Torry brought the car to an abrupt stop before the brick office building of the munition works. The place had been a mill before the war. The long, many-windowed buildings behind the offices covered a good deal of ground. There was a high stockade fence about the whole plant. An armed guard stood at the main door when Whistler ran up the steps. The other boys chose to wait in the car for him.

"I want to see Mr. Santley," Whistler said to the guard in khaki.

"The manager? I don't know whether he is here at this hour or not."

"I see lights in the offices yonder. And I have made an appointment with him."

At that moment the bolts of the big door were shoved back and a man looked out. Whistler Morgan did not know the manager of the munition works by sight; but the guard at once said:

"Here's a boy to see you, Mr. Santley."

"What is your name, young man?" asked the manager, eying the boy with interest.

Whistler told him.

"Dr. Morgan's son, from Seacove? Come in," and Whistler was ushered inside and the heavy door was again barricaded.

"We have to keep locked up here like a fortress at night," said Mr. Santley. "Come in and let me hear what you have to say, young man. What do you know about Mr. Blake?"

"Did you know he had been out at sea on an oil tender to-day?" blurted out Whistler. "She was chased by a submarine chaser, but the tender escaped in the fog. Afterward she came into Rivermouth Harbor without her cargo."

"What's this? What's this?" demanded Mr. Santley. "Why, that has nothing to do with the factory."

They were in his private office. He stood with his hand upon Whistler's shoulder and asked the boy sternly:

"What have you to tell me about Mr. Blake, anyway? I don't want to hear a lot of inconsequential gossip. I am worried about the man."

"Yes, sir. So am I," declared Whistler very earnestly. "I've been worried about him ever since the other day when we fellows were over here trying to get some of the boys to enlist in the Navy."

"Ah, were you one of that crowd?" asked Mr. Santley.

"Yes, sir; and coming over here we saw that man Blake——"

He went on to tell the manager of the munition factory about how his suspicions were aroused and about the water wheel he had found at the foot of the dam, ending with a detailed account of the affair of the oil tender.

Mr. Santley's face expressed nothing but lively curiosity.

"And to-day you saw him on a boat that you think is a feeder for German submarines?" muttered the manager. "It is whispered that they are off this coast."

"We overheard this Blake and a man who I'm sure is captain of that oil boat talking in a restaurant to-night. They mentioned two-fifty which I believe is the number of the submarine off this coast. They spoke as though more were expected. The Germans are going to make a big drive on our shipping over here."

"You may be right, boy," agreed Mr. Santley. "That man Blake—well, he doesn't seem to be in Elmvale now."

"He came back on this evening's train," declared Whistler.

"Are you sure? I have been waiting for him to show up here," cried Mr. Santley. "To tell the truth, young man, I have discovered some things here that I want him to explain. For one thing, I have picked up a letter in his locker which is addressed to him, it is evident, but not by the name of Blake. It is written in German and I want it explained."

"Oh, Mr. Santley!" cried Whistler, "I believe there is something wrong. He told that Captain Braun, of the Sarah Coville, that his work was finished here. He was only returning for a particular thing to Elmvale."

"But he hasn't come here!" exclaimed Mr. Santley. "And he has some private property in the office."

"Maybe he isn't coming here," breathed the boy. "Maybe he is only going up to the dam!"

"To the dam?"

"That water-wheel business! It perplexes me," explained Whistler Morgan.

"We'll go up there and take a look!" exclaimed Mr. Santley, grabbing his hat and banging down the roll top of his desk and locking it. "You've got me all stirred up now, boy."

They hurried out of the office. Mr. Santley spoke in a low voice to the armed guard on the front steps.

"If Blake comes here, hold him till I return," he said. "Do you understand? Hold him—even if you have to knock him down and sit on him."

"All right, sir," said the man, nodding grimly.

Mr. Santley started down the steps after the excited Whistler, who was already getting into the automobile, the engine of which was still running. At that instant the night was as peaceful as could be. The valley below the high dam lay quietly under the light of the stars, and a pale moon was just rising above the treetops.

Then, with a shock which electrified the atmosphere and seemed to make heaven and earth tremble, a burst of flame rose at the foot of the dam, not more than half a mile away!

The glare of it blinded them; the reverberating explosion that followed almost immediately well nigh stunned them. It was Ikey, standing in the tonneau of the car, and pointing a trembling arm toward the dimly distinguished wall of masonry, whose voice was first heard:

"Look! Look! The dam's broke!"

A balloon-shaped cloud of smoke had risen above the wall of masonry. Beneath it the dam crumbled, dissolved, and poured away into the bed of the river like the changing picture in a kaleidoscope.



CHAPTER X

AHEAD OF THE FLOOD

Each one in the little group at the main entrance to the munition factory had cried out—no doubt of that! Indeed, Torry said afterward that he forgot to shut his mouth until his jaws were positively stiff.

Their fright did not deprive them of action, however; everybody immediately did something.

Inside the door, in the hall, hung the bell rope. The bell swung in the cupola on the roof of the office building. The guard dropped his rifle and sprang to seize this rope. He slipped his foot in the loop and began to toll the bell as hard as he could.

"I'll get Central and tell them what's up!" gasped Mr. Santley, and turned to run back into his office to spread the news of the catastrophe by telephone.

Whistler plunged into the car, yelling to Torry:

"Turn around! Turn around! Down the valley road to warn 'em! Get a move on, boy!"

His chum was already starting the car. It wheeled perilously in a sharp curve, and with honking horn hurtled down the road which followed the course of the river.

Without doubt the wall of the dam had been burst through by the explosion. The immense mass of waiter held in leash would immediately pour through the opening. The valley would be flooded!

As the car plunged across the main street of Elmvale people were running out of their houses and out of the stores, shrieking that the dam had burst. They began to stream away toward the higher ground, stopping for none of their possessions. If they saved their lives they would be fortunate.

Torry speeded up the car until she vibrated like a motor boat—like the submarine chaser, No. 888! They whirled along the half-lit road, the horn sounding its raucous warning, and the boys shrieking themselves hoarse.

People came to their doors and windows The flying Navy boys pointed behind them, repeating:

"The flood! The flood!"

The roar of the bursting dam was now in the ears of all the awakened people of the valley. In three great explosions the weakened wall burst, and the water roared through.

Spouting through the wrecked masonry, the boys could see it spread below the barrier, half as high as the dam itself. It would sweep the narrow valley clean of every small structure and of every living thing that could not get out of its path.

Half a mile was small leeway; the flood would pour down upon the village and the mills in two or three minutes. But the Navy boys in the big car were flying over the road at a forty-mile-an-hour pace.

They could have easily escaped to the high ground on one side or the other of the valley. There were many small farms down this river road, however, and although the valley widened a good deal before the outskirts of Seacove were reached, the flood might do a deal of damage in the lower town unless the people there were warned.

At least, the automobile and its occupants made noise enough as they flew along to arouse most people along the way to the menacing peril. The explosion followed by the bursting of the dam had, in any case, shaken the valley to the very sea itself.

They saw men, women and children run screaming from their houses and mount through the fields toward the hilltops. Behind, the roar of the waters was like a high wind. In a moment all the lights in Elmvale went out.

"The powerhouse has gone!" shrieked Frenchy, when he saw this.

"And everything else, I guess!" quavered Ikey, clinging to the back of the automobile seat and hoarse from shouting.

Dim as the light from the stars and the moon was, they could see the front of the wave of released water. When it struck the big mill buildings at Elmvale the foamy water sprang up in geysers.

Several of the big buildings went down under the impact of the flood. The smaller hovels were swept off their foundations. Those people who had not escaped from the middle of the village must be overcome by the sweep of the flood.

Below the Main Street bridge in Elmvale, the channel of the river was much wider than above the bridge. It was navigable for small vessels, too, from Seacove to that point.

Schooners and barges moored to the docks below the bridge were cast up on the crest of the flood, their hawsers snapped like packthread, and they were whirled away, some to be cast later far back from the established bank of the stream.

It was tidewater below the bridge, and fortunately it was low tide. The channel of the river, therefore, could take the greater bulk of the flood, and the valley widening so quickly, the depth of the outflow of the dam was much decreased directly below the wrecked hamlet.

The rushing automobile was two-thirds of the way to Seacove in five minutes. Then the advance wave of the flood caught them.

They saw the saplings along the bank of the stream bend and snap under the force of the water. Some were uprooted. Chicken houses and other small structures were snatched from their places and flung wildly along with the charging water.

With a roar and a cloud of spray the water surged around the automobile on the road. Running, as the car was, at top speed, the flood picked it up and drove it forward even more swiftly for several rods.

"Shut her off! Shut her off!" yelled Frenchy excitedly.

But Torry was wiser than that. The water flattened out, and the whirling wheels bit into the road again. They did not skid, and the car remained upright. For the next half mile they ran through more than a foot of water; but it was plain the danger was over.

Near the river bank the water flooded the first floors of the houses in the suburbs of Seacove; but there was little other damage done at this distance from the dam.

As the water subsided from about them, however, Torry turned the machine around and headed up the road again.

"Yes, we'll go back," Whistler agreed. "Drive slowly, Torry. Maybe we can help somebody. I'm afraid there were some people who did not get away in time."

They found enough to do, it was true, all that night. After getting back to the outskirts of Elmvale they could not drive the machine over the slime and mud in the roadway. There were deep washouts, too; and in some places the wreck of light buildings barred the way.

The Navy boys had done good service in warning the endangered people along one side of the river. Mr. Santley had done much more in sending the news of the broken dam broadcast by telephone. The girl at Central had stuck to her post while the water rose to the second floor of the telephone building, where the switchboard was situated.

Whistler and his three chums were carrying children to the high ground where it was dry, and packing bedding and blankets up to the "shipwrecked mess-mates," as Frenchy called them, until dawn.

When the sun crept up and showed the wreckage in the valley, and particularly about Elmvale, it was enough to make one heartsick. The lower floors of all mills, and of the munition factory, were wrecked. Some of the buildings had fallen down.

Much machinery was destroyed. It would take months to repair the damage done to property by the flood. And there was a death list of twelve. That was the hardest to bear and the saddest result of the catastrophe.

Until the ruins around Elmvale were searched and the last body brought to light, little was said about the cause of the disaster. But the following evening Whistler and his chums were called to the office of the sheriff of the county to tell what they knew about the stranger, Blake, who had disappeared just before the dam burst.

He had been seen getting off the train at Elmvale that evening. But he had disappeared immediately after. He had not returned to the munition factory, where the manager, Mr. Santley, was waiting for him; nor had he been observed at all after leaving the railroad station.

Later it was proved that he had obtained his position at the factory by the aid of forged credentials. It was believed that he was rather a famous German inventor who had been living in the United States for some years. He had an almost uncanny knowledge of mechanics, as well as of chemistry.

The ingenious little water wheel Whistler had seen at the foot of the dam had probably furnished power for some machine that had been fixed on the face of the dam with a charge of dynamite. This invention had been rigged to explode the dynamite after a certain length of time—time enough, without doubt, to enable the inventor to get well away from the vicinity of the dam.

"If Linder is his name," Whistler said, when the boys were afterward talking it over among themselves, "I hope I'll see him again some time. He was never blown up with the dam, that is sure."

"You don't think he was 'hoist with his own petard, then?" suggested Torry.

"Hear the high-brow!" sniffed Frenchy.

"Oi, oi!" cried Ikey. "He means was he blown up, too? I bet not!"

"I ought to have told somebody about him before," sighed Whistler. "I had a feeling he wasn't using his real name."

"Say! why should you worry? That Mr. Santley didn't think anything wrong of him until he found the letter in German in Blake's locker. And we did set Mr. MacMasters and the S. P. Eight-eighty-eight after him and the oil boat, didn't we?"

"By the way," Whistler suddenly observed, drawing an official looking letter from his pocket. "Did I tell you I got this?"

"No," said Torry. "What is it?"

"Hurray!" yelled Frenchy, the quick-witted. "It's our assignment to the Kennebunk, I bet you!"

"Is that right, Whistler?" asked Torry.

"That's what it is," admitted Morgan. "We're to report, however, to Mr. MacMasters at Rivermouth day after to-morrow. But our ultimate destination is the Kennebunk, superdreadnaught, just built and fitted out for her first cruise. You know, she was only christened a month ago."

Even the Elmvale disaster and the mystery regarding the German spy, Franz Linder, were at once ousted from the minds of the Navy boys. Their first cruise in a superdreadnaught was of much greater importance.



CHAPTER XI

UNEXPECTED PERIL

The four apprentice seamen went down to Rivermouth in great spirits. The home folks were not actually glad to see them go, but they were a little relieved; for the chums had managed to keep things very lively about Seacove during their shore leave.

The terrible disaster at Elmvale, however, had sobered the four friends a good bit at the last. Seven Knott had gone away before it happened, so he had had no part in their later adventures. They were not even sure that he had gone to join the crew of the Kennebunk, the new superdreadnaught to which they were assigned for a brief cruise.

They had heard nothing from Ensign MacMasters, so the Navy boys did not know when or how they were to meet him; but they went to Rivermouth on the early train and had plenty of time to look about the port and see all of the shipping in the harbor.

One craft they did not see. The oil tender, Sarah Coville, was not here, and, on making some inquiries of the dock loungers, the boys learned that she had not been seen at Rivermouth since the night they had come in off the submarine chaser in the fog.

Rivermouth was fast becoming a base for patrol boats and submarines, it seemed, although New London and Groton, across the harbor from New London, were really the headquarters for all such craft along the North Atlantic seaboard.

"Maybe we can spy the Three Eights," Torry said, referring to the submarine chaser in which they had pursued the Sarah Coville a few days before. "Mr. MacMasters must have been relieved of the command of her before this, don't you think?"

"Don't know," Whistler rejoined, breaking off in his whistling briefly.

"But where is he?" queried the anxious Frenchy.

"Don't worry," Whistler said. "He'll be here."

"Oi, oi! If he don't come," said Ikey, "we're marooned, eh?"

"That'll be fierce!" growled Frenchy Donahue. "I've got just fifty-five cents left, and one of the nickels is punched. I can see my finish if he doesn't show up to-day."

The chums soon discovered that they were not the only boys from the Navy in town. By ones and twos other bluejackets made their appearance on the water-front. But there was not even a petty officer assigned to the port to meet them.

The four friends from Seacove learned that every enlisted man and apprentice they talked with was assigned to the Kennebunk, and immediately all fraternized.

At noon time the bluejackets marched up town in a body to Yancey's and flocked into that eating place like a swarm of hungry locusts. Abe, the waiter, was just about swamped, and Ikey and Frenchy volunteered to help him serve the vociferous crew. Yancey's other customers were very much out of it for the time being.

They were a noisy crowd, but perfectly good-natured; and with the freehandedness characteristic of the sailor ashore, bought the best Yancey could provide. The restaurant proprietor had no complaint to make.

In the midst of the jollification a hush began to spread over the room. It began at the tables near the main entrance of the restaurant; then the men began to get briskly to their feet. With automatic precision they came to attention, saluting the officer who had entered with that jerky little downward gesture of the forearm typical of the bluejacket.

Ikey, starting from the order window with a tray load of food, nearly dropped the whole thing on the floor in trying to salute.

"Ensign MacMasters!" hissed Torry for the benefit of the boys near, who did not know the officer.

And over Ensign MacMasters' shoulder glowed the moon-like face of Seven Knott.

"Keep your seats, men," said the ensign quietly, returning the salute in general. "You have half an hour to finish before we march to the dock. I take it you are all assigned to my present command?"

He nodded to Seven Knott. Then he took a chair at an empty table and ordered coffee, while the boatswain's mate went around among the other tables making a list of the men's names and their former billets.

Under the eyes of a commissioned officer the boys behaved with much more decorum; but it was still a jolly party that finally lined up on the sidewalk outside Yancey's, prepared to march to the dock.

Ensign MacMasters sought out Whistler Morgan to speak to personally:

"I shall expect you to keep the younger boys straight, Morgan. We're going to be in crowded quarters aboard the patrol boat. Mr. Junior Lieutenant Perkins has come back to his command and we are only guests aboard," and Ensign MacMasters laughed.

"We are about to have a taste of rough weather outside, too, I fancy. But our instructions are to make the port where the Kennebunk lies before the morning tide."

"Has the submarine patrol boat, Eight-hundred-eighty-eight, come into the harbor, sir?"

"I have just been relieved of her command. I am assigned to take you chaps on her to the battleship. I understand that we shall have a three months' cruise in the Kennebunk before we are returned to the Colodia," said the ensign.

Whistler's eyes sparkled. "Then some of us will have a chance of handling the big guns, sir?"

"That is the object, I believe. That, and the fact that the full complement of the battleship's crew cannot be at once made up. There will be changes made in the crew of the Colodia when she returns from her European cruise. If you youngsters do well on the Kennebunk some of you may soon be gunners' mates. The present cruise of the Kennebunk is mainly for practice work."

"Oh, sir! won't we see any active service in her?" cried Whistler.

Mr. MacMasters looked very mysterious. "You must not ask too many questions. I am telling you, Morgan, what is generally known about the orders under which the superdreadnaught sails. But we may see plenty of real work At least, we need not suppose that the Kennebunk will run away from any enemy submarine that may appear along this coast."

"Do you believe there are German subs over here again, sir?"

"It is my private opinion that at least one is here and more are coming," declared Ensign MacMasters. "And there is a supply boat for them lying somewhere off our coast, too. We ran down that Sarah Coville yesterday, by the way, with another cargo of oil aboard. Her captain and crew will surely be interned."

Mr. MacMasters had no more time to talk with Phil Morgan then. The men being ready, the march to the dock was made, Seven Knott bringing up the rear to see that there were no loiterers.

"See that narrow streak!" ejaculated one fellow, when they came to the dock where the chaser was moored. "Oh, boy! got your sea legs with you?"

The slate-colored S. P. 888 looked to be no friend to a landsman, especially with the sea as it was just then. Beyond the craft the harbor was tossing in innumerable whitecaps, while through the breach between the capes the Atlantic itself could be seen to be in ugly mood.

They got aboard; and as soon as the moorings were cast off the newcomers were welcomed in friendly fashion, by the regular crew of the chaser, to most of whom Whistler Morgan and his three friends were already known.

"Hey, garby! where d'you sleep on this hooker?" demanded one of the strangers, hoarsely and behind the sharp of his hand, of a member of the chaser's crew. "Or do you go ashore at nights?"

"If we can't get ashore for the watch below," was the perfectly serious reply, "every man gets a hook to hang on."

"You mean to hang his hammock on?"

"No such luck! There isn't room for hammocks on one of these chasers. Why, even the officer commanding has to sleep on a hammock slung out over the stern in pleasant weather."

"Good-night!" gasped Al Torrance. "Where does he sleep when it isn't pleasant?"

"He doesn't sleep at all—or anybody else, as you'll probably find out to-night, garby," was the reply.

There was bound to be a deal of joking of this nature; but it was all good-natured. The crew of the chaser were of course just as proud of their craft as the crew of the battleship is of their sea-home. They ignored the inconveniences of the S. P. 888 and dilated upon her speed and what they hoped to do in her. She was even better than a destroyer for getting right on top of a submarine and sinking that rat of the sea with depth bombs.

The latter—metal cylinders weighing more than a hundred pounds each—were lashed in their stations at the bow and at the stern of the chaser. They were rigged to be dropped overboard a little differently from the method pursued upon the destroyers.

As the chaser shot across the harbor the strangers aboard remarked in wonder at the way in which she picked up speed. Within a couple of cable lengths from the shore she was going like a streak of light.

It was evident that the S. P. 888 was fully prepared for rough weather. Not only the depth bombs, but everything else on her decks were lashed. Passing between the capes, she plunged into a regular smother of rough water, and at once the decks were drenched from stem to stern.

"What do you know about this?" demanded Al Torrance of Morgan. "A fellow wants to hang on to a handline like grim death to be sure to keep inboard. Hope they won't pipe us to quarters while this keeps up."

There seemed to be, however, no prospect of the sea's abating; and the commander of the chaser had a considerable distance to go before morning, so he urged the engineer to increase rather than diminish the speed.

With no regard to the comfort of her crew, the craft plowed along on her way to the port where the Kennebunk awaited them. Naval vessels cannot wait on weather signals. "Orders are orders."

The forward deck was comparatively dry; but the after part of the vessel was in a continual smother of spume and broken water. Now and then a wave would charge and break over her, drowning everything and everybody aft of the engines.

These waves seemed racing to overtake and smother the chaser. The tons of water discharged upon her decks would have sunk a less buoyant craft. All she did was to squatter under the weight of the water like a duck, her propellers never missing a stroke!

Whistler Morgan and his chums did not remain below through this run. No, indeed! The hardiest stomach would feel squeamish at such times in quarters like those of the crew of the S. P. 888.

At least the Navy boys got fresh air on deck if they were battered around a bit. They were supplied with slickers, and they had been wet many a time before.

Frenchy Donahue raised his shrill voice in the old dirge: "Aren't you glad you're a Navy man? Oh, mother!" and had not intoned the first lachrymose verse through to the end before Ikey Rosenmeyer interrupted with a shout:

"Look there! She's broke loose! Hey, fellers! don't you see it?"

They were hanging to a lubber line near the quarterdeck, which on the chaser was a part of the after deck having imaginary boundaries only, established by order of the chaser's commander.

The depth bomb lashed there was the object to which Ikey called his mates' attention. A line had snapped, and the heavy cylinder rolled slowly across the deck.

Suddenly the vessel heaved to starboard, and with a quick snap the bomb rolled in the other direction, crashing against the port rail in a way which made Whistler Morgan cry out in warning:

"Have a care, fellows! If the safety pin isn't firmly inserted in that bomb, and drops out, she may blow off."

"Great glory!" muttered Torry, "where will we be then?"

"It's pretty sure if she explodes we'll never join the Kennebunk's crew," was his chum's grim answer.



CHAPTER XII

COURAGE

The four friends from Seacove were not the only members of the ship's company that saw the depth bomb break loose from its fastenings. The second in command of the submarine chaser, Ensign Filson, and two seamen on lookout were on duty aft.

"Stop that thing!" shouted the ensign.

He was young and inexperienced, and he did not start for the rolling cylinder himself. Had it been Ensign MacMasters, Phil Morgan and his friends knew that he would have jumped for the bomb as he shouted the order.

The two lookouts were not supposed to leave their positions at such a call; but it was a direct command. They turned from their posts at the rail where they were scanning the sea on either hand just as the depth bomb made its second plunge across the deck.

It crashed into the port rail and then, as the chaser jerked her tail in the heavy cross seas like a saucy catbird, the dangerous cylinder dashed to starboard again.

"Stop it!" cried Mr. Filson for the second time; and just then the safety pin dropped out!

The first lookout had almost clutched the plunging cylinder as it passed him on its backward roll.

"Ware the bomb!" shouted his mate, and both of them leaped away from the vicinity of the peril.

Nor were they to be blamed. With the pin out it was to be expected that the big bomb would immediately explode. It banged against the rail, then charged across the deck again. Every time it collided with an obstacle the spectators expected it to blow up and burst the after part of the ship asunder.

To the credit of Ensign Filson be it said that he did not fall back from his post on the quarter. Nor did he directly order, now that he thought of it, any particular man to try to hold the plunging bomb. It was work for a volunteer—a man who was willing to take his life in his hands.

There is a quality of courage that is higher than that which takes men into battle along with their fellows. The companionship of others in the charge breeds courage in many weak souls.

But to start alone on a dangerous mission, the lone man in an almost hopeless cause, calls for a steadiness of courage that few can rise to.

The four young fellows clinging together behind Mr. Filson were shot with fear, as they might very well be. At any second the bomb was likely to explode, and they were so near that they could not possibly escape the full force of the blast.

Even if the chaser herself escaped complete destruction, they could not dodge the effect of the explosion; but like the ensign they would not retreat.

These bombs are timed to explode at about an eighty-foot depth. A very few seconds would bring about the catastrophe. Every man on the deck of the S. P. 888 felt that.

Suddenly, along the deck charged a sturdy figure—a human battering ram. The other men were knocked aside. One of the lookouts was toppled over by the newcomer, falling flat upon his back and was shot by the next plunge of the craft into the scuppers amidships.

"Hi! Hi! Seven Knott!" yelled Al Torrance.

"Good old Colodia! Go to it!" joined in the excited Frenchy.

Philip Morgan was already crouching for a leap. Seven Knott passed him and threw himself upon the unleashed peril that rolled about the deck.

He grasped the cylinder as he fell, but it was snatched out of his arms by the next plunge of the vessel. Seven Knott got to his knees and sought to seize the bomb again when it charged back across the deck.

The thing seemed actually to evade him; and swinging at an unexpected angle as Seven Knott threw himself desperately forward, the heavy cylinder banged the boatswain's mate on the head.

The man was knocked down by the blow. He suddenly straightened out and then relaxed, at full length, upon the sliding deck. Like an inanimate lump his body followed the runaway bomb, but more slowly, to the lower rail.

Again the deck heaved upon that side, and the cylinder roared across it. It missed the unconscious petty officer. At that instant Whistler Morgan made his leap.

He had taken time to study the angle at which the bomb was rolling; he fell upon and grappled it as though it were a football.

"Oh! Oh! Colodia!" yelled his three mates in wild excitement. "Hurray!"

"Well done, Colodia!" echoed a voice behind them, and Ensign MacMasters appeared from the after hatchway, with the commanding officer of the S. P. 888 in his wake.

Some of the chaser's crew were now approaching the scene from forward. Ensign Filson leaped for the safety pin that had been jerked out of the depth bomb just as Phil Morgan, on his knees, set the bomb up on its flat end.

"Good boy, Whistler!" shrieked Torry.

Ensign Filson reached the spot and slipped the plug into place. Between them they held the bomb upright on its flat end until the seamen could pass a line around it.

The dangerous thing had yet to be held right there until Lieutenant Perkins ordered the submarine chaser headed up into the sea. Then the bomb could be removed to a place of safety.

The whole affair had occupied seconds, that is all. But all felt as though an hour had passed!

"Good boy, Morgan!" declared Ensign MacMasters, his face shining with approval. "Is the mate hurt badly?"

The petty officer was still unconscious. They picked him up to carry him below. Then the whole crowd began to cheer, and the officers did not forbid it. Even Lieutenant Perkins wrung Phil Morgan's hand as he stood abashed in the center of the congratulatory group on the quarter deck.

"I'd be proud to have you as one of my own crew, Morgan," said the commander of the submarine chaser. "Ensign MacMasters is to be congratulated that he takes aboard the Kennebunk such an altogether admirable young man. You will hear from this, Master Morgan. You deserve the Medal of Honor and whatever other honor and special emolument it is in the power of the Secretary of the Navy to award."

He turned to MacMasters: "And your boatswain's mate deserves mention, too. That he did not succeed in doing what this young man accomplished, was not for lack of courage to attempt it. They are both men that the Navy may be proud of. With a will, men!" and he led in another cheer.

"Oi, oi, Whistler!" whispered Ikey when the greatly abashed Morgan went forward, "you'll be an admiral next. If you beat me to it, what will my papa and mama say?"



CHAPTER XIII

THE KENNEBUNK SAILS

Put back upon her course, the S. P. 888 was soon beating her way through the cross-seas—"bucking the briny" the boys called it—toward the port from which the Kennebunk was to sail in the morning.

It was a wild night. The peril through which the ship's company had just passed, and from which Philip Morgan had been able to save them, made the threatening aspects of sea and air seem small indeed. Let the wind shriek through the wire stays and the waves roar and burst about and over the submarine chaser as they listed, none of these dangers equaled that of the depth charge which had run amuck.

Seven Knott was brought to his senses in a short time, and, after staring about a bit, murmured:

"Well, I didn't get it, did I?"

"Not your fault, my man," declared Ensign MacMasters cheerfully. "Wait till Lieutenant Commander Lang, of the Colodia, hears about it. You have done well, Hertig. He will be proud of you."

At that the petty officer smiled, for he was inordinately fond of the commander of the destroyer.

Mr. MacMasters made it plain to the boatswain's mate that apprentice seaman Morgan had saved him, as well as the rest of the ship's company, from disaster, and Hansie Hertig grinned broadly.

"That Whistler—he can do something besides make tunes with his mouth, eh?" he observed.

Most of the crew of the submarine chaser, as well as the members of the squad going aboard the Kennebunk, personally congratulated Whistler on his courage and quick action.

"This is an awfully small boat, Torry," he complained to his chum. "There isn't any place for a fellow to get away by himself. There are too many folks here."

He did not take kindly to so much approbation. He felt that Lieutenant Perkins had already said enough.

Although Whistler and his mates had no duties to perform on the S. P. 888, they did not turn in that night at all. To tell the truth the chaser was making an awfully rough passage of it, and although they were inured to the discomforts of their beloved Colodia in stormy weather, this was even worse.

They kept out of the way of the watch on duty, but remained for the most part on deck, as they were free to do. The watchlights on the shore, those in the lighthouses and the lamps in certain seaside hamlets, gave them their position from time to time. They were aware long before daylight that they were drawing near to the harbor mouth of the port where the superdreadnaught lay.

It was blowing a whole gale (in nautical language, sixty-five miles or more an hour) and as the submarine chaser was meeting the seas on a slant, it might almost as well have been a hurricane. As Frenchy said:

"The smaller the boat, the bigger the wind seems. And a 'happy thought' like this chaser will kick up like a frisky colt in a dead calm, I do believe. By St. Patrick's piper that played the last snake out of Ireland! I'll be a week gittin' over this pitchin'. What d'you say, Mister Torrance, acushla?"

"Don't blather me!" growled Torry.

"Hast thou a feeling that all is not well in the daypartment av the intayrior?" teased the Irish lad, who would joke at all times and upon the most serious subjects.

"Torry does look a bit green about the gills," put in Whistler.

"Serves him right for eatin' crab-meat salad there at Yancey's," declared Ikey Rosenmeyer. "That's nice chow to go to sea on, yet."

"I don't have to ask you what to eat," said Torry gruffly.

"Oi, oi! That's right," agreed Ikey. "Just the same I could tell you lots better than that."

The boys had sampled the cook's coffee, but not much else, since embarking on the S. P. 888. It was true that the pitching of the chaser was not conducive to a ravenous appetite.

"If Uncle kept all his bluejackets on these submarine chasers," said Whistler, "he'd save money on grub. I wonder these fellows," referring to the crew of the S. P. 888, "manage to keep up with their rations."

The little craft swerved at last and took the waves directly astern as she ran shoreward. The mouth of the harbor opened up to her, and in the gray light, as the chaser shot in between the headlands, almost smothered in foam, the men and boys on her deck sighted through the haze the towering hull of the great battleship.

"There she is!" gasped Frenchy. "My! isn't she a monster?"

"She's a regular leviathan," agreed Whistler.

Even Torry forgot his discomfort and showed enthusiasm. "She's the biggest thing I ever saw afloat," he said. "Listen, fellows!"

Two strokes of a silvery bell rang out from some ship asleep in the morning mist. It was five o'clock. From the decks of the battleship sounded the bugles of the boatswain's mates, piping reveille and "all hands."

"Gee!" groaned Frenchy, "reg'lar duty again, fellows."

"Don't croak," advised Whistler. "It's what we signed on for, isn't it?"

The chaser, now riding an even keel in the more quiet waters of the harbor, swept at slower speed to the side of the towering hull of the Kennebunk. A sentinel at the starboard ladder, which was lowered, hailed sharply. A moment later a deck officer came to the side.

"S. P. Eight Hundred and Eighty-eight, ahoy!" he said.

"Lieutenant Perkins in command," said that officer, standing in his storm coat and boots on the wet deck. "With squad of seamen under Ensign MacMasters for the Kennebunk."

"Send them aboard, Lieutenant, if you please. We trip anchors in half an hour. The tide is just at the turn."

Mr. MacMasters was already lining up his men, and Seven Knott, with a bandage on his head, was looking for stragglers. Some of the chaser's crew shook hands with the boys assigned to the superdreadnaught before they went up her side.

"Good luck! If you get a chance, smash a Fritzie battleship for me!" were some of the wishes that followed Whistler Morgan and his companions aboard the superdreadnaught.

The boys from Seacove and their companions reported to the chief master-at-arms, while Mr. MacMasters made his report to the executive officer.

At first glance it was plainly to be seen by the newcomers that the superdreadnaught had a full crew. Their squad made complete her complement of men. She was ready to put to sea.

Hammocks were already piped up and the smoking lamp was lit. The cooks of the watch were serving coffee, and the newly arrived party had their share, and grateful they were. Their experience aboard the submarine patrol boat had been most chilling and uncomfortable.

Immediately, the call for hauling over hammock cloths and stopping them down was sounded. "Pipe sweepers" was the next command, and the decks were thoroughly swept while the deck washers removed their shoes and socks.

"Wet down decks!" and the washers sprang for the coils of hose attached to the fire hydrants. Every part of the decks was flushed with clean sea water and swabs, or deck-mops, were used where necessary.

All this was a familiar routine to Whistler Morgan and his mates. Later they would be assigned to their places in the watches and to their posts at all deck drills.

At the execution of morning orders at three bells, or half-past five, the decks were cleared of all loiterers and the order passed to break away the anchors. The steam gear was already in action. The derrick had hoisted aboard the running steamer before the chaser had arrived with the boys from Seacove and their companions, and it was now stowed in her proper berth amidships. There was no other craft outboard, even the captain's gig having been stowed preparatory to going to sea.

Feathery smoke was rising from the funnels of the ship when Whistler and his chums had come aboard. Now great gray masses of oily smoke ballooned upward, drifting away to leeward before the gale. As soon as the anchors were tripped the bows of the great ship swung seaward. She began to forge ahead.

The Kennebunk was a huge craft, indeed, being of thirty-two thousand tons' displacement. She carried twelve 12 and 14-inch guns in her turrets on the center line, while her torpedo battery of 5 and 6-inch guns numbered twenty. The "all-big-gun" feature of our big battleships began with the construction of the dreadnaught Delaware, in 1906.

The Kennebunk was heavily armored on the waterline and barbettes. She likewise had 5 to 8-inch armor along in wake of the berth-deck and armored broadside gun positions.

She had two steel cage masts and cofferdams along the unarmored portion of her waterline to protect the ship from being flooded if pierced by a shell between wind and water.

All machinery necessary to the superdreadnaught while in action was installed below the armored deck and behind the thick belt of armor at the waterline. Her system of water-tight compartments was perfect, and she had a complete double bottom.

In addition to her offensive machinery, she had several underwater torpedo tubes. Although she was supposed to be too heavy for great speed, her coal carrying capacity was enormous, and she could travel on the power of her oil engines alone in a pinch. Altogether, the Kennebunk was the very latest result of battleship construction, and was preeminently a "first line ship."

But she had yet to prove herself.

Her brief trial cruise had shown her to be safe and that she could be handled by the minimum of men allowed on such a ship. Now with a full crew and direct orders for a month or more ahead, she was going to sea to make her initial record as a sea-fighter for Uncle Sam.

Her commander's report would be made daily by wireless to Washington, and the working out of the new superdreadnaught would be watched by experts with the keenest anxiety.

There were several points regarding the Kennebunk's construction different from any craft that had ever been built for similar work before; and if these matters did not prove satisfactory there would be bitter criticism of the board in charge. This was no time, Congress would say, for the trial of "new frills." The country was at war, and it was believed that all our first line ships would soon be called into action. Germany was believed to be in such desperate straits that it was thought she would venture to send her fleet to sea after three and a half years of hiding in the Kiel Canal.

High hopes and some doubt went with the Kennebunk as she steamed out of the harbor and into the storm. Not alone were her officers and crew anxious to find out what she could do. The rulers of the United States Navy were deeply concerned as well.



CHAPTER XIV

AN UNEXPECTED TARGET

At quarters for muster and inspection that day the four Navy boys from Seacove were given their numbers and drill placements. These were, of course, not permanent assignments. Changes would quickly be made after the capabilities of the boys were established. Especially would this be so in assignments of duty relating to the ship when in action.

The four friends had Mr. MacMasters to say a good word for them. Their record, too, aboard the Colodia and with the prize crew on the captured German raider would be taken into consideration when permanent appointments were made upon the Kennebunk.

Hans Hertig immediately took his rightful position as boatswain's mate. His rating was assured. But, after all, the apprentice seamen must prove themselves before the officers of the superdreadnaught were likely to give them much consideration.

The act of particular courage that had brought Whistler Morgan into prominence on the submarine chaser the night before would scarcely be taken public notice of by Captain Trevor of the Kennebunk until it was mentioned in orders from Washington. Ensign MacMasters, however, liked the boy too well not to take the first opportunity offered him to relate the happening on the S. P. 888 at officers' mess. After this it of course quickly reached the captain's ears.

Whistler and Torry immediately put in their claim for gunnery work. They had studied faithfully and had had considerable training with the secondary battery of the Colodia.

"Of course, these huge guns of the Kennebunk mean something else again," declared Ikey. "You fellers have been playin' with popguns yet. If you get in a turret gun crew you've got to show 'em."

"We'll do just that little thing," answered Torry rather boastfully.

There was not likely to be practice with the big guns until the weather changed. The Kennebunk roared on through the storm for all of that day; but her hull was so huge that she scarcely rolled while she remained under steam.

Most target shooting is arranged for ordinarily fair weather. Not often have battles at sea been fought in a storm. Besides, the Kennebunk must run off the coast, beyond the approved steamship lines, to a point where she could be joined by a naval vessel dragging the target.

There were lectures on gunnery that day to the gun captains, and the boys off duty who were interested in the subject might listen to this instruction. Phil Morgan and Torrance availed themselves of the privilege.

The two younger chums, Michael Donahue and Ikey Rosenmeyer, were not, it must be confessed, so well employed. During this first day aboard the Kennebunk there was bred between these youths a scheme which certainly would not have met with the approval of the executive officer.

In their quarters aboard the destroyer Colodia they would not have been able to stow the junk they now secured away from the watchful eyes of the master-at-arms. In the destroyer their ditty boxes had to hide any private property the boys wanted to stow away.

But a man could lose himself in the various decks of the superdreadnaught. Even the officers' quarters were forward with the crew's, the ship was so huge. There were unused rooms and compartments for which Ikey and Frenchy did not know the names, or their uses.

In one of these unoccupied compartments the two found a lot of lumber and rubbish amid which were some joints of two-inch galvanized pipe the plumbers and pipe fitters had left when the ship was being furnished.

"Gee, Ikey!" murmured the agile-minded Irish lad, "I've got an idea."

"I bet you," returned Ikey. "You always have ideas. But is this one worth anything?"

"Listen here!" and Frenchy, with dancing eyes, whispered into his friend's ear the details of the new-born scheme.

"Oi, oi!" cried Ikey. "It is an idea, sure enough. But it is trouble you are looking for."

"Not a bit of it. We needn't tell anybody—not even Whistler or Al. Gee! it will be great."

"Mebbe the old man won't say so." He was referring to Captain Trevor, but in no disrespectful way. "Old Man" is rather a term of admiration and affection applied to the commander of a ship.

"Lots he'll be botherin' about what we do," sniffed Frenchy.

Ikey was already enamored of his friend's plan. His objections were very weak.

"Ah, g'wan!" reiterated Frenchy. "You won't get into the brig for it, that's sure. I'll do it alone. Only see that you keep your mouth shut about it, if you won't help."

But Ikey had no intention of seeing his friend have all the fun of the thing. He stopped objecting, and thereafter gave his hearty assistance in the plot.

At odd times during that day and the next the two rigged a weighted platform into which could be fixed upright lengths of the two-inch pipe they had found.

Rigged to suit them at last, the two boys took their appliance to pieces again and hid the parts away until a to-be-determined time. They were planning to have a joke upon the whole ship's company; but they were forced to wait for the appropriate moment in which to spring the surprise.

The third morning out revealed a clearing sky and subsiding waves; and the regular ship's routine at sea was taken up.

"Officers' call" was sounded five minutes before the "assembly" bugle call at 9:15. At the later call men of the various divisions fall in smartly at double time for muster in the respective parts of the ship. The men are inspected at this time regarding the condition of their clothing, length of hair, personal cleanliness, and whether or not they are carefully shaved.

This last requirement troubled the four friends from Seacove but little, save that Whistler and Torry occasionally wore a little fuzz on their cheeks, which Frenchy declared they lathered surreptitiously with cream, then let the ship's cat lick it off.

"If they had a real ship's cat on this iron pot," retorted Torry, "I know who would most frequently have the attention of that. You need the cat-o'-nine-tails right now, Frenchy."

"Gee! ain't he bloodthirsty and savage?" whispered Michael, who dearly loved to tease.

The petty officers who personally inspected the men at this morning review reported to the division officer, who in turn reported to the executive officer of the ship, who is always the navigating officer.

After the reports the physical drill, or setting-up exercises, is the order. These calisthenics are similar to that drill in the army.

It was on this third day that the boys were assigned to the watches and to their divisions for the cruise. The ship's company is divided into port and starboard watches, each watch being organized into divisions. Each turret is manned by a division, numbered in rotation, beginning with Number One from forward aft. To the delight of Philip Morgan and Al Torrance they were both assigned to Number Two division, and would be members of the crew of a big gun in the second turret.

The broadside batteries were partly manned by marines, of whom there were a large number aboard the Kennebunk. These "soldiers of the sea" had always interested Whistler and his friends.

For convenience in making out station bills and the like, each man of a division has a number assigned him by which he is known. Whistler and Torry were given respectively Numbers 2111 and 2112. These numbers showed that they were Numbers 11 and 12 of the first section of the second division—the first figure for division, the second for section, and the remainder the personal number of the man in his section.

The watches, meaning the length of time into which the twenty-four hours aboard ship is divided, are arranged on a naval vessel as in all maritime affairs.

The first watch is from 8:00 P. M. till midnight. The mid-watch, or "graveyard watch," is from midnight till 4:00 A. M.; the morning watch from 4:00 till 8:00 A. M.; the forenoon watch from 8:00 A. M. till mid-day; the afternoon watch from noon till 4:00 P. M.; and the dog-watches, each of which is but two hours long, are from 4:00 till 6:00 P. M. and from 6:00 till 8 P. M.

The Seacove boys were already well trained in the general duties that fell to their share, even though they had never cruised upon a superdreadnaught. Now they had the special duties of looking after the guns in the turret to which they were attached. Gun drill would hereafter occupy a part of their time each forenoon.

As the weather cleared the lookouts all over the ship kept sharper watch than they had before for any moving object on the sea. They had seen the smoke of steamships and the sails of other vessels during the storm, but had not spoken a single craft since leaving port.

The Kennebunk frequently received and sent wireless messages; but the messages were evidently unimportant for they caused no flurry of excitement. The Seacove boys were expecting some news of submarines, or the capture of the "mother ship," which they believed was cruising off the coast to supply German U-boats with fuel. But no news of this kind came to their ears.

The big battleship was now nearing the point where they could expect to meet the auxiliary naval vessel towing the target.

"Pretty soft! Pretty soft!" said one chap in Whistler's gun crew disgustedly. "Pretty soft for us! We fellows going out to target practice, while those battleships already on the other side of this periscope pond may be fighting the Fritzies off Heligoland."

"We'll get a chance at a sub maybe," said another more hopefully.

"No such luck," growled the first speaker. "We'll just about get shot at with a torpedo from one of those pirates. We'd never have the good luck to plant a shell in a U-boat where it would do the most good. No, sir!"

There was so much that was new for the four boys from Seacove to learn aboard the superdreadnaught that they did not worry much about getting into immediate action. Target practice with the big guns would spell excitement enough for the time being, they thought.

Meanwhile Michael Donahue and Ikey Rosenmeyer were having a secret all to themselves that kept them breaking out in "the giggles" at unseasonable times, so that the master-at-arms gave them two reprimands within the twenty-four hours. Another would be likely to put their names on the report—an incident that was always to be regretted.

The battleship was steaming through a flattening sea at half speed. Word had been passed from one of the masthead lookouts that smoke was sighted. The executive officer said it was probably the auxiliary ship with the target in tow. The report brought almost everybody who was free to the open decks.

But Frenchy and Ikey showed an unexplained lack of interest in this incident. They remained below and, seizing their chance unobserved, slipped into the spare compartment on the lower deck in which the lumber was stowed.

Just abaft this compartment was an ash-chute. As the sea was now calm, the ash-hoist had been at work that morning and the trap-door of the chute had not been relocked. This door kicked open outboard, giving vent upon the sea, the opening being about ten feet above the waterline of the Kennebunk.

The two chums were deeply engaged in the compartment for some time while the crew and officers on deck watched the approach of the target boat. The course of that and the battleship would bring the two within speaking distance in an hour or less.

Suddenly Ikey croaked a warning: "Hist! What's that, Frenchy?"

"What's what?" puffed his friend, just then very much engaged in fastening together two joints of pipe. "Don't try to scare a fellow. Nobody's coming."

"Listen!" commanded Ikey.

Michael sat back on his heels, cocking his head to listen. It was no footstep outside the compartment slide. It was not that kind of sound at all. And it was faint—so faint indeed that perhaps the noises of the storm since they had left port had quite smothered the queer sound.

"A clock?" Frenchy suggested.

"Funny sounding clock," whispered Ikey Rosenmeyer. "And where can it be?"

"Tick-tock! Tick-tock! Tick-tock!" The emphasis upon the second division of the sound was unmistakable. It did not seem like any clock the boys had ever heard.

"That's never a ship's chronometer, you know, that," declared Frenchy.

"What is it, then?" was his chum's worried demand.

"Oh, bother! Don't care what it is," returned Frenchy. "Give us a hand here, Ike. Want me to do all the work alone, do you?"

Frenchy was really getting cross. There are plenty of noises of one kind or another about a ship. One more noise he did not think mattered.

But Ikey continued to raise his head now and then to listen to the "tick-tock" sound. It puzzled him, and he determined to tell Whistler about it.

Their work was completed at length, and Frenchy crept out into the passage to look about. There was nobody in this part of the ship save themselves.

The two mischievous youths tugged the result of their labor out to the ash-chute. The time was propitious. The battleship and the auxiliary were approaching each other and signals were being exchanged. Captain Trevor was on the quarterdeck and word was passed that target practice would immediately begin. In a moment Frenchy and Ikey darted out on deck and joined their mates without being observed by the master-at-arms. Whistler and Al Torrance were already hovering about their stations. If the guns of Number Two turret got a chance, they hoped to have a hand in the manipulation of them.

Suddenly there came a hail from the masthead:

"Q'deck-ahoy-sir!"

The boy up there ran his cry altogether in his excitement. The navigating officer replied.

"Submarine astern, sir! Can see the periscope bobbing, sir!" was the statement that changed the entire atmosphere of the battleship from that of mere curiosity and interest to the wildest excitement.



CHAPTER XV

THE BIG GUN SPEAKS

The thing the lookout had spied bobbing in the sea was not exactly in the wake of the battleship, for those who rushed to the port rail could see it quite well. It wabbled about in a most eccentric way, as though the submarine attached to it had risen just as the Kennebunk passed and had received the full force of her swell.

"Jingo! that's a funny lookin' periscope," drawled one second-class seaman, a new recruit, craning his long neck to see over the heads of the group which Frenchy and Ikey had joined.

"What did you think they'd look like?" demanded another.

"Something like a smokestack with a curlycue on the end of it," was the reply.

Frenchy and Ikey were giggling immeasurably. The former said: "Isa Bopp couldn't beat that, could he?"

"Oi, oi!" sighed Ikey ecstatically. "A periscope like a smokestack!"

But more than this new recruit aboard the Kennebunk began to doubt the validity of the bobbing thing in the water astern. The big battleship was being swerved to bring the port broadside to bear upon the now distant object. The bugle rang for stations. The sudden activity of the whole ship's company was inspiring.

Of a sudden there came a hail from the other masthead where two lookouts stood in the cage with glasses.

"On deck, sir! Submarine just awash on the starboard quarter, sir!"

The cry was in truth a startling one. Whistler and Torry, who had sprung with their mates to the guns of the second turret, were on the starboard side. A second submarine? Why, it seemed the ship was being surrounded by these wasps of the sea.

A sharp whistle sounded in the turret. The officer in charge sprang to the tube.

"Ready for deflection and range? Stand by!" was the order.

"Aye, aye, sir!" responded the turret captain.

Ammunition boxes appeared as though by magic and were broken open. Plugs were swung back and the gun bores were examined. The starboard gun was quickly charged. Whistler and Torry both worked on her. They stood back, the gunner standing with his finger on the button of the trigger.

"That submarine's going down!" gasped one watcher. "We'll lose her."

The next moment the executive officer's report for deflection and range came through the tube. Then: "Are you on?"

"On, sir!"

"Fire!"

It seemed that almost instantaneously with the roar and recoil of the huge gun the shell burst beside the sinking submarine. The explosion was terrific; the whole hull of the undersea boat heaved up, exposing its length for a few seconds. Then the sea-shark sank, going down like a shot.

"A hit! A hit!" yelled the men in turret two.

A cheer burst from the throats of the whole ship's company. Those who had not seen it, realized that the first gun fired in earnest by the Kennebunk had reached its target.

"The old ship's bound to have good luck!" shouted a boatswain. "This is only the beginning! We'll sweep the seas of every Hun!"

The officers did not try to quell the cheering. The satisfaction and pride of all was something too fine to be quenched.

The battleship swerved again and ran across the track of the sunken U-boat. Bubbling up from the depths were blobs of black oil which lazily spread and broke upon the sea's surface.

The German submarine was done for. Her crew were buried with her at the bottom of the sea. The cheering ceased when this fact was realized.

"The poor square-heads!" muttered one fellow near Frenchy and Ikey Rosenmeyer. "They couldn't help it, I s'pose. They say they are driven into the subs. Aren't no volunteers called for."

"Where's that other sub?" demanded another. "Has she sunk, too?"

Frenchy and Ikey began to grin again. One of the boatswains said: "I bet that warn't no submarine ship at all. She's a joke. There! We're going to circle around and hunt her up."

"Do you think the Fritzies set something afloat to fool us?" demanded another man in surprise. "They're cute rascals, aren't they?"

"Not very cute just now," returned somebody, dryly. "They're food for the fishes."

"Just the same, if we'd got our attention completely fixed upon this here floating joker, the real sub might have sneaked up within range and sent us a lover's note in the shape of a torpedo."

Frenchy and Ikey began to look at each other with some worriment of countenance. Later it was reported that the first "periscope" could not be found. The two mischief-makers were greatly relieved.

"Say! that wasn't any joke," Ikey whispered to the Irish lad. "Oi, oi! S'pose they had grappled for it and brought it aboard and found "Kennebunk" stamped on those iron belayin' pins we used for weights?"

"Don't say a word!" urged Frenchy.

"You bet I won't!" agreed Ikey. "Not even to Whistler and Al. We come pretty near putting our foot in it that time, Frenchy."

The Irish lad agreed warmly: "By St. Patrick's piper that played the last snake out of Ireland!" he reiterated, "no more practical jokes, Ikey. This is a lesson. And say!"

"What is it?"

"I left my knife down there in that room. I've got to go down after it before it's found and the master-at-arms asks questions."

"All right. I'll go down and watch out for you," declared the loyal Ikey.

The target ship was being signaled again and she was coming back. At the first alarm of a submarine in the vicinity she had started coastward.

The wireless was snapping. Messages were being sent out announcing the sinking of the U-boat and warning other craft, especially merchant vessels, of the possibility of other undersea boats being in the vicinity.

It was proved, at least, that the Germans had sent more submarines to this side of the ocean. The visit of the Deutschland and of U-53 to America before the United States got into the war, had been in the nature of a warning as to what the Hun could really do. Now perhaps a squadron of U-boats was to be sent across to prey upon American shipping or to shell helpless seaboard towns.

The two younger Seacove boys, who had come so near committing a huge piece of folly by their small practical joke, slipped down to the lower deck again to recover Frenchy's knife. If it should be found by the master-at-arms, or was handed to him, it would go into the lucky bag; and then Frenchy would have to explain how he lost it in that unused compartment of the ship if he wished to get back the knife again.

Just as they got to the passage abaft the compartment in question, Ikey uttered a warning "hist!" and drew Frenchy back. Somebody was coming out of the room in which they built the dummy that had so fooled the ship's company.

"Who is it?" gasped Michael.

"Oi, oi!" murmured Ikey, peering again, "It's Seven Knott."

"Shucks! I'm not afraid of him," said Frenchy stepping forth into the passage. The next moment he cried out: "What's the matter, Hansie?"

The petty officer was plainly frightened. He turned with rolling eyes and a pasty countenance to the two boys.

"What you seen?" demanded Ikey, likewise disturbed by the petty officer's appearance.

"No—nothin'," murmured the frightened Seven Knott. "But—but it's a ghost."

"What's a ghost?" demanded the boys together, and although they did not believe in ghosts, they could not help being shaken a bit by Seven Knott's earnestness.

"It's what I heard," whispered the older man, still trembling.

"Oi, oi!" exclaimed Ikey Rosenmeyer suddenly. "Was it a clock ticking?"

"That's it! That's what it sounded like. But there's no clock there," the boatswain's mate said. "I couldn't find anything. It's all about you—in the air! I tell you it's a ghost, a ghost-clock. 'The death watch.' They say you hear it on board a ship when she's doomed to sink. Something bad is going to happen to the Kennebunk," finished Seven Knott earnestly.

"Crickey!" cried Frenchy under his breath. "Something bad just happened to that German U-boat. Maybe this death watch you talk about was counting out the submarine, not the battleship."

But Hertig was not to be easily pacified. He was superstitious anyway. He believed that he could not be drowned himself, for instance, because he had been born with a caul over his face.

Frenchy went into the room, presumably to listen for the "tick-tock" sound; but actually to find his knife. He came out with the latter in his pocket; but he also showed a rather pale face and he had not much to say until Seven Knott went away.

The latter crept away, plainly in great trouble of spirit. Ikey asked his chum:

"Did you hear it again?"

"Ye-es," admitted Frenchy. "It does sound queer. What do you suppose it can be?"

"Don't know. Let's tell Whistler," said Ikey, who had a deal of confidence in Morgan.

"That's all right. But don't tell him anything about our being in that room before. Remember, Ikey, we don't know a livin' thing about that first periscope the lookouts spied."

"Sure I won't tell," agreed the other. "It wasn't such a good joke after all, was it, Frenchy?"

And Frenchy agreed with a solemn nod of his head.



CHAPTER XVI

AN ACCIDENT

The Kennebunk shook throughout her structure at that moment and Ikey darted for the between-decks ladder.

"Another submarine!" he shouted. "Oi, oi!"

"Hold on!" drawled Frenchy. "Nothing like it. There goes another. They are at practice. The target's in range."

The four Seacove boys had seen something of gun practice on the destroyer Colodia; but the secondary batteries of the smaller vessel made no such racket as did the big guns of the Kennebunk.

The discharge of a turret gun aboard the superdreadnaught was an important matter, and a costly one as well. The gun crews practiced all the movements save the actual discharge of the guns every day. To burn up several hundred pounds of powder and fire away the expensive projectiles in rehearsal was a serious matter.

The gun crew that had made a clean hit on the submarine with its first shell, had already shown what value practice shooting was. The high standard of the gunnery in our Navy pays for all it costs.

These gunners had practiced at the schools and on other vessels before being assigned to the superdreadnaught. No matter how much good powder and shot had already been flung away in training that particular crew of Turret Number Two, the sinking of the German submarine had paid for it all.

Whistler and Torry did not, of course, actually fire the gun. The gun captain did that. But the exact team work of the crew had much to do with the score of the gun in target practice; and the two friends did their work commendably.

There was a sharp lookout kept during target practice for other submarines. The disappearance of the first periscope which had been hailed from the masthead was the cause of much discussion. It was generally believed that this first submarine had wisely made off when its sister ship was so promptly sunk by the battleship.

Frenchy and Ikey almost burst from their desire to tell what they knew about the mystery. But they did not dare.

It had been a lesson which the two mischief-loving boys would not easily forget. While the whole ship's company was watching the imitation periscope Frenchy and Ikey had slipped overboard through the ash-chute, the real submarine might have torpedoed the Kennebunk.

The score of each gun crew was transmitted to Washington by favor of the auxiliary steamer which towed the target, and she disappeared coastward just at sunset. The superdreadnaught was under orders to proceed on a southerly course, and parallel with the coast, for some considerable distance. She was doing outside patrol duty on this, her first real cruise.

Men and officers were first of all expected to get used to each other and to the ship. This familiarity could only come about through drills and practice work in every branch. The men must have confidence in their officers, and the officers know their men thoroughly before the commander could feel that he had a smoothly working ship's company.

The excitement caused by the first blow struck at the enemy and the successful target practice that followed would not soon wear off. And both incidents helped the morale of the crew.

Almost every enlisted man showed delight in his face. Only Hans Hertig displayed a woful countenance. The solemnity of the boatswain's mate attracted even Ensign MacMasters' attention.

"What's the matter with you, Hans?" he demanded of the petty officer.

It was difficult to get any explanation out of Seven Knott; but finally the tale of the ghostly "clock" on the lower deck was blurted out by the superstitious petty officer.

"What do you mean, a ghost?" growled the ensign. "Don't let me hear of your repeating such nonsense, Hertig. Let me tell you it will interfere with your advance in rating if you do circulate the story. I'll take the matter up with Captain Trevor if I hear anything more about it."

But it was impossible to stop the circulation of such a story on shipboard. Rumor flies from deck to deck on wings. A hint of the strange noise below decks made others besides Seven Knott investigate. Many declared they heard the "tick-tock" sound.

There never was a crew at sea yet in which some of its members were not superstitious. Seven Knott was not the only one troubled by the ghostly clock. Stories of haunted ships became common among certain groups of seamen and marines during the hours off duty.

To most of the boys and enlisted men it was all a huge joke; nevertheless there were enough of the crew really superstitious for the tale of the clock-ticking sound to interfere with the general morale of the ship's company.

The chief master-at-arms finally made what he deemed a thorough investigation of the report. But it was evident that he had made up his mind to counteract the influence of the strange sound upon the men by denying its existence.

This, of course, did no good at all. The men, or, at least, some of them, could hear the "tick-tock! tick-tock! tick-tock!" for themselves. Those who wandered into the room where the lumber was stowed were strongly impressed by the unexplained sounds. By and by the men as a rule fought shy of entering that part of the ship.

When Whistler was told by Frenchy and Ikey that they had first heard the "ghost-clock" after the subsiding of the storm, he declared it to be nonsense, pure and simple.

"Don't you fellows forget the scare we all got aboard the Graf von Posen over that old lead coffin in her hold? I should think you would know better than to circulate such yarns about the ship," he declared in some heat.

"We didn't say a word about it," Frenchy denied. "Only to you and Torry. Seven Knott started the row, not us."

"And he ought to be keelhauled for it," growled Torry.

Nothing would satisfy Frenchy and Ikey, however, until Phil and Al went down with them to listen to the strange sound themselves. It was there, all right. When their ears became used to the steady thumping of the engines, they were able to distinguish the clock-like noise.

"It's some trick," declared Torrance, with conviction. "Sure you chaps haven't started a joke on us?"

"No joke!" denied Ikey.

"We've sworn off practical jokes," joined in Frenchy earnestly.

"Huh! what's the matter with you?" sniffed Torry suspiciously. "Why this eleventh-hour conversion?"

But the two smaller fellows refused to be "drawn." They merely reiterated that they knew nothing about the cause of the ghostly sound. The four overhauled all the stowed tackle and lumber in the compartment, but found nothing but a locked carpenter's chest that was too heavy to move. And the noise did not seem to come from that.

"It's in the air—it's all about us," declared Whistler seriously. "I doubt if the source of the noise is in this room at all; it is somewhere near and by some freak of acoustics the sound is heard more plainly in this place."

"You can try to explain it as you will," returned Torry. "It's mighty mysterious."

"'Mysterious' is no name for it," said Frenchy. "It'll be more than that before all's said and done. By St. Patrick's piper that played the last snake out of Ireland! some of these garbies are getting blue around the gills already."

"Laugh at them," commanded Whistler. "We're Americans. We ought not to have a superstitious bone in our bodies."

"Arrah!" grunted Frenchy. "I don't know rightly that it's me bones that are superstitious. But that 'tick-tock' gives me the creeps, just the same."

In a week the bulk of the Kennebunk's crew were keeping strictly away from the compartment on the lower deck from which came the strange sound. In addition, a run of small accidents broke out which seemed to the minds of many of the crew to assure that the ship was doomed to bad luck.

"The ship is haunted," continued to be whispered from division to division. The sternness of the petty officers could not halt the spreading feeling.

"How about our very first gun sinking a submarine?" demanded Philip Morgan of one group.

"Oh, that was just a chance," was the reply.

"Hump!" said Whistler with disgust. "I have an idea the old Kennebunk is going to be blessed with similar chances."

There followed, however, a really serious accident. A pipe in the boiler room burst, and several men were scalded, one so badly that the ship's surgeons declared he must be transported to a shore hospital as soon as possible.

The operation of skin grafting could not be performed successfully on shipboard, and nothing else would save the unfortunate victim of the accident from having a terribly disfigured face.

Many of the man's shipmates would gladly have aided by giving patches of healthy skin for the benefit of the patient; but the operation was too delicate to be undertaken on the battleship, and the healing of the unfortunate man would be too tedious.

After communicating with the Navy Department by wireless, Captain Trevor decided to send the steam runner into Hampton Roads with the injured man, while the battleship continued her southerly course in compliance with her orders.

The steam-screw tender of the Kennebunk was a good sized craft and perfectly seaworthy. They were too far from shore to trust a motor boat; and to use one of the big whaleboats under sail would take too long.

The derrick swung the big boat overside, and she was lowered into the sea as lightly as though she were a featherweight. Meanwhile Ensign MacMasters was assigned to her command and he had the privilege of picking his crew to suit himself.

The steamer mounted a gun forward and one aft. To the delight of Phil and Al, the ensign chose them as members of the gun crews.

Immediately Frenchy and Ikey clamored to be taken, too. Ensign MacMasters without doubt displayed favoritism at this time. He acquiesced in the desires of the two younger boys from Seacove.

"I suppose you would pine away and refuse your chow if you were separated from Morgan and Torrance," the ensign said laughingly. "Get your hammock-rolls and go aboard. I'll fix it with the executive officer."

So, when the steamer started from the towering side of the battleship, the four Navy boys were members of her crew, and likely to experience a variety of adventures.



CHAPTER XVII

BLOWN UP

The change from the huge Kennebunk to the comparatively tiny steamer was great indeed; and for the first few hours of the run shoreward the boys were afraid they would be ill. There was a heavy swell on, and the tender rode up the hill of each roller, and slid down the other side, dizzily.

They were two hundred miles off shore and three hundred from Hampton Roads. The time occupied in the journey could not be much less than three days and two nights. She was much slower than the motor boats; but she sailed much more safely, and the injured man could be made more comfortable on deck under the awning.

The poor fellow complained a good deal about having had his voyage cut short.

"No chance for me to get a crack at the Huns," he repeated again and again.

The boys from Seacove tried to comfort him. Ensign MacMasters told him that he had done his share, even if his fate was not so brilliant as that of men shot down in battle.

"I wouldn't mind being shot for my country," said the poor fellow. "But I hate like a dog to be boiled for it! There ain't nothing heroic in this, Ensign."

The cruise of the steamer was not unattended with peril. They were confident that German U-boats were beginning to infest the sea bordering on the Atlantic coast of the United States. One might pop up at any time and take a shot at the tender.

A sharp lookout was kept, and the gun crews scarcely slept. Every sail or streamer of smoke created excitement on board.

But the first night passed in safety and the day broke charmingly. The steamer was kept at top speed. Everything was going smoothly when, about midforenoon, they sighted a strange vessel hull down and somewhat to the northeast of their course.

It was rather hazy, and the strange craft was at some distance. Her course was not one to bring her very near that of the battleship's steamer.

She did not appear to be more than two hundred feet long, and the concurrence of opinion was that she was some small tramp freight boat and was laden heavily. She had a high bow, rail all around, and, as far as could be seen, she flew no flag at all.

"Some old tub taking a chance with a rich cargo," suggested the warrant officer, as Ensign MacMasters' second in command. "Why, at the present time, freight rates are so high and wages so much advanced, that shipowners can find skippers and crews willing to take regular sieves to sea!"

"She looks peculiar," Mr. MacMasters said. "If it wasn't for Grant, here, being in such pain, poor fellow, I'd throw a shell at her and hold her up. But we've got our orders to hasten to the Roads and return again to the Kennebunk as soon as possible."

Therefore the strange craft was allowed to pass unchallenged. Later they had reason to believe that they had made a small mistake regarding the unknown vessel, yet they had made no mistake in allowing her to go unmolested.

In time they raised the Capes of Virginia, and a few hours later steamed into the dock at Fortress Monroe. Grant, the injured fireman from the Kennebunk, was taken ashore and sent to the marine hospital.

Ensign MacMasters had his full orders from the commander of the battleship; but he had a wireless message relayed to the Kennebunk stating his arrival. The wireless instrument aboard the steamer was of too narrow a radius to reach the superdreadnaught in her present position.

Orders were soon repeated for the auxiliary craft to make for the battleship again, and laying the course for Ensign MacMasters to follow. There were storm signals flying; but the steamer was to keep near the shore until she got around Hatteras. It was presumed that she would find the Kennebunk within a week at the most, and the tender was well provisioned and took on extra fuel at the dock.

She went to sea without the boys having had an hour of shore leave; but they did not mind that. The fun of running on the steamer was all right; but they were getting eager now to return to the superdreadnaught.

They ran out between the Capes into what the warrant officer called "a Liverpool particular," meaning a fog almost thick enough to cut with a cheese-knife.

Every once in a while the nose of a steel-gray ship, small or large, poked through the mist, and her growling siren warned the smaller craft to get out of the way.

These patrol boats were very plentiful off the Virginia Capes at that time. A mine-laying enemy submarine would have small chance getting into Hampton Roads.

But that such a craft was in the vicinity the crew of the Kennebunk's tender learned was the fact within a few hours. Their course was southerly, and almost in sight of the coast in clear weather. But they broke out of the fog bank the next morning to see dead ahead two boats, each pulled by four pair of oars, wearily approaching the course of the coastwise steamships.

"I smell a U-boat about!" declared Ensign MacMasters, when he had directed the steamer's course to be changed to run down to the row-boats.

He was right. The boats contained the crew of the schooner Hattie May, out of Baltimore, which had been shelled and sunk twenty-four hours before by a German undersea craft.

And the report of the wearied crew included a description of the submarine. She was camouflaged by a high bow and a rail all around, as well as by a canvas smokestack to make her look like a tramp freighter.

"The craft we raised going into the Roads!" ejaculated the warrant officer. "It's her, for a penny!"

"No argument," growled Ensign MacMasters. "We fell down that time. Although we might have had our hands full if we had tackled her with our two small guns."

It seemed that the disguised undersea boat mounted four guns on her deck, but she was a slow sailer. She had moved up close to the schooner before showing her teeth.

Then she dropped two shells near the Hattie May to show the skipper that she had the range of his schooner. He had to surrender, and the U-boat moved up and gave him and his crew ten minutes to get into the boats. Then they sank the Hattie May by hanging bombs over her sides and exploding them simultaneously by an electric arrangement.

The skipper of the schooner was taken aboard the U-boat and said he was shown all over the ship. The German captain seemed to be inordinately proud of his craft and what she could do.

"She's got torpedoes, but she don't use 'em because they are expensive," said the skipper. "They are saved for a last resort. But she is a mine layer, for I saw two wells and saw the mines, too. She has been out five weeks and is numbered U-Two Hundred Fifty."

"Two hundred fifty!" gasped Whistler to his chums, who were hanging over the rail to listen to this report. "What do you know about that?"

"That's the very number that man Blake used in the restaurant, talking with the skipper of the oil tender, wasn't it?" asked Frenchy of the quick memory.

"You mean Franz Linder, the German spy!" ejaculated Torry, with emphasis. "He spoke of this very sub."

"You bet!" agreed Ikey.

The steamer's wireless operator was sending out an S O S call and a destroyer quickly answered. The steamer remained by the two boats from the sunken schooner until the fast-flying naval vessel appeared in the west.

After that the boys on the steamer kept their eyes open for sight of the camouflaged U-boat. As the boat picked up speed again and kept to her course. Whistler Morgan and his mates discussed the matter with much excitement.

"Do you s'pose Mr. MacMasters will let us shell the Hun?" demanded Frenchy eagerly.

"She'll more likely shell us," declared Torry, inclined to be pessimistic.

"I bet we can run away from her," cried Ikey Rosenmeyer.

"Say! this tender is no sub chaser. In a race with the S. P. 888, for instance, she wouldn't have a chance."

"Aw, well," Frenchy broke in, "that U-boat will not have a speed of over fourteen knots on the surface. We can do better than that."

"But if she sneaks up on us as that other one did on the Kennebunk," Whistler observed, "we might easily be potted."

"Right-o!" declared Torry. "Whichever way you put it, I don't want to see that U-boat till we're aboard the Kennebunk again—if ever."

After leaving the crew of the Hattie May to be picked up by the destroyer, the tender continued to run parallel with the coast. Land was seldom wholly out of sight, for Mr. MacMasters had orders as to his course, expecting to meet the superdreadnaught on that vessel's return from the south.

The fog in which they had run out from the Capes was the forerunner of a storm which increased as the day advanced. The gale was behind them, however, so there was no fear of the tender being cast ashore.

The sea around Cape Hatteras is notoriously rough in a gale, and the outlook was not promising when they sighted Hatteras Light that evening. Seaworthy as the steamer was, she pitched terrifically in the seas that threatened now to overwhelm her.

There was a pale and watery moon that evening, with wind-driven clouds scurrying across its face and quenching its light every few minutes. The steamer pitched so that her propeller was frequently entirely out of the sea.

Phil Morgan, in his watch on deck, thought the situation was as nasty as any he had experienced since joining the Navy. With every hatch and door battened to keep the seas from flooding her, they ran on, making scarcely five knots an hour. Now and then they were completely overwhelmed with the seas; and always the craft plunged and kicked as though she actually had to fight for supremacy with each wave.

As the bitter night crept on they wore around the Cape, and then, when it seemed safe to do so, Ensign MacMasters ordered the helm shifted and they edged farther in toward the land.

In time the out-thrust of the coast partly sheltered them and the steamer ran into more quiet waters. But the gale still held, and from the same quarter.

They sighted only smacks and other small fry, including some few coastwise steamers whose routes hugged the land. Surely they might expect safety from submarines so far inshore, for this coast is treacherous.

Another day and night passed. The wireless operator had thus far failed to raise the Kennebunk, although he called every hour.

Mr. MacMasters and the warrant officer studied the chart anxiously. There were shallow waters hereabout, and although the steamer demanded little depth, there were bights between the reefs that were dangerous.

At daybreak of the fourth day out they were in the track of Charleston craft and quite near to a string of islands. There was plenty of water between the two outer islands. The passage was, indeed, a popular channel for both steam and sailing vessels.

The Kennebunk's tender was half way through this gut when suddenly, and without warning, it seemed as though the bow of the craft hit squarely upon a rock.

She stopped with an awful shock, seemed to rebound, and then the forward part rose on a wave that shot it into the air. The explosion that followed was muffled; but the sea about the doomed craft fairly boiled.

"We're sinking! All hands on deck!" shouted the warrant officer.

The boatswain's mate piped his shrillest. Those below swarmed upon the already settling deck. It was plain at once that the steamer had but a few moments to live.

"A mine!" declared Ensign MacMasters. "That is what did it! That Hun mine-sower has been this way!"

The men and boys went to quarters coolly. They had been drilling every day on the steamer just as though they were aboard the Kennebunk.

There was both a liferaft and a tight yawl aboard. These were got over into the comparatively quiet sea, water and an emergency ration-cask put aboard each, and Mr. MacMasters brought his instruments and papers, taking his place in the stern of the boat. The latter had a small engine, and there was a hawser with which she might tow the raft.

Meanwhile the wireless operator had been calling for help. He got a reply from a land station, but none from any sister naval ship. However, they were so near land that it did not seem that this mattered.

"Let her go, boy!" shouted the ensign to the operator. "Come on! She's going down."

They pulled away just in time, and got the little engine to kicking as the wrecked auxiliary craft of the Kennebunk sank stern foremost under the sea. As she went down her bows rose out of the water and the castaways saw the great wound torn in two of her water-tight compartments by the mine.



CHAPTER XVIII

MORE TROUBLE

Philip Morgan and Al Torrance both were in the yawl, and were assigned to pull oars if the engine went dead from any cause. The two younger Seacove boys were taken by the warrant officer, Mr. Mudge, aboard the buoyant raft.

"Well, old man," muttered Torry in his mate's ear, "this is a new experience. We've never been shipwrecked before."

Ikey on the raft was bewailing the loss of some of his duffle. "Oi, oi! And a nice new black silk neckerchief, too! Oi, oi! All for the fishes yet."

Mr. MacMasters laughed, and did not order the boys to cease talking as a sterner officer might have done.

"We may as well take it cheerfully," he said. "I'm thankful there's nobody lost. And there can be no blame attached to any of us because of the loss of the boat."

"Ah, that's all right," grumbled the warrant officer on the raft. "But think of those miserable Huns, sneaking away in here and dropping a mine in a channel where nothing but small craft dare sail."

"Excursion steamers from Charleston use this channel," Mr. MacMasters said. "I know it to be a fact."

"Ah! That's the Hun of it," repeated the second. "To sink a craft having aboard a lot of innocent and helpless folk out on a pleasure excursion would be just his delight."

First of all the two officers had looked over their charts and decided on the course to pursue. Charleston was not the nearest port.

The barometer was falling again and there was every promise of more bad weather. It was decided to make for a small town behind the islands, and instead of continuing through the channel where the Kennebunk's auxiliary steamer had been mined, it seemed better to take advantage of the tide and run back to the open sea.

There they proposed to skirt along the outer beaches of the islands until they reached another passage marked on the charts as being the entrance to the sheltered harbor of the port in question. The distance was about ten miles.

There was no danger from reefs in this direction, and if they had to beach the boat and the raft the shores of the islands would seem to offer safe landings. They were yet to learn different.

Yet the decision was wise as far as the two officers could be expected to know without a special knowledge of the conditions. What mainly they failed to apprehend was the swiftness with which the new storm was approaching.

The little yawl chugged away cheerfully and drew the life raft out of the channel. No other craft had been in sight when the Kennebunk's auxiliary steamer was blown up, and therefore none had come to their assistance.

The local fishermen and navigators of small craft appreciated the coming of this second storm on the heels of the first. It would probably pounce upon the coast with suddenness, so the fishing boats had already run for cover.

The yawl and raft got out into the open sea safely, and Mr. MacMasters steered for the harbor in which they expected to take refuge.

The first island was long and narrow—a mere windrow of rock and sand breaking the force of the sea. The huge combers coursing up its strand broke twenty feet high and offered nothing but utter destruction to any small craft that attempted a landing.

"That is no welcome coast," Mr. MacMasters said. "I wonder if we shouldn't have gone behind the islands after all, in spite of the reefs."

But it was too late to change their plans now. The first strait that opened between the islands was a mass of white water.

The raft was clumsy, and the yawl could make but slow headway. Suddenly the wind fell; but with its falling the sea began to rise.

"What does it look like to you, Mr. Mudge?" Ensign MacMasters asked the officer on the raft.

"More trouble. The wind's going to spring on us from a new quarter," was the reply. "See yonder!"

Away to the northwest a cloud seemed rolling upon the very surface of the sea it was so low. At its foot, at least, the sea sprang up in a foamy line to meet the pallid cloud. There was a moaning in the air, but distant.

"That's going to hit us hard!" cried Mr. MacMasters. "It's more than an ordinary gale."

"That's what it is, sir," admitted Mudge.

"Wish we were ashore!" shouted the ensign.

"Any chance, that you see?"

They were off the coast of the second island now. That was heavily wooded and the shore was more broken. But it seemed as inhospitable as that of the one of wider beach.

The newly risen gale was yet a long way from them, the low moaning of the tempest seemed distant.

The swell beneath the yawl's keel suddenly heaved into a gigantic wave upon the summit of which the boat was lifted like a chip in a mill-stream.

Some of the crew shouted aloud, in both amazement and fear. The propeller raced madly; then the engine stopped—dead.

"Out oars! Look alive, men!" was the ensign's command.

The clumsy raft tugged at the end of her hawse. The yawl went over the top of the wave and began to coast dizzily down the descent.

The rope which held it to its tow cut through the swell. It tautened—it snapped!

The loose end whipped the length of the yawl viciously and threw two of the crew flat into the boat's bottom.

The oars were out. Ensign MacMasters yelled an order to pull. Philip Morgan and Al Torrance found themselves throwing their entire strength against the oars.

The raft rose staggeringly upon the huge wave behind the boat. Mr. Mudge had a steering oar out; but the raft wabbled on the summit of the swell as though drunken. They saw the castaways upon the raft cowering helplessly.

Then like a shot the white wave rode down upon them with the pallid storm-cloud overhead. The yawl was headed into the gale and the oarsmen pulled like mad.

Mr. MacMasters yelled at them. They did their very best. The sleet whipped their shoulders like a thousand-lashed knout. The darkness of the tempest shut down upon them and the raft was instantly lost to sight.

"Frenchy! Ikey!" Whistler Morgan gasped, and Torry heard him.

But they could do nothing to aid their chums. Duty in any case held them to their work. They pulled with the very last ounce of strength they possessed.

The yawl's head was kept to the wind and sea; but it was doubtful if she made any progress.

"Pull, men! Pull!" shouted the ensign again and again.

He inspired them, and perhaps their straining at the oars did keep the yawl from overturning at that time. Yet such ultimate fate for it seemed unavoidable. The wind and sea lashed it so furiously that Whistler told himself he would not have been surprised if the boat and crew were driven completely under the surface.

He had seen a good bit of bad weather before this; but nothing like what they suffered at this time. The warring elements fairly bruised their bodies. Sometimes the boys felt themselves pounded so viciously between the shoulders that they could scarcely draw their breaths.

Now and then, above the tumult of the tempest, the ensign's voice encouraged them. Whistler, sitting three yards away, could not see the officer at all.

Then, with the unexpectedness that is the greatest danger of these off-shore gales, the wind changed once more. It snapped around in a moment to due west. The cross seas lashed the yawl impetuously.