holding yer here. You're a prisoner of the United States government."
Those were the bitterest words that Ned had ever heard. They seemed to sear his very being.
A DASH FOR FREEDOM.
To Ned's intense relief, the little cortege did not attract much attention as it passed down the street. Most of the town was at the circus, attracted, doubtless, by the prospect of a big, free aeroplane flight.
At last they reached the circus grounds. The performance had commenced, and the spaces outside the tents in which it was going on were almost deserted. Only a few canvasmen and hangers-on lounged about. From time to time a loud blare of music or a shout of applause came from the tent. Over by the main entrance Ned saw Professor Luminetti, still tinkering with his aeroplane. Some men were helping him. Among them was the man with the big moustache, who had addressed Ned so roughly when he pointed out the defective link.
"There, professor," he was exclaiming, as the constable came up, "that's done. I guess everything is all right now for the night performance."
"It all came from not paying attention to what that young chap said," put in one of them.
"Yes, the professor thought he knew it all," put in another.
"Hullo! There's the young chap now," said the black-moustached man, who was the manager of the show. "Say, young feller, you're all right. Any time you want a——"
He was about to shake Ned by the hand, when the constable interposed.
"You the manager of this sheebang?"
"Yes. What of it?"
"Wa-al, I'm ther constable. Whar's that pickpocket yer telephoned about?"
"Right inside the sideshow tent. We put him in there under the guard of two canvasmen."
"All right. I'll come and git him. Two uv you boys guard the prisoner here while I'm gone."
He hastened off. Ned felt his face burn assome of the men who had been clustered about Professor Luminetti gazed curiously at him. The word "prisoner" had attracted their attention.
The professor was too busy with his machine to pay any attention. He was starting up the engine to test it. The motor burred wildly and emitted flashes of flame and blue smoke. Suddenly he looked around.
"Say, young feller," he said to Ned, "if you know so much about aeroplanes, just tell me what ails this motor?"
Ned looked at his two guardians. They, perhaps curious to see if the lad really knew anything about air-craft, nodded permission. After all, they argued to themselves, there was no chance for the lad to escape. Ned, forgetting his troubles for a time in his joy at again being able to "fuss" over an aeroplane, bent over the refractory engine.
"The trouble's in one of the footpedals," he announced before long.
"Have to climb into the seat to fix it?" asked Luminetti.
"Reckon so."
Ned looked at his guardians. They nodded.
"Don't fly away," cried one of them jokingly, as Ned seated himself, grasped the levers and placed his foot on the pedals to test the mechanism.
"It would be a good joke if——"
Professor Luminetti, standing by the machine, was suddenly brushed off his feet and rolled over on the sward.
"Br-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r!"
A terrific whirring, like the voice of a multitude of locusts, filled the air.
Something huge and winged and powerful flashed by the amazed deputies, and launched itself into the air. Before they recovered their wits, it was out of reach.
"It's the aeroplane! He's stolen my aeroplane!" screamed Professor Luminetti.
"Hi! Come back!" yelled the deputies.
But so swiftly had the aeroplane shot into space that Ned was already out of ear-shot.
Hearing the babel of excited sounds, the constable came dashing from the tent. In the excitement, he let go of the pickpocket's collar, and that miscreant at once darted off.
"Get him! Bring him back!" shouted the arm of the Dundertown law.
"What do you think we are—a couple of birds?" demanded his deputies. "Get him yourself!"
The constable drew out his revolver and began firing into the air. He might as well have fired at the moon as at Ned. The aeroplane dwindled swiftly to a winged blot, then to a speck, and, finally, vanished altogether.
"I'll swear out a warrant for him!" shouted the manager.
"Well, don't do any more swearing, then," warned the constable, "er I'll arrest you fer usin' profane langwidge. I've lost two prisoners, an' I've got ter lock up somebody."
Luckily, at that moment, a small boy was captured as he was creeping under the canvas. In the act of giving him a sound spanking, the irate group left behind found some salve for their wounded feelings. Luminetti raved and tore his hair. The manager promised to wreak dire vengeance on Ned as soon as he got hold of him. As for the populace, when the story leaked out, some of them, among these being Sam, were so unfeeling as to laugh heartily. As for the quartermaster, he at once set about to report the constable to all the authorities in the United States, from the president down.
In the meantime, what of Ned?
If any of our readers imagine that he took the aeroplane on purpose, they are mistaken. What seemed like a cleverly executed plan of escape was, in reality, the result of an accident, pure and simple, but a fortunate one, as it proved.
When Ned had placed his foot on the starting pedal, to his astonishment the bit of machineryrefused to budge. He pressed harder, and, suddenly something snapped. The next instant Ned felt himself being hurtled forward over the ground.
To prevent the aeroplane plunging into a tent or wagon and being wrecked, he had resorted to the only mode of procedure possible. He had set the rising planes.
Instantly the aeroplane responded. Behind him Ned could hear shouts and cries, and guessed that those he had left behind were imagining he was attempting to escape.
"If I land I'll have a hard job convincing them I wasn't," said Ned to himself.
But nevertheless, the lad tried with all his might to check the aeroplane's flight. But whatever had broken rendered this impossible. Try as he would, he could not stop the engine. His only safety, therefore, lay in keeping aloft. As the aeroplane rushed on through space, it gathered speed instead of diminishing the fury of its course.
It was all Ned could do to cling to the seat and control the frantic buckings and plungings of his aerial steed. The fact that though similar to the one he used, he was unfamiliar with the particular aeroplane in which he found himself, complicated his difficulties.
"I guess the only thing to do is to keep on till the gasolene gives out," he thought, after his twentieth attempt to check his runaway engine. "Reminds me of Don Quixote's ride with Sancho Panza to the palace of the magician in cloudland," was the whimsical thought that occurred to him. "Poor old Herc! It's not very complimentary to him to compare him to Sancho, but I wish he was here with me."
The fuel tank of the aeroplane must have been well filled, for the engine ran just as strongly at the end of an hour of aerial traveling as it had at the beginning of the trip.
"I'd turn round if I dared," thought Ned; "but I can't check the speed of the thing, and it wouldbe suicidal to try to switch my course while going at this speed."
Ned's plight may be compared to that of a lad on a runaway bicycle on a steep hill. He did not dare turn for fear of disaster, and yet he didn't quite know what would happen if he kept on. However, he didn't have to be scared of colliding with a wagon!
Suddenly, to Ned's huge joy, the engine showed signs of slackening speed. He gently manipulated a lever, and found that he had partial control of the machine now. This being so, he decided to land as soon as practicable. From a clump of trees some distance ahead, the white spire of a church told him of a village. To his left hand lay the sea. Ned gazed at it longingly, as he dropped nearer and nearer to the ground.
He landed at the edge of a meadow adjoining a building which was occupied by the village post-office and telegraph office. A sign on a house across the way made his heart leap:
"Blackhaven Hotel."
Chance had actually brought him within close range of the fleet. It seemed too good to be true. But a crowd of villagers, who came rushing to inspect the visitor from cloudland, soon put all other thoughts but the safety of his machine out of his mind. If he had not watched it carefully, there seemed to be danger of its being ripped to bits by souvenir hunters.
A brief inspection showed Ned that a broken tension-spring had caused the runaway. It was soon adjusted. Then he peeped into the gasolene tank. It was almost empty.
"They sell gasolene in ther store there, mister," said a bright lad. "Gasolene gigs come through here onct in a while."
"When they's lost," struck in another lad.
This was good news to Ned. Leaving the lads to guard the machine, he entered the post-office. The postmaster imperturbably sold him five gallons of gasolene. Ned recollected that he couldn't pay for it. But, unfortunately, this did not occur to him till he had emptied it into the tank.
Hardly had he done so, and was starting back to the store with explanations, when the postmaster, who was also telegraph operator, appeared in the doorway of his emporium. He was waving a yellow telegram.
"Hold that feller, one of yer!" he shouted. "That thar's a stolen sky-buggy, and he's no better than a thief!"
A dozen men started forward to lay hands on Ned.
But a sudden determination had come to the lad. He was within striking distance of the fleet. It was his duty to warn the officers of the peril that menaced their vessels.
A rough hand seized his arm. Ned flung it off. At the same instant his fists drove full at a big fellow—the village blacksmith—who tried to bar his path, swinging a heavy hammer.
"Stand clear!" shouted Ned, as he sprang into the seat of his machine—or rather Professor Luminetti's—"this machine isn't stolen—it's borrowed on Uncle Sam's service!"
The next instant the machine skyrocketed upward, leaving behind it a trail of smoke, and sensation that furnished talk for the village of Blackhaven for more than a year.
THE MYSTERIOUS SCHOONER—CONCLUSION.
"Bulkley, do you see some object in the air—off there to the northwest?"
Commander Dunham, of the DreadnoughtManhattan, paused in his steady pacing of the after deck, and turned to Ensign Bulkley, the officer of the deck.
Ensign Bulkley brought into play the insignia of his diurnal office, a powerful telescope, done in brown leather, with polished, black metal trimmings. With it, he swept the sky in the direction indicated by his superior, for some minutes.
"I do see something, sir," he said presently, "a black object, like a large bird. But it's bigger than any bird I ever saw. By Jove, sir, it's—it's an aeroplane!"
"An aeroplane! Impossible. How could onefind its way to Blackhaven Bay? And what could be its errand here?"
"I've no idea, sir. But I'll wager my commission that it is one. Suppose you look yourself, sir?"
The officer of the deck handed his telescope to his commanding officer. Commander Dunham gazed intently through it for a few moments. Then he turned to Bulkley.
"By all that's wonderful, you're right, Mr. Bulkley. It seems to be coming this way, too."
"Not a doubt of it, sir. But at the rate it is advancing it should not be long before we are aware of its errand."
"At all events, it will relieve the monotony, Bulkley. Anchored here since yesterday and no orders yet. However, I suppose mine practice and general gunnery will be the program."
"I expect so, sir," was the response.
Both officers gazed over the leaden expanse of the landlocked bay about them.
Five battleships, two cruisers, and three torpedo-boatdestroyers lay at anchor, in regular files. Hard by was a "parent ship," with her flotilla of submarines nestling alongside, like small chickens round a motherly old hen.
"Desolate country hereabouts," said Commander Dunham presently. "I shouldn't have thought that an airman could have found his way here."
"It hardly seems possible," agreed his junior; "it's as barren a bit of coast as can be imagined."
The aeroplane drew closer. Its outlines were quite apparent now. On every vessel of the fleet excitement over its approach was now visible. Bright bits of bunting began to "wig-wag" the news from ship to ship. On every foredeck jackies almost suspended the tasks in hand to watch the oncoming of the aerial craft.
"What a contrast, Bulkley," observed Commander Dunham presently. "See that old sloop off there to seaward? She is of an almost obsolete type, while above us is coming the herald of a new era in peace, as well as war."
"That is so, sir. But that sloop, obsolete as she may appear, is quite fast. I understand she has been tacking about the fleet all day. I wonder what she wants?"
"Some fisherman, probably. However, see that she does not come too close. In confidence, Bulkley, I have been warned, in common with every other commander of the fleet, to beware of a band of daring anarchists who, it appears, have made no secret abroad of their intention to damage the United States navy."
The navy officer showed no surprise. It is a common enough incident for warnings of the same character. The mail of the navy department at Washington is always full of letters—some of them menacing in tone—from over-zealous apostles of "universal peace." Occasionally, too, a spy is unearthed serving in Uncle Sam's uniform. Such fellows are usually deported quietly and swiftly.
"I shall keep an eye on that sloop, sir, in thatcase," said the ensign, "but I'm afraid it will be difficult to do so before very long."
"How is that, Bulkley?"
The ensign waved his hand seaward. A hazy sort of atmosphere enveloped the horizon.
"Fog, eh?" commented the commander.
"Yes, sir. It will be all about us soon, or I'm mistaken. But look, sir, that aeroplane is almost above us."
"By George!—so it is. What's the aviator doing? He's signalling us. He's pointing downward, Bulkley, too."
"Looks as if he wanted to land on our decks, sir."
"It does. Hark! What's that he's shouting? Pshaw, I can't hear. Tell you what, Bulkley, order the aerial landing platform rigged at once. It ought not to take more than fifteen minutes."
"I'll have it done at once, sir."
The officer hastened off on his errand. A scene of bustle ensued. A hundred jackies were busy transporting sections of the adjustable platformon which Ned had landed on the occasion of his great triumph. The scene appeared to be involved in inextricable confusion. But each man had his task to perform, and each pursued it industriously. Before long the platform was up—all but the flooring. The work of laying this on the steel uprights and skeleton supporting structure was soon accomplished.
All this time the mysterious aerial visitant had been hovering aloft. But his task of keeping above the battleship was getting momentarily more and more difficult. The atmosphere was rapidly thickening. In white wraiths and billows the fog, which Ensign Bulkley had prophesied, came rolling in. Beads of moisture gathered on everything. From the deck the tops of the basket-like military masts grew every minute more difficult to espy. The aeroplane, circling in space, was a mere blur.
"All ready, sir," announced Ensign Bulkley before long. By this time the after-deck wascrowded with officers. All were gazing upward into the steamy fog.
"Give him a signal, Bulkley," ordered the commander.
"He'll find it hard to see one, sir."
"Signal the bridge, then, to blow three blasts on the siren. He can hear that."
"Hoo-oo-o-o-o! Hoo-oo-o-o-o! Hoo-o-o-o-o!"
A few seconds later the uncanny voice of the siren cut the mist. Without hesitation, the dim object in the fog above them, began to come downward. It swung through the thick air rapidly. In a short time it was off the stern of theManhattan, and ten minutes after the signal had sounded Ned Strong ran his aeroplane upon the landing platform so speedily erected.
But if the manner of his arrival had been sensational, the effect it created was even more so.
"It's Strong! The man we were wirelessed had decamped with part of Lieutenant De Frees' funds!" exclaimed Captain Dunham amazedly.
Ned half staggered from his seat and cametoward him. The sailors stood to one side, in a half-awed fashion. Ned's face, after his long and trying strain, was ghastly. His eyes shone with an unnatural brightness.
"Well, my lad," said the commander briskly, "what is the meaning of all this?"
"I—I—can I speak——" began Ned.
But suddenly the decks and the eager faces about him seemed to join in a mad dance. He swayed weakly, and would have fallen, had not some jackies near at hand caught him.
"Send that man to the sick bay," ordered Commander Dunham. "There's something out of the ordinary in all this," he said in a lower tone to his officers.
Ned was half-carried, half-supported, to the ship's hospital. He soon recovered from his temporary weakness, and asked to see the doctor at once. When that dignitary responded to the summons, he drank in, with eager ears, Ned's astonishing story. The result was, that Commander Dunham was at once requested to visitthe sick bay. A conference ensued, which lasted till almost dark. By that time Ned was fully recovered.
It was after dark that a torpedo-boat destroyer, with Ensign Bulkley in command, slipped away from the fleet and vanished in the fog. On the conning tower, beside the officer, was Ned Strong.
The powerful searchlight cut a bright path through the mist ahead. Somewhere in that smother lay the craft they were in search of, the anarchists' sloop, on board of which Herc was a prisoner. How eagerly Ned longed for the fog to lift, may be imagined. But they cruised all night without a sign of its lifting. By daylight they were some distance out at sea. When, at eight o'clock, the fog began to lift, the shore was revealed, before long, as a dim, blue streak in the distance.
But nobody had eyes for that when a sudden shout went up from the lookout forward.
The man had sighted a sail on the horizon. Butas they drew closer to it, the craft was seen to be a schooner with a short, stumpy mizzen-mast.
"That's not our boat," said the ensign disappointedly.
"But what can have become of the sloop, sir?" wondered Ned. "Surely, she couldn't have vanished from sight during the night. She's not a fast enough sailer for that."
"True," said Bulkley. "By Jove!" he exclaimed suddenly, "you don't think those chaps have disguised her, do you?"
"They might have, sir. Don't you think it's worth while to board that schooner, anyhow?"
"I do, Strong," agreed the officer.
The destroyer was headed toward the schooner. The wind had dropped and the vessel was rolling idly on the oily sea.
"Aboard the schooner there!" cried the officer, as they came up close to the vessel with the peculiar-looking after-mast. "Stand by! We are going to board you."
A bearded man stood at the helm. He was theonly person visible. Ned scrutinized his face eagerly, but could not recognize him. This individual only waved a hand in response to the officer's order. But, as the destroyer's way was checked, and she lay idly on the waves, he suddenly vanished into the cabin. The next instant a square port at the schooner's bow was swung open, and, without the slightest warning, a long, shining, cylindrical object was shot forth.
It struck the water with a swirl of spray, and then, with a line of white wake, in its swift course, headed straight for the destroyer.
"A torpedo!" exclaimed the officer, who, with Ned, was just about to clamber into one of the lowered boats.
The men on board set up a horrified shout. So short was the distance between the two craft that between the launching of the torpedo and the dreaded impact of its "war head" against the side of the destroyer seemed but an instant. It was a fearful instant, though, and lived long in the recollection of those who endured it.
The torpedo struck the side of the destroyer with a metallic clang. But no explosion followed. Instead, the implement floated harmlessly off.