After something more than an hour's drive the Jehu pulled his horses up, got down from the box and opened one of the doors.
"Here you are, young gents. This is the spot where I put the last fare down. An' now you know as much about her whereabouts as I do."
The district into which the submarine boys had come was well outside of the city, and in a different direction from Craven's Bay and the Fort.
It was bleak and wild here. Even the shanties of the three little villages, with their fish-sheds, their racks with nets spread, the rickety wharves—all looked dismal. It seemed as though here must be one of the spots where only a scanty living is earned and only by the hardest kind of work.
"Well, we're much obliged to you, driver, and here's the money promised to you."
"Obliged to you, gents. Will you want to be going back with me?"
"No," Captain Jack answered. "I reckon we're going to be moored here for a while."
"Now, whereaway? What's the course?" demanded Eph Somers.
Benson glanced at his watch, then up at the sun.
"It'll be dark in about an hour and half," he muttered. "Why not wait until dark? We can't have been seen from any of the villages yet. Looking out over the water you don't see a craft of any sort headed away from here. From this point, looking down, we can see if any of the boats in port get ready to put out. So Millard, if he hasn't already escaped, can't get away by sea without our knowing it. If he tries to get away by land, we're right where we can see him coming."
"Then you think we'd better wait here, keeping out of sight, until dark?" asked Hal.
"Most decidedly. Don't you?"
"Yes," nodded Hal.
"But it'll be a mighty tedious wait," growled Eph, the impatient one.
"Well, youngster, we're not here to consult our own comfort," retorted Captain Jack. "There's something higher to consult—the best interests of our country."
"Oh, if you put it that way!" grumbled Eph, much mollified.
The submarine boys had stepped into a little hollow, just off the road, and barely below a rise in the ground. There were trees and bushes about to aid them in concealing themselves. If they saw anyone coming their way they could easily find better hiding.
No one came, however. Dark found the boys desperately hungry.
"Of course we didn't think to bring anything to eat," uttered Eph, disgustedly. "What are we going to do about it?"
"We've got to each of us take a village, presently, enter it and search," replied Captain Jack. "With only one of us to each village, it will be tough luck if each one can't find some one who has enough food to sell a little of it."
"How soon are we going to start?" asked Eph, hopefully.
"Well, supper time will be the best time to go through the villages," decided the young submarine skipper "If Millard has taken refuge with anyone who lives in one of these villages, he'll be more likely to show himself at supper time than at any other."
"It won't take long to look into each of the houses," muttered Hal."There aren't many in any one of the villages."
"If we don't espy our man at table," Captain Jack went on, "we'll have to try other means of finding him out. You two will know what to do when you're on the ground. If Millard is anywhere in the village that you go to look through, don't fail to find him—that's all."
Jack chose, for himself, the northernmost village. Hal took the next one, and Eph the southernmost.
"Now, remember, fellows," breathed Benson, sharply, as they parted, "the one great thing is not to fail!"
The night was dark and the sky overcast as the submarine boys parted to go their several ways.
"I think I can understand how Eph feels about his stomach," grimaced Jack, as he strode along. "I don't believe I'd balk, just now, at the plainest food ever cooked. Why, I haven't eaten since this morning!"
The evening being rather warm, most of the houses, as Jack neared the village, proved to have open windows. Lights shone, and the fishermen and their families could be seen at table.
No one appeared in the street, at first. Jack strolled down the principal street, looking into each house without much difficulty. Yet the one face that he sought was not visible.
Down at the further end of the street Benson came upon a tumble-down-looking grocery store.
"What kind of sandwiches can you put me up?" queried the submarine boy, casually.
"Stranger, eh?" asked the man behind the counter, staring curiously.
"Yes; haven't you had any other strangers here lately?"
"Not as I knows on," replied the man, a shaggy, unkempt-looking fellow of forty.
"None here to-day, eh?" asked Jack, taking out a half-dollar and toying with it on the counter.
"Don't remember anybody very special," replied the storekeeper.
"You haven't answered me about the kinds of sandwiches you can put up,"Jack reminded him.
"Not very fancy in that line, young feller. Cheese, or sardines; that's all."
"Give me three of each, then," begged Jack. He seized the first sandwich that was prepared and began to eat it.
"Hungry, eh!" asked the storekeeper.
"Yes," Jack admitted; "for want of anything better to do."
"Foller the sea, don't ye?"
"Depends," muttered Jack, his mouth half full of sandwich. "When I'm going before a brisk fair wind, sometimes the sea follows me."
"'Spose so," grinned the storekeeper, passing over the second sandwich. After that, the fellow got in slightly ahead of the submarine boy's appetite, though Benson finished the whole meal in a few minutes.
"Now, if you've got a bottle of soda water, to wash that all down with," hinted Benson. It was forthcoming, also a smoky-looking glass.
"So you haven't had any strangers here lately," hinted Captain Jack.
"Nope."
"Any craft been fitting out to sail to-night or first thing in the morning?"
"Nope."
"Gracious, but this is a dead place," laughed Jack. "Must be a lot of shacks for rent around here?"
"There was one place," stated the storekeeper, "but a dude feller hired it last week. Said some sort o' fishing club'd be down this way to fish, once in a while. That kinder minds me," went on the storekeeper. "I guess maybe some o' that crowd are down, 'cause I saw a light up there at the house, jest come dark."
"If there's a fishing club down here, that ought to make business good for you," suggested Captain Jack.
"Dunno. They can start tradin' as soon as they like. I'm ready."
"Which house has the fishing club hired?" was Jack's next question.
"Why, I guess you can make it out from the door," replied the storekeeper, coming out from behind the counter and going to the front of his establishment. "There, if yer eyes are good, you can jest make out a building over there on the point. See it? Well, there's a little boat wharf in front that ye can't see until you get closer."
Jack had found out just what he wanted to know. He had the very information for which he had been fishing, nor did he believe the storekeeper suspected him of undue curiosity.
"Well, I've got to be moving along, now I'm fed," announced young Benson."The yacht I belong to is some distance from here. Good night!"
Nor did Captain Jack linger in the village. Had anyone stood still in that street and stared after Benson, he would have seen the boy vanish in the darkness.
Captain Jack, however, had not disappeared from the scene. He was merely shifting to the part of it that interested him most. Cautiously he stole out along the further side of a ridge of land, toward the rickety old house on the point.
"Not a sign of a light, now," breathed the submarine boy. "If Millard was really there, I hope he hasn't had time to get away for good."
All was silent and dark about the old house, as Captain Jack stole closer. At nearer range he made the circuit of the house, only to find every window shuttered, and the place as dismal as the grave.
"I'm afraid the game has escaped," muttered Benson, with a sinking feeling at his heart. "Yet he didn't escape, by sea or land, while we were watching outside the village. And it was just at dark that the storekeeper saw a light here. I wonder if it would be easy to—"
Right there Jack Benson's train of thought broke off. From the opposite side of the house came a sound exactly like that of the opening and closing of a door.
"Can that be our man coming out?" wondered Skipper Jack.
He started cautiously around the house, but soon drew back around the corner of the building. Dropping to the ground, and lying flat, the submarine boy allowed only the top of his head to show as he peeped.
Glory! Jack knew, well enough, that tall figure striding off into the gloom. It was Millard, and under his left arm the fellow carried a large package that might be a bulky portfolio well wrapped.
"He has his drawings—his maps of American fortifications and fortified harbors—the very stuff that we want to get!" throbbed the boy. "And now—we're going to get them!"
Keeping Millard's receding figure zealously in sight, Jack, crouching low, started after the long-legged one as soon as the distance between seemed sufficient to keep Millard from guessing at pursuit.
"Oh, how I wish Hal and Eph were here!" muttered Captain Jack, in keen disappointment.
"I need help on this!"
Within two minutes Millard had struck into a well-beaten path that led northward over succeeding ridges of laud. In a way, it was easier following here, for there were occasional trees and clumps of bushes behind which the young shadow could drop at need.
Two minutes in this path, and Jack Benson's heart gave another quick leap. Some one else was coming stealthily behind him. Jack dodged around a clump of bushes and waited.
"Hal!" breathed Jack, almost wild with joy, as the two chums clasped hands fervently for one brief instant. Then:
"See here, Hal, I've got to dart forward again, or Millard will be out of sight. But I'll tell you what—while I trail Millard, you concern yourself only with following me."
"Good enough," whispered Hastings, nodding. "Now, you start again!"
For just an instant Millard had disappeared. However, by moving forward quickly, Benson was soon able to make out the quarry through the darkness.
For some five minutes more the chase continued. Then, his long body rather sharply defined against the sky, Millard began the ascent of a low hill that ended in a cliff overlooking the broad ocean.
As Millard's course forward could end only in the sea, Jack now crouched low, stealing along a parallel course behind a low ridge of rock.
Then Millard suddenly stepped into a clump of tall bushes. Though his game was now out of sight, Jack did not lose his nerve, for he could hear the fellow.
Spink! spank! clank! The noise came from a shovel, vigorously used.
"Not a hard one to guess," throbbed Captain Jack Benson, exultantly. "He has brought his maps and his stolen records with him, and is burying them in this lonely spot until some other time when he'll feel safe about coming back for them. Talk about luck! Why, Hal and I can pounce on this fellow, when he comes out over yonder, and, after we get him, we can next dig up whatever it is that this foreign agent thinks is worth burying!"
Then, with a shade of curiosity, Benson added to himself:
"I don't know, yet, how it happened that Hal was on my trail. There wasn't time for him to tell me."
Clank! clank! But after a while the noise of the shovel ceased for a while. Captain Jack craned his neck eagerly, trying to pierce the darkness of the night. He could make out nothing, though he heard some one still moving inside the clump of bushes.
Then again the noise of the shovel on the dirt was heard.
"He's filling in, now, beyond a doubt," thought Captain Jack. "He is burying—what? The maps and records? Hiding them here that he may dig them up at some later date?"
Benson chuckled noiselessly.
"If that's Millard's game I reckon some one else will do some digging over yonder before he pays this place a second visit!"
Ah, the noise had stopped, at last. Now, Millard came out of the thicket.
"He hasn't that bundle he brought up here!" throbbed Jack Benson. "And he isn't bringing a shovel out, either, so it must be hidden right handy. Great!"
Mr. Millard could depart, now, if he wanted. Jack trusted to his chum, prowling somewhere about, to have the good judgment to follow the long-legged fellow away. As for Benson, he didn't mean to do another thing until he had found the shovel, and had determined just what had been so carefully buried on this dark night!
So Jack watched, rather indifferently, as Millard slunk off into the darkness. After three minutes or so had passed, Jack rose and ran straight for the thicket.
There it was—new ground, that had just been turned over with a shovel.There was no mound, but the fresh earth showed just where to dig.
"Oh, this is as easy as making change for a blind man!" chuckled the young submarine skipper, rubbing his hands ecstatically.
What about the shovel? Jack turned to feel around in the darkness. Really, Millard couldn't be such a very clever fellow! Jack had no difficulty in finding the shovel. Its handle was sticking out from under a mass of dead brush.
Jack Benson drew out the implement, brandishing it.
"Hal had the good sense to shadow that chap away," decided the young skipper. "Otherwise, he'd have been here by this time. Good haul—rascal and records in the same night. For, if Hal goes on Millard's trail, then Millard is pretty sure to be a prisoner before the night is over. Oh, I wish Eph would turn up."
Then Jack took a good grip on the shovel. Clank! spink! spink!
Having been so recently moved, this dirt was easy to dig.
Yet, suddenly, there came a new note on the night air.
"Jack, O Jack!" sounded in Hal's frantic tones. "Quick!"
"Eh?" called Captain Benson. "What's the row? Come here and see what I can show you!"
"No! You come here—quick!"
"That's queer," pondered Jack Benson, leaning on his shovel, trying to understand what it could all mean.
Then he heard, even at the distance, the sound of Hal Hastings panting, as though engaged in hard physical effort.
Again rose Hastings's frantic voice, though somewhat muffled in its sound.
"If you don't hustle, it will be too late!"
Jack dropped the shovel on the ground, wheeled, and ran down the slope to where Hal's voice sounded.
"I'm coming, old fellow!" quivered the submarine skipper, starting to run.
Boom! A terrific explosion shook the ground. The air seemed full of flying fragments of rock.
Had Jack Benson started down the slope two or three seconds later he must have been killed.
As it was, the fearful force of concussion sent him sprawling headlong on the ground.
A shower of small fragments of rock and of loose dirt fell about him.
Yet Jack was up again, like a flash, never stopping to inquire whether he had been hurt.
"O-oh!" came the groan, from Hal Hastings.
"There, in a second!" panted Captain Jack, beginning to run again.
A blow sounded, then a fall.
Captain Jack raced into a little, bush-lined hollow, just in time to see Millard leap up and take to his heels.
Hal Hastings lay on the ground, as though badly hurt.
"Oh, you would, would you?" raged Captain Jack Benson, making a swift spurt after Millard.
He caught the long-legged one, too, by the back of the fellow's coat collar.
Yank! Millard was pulled over backward. Down he went, Benson piling a-top of him.
"Down!" cried Skipper Jack, exultantly. He found, however, that Millard possessed strength enough to put up a stiff fight.
"Come on, Hal—if you can!" called Jack Benson, sharply.
"Can't—just yet," came, in muffled tones, from the usually prompt HalHastings.
"Let go, you young hound!" ordered Millard, striking out savagely.
Jack hung desperately. Yet the trouble was that the young submarine skipper had tackled a man who was at least fifty per cent. stronger and fully as agile.
While Hal still hung back, Millard gave a heave, then rolled himself over on top of Jack Benson.
"I'll give you just a short lesson!" snarled the long-legged one.
He raised a fist, intent on bringing it down like a sledge-hammer across Benson's face.
That blow, however, wasn't the one that landed. Biff! whack! Two sturdy, hard fists registered on Millard's head from behind. Then a boy shot himself forward, battering-ram fashion, hurling Millard over to the ground. The boy went with the fellow, landing on top of him.
And that boy was Eph Somers!
"Come on, Jack, if you want some of this!" offered Eph, generously.
Truth to tell, there was need of both the submarine boys, for Millard now fought more fiendishly than before.
Millard was a powerful fellow, when aroused, but he had pitted against him two of the doughtiest, gamest boys to be found along the Atlantic coast. He was pretty well beaten up, in fact, by the time that Hal came limply upon the scene.
"Want any help?" demanded Hal, in a still somewhat breathless voice.
"Nope!" answered Eph, sturdily. "Not unless you want exercise."
As Somers spoke he landed another blow, this against the "wind" at Millard's belt-line. In the same instant Jack Benson managed to knot his hands in the fellow's coat lapels, and to press the backs of his hands against the wretch's throat.
"I sur—ug-g-gh!—er—render," gurgled the long-legged one, weakly.
"You'd better, unless you want to discover that we haven't yet started in with rough handling," retorted Eph valiantly.
Young Benson eased his hold on Millard's wind-pipe. Yet all three of the submarine boys watched their prisoner, cat-like, for any new outbreak.
"Now, roll over on your face, if you want us to believe you're going to be good," ordered Jack.
Though he swore, under his breath, Millard obeyed. Then something flashed in the night—handcuffs that Jack had brought away from his meeting with Lieutenant Ridder at the hotel.
Click! The steel band snapped into place around Millard's right wrist.
"Hold on—not that!" protested the prisoner, hoarsely.
"Yes; even that!" mocked Eph, picking up a fragment of rock. "And keep quiet, unless you want me to batter your head in!"
It was this rough, vigorous sea-talk, backed by a belief that young Somers would prove equal to his threat, no doubt, that made Millard allow his left wrist to be brought over to meet the right.
"You've got those things on too tight," complained Millard, sullenly.
"No-o-o, I don't think so," retorted Captain Jack, after looking. "We need 'em as tight as we can have 'em, without causing pain, when we have a fellow like you to deal with. Now, what was that explosion?"
"Wait a second!" broke in Eph, in a low voice. "Millard had a pal here. It was the pal I shadowed here. And that pal is running, now, with a fair-sized bundle that he came here to get."
"He was running when you jumped into this business?" demanded Benson.
"Yes."
"Then the pal is too far away, by this time, for us to catch him by running after him," decided Skipper Jack. "Now, about that explosion!"
"This wretch had a mine planted up on the hill," explained Hal Hastings. "I was watching, at the rear, you know, and it happened that I stopped right close to the hollow where you found me. Then I saw Millard drop into that hollow, and I took a look-in. I was just in time to see him bending over to reach for the handle of a magneto battery. Now, I happened to know that magneto batteries are made for the purpose of touching off explosives at a safe distance. So I jumped in on him. Just at that second I heard you, Jack, old fellow, striking with the shovel up above there. I had to guess fast, so the whole thing struck me like a flash. Millard had been digging, up there, just to lead on anyone who might be shadowing him. While you were bent over the spot where he had been digging, he meant to touch off a mine that must have been planted and laid days ago. Millard, you rascal, if you suspected that you were being watched, it was your idea to lead the shadow out here, get him over that mine and touch it off!"
The prisoner's eyes flashed.
"That was your game, wasn't it?" demanded Benson, angrily.
"Find out, if you can," growled the prisoner.
"You've guessed it, Hal," nodded Jack, then shuddered. "Had I followed this villain out here alone, and then gone to digging, unwarned, where I had seen him digging, my remains would have come down in four counties. But, you mean scoundrel, you never happened to think that you'd be trailed by three different fellows, all at different points along your trail."
"This is where my account comes in," interposed Eph Somers. "You remember the village you sent me to, Jack? Well, all I could find out was that, a few days ago, a chap named Gray had come along and hired a little schooner that's about twice as fast as any other sailing craft in these parts. He hired two fishermen to sail it for him—when he got ready. His crew have been wondering, since, when he'd be ready. Since he made the deal, Gray has just been hanging around and doing nothing."
"My informant pointed out Gray to me. Right after that, I vanished. But I kept an eye on Gray. When he left the village, so did I. The trail led up here. Gray went to a pile of dead brush that had been heaped up. He prowled under the brush, brought out a wooden box that had been hidden there, and, from the box, took a bundle. He started off with it. I figured that bundle was what we wanted. I didn't want to take the chance of tackling him and having him get the best of me, so I started to follow. Just then I heard the rumpus up here. Maybe I did wrong, but I figured we could get Gray again, so I hustled up here to help."
"This wretch, Millard, and I had a pretty rough-and-tumble time of it," Hal broke in. "At last, though, he gave me a blow in the wind that put me right down and out, for a little while. Then he got the handle of the magneto and pumped it."
"Glad I started down the slope just when I did," nodded Skipper Jack, dryly. "If I hadn't—well, what's the use of talking about it?"
Forcing Millard to get upon his feet, the boys inspected, first the magneto battery, to which was attached wire buried in the ground. Then up the slope they went, to find a miniature crater, some ten feet deep and at least fourteen feet across, where the mine had been exploded.
"Say, it's hard, even yet, to understand why I wasn't killed," muttered Jack Benson. "But here we are, standing here, thinking about ourselves, when that fellow, Gray, is getting away with a package that we ought to have. Come along, fellows! And you, Millard, if you try to bold back on us, you'll learn some new things in the way of discomfort!"
Thus warned, and realizing that his determined young captors were in a savage frame of mind, the long-legged one didn't try to lag. All four appeared in the village in which Eph had prowled for information. The appearance of the handcuffed prisoner stirred up a lot of curiosity. Eph, however, showed his written authorization for taking Millard in the name of the United States government, so no one offered the captive any aid or sympathy.
But the submarine boys met with disturbing news. They heard that a little more than a half an hour before, Gray, still carrying a big package, had embarked on his chartered schooner, and had put to sea.
"Had we better charter something and go in chase?" wondered Hal.
"What's the use?" demanded one of the fishermen. "The 'Juanita' is four miles or more out to sea, by this time, and the night's dark you couldn't see her. And there's no craft hereabouts fast enough to catch the 'Juanita.'"
"Besides," whispered Jack, in his chum's ear, "we have no power to overhaul a craft at sea."
So, making the best of the situation, the submarine boys hired a driver, horse and wagon at the village, and started on their return to town.
Jack was the first to enter Lieutenant Ridder's room at the hotel. The young engineer officer jumped up out of his chair, looking somewhat angry.
"Look here, Benson," expostulated the lieutenant, "what sort of way is this to use me? Here I've been loafing about here for hours, and you haven't sent or brought me word of any kind. You—"
"We've brought you something better," smiled Jack Benson, throwing the door further open. "Here is Millard, himself."
Millard came in, a policeman at his side, for the submarine boys had hailed the first policeman they met inside the city limits, and had explained to him.
"This man is wanted as a United States prisoner, is he, sir?" inquired the policeman.
"Yes, if his name is Millard," replied Lieutenant Ridder.
"Oh, this is Millard, all right," confirmed Jack Benson.
"Then shall I leave the fellow with you, sir?" inquired the policeman.
"Yes, of course; and thank you."
"You'll give me a receipt for the fellow, as a United States prisoner?" hinted the policeman.
"As a United States suspect," corrected Lieutenant Ridder, going to a table on which were writing materials. The policeman was handed the desired document, then withdrew. Then Ridder went to a telephone, calling up Major Woodruff.
"The major will be here in about ten minutes," announced Ridder, hanging up the receiver. "In the meantime we will do no talking in the presence of this suspect."
It was just a little less than ten minutes later when Major Woodruff, accompanied by a corporal and two private soldiers, entered the room.
Millard was at once taken away, under guard.
Then the boys told their stories, quickly, comprehensively.
"I'll have to get a clear wire all the way through to Washington," declared Major Woodruff, promptly, going to the telephone. In a minute more he had arranged matters, and hurried to the table to write his despatch. Ere the major had finished writing a messenger boy was at the door.
"Boy, you'll find my automobile at the hotel entrance," stated Major Woodruff. "Give this card to my chauffeur, and he'll take you on the jump to the telegraph office. Then come back in the automobile, and wait for more work."
"Do you expect anyone in Washington to get that message now, after ten o'clock at night?" Jack asked, wonderingly.
"To-night?" repeated Major Woodruff. "Yes, sir! You haven't much idea, I take it, Mr. Benson, how fast government business travels. Within five minutes the first part of my message will be ticking out on a receiver in the War Department. The Army officer in charge will get the Secretary of War over the telephone. Why, my answer will very likely be here inside of twenty minutes!"
It was thirty minutes, exactly, when a messenger placed a telegram in Major Woodruff's hands. As soon as the messenger had gone outside, the major read this telegram.
"Keep prisoner Millard close confinement pending further orders. Have communicated Secretary of Navy. Latter official says sea chase shall be made to catch fellow Gray on 'Juanita.' If submarine boys will accept sea service, briefly, for Navy Department, have them come to-night's train and report Secretary Navy at nine to-morrow morning. Their expenses borne by government." (Signed) "Secretary of War."
"What does that mean, sir," cried Jack Benson, rising, "aboutifwe will accept sea service, and reporting in the morning to the Secretary of the Navy at Washington?"
"Why, I belong to the Army," replied Major Woodruff, hauling out his watch, "and this is a Navy matter. However, since one of you youngsters knows Gray by sight, and you're all of you familiar with this business, I imagine the Secretary of the Navy wants to put you out to sea on one of the country's gunboats, to aid in the chase. For any real information, however, you'll have to apply in person to the Secretary of the Navy himself. Are you going to Washington?"
"Are we going—" Jack started to repeat, with mild irony, when a knock at the door interrupted him. Major Woodruff opened the door, to receive another telegram.
"Washington wakes up quickly," he laughed. "Here you are, Mr. Benson—a despatch from our other fighting department at the Nation's capital."
Clearing his throat, Major Woodruff read:
"Send description of schooner 'Juanita,' and of suspect, Gray, as mentioned in your telegram Secretary War. Are submarine boys leaving to-night to report in morning? Secretary of Navy."
"Here you are, and you see you've got to make up your minds quickly," said the major. "The night train south for Washington leaves in a little more than an hour from now."
"Why, there's only one answer possible, sir," cried Captain Jack Benson, his eyes shining. "Of course we'll take to-night's train and report to the Secretary of the Navy in the morning. When it's for the Flag I don't even have to consult my comrades, or look their way. I know their answer as well as I know my own."
"Good enough, young man," applauded Major Woodruff, while Lieutenant Ridder gave Jack a hearty slap across the shoulders. "But, to go to the Navy Department, you'll want citizen's clothes—not your present uniforms, which are not official. I can send my auto to your boat, and you can be back here in forty minutes, if you dress quickly."
"Ready for the word, 'forward,' sir," responded Captain Jack, saluting.Hal and Eph also raised their hands to their foreheads.
It was a swift trip, with some hurried dressing on board the "Spitfire," but Major Woodruff landed them at the railway station ten minutes ahead of train time.
"Good fortune, gentlemen," wished Major Woodruff, pressing the hand of each when the train was ready. "Don't be scared when you find yourselves face to face with so big a man as the Secretary."
It is not to be wondered at if the minds of all were in a bit of a whirl as they made for their berths in a sleeping-car.
"After all," muttered Jack, to himself, as he undressed in his berth, "it's strange how some fellows get the cream of things. Here we get the trip to Washington, while Lieutenant Ridder will have only the fun of going out to the cliff above Cobtown to-morrow to have a look at what is left of Millard's mine."
Their train brought the submarine boys into Washington just before seven in the morning. There was time for a good breakfast. Then, being strangers at the national capital, the youngsters engaged a cab to take them to the imposing building that shelters the State, War and Navy Departments.
Jack Benson sent in his card. Five minutes later the three submarine boys were ushered into the presence of the Secretary of the Navy.
"So you're really the three famous submarine boys?" inquired SecretarySanders, rising from his chair and extending his hand.
"We're submarine boys; that's all I ever heard about it, Mr. Secretary," replied Captain Jack, as he introduced his friends.
"Now, be seated, young gentlemen, and tell me all you know about this matter that has brought you over to Washington."
Jack Benson acted as spokesman, telling the whole tale clearly, yet using up no more time in talk than was absolutely necessary. It was a good, concise, business statement.
"Now, of course," pursued Mr. Sanders, "you wonder what the Navy Department wants you to do. Well, in the first place, we've been asking, by wireless, through the night and early morning, to have all craft on the lookout for a schooner answering to the description of the 'Juanita'."
Secretary Sanders paused, but none of the three boys asked any questions.
"You will wonder, of course, what success we've had so far, and I may say that our success has been ample," resumed the Secretary of the Navy, with an amused smile. "In other words, we've been able to pick up news of three schooners, all of which answer to the general description of the 'Juanita'—but it happens that that isn't the name of any one of the three."
Jack Benson nodded, but did not speak.
"Of course," pursued the Secretary, "it may be that the skipper of the 'Juanita' has tried an old trick, through the night. He may have set a man to painting another name at the schooner's stern."
Again Skipper Jack nodded.
"The schooner that we think most likely to be the 'Juanita' is about fifty miles out at sea, now, according to a report received twenty minutes ago. Evidently she is headed for one of the British West Indies. Now, if the wind continues the same, and the suspected vessel keeps to her present course, she will, at five this afternoon, be off the Norfolk Navy Yard, and some sixty-two miles out at sea. Now, unless we are otherwise advised, we want a gunboat, the 'Sudbury,' now at Norfolk, to overhaul the suspected schooner and ascertain whether she is really the 'Juanita,' and whether the man, Gray, and his bundle of documents are still on board. The suspected vessel is to be searched, and Gray and the documents, if found, are to be seized, and the schooner then released. Do you understand?"
"Perfectly, sir." Jack answered quietly.
"One of you young men will know Gray at a glance. The other two are familiar with the whole case. Otherwise, it would not have been necessary to have called you into this matter. Yet, to overhaul a vessel, or to make an arrest or a seizure, you require authority. Such authority can be vested only in naval officers. Hence, for the present, it will be necessary to give all three of you appointments as officers in the United States Navy."
At this announcement Jack Benson lost, for the moment, some of his cool composure.
"Officers of the Navy, sir!" he gasped, but his eyes glowed at the mere thought.
"You will be officers only temporarily," returned the Secretary. "You are not of age, any of you, I take it."
"We are all just about the same age, sir—seventeen, nearly eighteen,"Jack replied.
"Just so. Now, none of you could legally bold officers' commissions, except by a special act of Congress. However, with the approval of the President, it is legal for me to give you special, temporary appointments under which you have the title, rank, pay and command of officers. These appointments I am going to give and, for a brief while, though you will not have commissions, you will nevertheless be as actually officers of the Navy as are any admirals on the list."
This astonishing statement almost took away the breath of the submarine boys.
"You are familiar with navigation, Benson, and are a capable enough sea-pilot along this coast. I learned that much, early this morning, through Mr. Farnum's answer to my telegram."
"Then Mr. Farnum knows what we are going to do?" asked Jack, quickly.
"He doesn't," replied Secretary Sanders, with a shake of his head. "Mr. Farnum knows, only, that you have a chance to be of some service to the Navy. He seemed to be much pleased by our inquiry."
The Secretary had just touched an electric button on his desk. Now a clerk entered the room.
"Telephone the secretary of the President," directed Mr. Sanders, "and ask him whether the President has examined and approved the special appointments that I sent over a while ago."
The clerk was quickly back, to say:
"The special appointments, Mr. Secretary, are duly approved, and are now on their way over from the White House."
Two minutes later, a messenger entered, handing a sealed envelope to the Secretary of the Navy.
Breaking the seal, Mr. Sanders drew forth three heavy, folded sheets of parchment.
"Here you are, Mr. Benson," resumed the Secretary, handing over one of the parchments. "This document confers upon you, for the time being, the rank, pay and command of a lieutenant, junior grade, in the United States Navy. You, Mr. Hastings, and you, Mr. Somers, will rank as ensigns under your special appointments."
Jack's head swam a bit as he thanked Mr. Sanders; then he started to glance over this marvelous document.
But the Secretary of the Navy now cut in, briskly:
"That is all, gentlemen. You know your instructions, in general, Lieutenant Benson. You will now go to my chief clerk, who will swear you into the service. He will also give you an order on a local tailor for the uniforms of your ranks. In one hour and twenty minutes your train starts south. On arrival at Norfolk you will report without an instant's delay at the Navy Yard. Aboard the 'Sudbury' you will receive all further instructions, wired from this Department. Good morning, gentlemen."
Then, indeed, things moved fast. At the desk of the chief clerk of the Navy Department the three budding naval officers stood with their right hands raised while the official at the other side of the desk administered to them the oath binding them to loyalty to the government and to obedience to all lawful orders of their superiors.
"And now, gentlemen," continued the chief clerk, "I will send for Ensign McGrath, who is on duty here, and present you to him. He will go with you to the tailor's, and will see that you are properly rushed to the train that you are to take. Remember, you are not to pay for your uniforms or equipment. The bill will be sent here."
Ensign McGrath looked sleepy, but proved to be a hustler. One of the Department's autos was out in the grounds, and into this McGrath bundled the three submarine boys. Five minutes later they were in the tailoring establishment, where a good many ready-made uniforms were kept for sale.
What a whirl it was. Yet, in twenty minutes, each submarine boy found himself in the duty uniform of a United States junior naval officer, each uniform adorned with the insignia of the wearer's rank. In the meantime, dress-suit cases had been procured from a store near by.
"All right and proper," nodded Ensign McGrath. "And—I'm not throwing bouquets, gentlemen, but you really look as though you had been born for the uniforms. Now, only one thing is missing—the swords."
"Are we to wear swords?" asked Jack, his face flushing with pleasure.
"Under certain conditions, on duty, naval officers wear swords. You will need them as parts of your equipments."
The dealer brought these side-arms at once. The naval sword is a handsome one, vastly more natty than the infantry side-arm of a junior officer.
What a thrill each submarine boy felt as he was shown how to adjust his sword to the belt!
"They're really nonsensical jewelry in these civilized days," declared Ensign McGrath, dryly. "But the regulations call for swords at some times. Now, gentlemen, you will need to get your uniforms off as quickly as you can, and the tailor's helpers will pack them in your suit cases. You travel in citizen's clothes, and don your uniforms as soon as you get aboard the gunboat."
Ten minutes later each proud submarine boy picked up his suit case and sword, the latter, in each instance, being inside of a chamois-skin carrying case.
In single file they made their way to the street.
"Now, for the last leg of the race in Washington," announced EnsignMcGrath, as they entered the automobile once more.
"I wonder if it will happen on the way, or at the station?" laughed Jack, as the government gas-wagon whirled them down Pennsylvania Avenue.
"Will what happen?" inquired McGrath.
"Why," laughed Benson again, "I know we've got to wake up out of this trance, but I can't figure when it's going to happen."
"I suppose all of you do feel excited," nodded Ensign McGrath, understandingly.
"Not excited," declared Jack. "I'm just simply unprepared to believe that any part of this has really happened."
At the railway station they were met by a messenger from the chief clerk's office, who handed each of the submarine boys a small parcel.
"Copy of the Regulations, sir" stated the messenger. "It is required that each officer of the Navy possess a copy."
"You'll want to scan the book good and hard most of the way down to Norfolk," advised Ensign McGrath. "You'll find much between the covers that you'll need to know right at the first jump-off. And now, for the tickets."
These McGrath bought, including parlor car seats. The ensign then saw them safely to their seats.
"Now, you've got enough to do, reading your new books," laughed the ensign, "So I'm not going to waste your time by staying here to talk to you. It's ten minutes, yet, to the time of your departure. Good-bye, gentlemen—and good luck!"
When McGrath had gone Jack leaned across the aisle to whisper:
"Eph, can you get at your sword handily—to draw it, I mean?"
"What's up?" said Eph, suspiciously.
"I want you to stick about a sixteenth of an inch of the point of your sword into me, so I can judge how long I've been dreaming."
"What's the matter with using your own sword?" demanded Eph, a trifle gruffly.
"That's just the trouble," smiled Benson, plaintively. "I'm afraid I'll wake up and find I haven't any."
Hal was leaning back in his parlor car chair, his eyes closed. He was dreaming delicious daydreams.
"Lieutenant Benson, sir?" inquired a coxswain, saluting.
"Yes," replied Jack, returning the salute.
"The gig is waiting to take you to the 'Sudbury' sir."
This information was punctuated by another salute which Jack, as head of the party of three young officers, again returned.
"Lead the way," directed Jack.
For the third time saluting, the coxswain possessed himself of Jack's suit case and sword, then crossed the wharf to the landing stairs down below, the gunboat's cutter waited, a natty little craft, occupied by a bowman and four oarsmen.
The three young officers seated themselves at the stern of the gig.
"Cast off," directed the coxswain. "Up oars! Let fall! Give way!"
With the long, steady, magnificent sweep of the Navy which the sailors pulled, the little gig seemed to race through the water.
"Is that the 'Sudbury'?" inquired Jack, nodding toward a trim little gunboat some two hundred feet long.
"Yes, sir."
All three of the submarine boys gazed at the gunboat with secret enthusiasm. Had it not been for the guns fore and aft, and at the rail on either side, the "Sudbury" might have been mistaken for some multi-millionaire's yacht.
In another moment the gig was making fast at the gangway. Then JackBenson stepped out, and, heading his comrades, went up over the side.
At the head of the gangway a corporal and four marines stood drawn up. At a low-voiced command from the corporal the marines presented arms, standing thus until the three new young officers, saluting, passed.
Just beyond the marines, stood an officer of the Navy. He brought his hand to his cap in a smart salute.
"Lieutenant Benson?" inquired this officer.
"Yes."
"I am Ensign Fullerton, executive officer of this vessel."
They shook hands and Jack presented his comrades.
"I think I had better show you to your cabin, sir," suggested EnsignFullerton.
"As you please," nodded Jack.
The way was actually led, however, by three of the marines, who, at a word from the corporal, had possessed themselves of the limited baggage of the new arrivals.
In Jack's cabin was a broad double berth, two deep wardrobe closets, a book-case, desk and several chairs.
"I had no idea junior officers had such roomy quarters," murmured Jack.
"They don't, usually, sir," smiled Fullerton. "But it's different, of course, in the case of the commanding officer."
"But I'm not the commanding officer," gasped Jack.
"For the purposes of this cruise you are," smiled Fullerton. "But I forget. You haven't received your orders. There they are on your desk. They arrived less than an hour ago by wire."
Like one in a dream young Jack Benson picked up a bulky telegraph envelope and broke the seal. There, before his eyes, danced the words of the latest order from the Secretary of the Navy.
Lieutenant Jack Benson was directed to take command of the UnitedStates gunboat, 'Sudbury,' until further orders. Ensigns Hastings andSomers were directed to assume such duties aboard as were assigned tothem by Lieutenant Benson.
"I didn't expect this," stammered Jack. "I—I—we thought our temporary rank in the Navy was given us merely that we might have legal standing in making one arrest that is wanted."
"No one ever does know just what is wanted of him, until the order comes," laughed Ensign Fullerton. "At least, that has been the case since Mr. Sanders became Secretary of the Navy. He keeps all officers on the jump. But I guess that is what a good many of them need, sir."
As the Ensign appeared to be at least twenty-five years old that respectful "sir" struck young Benson's ear queerly.
"Pardon me, gentlemen, but be seated," suggested Lieutenant Jack, suddenly, as he realized that his chums and this one sure-enough naval officer were all standing.
"You have been aboard naval vessels before, sir, haven't you?" askedEnsign Fullerton.
"Oh, yes; but never in the present way," smiled Benson.
"Then, no doubt, you understand, sir, that the 'Sudbury' is under steam, only awaiting your order to put to sea."
"The last part of these orders," replied Jack, picking up the telegram, "advises me that sailing orders will be wired soon."
"Then may I make a suggestion, sir?"
"Of course," nodded young Benson.
"At your direction I will have Mr. Hastings and Mr. Somers shown to their cabins. Then I will send for the one other young man left of the gunboat's old equipment of officers, and present him to you. After that I would suggest, sir, that I have the crew piped to quarters for brief inspection by the new commanding officer."
Hal and Eph were quickly made acquainted with their own cabins, which were on the port side of the gun-deck, Jack's being on the starboard.
Ensign Fullerton brought in a slim, very erect young man in a midshipman's uniform—Mr. Drake, just out of the Naval Academy.
"Our engineers are all warrant machinists or petty officers; no commissioned officers among them," stated Fullerton. "Our highest marine officer is Sergeant Oswald. Besides the sergeant we have eighteen other enlisted men among the marines. Here is the ship's complete roster," continued the Ensign, taking a document out of a pigeon-hole over the young commander's desk. "And now, sir, shall I pass the order for piping the crew to quarters?"
"If you will be so good," Jack nodded, rising.
At this moment Hal and Eph appeared at the doorway.
"Pardon me, gentlemen, for suggesting that you had better put your swords on," suggested Fullerton, "Inspection of crew at quarters is about to come off."
Hal and Eph vanished, but soon reappeared, wearing their new swords and trying hard not to look conscious of the fact. Jack was engaged in adjusting his own side-arm to his belt.
"I neglected to state, sir," continued Ensign Fullerton, "that we have no medical officer at present. A hospital steward down in sick bay is our nearest approach, at present, to a medical officer."
"Forewarned is forearmed," laughed Jack. "We'll try not to be ill."
It was time, now, to proceed to the quarterdeck; for, forward, the shrill sound of the boatswain's whistle seemed to fill the air.
Though all the crew, including the marines, had been summoned and formed at the mast, the inspection was but a matter of a moment. Its purpose was more to give the crew a glimpse of their new officers.
Just as the inspection was ending, a marine of the guard approached, announcing in a low tone:
"Telegram for the commanding officer, sir."
Ensign Fullerton received it, returning the marine's salute, and passed the envelope to Jack Benson, who opened it.
"Our sailing orders, Mr. Fullerton," announced Jack, as soon as the former had dismissed the formation at the mast. "This telegram gives, as you see, the latest reported position of the schooner believed to be the 'Juanita,' and her course. You will get under way at once, Mr. Fullerton. Then you and I will work out the course."
"This is the starboard watch, sir," continued the executive officer."Which officer is to command it?"
"Mr. Hastings. Mr. Somers will take the port watch."
"Very good, sir. And I would suggest, sir, that Mr. Drake is an excellent pilot between here and the sea."
"Then direct Mr. Drake to take the bridge with the watch officer."
"Very good, sir."
"And, as soon as we are under way, Mr. Fullerton, come to my cabin and we will figure out our course more in detail."
"Very good, sir."
It was Ensign Fullerton, who, acting as executive officer, transmitted the needed orders to Hal, Eph and Midshipman Drake.
The three young officers now removed their swords, sending them by a marine orderly to their respective cabins. Hal took command from the bridge, subject to Fullerton's directions, while Jack, as commanding officer, also took his station there briefly. Eph, being free to do as he pleased for the time, went to his cabin to try to figure out whether he were dreaming.
Quickly the "Sudbury" left her anchorage, proceeding downstream. As soon as the start had been fairly made Ensign Fullerton reported at the cabin of the young commanding officer. They worked out on the chart the probable positions that the suspected schooner would take that afternoon.
"We should sight her at about five o'clock, sir, if she doesn't change her course, and if the wind holds the same," said Ensign Fullerton.
"If we get the right craft, first off, it will be a short cruise, won't it?" smiled Jack, rather wistfully.
"I—I—" began Ensign Fullerton, slowly, then paused.
"Well?" smiled Jack Benson.
"On second thought, I believe I had better not say what I started to say," replied the ensign.
"Oh, go ahead, Fullerton," urged Jack. "It isn't easy to wound my sensibilities."
"I was going to say, sir," replied the Ensign, flushing a bit, "that I quite understand how you feel about a short cruise. The sensation of holding a command in the United States Navy is one that you would not care to give up too soon."
"I was thinking of something of the sort," Benson admitted. "But—see here! On one point my orders don't quite enlighten me. If the suspected schooner proves not to be the right are we to come back to report the fact?"
"If you were so to order," replied Fullerton. "Yet you do not need to.This vessel is equipped with wireless, and you are in instantcommunication, at every moment of the day and night, with the NavyDepartment at Washington."
"I'm glad of that," admitted Lieutenant Benson, frankly. "It will lessen the danger of my making a fool of myself during my first and last naval command."
"Not your last command, I hope," remarked the ensign.
"The only way I could get a permanent command," retorted Jack, "would be to get appointed to Annapolis, if I could, and then work through the long, long years for command rank."
"There are other ways," replied Ensign Fullerton, quietly. "And especially, if a war should break out. Young men trained as finely as you and your comrades, and showing as great talent, sir, would have no difficulty in reaching important rank in a war of the future, when so much must be risked on the submarine craft of which you young men are masters."
"We have run a few submarine boats, I suppose," nodded Benson. "But none of us has ever had the Annapolis training."
"Not all of the best American sea-fighters have come out of Annapolis, sir," replied Fullerton, soberly. "If a boy gets through Annapolis there's nothing wonderful in his making a fairly good officer. But my cap, sir, is off to boys who can come through the ordinary machine shop and qualify themselves to command submarine boats or anything else afloat!"
Then, dropping back to his ordinary manner, Fullerton saluted, next left the cabin to carry to the watch officer the orders for the course.
Lieutenant Jack Benson, briefly of the U.S. Navy, strolled out to the after deck for a short promenade. Here he was joined by Eph Somers, who, in his naval uniform, did not forget to salute before accosting the commanding officer of the U.S.S. "Sudbury."
"I'm really beginning to feel that I'm not dreaming," confided Eph, almost in a whisper. "Whee! but it's fine to be out on a craft so big that you don't get a cramp in your leg from walking! Say, do you know, Jack," he whispered, "I am almost crazy to see one of this ship's big guns fired!"
"You may have your wish," laughed Jack. "Who knows?"
Who knew, indeed?
How was it possible, for that matter, for any of these three young officers to guess what lay ahead of them?