Back Aa

Submarine Boys and the Middies

<h1>The Submarine Boys and the Middies</h1> <h2>By Victor G. Durham</h2> <h1>CHAPTER I: THE PRIZE DETAIL</h1> “The United States Government doesn't appear very anxious to claim its property, does it, sir?” asked Captain Jack Benson. The speaker was a boy of sixteen, attired in a uniform much after the pattern commonly worn by yacht captains. The insignia of naval rank were conspicuously absent. “Now, that I've had the good luck to sell the 'Pollard' to the Navy,” responded Jacob Farnum, principal owner of the shipbuilding yard, “I'm not disposed to grumble if the Government prefers to store its property here for a while.” Yet the young shipbuilder—he was a man in his early thirties, who had inherited this shipbuilding business from his father—allowed his eyes to twinkle in a way that suggested there was something else behind his words. Jack Benson saw that twinkle, but he did not ask questions. If the shipbuilder knew more than he was prepared to tell, it was not for his young captain to ask for information that was not volunteered. The second boy present, also in uniform, Hal Hastings by name, had not spoken in five minutes. That was like Hal. He was the engineer of the submarine torpedo boat, “Pollard.” Jack was captain of the same craft, and could do all the talking. Jacob Farnum sat back, sideways, at his rolltop desk. On top of the desk lay stacked a voluminous though neat pile of papers, letters, telegrams and memoranda that some rival builders of submarine torpedo boats might have been willing to pay much for the privilege of examining. For, at the present moment, there was fierce competition in the air between rival American builders of submarine fighting craft designed for the United States Navy. Even foreign builders and inventors were clamoring for recognition. Yet just now the reorganized Pollard Submarine Boat Company stood at the top of the line. It had made the last sale to the United States Navy Department. At this moment, out in the little harbor that was a part of the shipyard, the “Pollard” rode gently at anchor. She was the first submarine torpedo boat built at this yard, after the designs of David Pollard, the inventor, a close personal friend of Jacob Farnum. Moreover, the second boat, named the “Farnum,” had just been launched and put in commission, ready at an hour's notice to take the sea in search of floating enemies of the United States. “The United States will take its boat one of these days, Captain,” Mr. Farnum continued, after lighting a cigar. “By the way, did Dave tell you the name we are thinking of for the third boat, now on the stocks?” “Dave” was Mr. Pollard, the inventor of the Pollard Submarine boat. “No, sir,” Captain Jack replied. “We have thought,” resumed Mr. Farnum, quietly, after blowing out a ring of smoke, “of calling the third boat, now building, the 'Benson.'” “The—the—what, sir?” stammered Jack, flushing and rising. “Now, don't get excited, lad,” laughed the shipbuilder. “But—but—naming a boat for the United States Navy after me, sir—” Captain Jack's face flushed crimson. “Of course, if you object—” smiled Mr. Farnum, then paused. “Object? You know I don't, sir. But I am afraid the idea is going to my head,” laughed Jack, his face still flushed. “The very idea of there being in the United States Navy a fine and capable craft named after me—” “Oh, if the Navy folks object,” laughed Farnum, “then they'll change the name quickly enough. You understand, lad, the names we give to our boats last only until the craft are sold. The Navy people can change those names if they please.” “It will be a handsome compliment to me, Mr. Farnum. More handsome than deserved, I fear.” “Deserved, well enough,” retorted the shipbuilder. “Dave Pollard and I are well enough satisfied that, if it hadn't been for you youngsters, and the superb way in which you handled our first boat, Dave and I would still be sitting on the anxious bench in the ante-rooms of the Navy Department at Washington.” “Well, I don't deserve to have a boat named after me any more than Hal does, or Eph Somers.” “Give us time, won't you, Captain?” pleaded Jacob Farnum, his face straight, but his eyes laughing. “We expect to build at least five boats. If we didn't, this yard never would have been fitted for the present work, and you three boys, who've done so handsomely by us, wouldn't each own, as you now do, ten shares of stock in this company. Never fear; there'll be a 'Hastings' and a 'Somers' added to our fleet one of these days—even though some of our boats have to be sold to foreign governments.” “If a boat named the 'Hastings' were sold to some foreign government,” laughed Jack Benson, “Hal, here, wouldn't say much about it. But call a boat named the 'Somers,' after Eph, and then sell it, say, to the Germans or the Japanese, and all of Eph's American gorge would come to the surface. I'll wager he'd scheme to sink any submarine torpedo boat, named after him, that was sold to go under a foreign flag.” “I hope we'll never have to sell any of our boats to foreign governments,” replied Jacob Farnum, earnestly. “And we won't either, if the United States Government will give us half a show.” “That's just the trouble,” grumbled Hal Hastings, breaking into the talk, at last. “Confound it, why don't the people of this country run their government more than they do? Four-fifths of the inventors who get up great things that would put the United States on top, and keep us there, have to go abroad to find a market for their inventions! If I could invent a cannon to-day that would give all the power on earth to the nation owning it, would the American Government buy it from me? No, sir! I'd have to sell the cannon to England, Germany or Japan—or else starve while Congress was talking of doing something about it in the next session. Mr. Farnum, you have the finest, and the only real submarine torpedo boat. Yet, if you want to go on building and selling these craft, you'll have to dispose of most of them abroad.” “I hope not,” responded the shipbuilder, solemnly. Having said his say, Hal subsided. He was likely not to speak again for an hour. As a class, engineers, having to listen much to noisy machinery, are themselves silent. It was well along in the afternoon, a little past the middle of October. For our three young friends, Jack, Hal and Eph, things were dull just at the present moment. They were drawing their salaries from the Pollard company, yet of late there had been little for them to do. Yet the three submarine boys knew that big things were in the air. David Pollard was away, presumably on important business. Jacob Farnum was not much given to speaking of plans until he had put them through to the finish. Some big deal was at present “on” with the Government. That much the submarine boys knew by intuition. They felt, therefore, that, at any moment, they were likely to be called into action—to be called upon for big things. As Jack and Hal sat in the office, silent, while Jacob Farnum turned to his desk to scan one of the papers lying there, the door opened. A boy burst in, waving a yellow envelope. “Operator said to hustle this wire to you,” shouted the boy, panting a bit. “Said it might be big news for Farnum. So I ran all the way.” Jacob Farnum took the yellow envelope, opening it and glancing hastily through the contents. “It is pretty good news,” assented the shipbuilder, a smile wreathing his face. “This is for you, messenger.” “This” proved to be a folded dollar bill. The messenger took the money eagerly, then demanded, more respectfully: “Any answer, sir?” “Not at this moment, thank you,” replied Mr. Farnum. “That is all; you may go, boy.” Plainly the boy who had brought the telegram was disappointed over not getting some inkling of the secret. All Dunhaven, in fact, was wildly agog over any news that affected the Farnum yard. For, though the torpedo boat building industry was now known under the Pollard name, after the inventor of these boats, the yard itself still went under the Farnum name that young Farnum had inherited from his father. While Jacob Farnum is reading the despatch carefully, for a better understanding, let us speak for a moment of Captain Jack Benson and his youthful comrades and chums. Readers of the first volume in this series, “The Submarine Boys on Duty,” remember how Jack Benson and Hal Hastings strayed into the little seaport town of Dunhaven one hot summer day, and how they learned that it was here that the then unknown but much-talked-about Pollard submarine was being built. Both Jack and Hal had been well trained in machine shops; they had spent much time aboard salt water power craft, and so felt a wild desire to work at the Farnum yard, and to make a study of submarine craft in general. How they succeeded in getting their start in the Farnum yard, every reader of the preceding volumes knows; how, too, Eph Somers, a native of Dunhaven, managed to “cheek” his way aboard the craft after she had been launched, and how he had always since managed to remain there. Our same older readers will remember the thrilling experiences of this boyish trio during the early trials of the new submarine torpedo boat, both above and below the surface. These readers will remember, also, for instance, the great prank played by the boys on the watch officer of one of the stateliest battleships of the Navy. Readers of the second volume, “The Submarine Boys' Trial Trip,” will recall, among other things, the desperate efforts made by George Melville, the capitalist, aided by the latter's disagreeable son, Don, to acquire stealthy control of the submarine building company, and their efforts to oust Jack, Hal and Eph from their much-prized employment. These readers will remember how Jack and his comrades spoiled the Melville plans, and how Captain Jack and his friends handled the “Pollard” so splendidly, in the presence of a board of Navy officers, that the United States Government was induced to buy that first submarine craft. After that sale, each of the three boys received, in addition to his regular pay, a bank account of a thousand dollars and ten shares of stock in the new company. Moreover, Messrs. Farnum and Pollard had felt wholly justified in promising these talented, daring, hustling submarine boys an assured and successful future. Jacob Farnum at last looked up from the final reading of the telegram in his hands. Captain Jack Benson's gaze was fixed on his employer's face. Hal Hastings was looking out of a window, with almost a bored look in his eyes. “You young men wanted action,” announced Mr. Farnum, quietly. “I think you'll get it.” “Soon?” questioned Jack, eagerly. “Immediately, or a minute or two later,” laughed the shipbuilder. “I'm ready,” declared Captain Jack, rising. “It'll take you a little time to hear about it all and digest it, so you may as well be seated again,” declared Farnum. Hal, too, wandered back to his chair. “You've been wondering how much longer the Government would leave the 'Pollard' here,” went on Mr. Farnum. “I am informed that the gunboat 'Hudson' is on her way here, to take over the 'Pollard.'” “What are the Navy folks going to do?” demanded Captain Jack, all but wrathfully. “Do they propose to tow that splendid little craft away?” “Hardly that, I imagine,” replied Farnum. “It's the custom of the United States Navy, you know, to send a gunboat along with every two or three submarines. They call the larger craft the 'parent boat.' The parent boat looks out for any submarine craft that may become disabled.” “The cheek of it,” vented Jack, disgustedly. “Why, sir, I'd volunteer to take the 'Pollard,' unassisted, around the world, if she could carry fuel enough for such a trip.” “But the Navy hasn't been accustomed to such capable submarine boats as ours, you know,” replied Mr. Farnum. “Hence the parent boat.” “Parent boat?” interjected Hal Hastings, with his quiet smile. “You might call it the 'Dad' boat, so to speak.” Mr. Farnum laughed, then continued: “A naval crew will take possession of the 'Pollard,' and the craft will proceed, under the care of the Dad boat”—with a side glance of amusement at Hal—“to the United States Naval Academy at Annapolis.” “Annapolis—where they train the naval cadets, the midshipmen, into United States Naval officers? Oh, how I'd like to go there!” breathed Captain Jack Benson, eagerly. “As a cadet in the Navy, do you mean?” asked Mr. Farnum. “Why, that would have been well enough,” assented Jack, “before I had such a chance in your submarine service. No; I mean I'd like to see Annapolis. I'd like to watch the midshipmen at their training, and see the whole naval life there.” “It's too bad every fellow can't have his wish gratified as easily,” continued Jacob Farnum. “Do you mean we're going to Annapolis, too?” asked Jack Benson, his eyes glowing. Even Hal Hastings sat up straighter in his chair, watching the shipbuilder's face closely. “Yes,” nodded Jacob Farnum. “Permission has been granted for me to send our second boat, the 'Farnum,' along with the 'Pollard'—both under the care of the—” “The Dad boat,” laughed Hastings. “Yes; that will give us a chance to have the 'Farnum' studied most closely by some of the most capable officers in the United States Navy. It ought to mean, presently, the sale of the 'Farnum' to the Government.” “That's just what it will mean,” promised Captain Jack, “if any efforts of ours can make the Navy men more interested in the boat.” “You three youngsters are likely to be at Annapolis for some time,” went on Mr. Farnum. “In fact—but don't let your heads become too enlarged by the news, will you?” Hal, quiet young Hal, neatly hid a yawn behind one hand, while Benson answered for both: “We're already wearing the largest-sized caps manufactured, Mr. Farnum. Don't tempt us too far, please!” “Oh, you boys are safe from the ordinary perils of vanity, or your heads would have burst long ago. Well, then, when you arrive at Annapolis, you three are to act as civilian instructors to the middies. You three are to teach the midshipmen of the United States Navy the principles on which the Pollard type of boat is run. There; I've told you the whole news. What do you think of it?” Mr. Farnum's cigar having burned low, he tossed it away, then leaned back as he lighted another weed. “What do we think, sir?” echoed Captain Jack, eagerly. “Why, we think we're in sight of the very time of our lives! Annapolis! And to teach the middies how to run a 'Pollard' submarine.” “How soon are we likely to have to start, sir!” asked Hal Hastings, after a silence that lasted a few moments. “Whenever the 'Hudson' shows up along this coast, and the officer in command of her gives the word. That may be any hour, now.” “Then we'd better find Eph,” suggested Captain Jack, “and pass him the word. Won't Eph Somers dance a jig for delight, though?” “Yes; we'd better look both boats over at once,” replied Mr. Farnum, picking up his hat. “And we'll leave word for Grant Andrews and some of his machinists to inspect both craft with us. There may be a few things that will need to be done.” As they left the office, crossing the yard, Captain Jack Benson and Hal Hastings felt exactly as though they were walking on air. Even Hal, quiet as he was, had caught the joy-infection of these orders to proceed to Annapolis. To be sent to the United States Naval Academy on a tour of instruction is what officers of the Navy often call “the prize detail.” Farnum and his two youthful companions went, first of all, to the long, shed-like building in which the third submarine craft to be turned out at this yard was now being built. From inside came the noisy clang of hammers against metal. The shipbuilder stepped inside alone, but soon came out, nodding. The three now continued on their way down to the little harbor. All of a sudden the three stopped short, almost with a jerk, in the same second, as though pulled by a string. At exactly the same instant Jacob Farnum, Captain Jack Benson and Engineer Hal Hastings put up their hands to rub their eyes. Their senses had told them truly, however. While the “Pollard” rode serenely at her moorings, the “Farnum,” the second boat to be launched, was nowhere to be seen! “What on earth has happened to the other submarine?” gasped the shipbuilder, as soon as he could somewhat control his voice. What, indeed? There was not a sign of her. At least, she had not sunk at her moorings, for the buoys floated in their respective places, with no manner of tackle attached to them. “A submarine boat can't slip its own cables and vanish without human hands!” gasped the staggered Jack Benson. “There's something uncanny about this,” muttered Hal Hastings. Jacob Farnum stood rooted to the spot, opening and closing his hands in a way that testified plainly to the extent of his bewilderment. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2

Update Required To play the media you will need to either update your browser to a recent version or update your Flash plugin.