Williamson was called too, but declared that he felt like turning in early. So, when the shore boat came, it had but two passengers to take from the submarine. There were a few shore leave men, however, from, the gunboat.

"This boat will return to the fleet, gentlemen, every hour up to midnight," stated the petty officer in charge, as Jack and Hal stepped ashore at a rickety little wharf.

"Judging from what we can see of the town from here, we'll be ready to go back long before midnight," Jack Benson laughingly told his companion.

"All I want is to shake some of the sea-roll out of my gait," nodded Hastings. "It surely doesn't seem to be much of a town."

By way of public buildings there turned out to be a church, locked and dark, a general store and also a drug-store that contained the local post-office. But the drug-store carried no ice cream or soda, so the submarine boys turned away.

There was one other "public" place that the boys failed to discover at once. That was a low groggery at the further end of the town. Here two of the sailors who had come on shore leave turned in for a drink or two. They found a suave, black-bearded man quite ready to buy liquor for Uncle Sam's tars.

Three-quarters of an hour later Jack and Hal felt they had seen about as much of the town as they cared for, when a hailing voice stopped them.

"Finding it pretty dull, gentlemen?"

"Oh, good evening," replied Captain Jack, recognizing the bearded man whom he had refused admittance to the "Farnum."

"Pretty stupid town, isn't it, Captain!" asked the stranger, holding out his hand, which Jack Benson took.

"As lively as we thought it would be," Hal rejoined. "We just came ashore to stretch ourselves a bit. Thought we might lay a course to an ice-cream soda, too, but failed."

"These fishermen don't have such things," smiled the stranger. "They are content with the bare necessities of life, with a little grog and tobacco added. Speaking of grog, would you care to try the best this town has, gentlemen?"

"Thank you," Jack answered, politely. "We've never either of us tasted the stuff, and we don't care to begin."

"Drop into the drug-store and have a cigar, then?"

"We don't smoke, either, thank you," came from Hal.

"You young men are rather hard to entertain in a place like this," sighed the stranger, but his eyes twinkled.

"We are just as grateful for the intention," Jack assured him.

"Tell you what I can do, gentlemen," proposed the stranger, suddenly. "I might invite you down to my shack for a little while, and show you my books and some models of yachts and ships that I've been collecting. I'm quite proud of my collection in that line. Won't you come?"

Anything in the line of yacht or ship-models interested both of these sea-loving boys from the shipyard at Dunhaven. Jack graciously accepted the invitation for them both.

"And, though I have no soda fountain," continued the bearded one, "I can offer you some soft drinks. I always keep some about the place."

"How do you come to be living in a place like this, if I'm not too inquisitive?" queried Benson, as the three strolled down the street.

"Doctor's orders," replied the bearded one. "So I've rented the best old shack I could get here, down by the water. I spend a good deal of my time sailing a sloop that I have. Curtis is my name."

Jack and Hal introduced themselves in turn.

Curtis's shack proved to be well away from the village proper, and down near the waterfront. A light shone from a window near the front door as the three approached the small dwelling.

"I think I can interest you for an hour, gentlemen," declared the bearded one, as he slipped a key in the lock of the door.

He admitted them to a little room off the hallway, a room that contained not much beyond a table and four, chairs, a side-table and some of the accessories of the smoker.

"Just take a seat here," proposed Curtis, "while I get some sarsaparilla for you. I'll be right back in a moment."

It was four or five minutes before Curtis came, back, bearing a tray on which were three tall glasses, each containing a brownish liquid.

"The stuff isn't iced, yet it's fairly cold," the bearded one explained. "Well, gentlemen, here's to a pleasant evening!"

Hal, who was thirsty, took a long swallow of the sarsaparilla, finding the flavor excellent. Jack drank more slowly, though he enjoyed the beverage.

"If you don't mind," suggested Curtis, "I will light a cigar. And say, by the way, gentlemen, what if we take a little walk down to my beach? Before showing you the models I spoke of, I'd like to have your opinion of the lines of my sloop."

"We'll go down and take a look with great pleasure," Jack Benson agreed, rising. "And I'm glad, sir, that you're able to show us more courtesy than we were able to offer you to-night."

"Oh, that was all right," declared their host, smiling good-humoredly. "Rules are rules, and you have your owners to please. No hard feelings on that score, I assure you."

Curtis led the way through a dark yard down to a pier. Moored there lay a handsome white sloop, some forty-two feet in length—a boat of a good and seaworthy knockabout type.

"This is a sloop, all right," Jack agreed, cordially. "Rather different from the lumbering fishing craft hereabouts."

"Oh, hah, yum!" yawned Hal, at which Curtis shot a quick glance at him.

"Come on board," invited Curtis, stepping down to the deck of the craft. "Let me show you what a comfortable cruising cabin I have."

"Hi, oh, yowl" yawned Hal, again. "Jack, I think I shall enjoy my rest to-night."

"Same case here," agreed Benson, stifling a yawn that came as though in answer to Hal's.

"I won't keep you long, gentlemen, if I am boring you," agreed their host, amiably. "Now, I'll go below first and light up. So! Now, come down and take a look. Do you find many yacht cabins more comfortable than this one?"

It was, indeed, a cozy place. Up forward stood a miniature sideboard, complete in every respect with glass and silver. In the center of the cabin was a folding table. There were locker seats and inviting looking cushions. The trim was largely of mahogany. On either side was a broad, comfortable-looking berth.

"Just get into that berth and try it, Mr. Hastings," urged the bearded one.

"I—I'm afraid to," confessed Hal, stifling another yawn.

"Afraid?"

"Very sure thing!"

"Why?"

"I'm—hah-ho-hum!" yawned Hal Hastings. "I'm afraid I'd—yow!—abuse your hospitality by going to sleep."

Jack Benson leaned against the edge of the opposite berth, feeling unaccountably drowsy.

"Oh, nonsense," laughed Curtis. "Just pile into that berth for a moment, Hastings, and see what a soft, restful place it is. I'll agree to pull you out, if necessary."

Not realizing much, in his approaching stupor, Hal Hastings allowed himself to be coaxed to stretch himself at full length in the downy berth.

Almost immediately he closed his eyes, drifting off into stupor.

"Why, your friend is drowsy, isn't he?" laughed the bearded one, turning to the submarine skipper.

Jack Benson's own eyelids were suspiciously close together.

"Why—what—ails you?"

Curtis spoke in a low, droning, far-away voice that caused Jack Benson's upper eyelids to sink. Curtis stood watching him, in malicious glee, for some moments. Then, at last, he took hold of the young skipper.

"Come, old fellow," coaxed the bearded one, "you'll do best to join your friend in a good nap. Get up in the berth."

"Lemme alone," protested the boy, thickly, feeling that he was being lifted. Jack struggled, partly rousing himself.

"Come, get up into the berth. You'll be more comfortable there."

"Lemme alone. What are you trying to do?" demanded Jack, swinging an arm.

Curtis dodged the light blow, then gripped Jack Benson resolutely. "Now, see here, young man," hissed the bearded one, "I'm not going to have any more nonsense out of you. Up into the berth you go! Do you want me to hit you?"

Another man thrust his head down the cabin hatchway, showing an evil, grinning face.

"Got 'em right?" demanded the one from the hatchway.

"Yes," snapped the bearded one, then turned to give his attention to Jack Benson, who was putting up an ineffectual fight while Hal slumbered on. "Now, see here, Benson, quit all your fooling!"

"You lemme up," insisted the submarine boy, in a low, chill voice, though he swung both his arms in an effort to assert himself. "M not goin' t' stay here. Lemme up, I say! 'M goin' back to—own boat."

"The submarine?" jeered the bearded man.

"Yep."

"Guess again, son," laughed Curtis, jeeringly. "You're not going back aboard the submarine to-night."

"Am so," declared Benson, obstinately, though his tone was growing more drowsy every instant, and his busy hands moved almost as weakly as an infant's.

"Listen, if you've got enough of your senses left," growled the bearded men. "You're not going back to the 'Farnum'—neither to-night, nor at any other time during the next few months. You're bound on a long cruise, but not on a submarine boat. I am the captain here, and I'll name the cruise!"



CHAPTER XVIII

HELD UP BY MARINES

It was barely a minute afterward that Jack Benson lapsed into a very distinct snore.

"No more trouble from this pair," laughed the bearded one to his companion at the hatchway. "Now, I'll douse the cabin light, and then we'll cast off. This thing has moved along very slickly."

Eph, after having made up his mind to turn in early, had found his sleepy fit passing. He read for a while in the cabin, then pulled on a reefer and went up on deck. Williamson was already in a berth, sound asleep.

"It would be a fine night if there was a moon," Eph remarked to the marine sentry on deck.

"Yes, sir."

The marine—"soldier, and sailor, too"—not being there for conversational purposes, continued his slow pacing, his rifle resting over his right shoulder.

As Eph strolled about in the limited space of the platform deck he heard a distant creaking. It was a sound that he well knew—the hoisting of sail.

"I wonder if the local fishermen start out at this time of the night?" Eph Somers remarked, musingly, to the sentry.

"It may be so, sir; I don't know," replied the marine.

Presently Eph made out the lines and the spread of canvas of a handsome knockabout sloop standing on out of the harbor.

The course being narrow, the sloop was obliged to sail rather close to the fleet.

"That's no fisherman!" muttered Somers, watching, his hands thrust deep in his pockets.

Presently the sloop's hull was lost to Eph's sight beyond the gunboat. Then the boy heard a voice from the "Hudson's" deck roar out:

"Look alive, you lubber! Do you want to foul our anchor chain?"

"No, sir," came from the sloop's deck. "We'll clear you all right."

"See that you do, then!"

Then the sloop's hull came into view again, as the craft headed out toward the open water beyond.

"That's the kind of a craft Jack would give a heap to be on," thought Eph. "Queer that he should spend all his time on gasoline peanut roasters when he's so fond of whistling for a breeze behind canvas."

As the sloop neared the mouth of the little bay, and her lines became rather indistinct in the darkness, Eph Somers turned to resume his pacing of the deck.

"Hullo," muttered the submarine boy, two or three minutes later. "Here's the shore boat coming on its regular trip. I wonder if Jack and Hal are in it? It's about time for them to be coming on board."

But the shore boat, instead of coming out to the submarine, lay in at the side gangway of the gunboat opposite, and Eph discovered that his two comrades were not in the boat.

"I say," hailed Eph, "have you seen Mr. Benson and Mr. Hastings on shore!"

"No, sir," replied the petty officer in charge. Then one of the sailors in the boat spoke in an undertone.

"This man says, sir," continued the petty officer, "that he saw your friends, sir, going aboard a white knockabout sloop."

"He did, eh?" demanded the astonished Eph. "How long ago was that?"

"Only a few minutes ago, sir," replied the sailor.

"You're sure you saw Mr. Benson and Mr. Hastings?"

"Yes, sir."

"That's queer," reflected Eph. "It wouldn't be like them to go sailing at this time of the night, and without notifying me, either. But, then, I didn't see anything of 'em aboard that sloop, either."

Eph was silent for a few moments, thinking. Then, suddenly, he leaped up in the air, coming down flat-footed.

"Crackey!" ejaculated Eph Somers.

For a moment or two his face was a study in bewilderment.

"Mighty strange things have been happening all through this cruise," Eph muttered, half aloud. "Especially happening to Jack! Now, the two of them go aboard that sloop, and immediately after the boat puts out to sea in the dead of night. What if Jack and Hal have been shanghaied on that infernal sloop?"

Cold chills began to chase each other up and down the spine of Eph Somers. He was not, ordinarily, an imaginative youth, but just now the gruesome thought that had entered his mind persisted there.

He began to pace the platform deck in deep agitation.

"Anything wrong, sir?" questioned the marine sentry, halting and throwing his rifle over to port arms.

"That's just what I'd give a million dollars and ten cents to know!" exploded Eph.

"Gunboat, ahoy!" he shouted, some twenty seconds later.

"'Farnum,' ahoy!"

"I half believe, sir," Eph rattled on, "that my two comrades, Mr. Benson and Mr. Hastings have been tricked, in some way, and carried out to sea on that knockabout. They'd have been back from shore by this time, if nothing had happened."

"What do you want to do, Mr. Somers?"

"Want to do, sir?" retorted Eph. "I know what I'm going to do. I'm going to slip moorings and chase after that knockabout. What I wish to know from you, sir, is whether you'll send another marine or two on board, so that I can back up my demand to find my friends?

"I'll have to ask the lieutenant commander about that, Mr. Somers."

"Can you do it, now, sir?" asked Eph, energetically.

"Instantly. I'll let you know the decision as soon as it's made."

Eph, hanging at the rail in the silence that followed, had no notion of whether his request had been a correct one. All he knew was that his suspicions had surged to the surface, and were threatening to boil over. It was a huge relief to the boy when Mr Mayhew's voice sounded from the rail of the gunboat. Somers swiftly answered all questions.

"Your craft and crew are in a measure under our protection and orders," decided Mr. Mayhew. "I think we may properly extend you some help. I will send some men to you, and a cadet midshipman who will have my instructions."

"Will you send them quickly, sir?" begged Eph.

"I'll have men on board of you by the time that your engines are running," promised the lieutenant commander.

"Engines?" That word came as a fortunate reminder to the Submarine boy. He darted below, almost yanking Williamson from his berth, nearly pulling the machinist into his clothes. By the time that Williamson was really wide awake he found himself standing by the motors forward.

Then young Somers darted onto deck again, just in time to see the boat coming alongside. It brought two more marines, one of them a corporal. There were also two sailors. A cadet midshipman commanded them.

"Mr. Somers," reported the cadet midshipman, "I am not intended to displace you from the command of this boat. I am here only with definite instructions in case you succeed in overhauling that white sloop."

"What—" began Eph. Then he paused, with a half-grin. "Really," he added, "I ought to know better than to quiz you about your instructions from your superior officer."

"Yes, sir," assented the midshipman, simply.

Eph turned on the current to the search-light, swinging the ray about the bay. Then, too impatient to sit in the conning tower, the submarine boy took his place by the deck wheel.

"Will your seamen cast loose from the moorings?" Somers asked.

"Yes, sir," replied the midshipman.

"If there's anything wrong, good luck to you," sounded the cool voice of Lieutenant Commander Mayhew, from the gunboat's rail.

"Thank you, sir."

No sooner had the moorings been cast loose from than Eph sounded the slow speed ahead bell. Within sixty seconds the propellers of the "Farnum" were doing a ten-knot stunt, which was soon increased to fourteen.

One of the seamen now stood, by to swing the searchlight under Eph's orders.

By the time that the submarine reached the mouth of the bay the light faintly picked up a spread of white sail, off to the East.

"That's the knockabout," cried Eph, excitedly. "Now, see here, keep that ray right across the boat as soon as we get half a mile nearer."

"It'll show the boat that you're chasing 'em, sir," advised the midshipman.

"I know it," admitted Eph. "But it will also keep the rascals from dumping my friends overboard without our catching 'em at it."

"What do you think the men in charge of that boat are, sir—pirates?"

"They're mighty close to it, if they've shanghaied Mr. Benson and Mr. Hastings and put to sea with 'em," rejoined Eph. Then he rang for more speed. Down below, Williamson almost instantly responded. The "Farnum" now fairly leaped through the water.

"Turn the light on the knockabout, now, and keep it there," directed the submarine boy.

There was a seven-knot breeze blowing. At the speed at which the submarine boat was traveling the distance was soon covered.

And now the searchlight revealed two men in the standing-room of the sloop, one of whom, a bearded man, was looking backward over his wake much of the time.

"Can one of the marines fire a shot to stop those fellows?" asked Eph Somers.

"In the air do you mean, sir?" asked the midshipman. "Certainly."

"Then I wish he'd do it."

Bang! The discharge of the rifle sounded sharply on the night air.

"It ain't stopping 'em any," muttered Eph, after a few seconds had gone by.

"Nothing would, unless fired into them," volunteered Midshipman Terrell.

It did not take long, however, to run the submarine up alongside of the sloop, at a distance of about one hundred yards.

"Now, we want you men to stop," called Midshipman Terrell, between his hands. "We are United States naval forces, from the gunboat, and you will regard this as an order that you must obey. No!" thundered the midshipman, suddenly, as the bearded one started to step down into the cabin. "You will both keep on deck. Otherwise we shall be obliged to fire into you. We mean business, remember!"

"What do you want to board us for?" demanded Curtis, pausing.

"We will explain when we come aboard."

"How are you coming, aboard? You've no small boat"

"We can land this submarine right up beside you," responded the midshipman, "if you keep straight to your present course."

"And scrape all the paint off our side," objected Curtis.

"That has no bearing on my instructions, sir. I direct you to keep straight to your present course. We will come up alongside."

"What if we don't do it?" demanded Curtis, with sudden bluster.

"Then your danger will be divided between being shot where you stand and having your craft cut in two by the bow of our craft," retorted Mr. Terrell. "You will realize, I think, that there can be no parleying with our orders."

The bearded one swore, but the corporal and his two marines stood at the rail with their rifles ready, waiting only the midshipman's order to aim and fire.

Eph allowed the "Farnum" to fall back a little way. Then he exerted himself to show his best in seamanship as he ran the submarine up to board the sloop by the starboard quarter. The two boats barely touched. Mr. Terrell, his three marines and two seamen leaped to the standing room of the yacht. Eph, all aquiver, let the nose of the "Farnum" fall back slightly. Then he trailed along, under bare headway.

Then a shout came from the sloop, as the two seamen reappeared, bearing the forms of Jack and Hal.

"We've found them aboard, Mr. Somers," shouted Terrell. "Drugged, I think, sir. Will you some alongside, sir."

Eph quickly rang the signal, then did some careful manoeuvering. As he touched, one of the marines leaped back to the platform deck, then passed a line to Mr. Terrell. The two craft were held together until Jack and Hal had been passed, still unconscious, over the side. The naval party quickly followed, then cast loose from the sloop.

"This whole proceeding is high-handed," growled Curtis, as soon as he saw that he was not to be molested.

"Oh, you shut up, and keep your tongue padlocked," retorted Midshipman Terrell, in high disgust. "You're lucky as it is. Now, Mr. Somers, are you going back to the bay, sir?"

"Aren't you going to take those two—body snatchers?" demanded Eph, glaring venomously at the pair on the sloop.

"My instructions don't cover that, sir," replied the cadet midshipman.

"Then hang your orders!" muttered young Somers, but he kept the words behind his teeth. Eph veered off, next headed about, while the two seamen bore Jack and Hal below to their berths.

"Will you take the wheel, Mr. Terrell?" asked Eph, edging away, with one hand on the spokes.

"Yes, sir."

Eph hurried below to the port stateroom. Jack lay in the lower berth, Hal in the upper. The two seamen, after feeling for pulse, stood by looking at the unconscious submarine boys.

"What's been done to them?" demanded Eph.

"The same old knockout drops, sir, that sailors in all parts of the world know so well, sir, I think," answered one of the men, with a quiet grin.

"Humph!" gritted Eph, bending over Jack's face. "Smell his breath."

"Yes, sir," said the sailor, obeying.

"There's no smell of liquor, there, is there?"

"No, sir," admitted the sailor, looking up, rather puzzled.

"There is some infernally mean trick in all this," growled Eph. "I am mighty sorry we didn't bring those rascals back with us."

When he went on deck again the submarine boy relieved Mr. Terrell at the wheel, completing the run in to moorings.

"Did you find your comrades aboard the sloop, Mr. Somers?" hailed the lieutenant commander, from the gunboat.

"Yes, sir."

"Are they all right?"

"Drugged, sir."

"Hm! Mr. Terrell and his detachment will return to this vessel."

The boat took them away. It was five minutes later when the boat returned, bringing the lieutenant commander, Doctor McCrea, the surgeon, and a sailor belonging to the hospital detachment aboard the "Hudson." Eph conducted them below.

"Drugged," announced the medical officer, after a brief examination.

"Humph!" uttered Mr. Mayhew. "That sort of trick isn't played on folks in any decent resort on shore. I don't understand Mr. Benson's conduct. I remember his mishap at Dunhaven. I remember the plight he got into at Annapolis; and now he and Mr. Hastings are found in this questionable shape. I am very much afraid these young men do not conduct themselves, on shore, in the careful manner that must be expected of civilian instructors to cadets."

Eph somers felt something boiling up inside of him.



CHAPTER XIX

THE LIEUTENANT COMMANDER'S VERDICT

"Let me try to get at your meaning, sir, if you please," begged Somers, after standing for a few seconds with clenched fists. "Do you mean that my friends have been going into tough resorts on shore?"

"Where else do sailors usually get drugged?" inquired Mr. Mayhew. "What kind of people usually feed sea-faring men with what are generally known as knock-out drops?"

"How should I know?" demanded Eph, solemnly.

"You see your friends, and you see their condition."

"Smell their breaths, sir. There isn't a trace of the odor of liquor."

The surgeon did so, confirming Eph's claim. "But I remember that Mr. Benson came aboard, at Dunhaven, with a very strong odor of liquor," continued the lieutenant commander.

"That had been sprinkled on his clothes, sir," argued Somers.

"Perhaps. But then there was the Annapolis affair."

"Mr. Benson explained that to you, sir."

"It's very strange," returned the lieutenant commander, "that such things seem to happen generally to Mr. Benson when he gets on shore. I know I have been ashore, in all parts of the world, without having such things happen to me."

"There is something behind this, sir, that doesn't spell bad conduct on the part of either of my friends," cried Eph, hotly. "There's some plot, some trick in the whole thing that we don't understand. And we might understand much more about it, sir, if your midshipman had arrested that pair of blackguards on the sloop, and brought them back with us."

"Had Mr. Benson and Mr. Hastings been members of the naval forces we could have done that," replied Mr. Mayhew. "Probably you don't understand, Mr. Somers, how very careful the Navy has to be about making arrests in times of peace, when the civil authorities are all supreme. We carried our right as far as it could possibly be stretched when we boarded and searched that sloop for you."

"I don't care so much about that," contended Eph, warmly. "But it does jar on me, sir, to have you take such a view of my friends. You don't know them; you don't understand them as Mr. Farnum and Mr. Pollard do."

"Perhaps you wouldn't blame me as much for my opinions," replied Mr. Mayhew, "if you could look at the matter from my viewpoint, Mr. Somers. I am in charge of this cruise, which is one of instruction to naval cadets, and I am in a very large measure responsible for the conduct and good behavior of young men who have been selected as instructors to the cadets. If you were in my place, Mr. Somers, would you be patient over young men who, when they get ashore, get into one unseemly scrape after another? Or would you wonder, as I do, whether it will not be best for me to end this practice cruise and sail back to Annapolis, there to make my report in the matter?"

"For heaven's sake don't do that," begged Eph Somers, hoarsely. "At least, not until you have talked with Mr. Benson and Mr. Hastings. You'll wait until morning, sir?"

"I'm afraid I shall have to, if I want to talk with your friends," replied the lieutenant commander, smiling coldly. "And now, Mr. Somers, you and I had better leave here. The doctor and his nurse will want the room cleared in order to look after their patients. I hope your friends will be all right in the morning," added the naval officer, as the pair gained the deck.

"Now, see here, sir," began Eph, earnestly, all over again. "I hope you'll soon begin to understand that, whatever has happened, there are no two straighter boys alive than Jack Benson and Hal Hastings."

"I trust you're right," replied Mr. Mayhew, less coldly. "Yet, what can you expect me to think, now that Benson has been in such scrapes three different times? And, in this last instance, he drags even the quiet Mr. Hastings into the affair with him."

"I see that I'll have to wait, sir," sighed Eph, resignedly.

"Yes; it will be better in every way to wait," agreed the lieutenant commander. "It is plain justice, at the least, to wait and give the young men a chance to offer any defense that they can."

"Now, of course, from his way of looking at it, I can't blame him so very much," admitted Eph Somers, as he leaned over the rail, watching Mr. Mayhew going back through the darkness. "But Jack—great old Jack!—having any liking at all for mixing up in saloons and such places on shore! Ha, ha! Ho, ho!"

Williamson, now able to leave his motors, came on deck, asking an account of what had happened. The machinist listened in amazement, though, like Eph, he needed no proof that the boys, whatever trouble they had encountered, had met honestly and innocently.

"Of course that naval officer is right, too, from his own limited point of view," urged Williamson.

"Oh, yes, I suppose so," nodded Somers, gloomily. "I've been trying to tell myself that. But it would be fearful, wouldn't it, if the 'Farnum' were ordered away from the fleet, and Jack disgraced, just because of things he really didn't do."

"It's a queer old world," mused the machinist, thoughtfully. "We hear a lot about the consequences of wrong things we do. But how often people seem to have to pay up for things they never did!"

"Oh, well," muttered Eph, philosophically, "let's wait until morning. A night's sleep straightens out a lot of things."

Williamson, however, having had some sleep earlier in the night, was not drowsy, now. He lighted a pipe, lingering on the platform deck. Eph, not being a user of tobacco, went below to find that Doctor McCrea, from the gunboat, was sitting in the cabin, reading a book he had chosen from the book-case.

"I've brought the young men around somewhat," reported the physician. "I've made them throw off the drug, and now I've left some stuff with the nurse to help brace them up. They'll have sour stomachs and aching heads in the morning, though."

"But you noticed one thing, Doctor?" pressed Somers.

"What was that?"

"That there were no signs of liquor about them? Those boys never tasted a drop of the vile stuff in their lives!"

"I'm inclined to believe you," nodded the surgeon. "They have splendid, clear skins, eyes bright as diamonds, sound, sturdy heartbeats, and they're full of vitality. I've met boys from the slums, once in a while—beer-drinkers and cigarette-smokers. But such boys never show the splendid physical condition that your friends possess."

"You know, then, as well as I do, Doctor, that neither of my chums are rowdies, and that, whatever happened to them to-night, they didn't get to it through any bad habits or conduct?"

"I'm much inclined to agree with you, Mr. Somers."

"I hope, then, you'll succeed in impressing all that on Lieutenant Commander Mayhew in the morning."

With that the submarine boy passed on to the starboard stateroom. He would have given much to have stepped into the room opposite, but felt, from the doctor's manner, that the latter did not wish his patients disturbed.

Eph slept little that night. Though Jack and Hal fared better in that single respect, Somers looked far the best of the three in the morning.

Jack and Hal came out with bandages about their heads, which buzzed and ached.

The two, however, told their story to Somers and Williamson as soon as possible.

"Just as I supposed," nodded Eph, vigorously.

"Why, how did you guess it all?" asked Benson, in astonishment.

"I mean, I knew you hadn't been in any low sailor resorts."

"Who said we had?" demanded Jack, flaring in spite of his dizziness.

"Some of the Navy folks didn't know but you had," replied Eph, then bit his tongue for having let that much out of the bag.

Doctor McCrea came aboard early. He looked the boys over.

"Eat a little toast, if you want, and drink some weak tea," he suggested. "After that, eat nothing more until to-night."

"But the day's work—?" hinted Jack.

"I don't know," replied the doctor, shrugging his shoulders. "I'm not a line officer, and therefore know nothing about the fleet's manoeuvres."

That reply, however, was quite enough to send Jack Benson's suspicions aloft.

"Eph," he cried, wheeling upon his friend the moment Doctor McCrea was gone, "there's something you haven't told us."

"Such as—what?" asked Somers, doing his best to look mighty innocent.

"Doctor McCrea as good as admitted that we—won't have anything to do to-day. What's wrong?" Then, after a brief pause: "Good heavens, does Mr. Mayhew believe we've been acting disgracefully? Are we barred out of the instruction work?"

Hal had been raising a glass of cold water to his lips. The glass fell, with a crash. He wheeled about, then clutched at the edge of the cabin table, most unsteadily.

"We-e-ll," admitted Somers, reluctantly, "Mr. Mayhew said he would want to question you some, perhaps, this morning."

"What did he say? Out with it all, Eph!"

A moment before Jack Benson had been pallid enough. Now, two bright, furious spots burned in either cheek.

The red-haired boy, however, was spared the pain of going any further, for, at that moment, a heavy tread was heard on the spiral staircase. Then Lieutenant Commander Mayhew, holding himself very erect, one hand resting against the scabbard of the sword that he wore at his side, came into view below.

Many were the questions that the naval officer put to the two victims of the last night's mishap. All the time his eyes studied their faces keenly. Apparently, it needed a lot of assurance to half convince Mr. Mayhew that the two submarine boys were telling him the truth.

"Well, gentlemen," he said, at last, rising and speaking with great deliberation, "I believe you to be gentlemen, which means that you are young men of honor, if it means anything at all. Your story is so strange that—pardon me—it is difficult to credit. Yet I have no evidence that it is not true. I am sorry we have not in custody the two men who sailed that sloop last night—"

"Pardon me, sir," broke in Eph, "but I have an idea to spring."

"Well, Mr. Somers?"

"It is a mighty likely thing that, if you question that fellow, Truax, that you have on board, you may be able to learn something from him. For I tell you, sir, there's some plot on hand to discredit the Pollard submarine boats with the United States Government. There's a scheme, too, to ruin Jack Benson—but that's only a part of the bigger plot to discredit our company's boats with the Navy, sir."

An expression of wonder crept into Mr. Mayhew's face. Then he looked thoughtful.

"I'll see if I can hit upon a tactful way of questioning Truax," replied the naval officer, after a while. "And now, Mr. Benson, since you and Mr. Hastings are not in the least fit to instruct any of the cadets to-day, I'll send out sections on board the 'Pollard' only, under command of my executive officer, Lieutenant Halpin. To-morrow you should be in shape to resume your duties. Yet, if I permit this, I must make one condition."

"It will be hardly necessary, sir, to make any conditions with us," Jack replied, with spirit. "Your instructions will be sufficient. We are wholly at your orders, sir. What are your commands?"

"As long as you remain on this present tour of duty, Mr. Benson, and you, also, Mr. Hastings, you are requested not to leave the 'Farnum,' except with my knowledge and consent. Will that be satisfactory to you?"

"It will, sir," Captain Jack Benson replied, saluting.

"Very good, then. And now, young gentlemen, I will wish you good morning. Remain at anchor, to-day, and on board."

As soon as Mr. Mayhew and his clanking sword had gone up the stairway, and then over the side into a cutter, Eph Somers struck an attitude.

"O wise judge! O just judge!" exclaimed the red-haired one, dramatically.

"Now, what's getting possession of your cranium?" smiled Hal Hastings, weakly.

"You heard Mr. Mayhew's verdict in your case," mocked Eph, a glare in his eyes. "A great verdict! 'Not guilty—but don't do it again'."



CHAPTER XX

COMING UP IN A TIGHT PLACE

"Sulks are no part of real manhood. Your sullen fellow is seldom, or never, one you can tie to in trouble."

Though at first they felt some spirited resentment against the very plain suspicions of Lieutenant Commander Mayhew, it was not long before both the victims of the queer work of the night before began to see that there was an abundance of reason and good sense in the naval officer's belief and attitude.

"There's only one thing we can do, Hal," proposed Jack. "That is, to show Mr. Mayhew, by long-continued good action, that we're just the sort of fellows our friends believe us to be."

"Mr. Mayhew doesn't know us," Hal assented. "To a stranger our yarn does have a fishy sound."

"If it weren't for the restriction against our going ashore," hinted Jack, "we'd certainly hustle to land and find out all we could about that fellow Curtis since he has been living in Blair's Cove."

"I'm under no promise, or orders, either," bristled Eph, ready to do battle for his friends. "I can go on shore."

"No, you can't, Eph!" negatived Jack, with decision. "You might be the very next one to get into a big scrape. Then how would things look for the whole of us?"

"Humph! I'd have my eyes open," grunted Somers.

"We thought we had ours open," smiled Hal Hastings.

"No one of our crowd will go ashore, unless ordered there by Mr. Mayhew," declared Benson, with emphasis. "We're not taking another solitary chance."

"We've got all we can do to take our present medicine," muttered Hal, making a wry face.

But they did take it, and, as is always the case, with benefit to their general sense of discipline. In fact, when ordered aboard the gunboat, before eight o'clock the next morning, Jack Benson and Hal Hastings, in their best uniforms, and looking as natty as could be, appeared quite the ideal of young submarine officers.

Passing scores of cadet midshipmen, they were ushered into Lieutenant Commander Mayhew's cabin. Doctor McCrea, the gunboat's surgeon, sat with the commanding officer.

"I was anxious to see how you looked this morning," smiled Mr. Mayhew, as the two naval officers rose. "How do you feel? Thoroughly clear-headed and steady?"

"We feel fine, sir," Jack answered.

"They look in the pink of condition," agreed Doctor McCrea.

"If you don't feel wholly up to the mark," urged Mr. Mayhew, "say so. For, if you put out to-day, it is my intention to take the cadets through drills below the surface."

Jack's eyes sparkled at the thought. This meant that he and Hal were to be taken back fully into the confidence of the Navy!

"We're ready, sir—ready at the word of command."

"Very good, then," replied the gunboat's commander. "You will receive sixteen of our young men on board within an hour. Ensign Trahern will come with them."

Jack started, flushing.

"Oh, you will be in command of your boat, Mr. Benson," continued Mr. Mayhew, noting the start and interpreting it correctly. "Mr. Trahem may make some suggestions, if he thinks them necessary, but you will command, sir, and you will instruct the midshipmen."

"Thank you, sir."

"That is all, Mr. Benson."

Jack and Hal saluted, turned and left the cabin.

"That's not as bad as it might be, is it?" queried Hastings, as soon as they were back on board the "Farnum."

"We're on probation," smiled Jack. "It's all we can expect, I suppose."

In due time the section of naval cadets came on board. Mr. Mayhew was also thoughtful enough to send a naval machinist to take the place of Sam Truax in the engine room. Thus Hal had two men to look after the motors and other machinery under his direction, leaving Eph at Jack's more personal orders.

"The lieutenant commander sends you word, with his compliments," reported Ensign Trahern, "that, after leaving the bay, the formation will be as usual. The signal to halt and be ready for the tour of instruction will be given when we are about ten miles off the coast, due East."

"Mr. Trahern, will it not be a good idea to have the midshipmen manage the deck wheel and engine room signals, each in turn, on the way out and back?" inquired the young submarine skipper.

"Excellent, I should say," nodded the ensign. "But that is as you direct, Mr. Benson. I am not here to interfere with your acting in full charge of the instruction tour."

Six of the cadets, of the engineer division, being below in the engine room, there were but ten on the platform deck. Jack selected one of the latter, ordering him to the deck wheel.

"You will take charge, Mr. Surles," instructed Jack. "Assume all the responsibilities of the officer of the deck."

When the starting order came from the gunboat, just before the "Hudson" glided ahead in the lead, Mr. Surles gave the order to cast loose from moorings. The engine room bell jangled; Surles, for the first time in his life, was watch officer of a submarine torpedo boat.

As they left the bay behind, the young man gave up his temporary post to a comrade. In all, five of the midshipmen commanded, briefly, before the laying-to signal was given out at sea.

Hal Hastings now appeared on deck, gravely saluting.

"Captain Benson," he stated, "I have inspected all the submerging machinery, the tanks, the compressed air apparatus, and all, and find everything in good order. We can go below the surface at any moment."

Two or three of the naval cadets smiled broadly at hearing the title bestowed on a boy younger than many of themselves.

"No levity, gentlemen," broke in Ensign Trahern, rather sternly. "Mr. Benson is captain to his own chief engineer."

Jack waited until he saw the signal flags break out at the foretop of the "Hudson." It was an inquiry as to whether he was prepared for diving.

"Yes," signaled back the "Farnum's" flags.

"Dive at will, but keep to a due east or west course. Be careful to avoid collision with the sister craft," came the next order from the parent boat.

"All below!" ordered Benson, crisply.

Ensign Trahern waited until the last of the cadets had filed below, then followed them. Last of all came Jack Benson, after having lowered the short signal mast and made other preparations. Now he stepped inside the conning tower, swiftly making all fast. Then he called Midshipman Surles up the stairway to the tower wheel.

"Do you think you can head due east, and keep to that course under water, Mr. Surles?" asked the young submarine instructor.

"Yes, sir."

"Take the wheel, then. I will send two more men up here to observe with you."

Stepping down to the cabin floor, Jack chose two more midshipmen, ordering them up into the tower.

"The rest of you will crowd about me, as I handle the submerging machinery," called Jack, raising his voice somewhat. "Ask any questions you wish, at appropriate times."

"I thought, sir," spoke up one of the middies, "that you controlled the diving apparatus from the conning tower."

"It can be done there, when the officer in charge of the boat is up there," Jack answered. "The diving, and the rising, may be controlled at this point in the cabin. Mr. Hastings, give us eight miles ahead from the electric motors."

"Yes, sir," came the word from Hal.

"Pass the word to Mr. Surles to keep to the course," added Benson.

Under the impetus from the electric motors, which were used when going under water, the propeller shafts began to throb.

"We're going down, now, gentlemen," called Jack. "Observe the shifting record on the depth gauge, as we go lower and lower. Also, look out for your footing, for we dive on an inclined plane. Now—here we go!"

The next instant they shot below, going down at so deep an angle that it made many of the middies reach for new footing.

"The gauge registers sixty feet below," announced Jack Benson, in a tone to be heard above the murmurs of some of the young men. "Now—!"

In another moment, by the quick flooding of some of the compartments astern, the young skipper brought the boat on an even keel.

"Someone ask the men up in the tower how far they can see through the water," proposed Jack.

"Can't see a blessed thing," came down the answer. "Except for the binnacle light over the compass we might think ourselves at the bottom of a sea of ink."

"That's one of the peculiarities of submarine boating," explained Jack Benson. "A good many land-lubbers imagine we use powerful searchlights to find our way under water, but a light powerful enough to show us twenty feet ahead of our own bow hasn't yet been made by man. So, when you dive beneath the surface, you simply have to go it blind. As a result, you take your bearings and guess your distance before you dive. That guess is all you have to go upon in judging where to come up to strike at an enemy's hull. But that guess can be made with splendid accuracy when you understand your work well enough."

After having finished the prescribed distance under water, Captain Jack turned on the compressed air to expel the water gradually from the compartments. So easily was this done that there was no real sensation of rising. Suddenly the conning tower appeared above water. There was a quick rush upward for the platform deck. None of these middies ever having been below before, in a submarine boat, several of them had been on tenterhooks of anxiety. Not one of them, however, by word or gesture had betrayed the fact.

Two minutes later the "Pollard" emerged from the water, several hundred yards away. Those on the deck of the "Farnum" had a splendid view of the other boat's emerging performance.

Now, other sections of cadets were transferred from the gunboat to the two submarines, and the trips below surface proceeded.

The last section of all to go aboard the "Farnum" had just finished their first experience under water, when the gunboat signaled:

"'Farnum,' take a half-hour's run below the surface, then come back above surface."

"That will be a longer experience than I have yet had for one time," remarked Mr. Trahern, with a smile, as he interpreted the signal to Captain Jack.

"We have run for hours below, with safety, sir," Benson answered.

Two minutes later the section of middies that had just come up from a brief trip under water were below again.

"I think you'll find, gentlemen, that it will seem like the longest half hour you can remember," announced young Captain Benson. "My friends and I have spent many long hours under the surface, though we have never yet gotten over the terrible monotony of such a trip. Twenty-four hours under, I think, would make a lunatic of the bravest or the most stolid man."

As they ran along, in the silence and the darkness, the young midshipmen began to look curiously at one another.

"Did you misunderstand the time, Mr. Benson?" asked one of the midshipmen, at last. "It's surely more than a half hour since we made the last dive."

"Almost twelve minutes," Jack corrected, quietly.

"Whew-ew-ew!" whistled several of the naval cadets. Not one of them was a coward, yet, in their experience, the thought that they had put in barely more than a third of the ordered time under water made some of them fidget.

"Say, this gives us some idea how long a whole hour would be," remarked one of the midshipmen.

"Stop that man from talking," jibed another severely.

Jack had most of the time clear for instruction, after that, as few of the young men cared to talk. But at last another ventured to inquire:

"How much of the time is gone?"

"Nineteen minutes," Benson answered, after a look at his watch.

"O-o-o-oh!" The response came in a chorus that sounded like a protest.

Then passed what seemed like an eternity of seconds. All the time the electric motors ran, almost noiselessly. The slight tremor imparted to the craft by the propeller shafts seemed like an ominous rumbling. Jack's voice had ceased. No one felt like talking. From time to time Skipper Jack glanced at his watch; his face, expressionless, gave no clue to the eagerly watching naval cadets. But at last young Benson's hand reached toward the compressed air apparatus.

"A-a-a-ah!" It was meant for a cheer, but it sounded more like a groan.

Up above, in the tower, the midshipman bending over the compass, suddenly realized that daylight was filtering down through the water. In another instant the midshipman glanced up to find the tower above the surface.

Yet Cadet Midshipman Osgoodby gasped as though he had intended to scream instead. For, right ahead, her great bows looming up in the path of the little submarine, was a big liner, coming straight toward them!



CHAPTER XXI

"NO MORE MEN GO OVERBOARD!"

In a time like this a man's coolness and nerve receive the utmost test.

Had Jack Benson been there at the wheel he would have swung both hands to the diving controls and shot below the surface.

But Cadet Osgoodby, now at the wheel, did not sufficiently understand the use of the diving controls.

Whatever was to be done had to be accomplished in the fewest seconds, or the little submarine craft was bound to be ground to scrap iron under the great bows of the steamship.

Both of the other midshipmen saw the danger in the same instant as did Midshipman Osgoodby.

Yet neither of these young men knew better what to do than did the third. All they could do was to stiffen and to stand loyally beside their comrade in charge.

Perhaps for not half a second did Osgoodby hesitate.

Then he took the only chance that he saw; he threw the wheel over to port, jamming it there.

In strained, awful silence, the three waited. Never had seconds seemed so long before—not even under water.

On came the great liner, and now her bow was right atop of the bow at the forward end of the submarine's platform deck. There was just an instant to spare, but the "Farnum" shot past the oncoming, hostile-looking bows. In another moment the little craft, now more than awash, was out of harm's way.

None the less, the alarm had been passed on to those aboard the liner. That great craft, bound up from South Africa, carried diamonds and gold coin, in the purser's vaults in the hold, amounting in value to more than four million dollars.

All the way from Cape Town the passengers had been chaffing each other about the chance of meeting modern, up-to-date pirates.

"The only up-to-date pirate would be one that came in a submarine boat," Captain Coster had laughingly told his passengers. "A submarine boat could get away again, without leaving a trail. In these days no other kind of pirate craft could long escape."

So the passengers had joked each other about the submarine boat that would meet them, and rob the liner of its precious cargo. Bets had laughingly been offered that the submarine pirate would be encountered off the coast of the United States.

Now, when the little craft shot up in the path of the big one, the bow watch of the "Greytown," and a dozen passengers standing up in the bow, saw the little boat at the same time.

"There's the pirate!" shouted one nervous woman, leaping up and down, and pointing. "Oh, Captain! Captain! Save us from all being murdered!"

Two or three young children, who also saw the floating, queerly-shaped little craft dancing on the waves just off the steamship's starboard bow, began to scream in terror.

Even several of the men, who should have known better, experienced a shock of fright for a moment.

The "submarine pirate" that had been joked about for so many days, now seemed a thing of reality.

Down amidships, on the main deck, a pretty girl had sat, balanced on the rail, her stalwart brother standing by to hold her securely.

Yet, in the excitement that followed, the girl uttered a shriek and tottered. Her brother's hold was loosened for the instant, in his own bewilderment. Before he could recover, the girl had plunged down toward the water. With a frantic yell, the brother leaned too far out to seize her. He, too, plunged over the rail.

How either escaped being drawn in toward the great hull was marvelous.

But now both appeared in the foam astern, bobbing on the water, yet far apart.

The "Farnum" was near by. Midshipman Osgoodby threw the helm over once more, then started in to get closer to them.

At the same time he passed the word below. Captain Jack Benson was the first to reach the tower.

In an instant the young submarine skipper threw the power off.

"We can't go closer without the danger of running 'em down," quivered the submarine boy.

The instant he had the power off Captain Jack threw the manhole cover of the tower open. As he bounded out on the platform deck several of the midshipmen followed, with Ensign Trahern and others.

No sooner had his feet touched the platform deck than Jack threw down his cap. His blouse followed, almost in the same instant. Racing to the rail, the submarine boy calculated his distance, then sprang overboard, striking out desperately.

Word had been carried to the "Greytown's" bridge, and the big craft was slowing up as rapidly as her headway permitted, while an officer and several men rushed to lower and man a boat. Yet the boat, when it struck the water, was something more than a quarter of a mile away from the spot where the young woman and her brother had fallen overboard.

"Why don't some of the champion swimmers of the class go overboard to Mr. Benson's assistance?" rang Ensign Trahern's voice, sternly.

Apparently that was all the middies were waiting for.

Instantly uniform caps littered the platform deck. Uniform blouses followed. A group of white-shirted middies raced for the rail.

Splash! splash! splash! The water shot up in tiny columns of spray with so many young midshipmen diving overboard.

Even Ensign Trahern was startled by the promptness with which his question had been met.

"No more men go overboard!" bellowed Mr. Trahern.

Splash! splash! The order had come too late to stop these last divers. A solitary midshipman, hatless and with his blouse half off, stood beside the ensign, both of them knee-deep in discarded parts of uniform, while Eph peered out from the conning tower.

"That was kind of a mean trick, sir, to play on me! I'm the only one that didn't get-over," grinned the last midshipman, sheepishly.

It was a gross violation of discipline, so to address an officer. But Ensign Trahern merely smiled, for this once, as he replied:

"Never mind, Mr. Satterlee. You'll be needed to stand by with me and help some of these venturesome ones aboard again."

Jack's start had been a good one, and he was a lusty swimmer.

He headed straight for the young woman, whose cries reached him across the water.

She could not swim, but her skirts, spreading, were buoying her up briefly. When these skirts became thoroughly soaked they would fall, enclosing her in an envelope of considerable weight.

The brother, on the other hand, could swim a little. He had begun to do so, instinctively, striking out for his sister.

Yet, before he could reach her, his buoyancy gave out, his limbs cramping.

With a despairing cry he sank.

"Tread water! Tread! Keep up until I reach you!" called Jack, clearly, as he fought on to reach the young woman.

Her skirts were beginning to fill and drop. She might have trod water, but she did not understand how it was done.

"Help me! I'm sinking!" she screamed, as she threw up her hands. Then some of the water washed into her mouth.

"No; you're not sinking, either!" shouted Jack, encouragingly, as he redoubled his efforts at water sprinting.

He darted in, catching at her with one hand just as the girl's head sank under a wave.

In a jiffy Jack Benson had a secure hand-hold.

"Save me—oh, save me!" choked the girl, in terror, as her head came once more above.

"Keep cool; do just as I tell you, and—No! Don't grab me like that, or you may drown us both!" remonstrated the submarine boy.

But the girl acted as though possessed solely by the demon of terror. She succeeded in wrapping both arms in a frenzy about the submarine boy.

"You must leave my arms free," urged Jack, desperately, "or we shall go down together."

He struggled, but her strength, in her despair, was something past belief. Jack trod water while trying to make her understand.

It was of no use. She clung the tighter. There was but one course that would save time—to strike her a blow on the forehead that would render her senseless. But Jack could not bring himself to strike a woman.

As she felt herself going down the girl only wrapped her arms the more tightly about her would-be rescuer.

Then the water closed over them. Jack felt himself slipping down and down into the watery grave that awaited them.

No strength can combat the power of frenzy. Though Jack Benson struggled, he realized that it was a losing battle. The girl's arms seemed locked in a deathless grip around his own.

By the time that the first of the midshipmen reached the spot there was no trace either of Jack Benson or of the girl whom he had sought to save.



CHAPTER XXII

JACK SIGNALS THE "SAWBONES"

Though he realized the deadly peril of the situation, Jack Benson, when he found himself in that frantic embrace, slipping below the waters, did not lose his head.

"She'll weaken before I do," was his first thought.

He had taken in no water. A strong, expert swimmer, the submarine boy could hold in his breath for some time to come.

"If I could only free one hand, now!" thought the submarine boy.

He tried, but some instinct in the girl made her resist his efforts.

Even had he wanted to, the chivalrous youngster could not now have struck the blow that, depriving the young woman of her senses, would give him a chance to control her. His arms were pinned tightly.

Yet were they held so securely that he could not free one?

Jack Benson knew that he must, indeed, think fast, now, if he was to save their lives.

He tried one of the tricks of wrestlers for freeing his right arm.

A shudder passed through the frame of the girl; she clung more convulsively still.

Then Jack tried another little dodge. This time he nearly freed his left arm. Summoning all his strength, he gave another tug.

His left arm was free!

Working mightily with it, now, Jack Benson fought his way to the surface.

There was no need to give much heed to his unknown companion. She was holding to him in a way that insured her rising to the surface with him.

"Ugh! Whew!" What a mighty breath it was that the young submarine captain took into his lungs as his head shot into air.

"Oh, you—Benson!" shot from a middy's mouth.

The cry led half a dozen of the young men toward the all but exhausted rescuer. They came with long, lusty strokes that brought them to Benson, quickly, while he trod water and tried to raise the face of the girl above the surface.

The girl's eyes were closed, now, her cheeks pallid and waxen. Twice her face dropped beneath the surface, but Jack fought to bring her lips up into the air.

Then strong hands seized them both.

"Untwine the young lady's arms, if you can," begged the submarine boy.

Two of the cadets succeeded in doing this. More midshipmen were about them, now, yet not one among them could have boasted of being a better swimmer than was Jack Benson himself.

But now the young skipper of the "Farnum" was plainly exhausted.

Freed of the need of more immediate work, Jack, as soon as he was free, rolled over on his back, floating.

In the meantime, four other midshipmen swam close to where the girl's athletic brother had been seen to go down. He came up, at last, more than half gone, but the middies pounced upon him—and then he was safe.

Hal was at the wheel, now, with Williamson and the naval machinist below in the engine room. That gave Eph Somers a chance to spring out on the platform deck with Ensign Trahern and the sole remaining midshipman.

"I'd better run along, now, to pick 'em up, sir, hadn't I?" called Eph Somers to the naval officer.

"By all means, Mr. Somers."

The steamship's boat, too, pulled by a strong, well-trained crew, was now getting close to the scene. So it came about that the liner's lifeboat picked up Jack, the girl and her brother. The middies, disdaining any such outside interference, calmly turned and made for the "Farnum."

The girl proved to be unconscious, the brother more than half-dazed.

"Bring them aboard," directed Mr. Trahern, briefly.

"Now, gentlemen, you've a chance to apply what you may know about first aid to the drowning," suggested Ensign Trahern, tersely.

Under that vigorous treatment Walter Carruthers, as the young man afterwards declared himself to be, was quickly brought around. The middies had much harder work in reviving the girl. Her brother sat by watching the work.

"Elsie isn't—isn't dead, is she?" asked the brother, anxiously.

"Oh, no," replied one of the midshipmen, suspending his rescue work for an instant. "In fact, if there were women here to do the work—loosening her corsets, and all that sort of thing, you know—Miss Carruthers would be sitting up in short time."

At last, the girl was made to open her eyes. She swallowed a little coffee, too.

The "Greytown," in the meantime, had manoeuvered as close as was safe for such a big craft to come. The ship's doctor put off in a lifeboat, and soon declared his patient fit to be removed to the liner.

While all this was going on, Jack had slipped quietly below. He took a brisk rub-down, donned dry clothing, and speedily appeared on deck, looking as though nothing had happened.

"Drink some of this," ordered Eph, holding a pint cup of coffee toward the young skipper. Jack finished it all in a few gulps. Then, as his blood warmed, he began to smile over his late adventure.

Supported on the arm of the ship's doctor, Elsie Carruthers turned to ask:

"Where is the midshipman who first reached me—the—the one I so nearly drowned. I—I want to thank him, oh, so heartily, and to apologize."

"Here he is," cried Ensign Trahern, shoving Benson forward.

"But I'm not a midshipman, nor anything else in the Navy—no such luck," laughed Jack.

"If you're not in the Navy, you ought to be, you splendid fellow." cried the girl, weakly, holding out her hand in sheer gratitude. "And, oh, I was such a coward, and so unreasoning!"

"I guess anyone would be unreasoning if drowning and unable to swim," chuckled Jack Benson. "I know I would be."

"That's good of you," cried the girl, gratefully. "Awfully good, but I'm not deceived. I realize, now, what a criminal ninny I was to, act in a way that came so near to drowning both of us."

Then the young woman gracefully thanked all who had had any share in her rescue, and that of her brother. It took a lot of thanking, which everyone of the late heroes tried to dodge.

Then the visitors were taken off, and the midshipmen bundled below until dry clothing could be had for them.

The commanding officer of the "Hudson," having learned that something had happened was now heading the gunboat toward the "Farnum." In another half hour the naval fleet was together again, while the "Greytown" was rapidly vanishing along the northern horizon.

On receiving a report by megaphone, Lieutenant Commander Mayhew's first act was to order all of the drenched, and now chilled, midshipmen aboard the parent vessel. Here they were treated with rub-downs, dry clothing and hot black coffee. Even Jack Benson had been ordered on board, and he had to pass before Doctor McCrea at that.

"Oh, I'm all right," asserted Benson, who was the first to go before the doctor, while the middies were receiving their rub-downs. "You can't kill a salt-water dog with a dash of brine."

"Yes, you're in good enough shape," agreed the Navy medical officer.

Lieutenant Commander Mayhew now began to ask questions about the late occurrence.

When he had finished, Jack broke in with:

"By the way, sir, you were going to question your prisoner, Sam Truax, to see what you could learn about his reasons for acting the way he did on the 'Farnum.'"

"I didn't forget, either," replied the gunboat's commander. "I had him before me last night, and again this morning."

"And he said—" began Jack, eagerly.

"Said he hadn't the least notion what I was driving at," returned Mr. Mayhew, compressing his jaws. "And that was about every blessed word I could get out of him."

Jack looked, thoughtfully, in the direction of Doctor McCrea for a few moments, before he broke forth:

"Doctor, if I had anything like your chance, I'll wager I'd have Sam Truax talking in short order."

"How?" inquired Doctor McCrea, looking up with interest.

"Why, I'd—" Jack hesitated, glancing in the direction of the gunboat's commanding officer.

"I—I guess I had better go and see how the midshipmen are coming on," muttered Mr. Mayhew, rising.

Yet there was a twinkle in his eye as he turned away.

For some minutes Jack Benson talked with Doctor McCrea. That naval medical officer listened at least with interest. Finally, he began to grin. Then he roared, slapping his knees.

"Mr. Benson, there's one thing about you. You certainly are ingenious!"

"Will you do what I have suggested?" pressed the young submarine skipper.

"Why, I—er—er—"

Doctor McCrea hesitated, then again laughed, as he replied:

"Mr. Benson, all I can say is that I—I—well, I'll have to think it over. I'm afraid that I—but I'll think it over."



CHAPTER XXIII

WHAT BEFELL THE MAN IN THE BRIG

The "brig" is a place aboard a warship, as aboard some merchant vessels, that is set apart for prison purposes.

Here drunken or mutinous members of the crew are confined. Here, too, on board a vessel of war, any enlisted man is likely to be stowed away when under severe discipline for any reason.

It is a room fitted up like a prison cell, and having a barred door of iron.

On a war vessel a marine sentry, with bayonet fixed to his gun, is usually stationed before the door, both to watch the prisoners and to prevent men of the crew from talking with those under arrest.

It was in the brig, between decks on the "Hudson," that Sam Truax was spending his time, the only prisoner then in confinement.

Truax, since his arrest in the submarine's engine room, had had plenty of time to think matters over.

He had been doing a good deal of thinking, too, yet thought had by no means improved the fellow's temper.

On a stool in the corner sat Truax, his scowling, sullen face turned towards the barred door when the marine outside, taking a turn, peered in.

"Good heavens, man! What ails you?" demanded the marine.

"I'm all right," growled the prisoner.

"I'll be hanged if you look it!" was the marine's emphatic answer.

"What are you talking about?" demanded the prisoner, angrily.

"Man alive, I wish you could see your face!"

"I could if this place were fitted with a mirror," sneered Sam Truax.

The marine, after looking at the prisoner, and shaking his head, continued his pacing to and fro past the door.

Two or three minutes later a sailor, halting at the door, looked at Sam, then wheeled about to the marine.

"Say, what ails that man? What's the matter with his face?" demanded the seaman in a low tone, yet one loud enough to be overheard by the prisoner within.

"I don't know," said the marine. "Looks fearful, doesn't he?"

"He ought to have the doctor—that's what," muttered the seaman, then passed on.

"Now, what are those idiots jabbering about?" Sam gruffly asked himself. He shifted uneasily, feeling his face flush.

Five minutes later a sailor wearing on one sleeve the Red Cross of the hospital squad, passed by.

"Say," said the marine, "I wish you'd look at the feller in the brig."

"What ails him?" demanded the man of the hospital squad.

"Blessed if I know. But just look at his face—his eyes!"

The hospital man showed his face at the grating, looking at Sam Truax keenly for a moment.

"Wow!" he ejaculated.

"Looks fearful bad, don't he?" demanded the marine, also peering in. "What do you think it is?"

"I ain't quite sure," answered the hospital man. "But one thing I do know. The sawbones officer has got to have a look at this chap."

Sam Truax sprang to his feet, pacing up and down within the confines of the brig.

"What are they all talking about?" he asked himself, in a buzz of excitement. "Five minutes ago I felt well enough. Now—well, I certainly do feel queerish."

Barely three minutes more passed when Doctor McCrea hurried below, bustling along to the door of the brig. He, in turn, shot a keen look at Truax through the bars, then commanded:

"Sentry, unlock the door! Let me in there!"

In another moment Doctor McCrea was feeling the prisoner's pulse.

"How long have you been feeling out of sorts?" asked the medical man, briefly.

"N-n-not long," answered Truax, quite truthfully.

"Take this thermometer under your tongue!"

Sam Truax meekly submitted, then sat, perfectly still, while Doctor McCrea paced the brig for two full minutes. Then the "sawbones" took the thermometer from between Truax's lips and inspected it keenly.

"Hospital man!" rapped out Doctor McCrea, sharply.

"Aye, aye, sir!" reported the man with the Red Cross on his sleeve, reappearing before the door.

"Have the stretcher brought here at once!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

Still holding the clinical thermometer in one hand, Doctor McCrea stood keenly regarding the prisoner.

"What on earth is the matter with me?" demanded Truax, speaking somewhat nervously.

"Oh, you'll be all right—soon," replied Doctor McCrea, in what was too plainly a voice of false hope.

The stretcher was brought.

"Get on to this, Truax. Don't think of attempting to walk," ordered the surgeon. "Sentry, I am taking your prisoner to the sick bay. I'll make proper report of my action to the lieutenant commander."

The "sick bay" is the hospital part of a warship. It is a place provided with wide, comfortable berths and all the appliances for taking good care of ill men. Sam Truax was carefully placed in one of the berths. He was the only patient there at the time.

Doctor McCrea frequently felt the fellow's pulse, then ran a hand lightly over Sam's face, forehead and temples.

"You might tell me what's the matter with me, Doc," protested Truax.

"Oh, you'll be all right," replied the doctor, evasively.

"When?"

"Oh, in a few days, anyway."

"What have I got? A fever?"

"Now, don't ask questions, my man. Just lie quietly, and let us get you on your feet as soon as possible."

Just then the hospital man returned with a glass of something for which Doctor McCrea had sent him.

"Drink this," ordered the surgeon.

Truax obeyed.

"Now, in a few minutes, you ought to feel better," urged the surgeon, after the man in the berth had swallowed a sweetish drink.

Did he? Feel better? Truax soon began to turn decidedly white about the gills.

"I—I feel—awful," he groaned.

Doctor McCrea, in silence, again felt the fellow's pulse.

But, in a minute, something happened. A man may feel as well as ever, at one moment. Twenty minutes later, however, if he vomits, it is impossible to convince himself that he feels anything like well.

More of the same draught was brought, and the sick man made to swallow it. Even a third and a fourth dose were administered. Sam Truax became so much worse, in fact, that he did not even hear when the bow cable chains of the gunboat grated as the anchors were let go opposite Blair's Cove just before dark.

Certainly no man of medicine could have been more attentive than was Doctor McCrea. Even when one of the ward-room stewards appeared and announced that dinner was served, the naval surgeon replied:

"I don't know that I shall have any time for dinner to-night."

Then Doctor McCrea turned and again thrust his thermometer between Truax's lips. The reading of that thermometer, two minutes later, seemed to give him a good deal of concern.

"I wish there were a capable physician on shore that I could call in consultation," he remarked in a low tone, but Truax heard and stirred nervously under his blankets.

"I—I wish you could perspire some," said Doctor McCrea, anxiously, as he leaned over the sufferer.

"I—I'm icy c-c-c-cold," chattered Truax.

"Too bad, too bad," declared the naval surgeon, shaking his head.

There was a short interval, during which Truax tossed restlessly.

"Doc," he begged, at last, "I wish you'd tell me what ails me."

"What's the use?" demanded the surgeon, shaking his head.

"Am I—am I—oh, good heavens! There comes that fearful nausea again!"

"No, no! Fight it off! Don't let it get the better of you," urged the surgeon, anxiously.

But the nausea was not to be denied. Presently Truax settled back on his pillows.

"Is there anything on your mind, my man?" asked Doctor McCrea, bending over the sufferer. "Is there anything you'd like to set right, before—before—"

Doctor Mccrea's speech ended in an odd little click in his throat.

"Doctor, am I—am I—"

"Is there any little confession you would like to make? And wrong you may have done that you'd like to set straight, my man? If so, we can take down a statement, you know."

Truax groaned, but there was a look of great fright in his eyes.

"Doc, I—I wonder—if—"

"Well, Truax?"

"Are we at anchor—now?"

"Yes; in the little bay for the night."

"Is—is the 'Farnum' here, too?"

"Yes."

"I—I wonder if Jack Benson would come to see me for a little while?"

"Why, I'll see, of course," volunteered Doctor McCrea, rising and leaving the sick boy.



CHAPTER XXIV

CONCLUSION

Ten minutes later the naval surgeon returned with Benson. With the latter was Hal Hastings. Mr. Mayhew and Ensign Trahern hovered in the rear of the group.

"Here's Mr. Benson, Truax," announced Doctor McCrea. "Now, my man, if there is anything of which you want to unburden your mind, go ahead and do it. The rest of us can bear witness, and help matters straight if, in your better health, you have done anything that needs righting."

Sam Truax feebly stretched out a hand that certainly was hot enough by this time.

"Benson," he begged, weakly, "will you give me your hand?"

"Certainly," nodded Jack, as he did so.

"I—I wonder if you can ever forgive me?" moaned the ill man.

"Why, have you done anything that I don't already know?" asked Jack.

"A lot! Benson, I've been an all-around scoundrel."

"That's certainly surprising news," commented the submarine boy, dryly. "What have you been doing?"

"That assault back in Dunhaven—?"

"Was it you who knocked me out there, and sprinkled my clothes with whiskey?" demanded young Benson.

"Yes." In a somewhat shaking voice Truax confessed to the details of that outrageous affair. From that he passed on to Jack's never-to-be-forgotten trip into the suburbs of Annapolis.

"I found that mulatto in a low den," confessed the sick man. "I told him you carried a lot of money, and that he'd be welcome to it all if he'd decoy you somewhere, keep you all night, and then send you back, looking like a tramp, to the Naval Academy at the last moment."

Truax also added the name by which the mulatto was known in Annapolis.

"But why have you done all this?" demanded Jack. "What have you had against me?"

"I—I didn't do it on my own account," confessed Truax. "Did you ever hear of Tip Gaynor?"

"No—never," admitted Jack, after a moment's thought.

"He's—he's a salesman, or something like that, for Sidenham."

"The Sidenham Submarine Company?" breathed Jack Benson, intensely interested.

"Yes."

"The Sidenham people are our nearest competitors in the submarine business," muttered young Benson.

"Yes; and of course they wanted to get the business away from the Pollard crowd," confessed Sam Truax. "They told Tip Gaynor it would be worth ten thousand dollars to him for each Sidenham boat he could sell to the United States Government. Tip wanted that money, and your Pollard people were the hardest ones he had to beat. So Tip hired me—"

"One moment," interrupted Jack, quietly. "Did the Sidenham people know that Gaynor intended to use any such methods?"

"I don't believe they did," replied Truax. "In fact, Gaynor as good as told me the Sidenhams didn't know anything about his proposed tricks. He told me I must be very careful to keep the Sidenham name out of it all."

"So Tip Gaynor hired you to do all you could to disgrace me in the eyes of the Navy people?" demanded Jack.

"Yes—to hurt any of you, for that matter."

"And to play tricks in the engine room of either submarine?"

"Yes; Tip Gaynor told me it was highly important to cause the boats to break down while under the eyes of all Annapolis."

"I understand," muttered Jack. "That was clever, in a way. It was intended to make the whole Navy think the Pollard boat one that couldn't be depended upon?"

"That was the idea," assented Sam Truax, weakly.

"What sort of a looking fellow is Tip Gaynor?" asked Jack.

"You've met him!"

"I?" demanded Jack, in astonishment.

"Yes. From what I hear. He was the blackbearded man who drugged you and shanghaied you in the white knockabout. Only Tip doesn't usually wear a beard. He has grown it in the last three or four weeks, in order to hide himself from people who know him well. Then he came down here to Blair's Cove and rented a house so he could watch things. He had a tip that the instruction cruise would center around this little bay."

"So, acting for Tip Gaynor, you undertook to ruin us all, and the good name of our boats?" asked Jack. "And you even met Dave Pollard, and got him to take you on as a machinist for our boats?"

"Yes; Tip knew a man who was willing to introduce me to Pollard."

"It was just like simple, unsuspicious, bighearted Dave Pollard to be taken in by a rascal like that," muttered Jack, to himself. "But, oh, will Pollard ever forgive himself when he hears all this?"

Sam Truax added a few more details to his confession, but they were unimportant.

"I couldn't die without telling you all this, Benson," he added. "I hope you forgive me."

Ere Jack could reply Lieutenant Commander Mayhew stepped forward.

"Truax, I wish to ask you if every word you have uttered is the solemn truth?"

"It is; yes," admitted the sick man.

"Why have you made this confession?"

"Because I feel that I am going to die, and I don't want all this evil charged up against me."

"And you thought it would not be hard to get the better of a boy like Jack Benson?"

"I thought it would be easy enough," admitted Truax. "So did Tip Gaynor."

"Then it shows you, Truax," broke in Doctor McCrea, now laughing, "how far below the mark you shot in guessing at Jack Benson's ingenuity and brains. For it was he showed me how to induce you to make this confession, voluntarily, after having refused to answer any of the lieutenant commander's questions."

"What do you mean?" demanded Sam Truax, quickly, a queer look creeping into his face.

"Why, my man, I mean," grinned the naval surgeon, "that, when I was first called in to you, you were no more sick than I was. You were scared, first of all, by the remarks of others. Then, after we got you to bed in here, we dosed you with ippecac a few times. That started your stomach to moving up and down until you were convinced that you were a very sick man."

"What!" now roared Sam Truax, sitting up in the berth and staring angrily.

"Oh, the ippecac was my own choice," nodded the doctor, "but the general idea was Mr. Benson's. My man, with a lad like him you haven't a one-in-ten chance."

"So, to work a confession out of me, you've poisoned me?" gasped Sam Truax.

"Oh, you're not very badly poisoned," laughed Doctor McCrea. "About the most that you need, now, is to get into your clothes and take a few turns up and down the deck with a marine. The fresh air will brace you up all right. I shan't be surprised if the ippecac leaves you with an appetite after a while."

"You infernal cheat, you!" roared Truax, starting to get out of the berth. But the hospital man thrust him back.

"In view of what you've just been telling us, my man, you had better be just a bit modest about sprinkling bad names around." said the naval surgeon, turning on his heel.

He was followed by Lieutenant Commander Mayhew, Jack Benson and Hal Hastings. On the faces of all three were rather pronounced grins. The fellow had been caught easily enough.

"Mr. Benson," cried Doctor McCrea, grasping Jack's hand when the party had returned to the cabin, "I hope you are my friend?"

"I certainly am, sir," cried Jack, warmly.

"Thank you," replied the surgeon, making a comical face. "With your head for doing things, Mr. Benson, I can't help feeling a lot safer with your friendship than I would if I had your enmity."

"How easily the fellow threw everything to the winds!" muttered Mr. Mayhew, in some disgust.

While they were still chatting in the cabin of the gunboat a shot sounded on the deck. It was quickly followed by another. Then a corporal of marines rushed in, saluting.

"The prisoner, Truax, sir, escaped while taking a walk on deck under guard of a marine. He took to the water headlong, sir. The marine fired after him through the darkness, sir, and a second shot was fired. The officer of the deck sends his compliments, sir, and wants to know if Truax is to be pursued by men in a small boat?"

"At once, and with all diligence," nodded the lieutenant commander.

Though a very thorough search was made, Sam Truax was not found. It was thought, at the time, that the fellow must have been drowned. Months, afterward, however, it was learned that he was skulking in Europe with Tip Gaynor, who had received word in time to make his escape also.

It may be said, in passing, that neither Mr. Farnum nor Mr. Pollard felt it necessary to go to the trouble of trying to have the scoundrels arrested and extradited to this country, and in this Jack Benson agreed. Both rascals were rather certain, thereafter, to give the United States a wide berth.

For some time David Pollard had been holding aloof and keeping very quiet—a habit of his, often displayed for long periods. About this time, however, Mr. Pollard returned, with a triumphant twinkle in his eyes. He had been hard at work upon, and had perfected, an improved device for the discharge of torpedoes through the bow tube of the Pollard submarine boat.

It is to be mentioned, also, that the Sidenham Submarine Company, while admitting that Gaynor had been entrusted with the sale of their boats to the Government, disclaimed all knowledge of the methods that salesman had been employing. Everyone believed the disclaimer of the Sidenham concern, yet up to date none of its boats have been sold to the United States Government.

For two days more the submarine boat instruction continued at sea. Then, the tour of instruction over, the little flotilla returned to the Naval Academy at Annapolis. From here Captain Jack Benson wired Mr. Farnum for further orders. Without delay back came the despatch:

"Navy Department requests that, for present, 'Farnum' be left at Annapolis. You and your crew will return by rail when ready."

Soon afterward Jack was informed that the Annapolis police had succeeded in running down the mulatto who had decoyed the young submarine skipper on that memorable night. Also, Jack's money, watch and other valuables were recovered and returned to him. The mulatto is now serving a long term in jail. It afterwards turned out that nearly two-score seafaring men had been robbed by the mulatto by the same game that had been played on Jack Benson.

One forenoon when Jack, and his mates were about to go ashore, for good, from the "Farnum," Lieutenant Commander Mayhew came on board, followed by Ensign Trahern and three of the midshipmen who had been under submarine instruction.

"Now, Mr. Benson, and gentlemen," smiled Mr. Mayhew, "I'm not going to frighten you by making any set speech. What I have to say is that the cadet midshipmen who have been under your very capable and much-prized instruction of late, wish each of you to take away a very slight memento of your stay here. There is one for each of you."

Not even Machinist Williamson had been omitted. Each of the four received from the lieutenant commander a small box. Each box, on being opened, proved to contain a small gold shield. In the center was the coat-of-arms of the United States Naval Academy. At the top of each pin was the name of the one to whom it was given. Across the bottom of each pin were inscribed the words:

"From The Battalion of Naval Cadets In Keen Appreciation of Admirable Instruction."

"I do not believe," smiled Mr. Mayhew, "that anyone of you will hesitate about wearing this pin on vest or coat lapel. The gift is a simple one, but it practically makes you honorary members of the United States Navy of the future, and I'm glad of it."

Jack, in a voice that was somewhat husky and shaky, expressed thanks, as best he could, for himself and mates.

Then Lieutenant Commander Mayhew held out his hand.

"Mr. Benson, as you're leaving us, I want to express to you again my regret at having, for a while, believed you to be very different from the real Benson that I am now glad to know."

"Why, sir, I surely can't blame you for what you thought," smiled Jack. "In fact, I feel that I owe a tremendous lot to you for your patience when things looked as black against me as they did."

Jack and his friends, however, did not succeed in getting away from Annapolis until the entire battalion had a few minutes' leisure immediately following the noon meal.

Then the late crew of the "Farnum" had to shake hands rapidly all around. Just before they were summoned back to their duties, the assembled members of the battalion had time to give three rousing cheers just as the carriage bearing our young friends to the railway station rolled away.

It was not long after that the "Farnum" was sold to the United States Government. Even before the sale took place, Jacob Farnum received by express a box of handsome mementos sent to Jack Benson by Elsie Carruthers and her brother.

The time has come, now, to leave the submarine boys, though only briefly. We shall hear of their further doings in the next volume of this series, under the title: "The Submarine Boys and the Spies; Or, Dodging the Sharks of the Deep." This stirring tale of the ocean will deal with the efforts of the boys to protect the secrets of the Pollard submarine system from the foreign spies who beset them with treachery, violence, threats and bribes. It is a narrative full of intense interest.

THE END