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Submarine Boys and the Middies

<h1>CHAPTER III: “YOU MAY AS WELL LEAVE THE BRIDGE!”</h1> There was so much of overwhelming censure in the naval officer's tone that Jack's spirit was stung to the quick. “It's your mistake, sir,” he retorted. “You didn't follow the course I advised. You swung the ship around to port, and—” “Silence, now, if you please, while men are trying to get this vessel out of a scrape a boy got her into,” commanded Mr. Mayhem, sternly. Jack flushed, then bit his tongue. In another moment a pallor had succeeded the red in his face. He was blamed for the disaster, and he was not really at fault. Yet, under the rebuke he had just received, he did not feel it his place to retort further for the present. Mr. Mayhew and Mr. Trahern conferred in low tones for a moment or two. “You may as well leave the bridge, young man,” resumed Mr. Mayhew, turning upon the submarine boy. “You are not likely to be of any use here.” As Jack, burning inwardly with indignation, though managing to keep outwardly calm, descended to the deck below, he caught sight of Hal Hastings, hovering near in the rowboat. Hal signaled to learn whether he should put in alongside to take off his chum, but Benson shook his head. Over on the “Farnum” the yard's owner and Eph Somers watched wonderingly. They understood, well enough, that the new, trim-looking gunboat was in trouble, but they did not know that Jack Benson was held at fault. Down between decks the engines of the “Hudson” were toiling hard to run the craft off out of the sand. Then the machinery stopped. An engineer officer came up from below. He and Mr. Mayhew walked to the stern, while a seaman, accompanying them, heaved the lead, reading the soundings. “We're stuck good and fast,” remarked the engineer officer. “We can't drive off out of that sand for the reason that the propellers are buried in the grit. They'll hardly turn at all, and, when they do, they only churn the sand without driving us off.” “Confound that ignoramus of a boy!” muttered Mr. Mayhew, walking slowly forward. It was no pleasant situation for the lieutenant commander. Having run his vessel ashore, he knew himself likely to be facing a naval board of inquiry. Hal, finding that the shore boat was not wanted for the present, had rowed over to the “Farnum's” moorings. Now Jacob Farnum came alongside in the shore boat. “May I speak with your watch officer?” he called. “I am the commanding officer,” Mr. Mayhew called down, in the cold, even, dulled voice of a man in trouble. “I am Mr. Farnum, owner of the yard. May I come on board?” “Be glad to have you,” Lieutenant Commander Mayhew responded. So Mr. Farnum went nimbly up over the side. “May I ask what is the trouble here, sir?” asked the yard's owner. “The trouble is,” replied Mr. Mayhew, “that your enterprising boy pilot has run us aground—hard, tight and fast!” Jacob Farnum glanced swiftly at his young captain. Jack shook his head briefly in dissent. Jacob Farnum, with full confidence in his young man, at once understood that there was more yet to be learned. “Come up on the bridge, sir, if you will,” requested the commander of the gunboat, who was a man of too good breeding to wish any dispute before the men of the crew. “You may come, too, Benson.” Jack followed the others, including the engineer officer of the “Hudson.” Yet Benson was clenching his hands, fighting a desperate battle to get full command over himself. It was hard—worse than hard—to be unjustly accused. Jacob Farnum wished to keep on the pleasantest terms with these officers of the Navy. At the same time he was man enough to feel determined that Jack, whether right or wrong, should have a full chance to defend himself. “I understand, sir,” began Mr. Farnum, “that you attach some blame in this matter to young Benson?” “Perhaps he is not to be blamed too much, on account of his extreme youth,” responded Mr. Mayhew. “Forget his youth altogether,” urged Mr. Farnum. “Let us treat him as a man. I've always found him one, in judgment, knowledge and loyalty. Do you mind telling me, sir, in what way he erred in bringing you in here?” “An error in giving his advice,” replied Mr. Mayhew. “Or else it was ignorance of how to handle a craft as large as this gunboat. For my anchorage he told me—” Here the lieutenant commander repeated the first part of Jack's directions correctly, but wound up with: “He advised me to throw my wheel over four points to port.” “Pardon me, sir,” Jack broke in, unable to keep still longer. “What I said, or intended to say, was to bring your vessel so that the forward end of the submarine shed over there would be four points off the port bow.” “What did you hear Mr. Benson say, Mr. Trahern?” demanded the gunboat's commander, turning to the ensign who had stood with him on the bridge. “Why, sir, I understood the lad to say what he states that he said.” “You are sure of that, Mr. Trahern?” “Unless my ears tricked me badly,” replied the ensign, “Mr. Benson said just what he now states. I wondered, sir, at your calling for slow speed astern.” Lieutenant Commander Mayhew gazed for some moments fixedly at the face of Ensign Trahern. Then, of a sudden, the gunboat's commander, who was both an officer and a gentleman, broke forth, contritely: “As I think it over, I believe, myself, that Benson advised as he now states he did. It was my own error—I am sure of it now.” Wheeling about, Mayhew held out his right hand. “Mr. Benson,” he said, in a deep voice full of regret, “I was the one in error. I am glad to admit it, even if tardily. Will you pardon my too hasty censure?” “Gladly, sir,” Benson replied, gripping the proffered hand. Jacob Farnum stood back, wagging his head in a satisfied way. It had been difficult for him to believe that his young captain had been at fault in so simple a matter, or in a harbor with which he was so intimately acquainted. As for the young man himself, the thing that touched him most deeply was the quick, complete and manly acknowledgment of this lieutenant commander. “Mr. Farnum,” inquired the gunboat's commander, “have you any towboats about here that can be used in helping me to get the 'Hudson' off this sand ledge?” “The only one in near waters, sir,” replied the yard's owner, “is a craft, not so very much larger than a launch, that ties up some three miles down the coast. She's the boat I use when I need any towing here. Of course, I have the two torpedo boats, though their engines were not constructed for towing work.” “May I offer a suggestion?” asked Jack, when the talk lagged. “I'll be glad to have you, Mr. Benson,” replied Mr. Mayhew, turning toward the submarine boy. “Flood tide will be in in about two hours and a half, sir,” Benson followed up. “That ought to raise this vessel a good deal. Then, with the towboat Mr. Farnum has mentioned, and with such help as the engines of the submarines may give, together with your own engines, Mr. Mayhew, I think there ought to be a good chance of getting the 'Hudson' afloat with plenty of water under her whole keel. We can even start some of the engines on shore, and rig winches to haul on extra cables. Altogether, we can give you a strong pull, sir.” “That sounds like the best plan to me,” nodded Jacob Farnum. “I'll have a message sent at once for that towboat.” A white-coated steward now appeared on deck, moving near the lieutenant commander. “Is dinner ready, Greers?” called Mr. Mayhew. “Yes, sir.” “Lay two more plates, then. Mr. Farnum, I trust you and your young submarine commander will sit as my guests to-night.” This invitation the yard's owner accepted, asking only time enough to arrange for keeping some of his workmen over-time, awaiting the coming of flood-tide. So, presently, Jack and his employer found themselves seated at table in the gunboat's handsome wardroom. Besides the lieutenant commander there were Lieutenant Halpin, two ensigns, two engineer officers and a young medical officer. In the “Hudson's” complement of officers there were also four midshipmen, but these latter ate in their own mess. The time passed most pleasantly, Mr. Mayhew plainly doing all in his power to atone for his late censure of the submarine boy. Before dinner was over the small towboat was in the harbor. At the coming of flood tide this towing craft had a hawser made fast to the gunboat. With the help of some of the naval machinists aboard the “Hudson,” both submarine craft were also manned and hawsers made fast. Two cables were passed ashore to winches to which power was supplied by the shipyard's engines. When all was ready a mighty pull was given, the gunboat's own propellers taking part in the struggle. For two or three minutes the efforts continued. Then, at last, the “Hudson,” uninjured, ran off into deep water and shortly afterwards anchored in safety. It was a moment of tremendous relief for Mr. Mayhew. “Call the tugboat captain aboard, and I'll settle with him at my own expense,” proposed the lieutenant commander. “I trust you will think of nothing of the sort,” replied Jacob Farnum, quickly. “In this harbor I wish to consider you and your vessel as my guests.” Again Mr. Mayhew expressed his thanks. Presently, glancing ashore through the night, he asked: “What sort of country is it hereabouts?” “Mostly flat, as to the surface,” Mr. Farnum replied. “If your question goes further, there are some fine roads and several handsome estates within a few miles of here. Mr. Mayhew, won't you and a couple of your officers come on shore with me? I'll telephone for my car and put you over quite a few miles this evening.” “Delighted,” replied the commander of the gunboat. One of the “Hudson's” cutters being now in the water alongside, the party went ashore in this. Jack, after bidding the naval officers good-night, found Hal and Eph, who had just come ashore from supper on board the “Farnum.” “No sailing orders yet, I suppose?” Hal asked. “None,” Jack replied. “I reckon we'll start, all right, some time to-morrow morning.” “What'll we do to-night?” Eph wondered. “I don't know,” replied Jack. “We've few friends around here we need to take the trouble to say good-bye to. We could call on Mrs. Farnum, but I imagine we'd run into the naval party up at the Farnum house. We want to keep a bit in the background with these naval officers, except when they may ask for our company.” “Let's take a walk about the old town, then,” Hal suggested. So the three submarine boys strolled across the shipyard. Just as they were passing through the gate a man of middle height and seemingly about thirty years of age quickened his pace to reach them. “Is this shipyard open nights?” he queried. “Only to some employees,” Jack answered. “I suppose Mr. Farnum isn't about?” “No.” “Captain Benson?” “Benson is my name.” “This letter is addressed to Mr. Farnum,” went on the stranger, “but Mr. Pollard told me I could hand it to you.” Captain Jack took the letter from the unsealed envelope. “My dear Farnum,” ran the enclosure, “since you're short a good machinist for the engine room of the 'Farnum,' the bearer, Samuel Truax, seems to me to be just the man you want. I've examined him, and he understands the sort of machinery we use. Better give him a chance.” The note was signed in David Pollard's well-known, scrawly handwriting. “I'm sorry you can't see Mr. Farnum to-night,” said Benson, pleasantly. “He'll be here early in the morning, though.” “When do you sail?” asked Truax, quickly. “That you would have to ask Mr. Farnum, too,” smiled Jack. “But, see here, Mr. Pollard engaged me to work aboard one of your submarines.” “It looks that way, doesn't it?” laughed the young skipper. “And you're the captain?” “Yes; but I can't undertake to handle Mr. Farnum's business for him.” “You'll let me go aboard the craft to sleep for to-night, anyway?” coaxed Truax. “Why, that's just what I'm not at liberty to do,” replied the young submarine captain. “No; I couldn't think of that, in the absence of Mr. Farnum's order.” “But that doesn't seem hardly fair,” protested Truax. “See here, I have spent all my money getting here. I haven't even the price of a lodging with me, and this isn't a summer night.” “Why, I'll tell you what I'll do,” Benson went on, feeling in one of his pockets. “Here's a dollar. That'll buy you a bed and a breakfast at the hotel up the street. If you want to get aboard with us in time, you'd better show up by eight in the morning.” “But—” “That's really all I can do,” Jack Benson hastily assured the fellow. “I'm not the owner of the boat, and I can't take any liberties. Oh, wait just a moment. I'll see if there's any chance of Mr. Farnum coming back to-night.” Jack knew well enough that there wasn't any chance of Mr. Farnum returning, unless possibly at a very late hour with the naval officers, but the boy had seen the night watchman peering out through the gateway. Retracing his steps, Jack drew the night watchman inside, whispering: “Just a pointer for you. You've seen that man on the street with us? He has a letter from Mr. Pollard to Mr. Farnum, but I wouldn't let him in the yard to-night, unless Mr. Farnum appears and gives the order.” “I understand,” said the night watchman, nodding. “That's all, then, and thank you.” Jack Benson hastily rejoined the others on the sidewalk. “I don't believe, Mr. Truax, it will be worth your while to come here earlier than eight in the morning. Better go to the hotel and tie up to a good sleep. Good night.” “Say, why did you take such a dislike to the fellow?” queried Eph, as the three submarine boys strolled on up the street, Truax following slowly at some distance in the rear. “I didn't take a dislike to him,” Jack replied, opening his eyes wide. “You choked him off mighty short, then.” “If it looked that way, then I'm sorry,” Benson protested, in a tone of genuine regret. “All I wanted to make plain was that I couldn't pass him on to our precious old boat without Mr. Farnum's order.” Truax plodded slowly along behind the submarine boys, a cunning look in the man's eyes as he stared after Jack Benson. “You're a slick young man, or else a wise one,” muttered Truax. “But I think I'm smart enough to take it out of you!” Nor did Sam Truax go to the hotel. He had his own plans for this evening—plans that boded the submarine boys no good. The three boys strolled easily about town, getting a hot soda or two, and, finally, drifting into a moving picture show that had opened recently in Dunhaven. This place they did not leave until the show was over. They were half-way home when Captain Jack remembered that he had left behind him a book that he had bought earlier in the evening. “You fellows keep right on down to the yard. I'll hurry back, get the book and overtake you,” he proposed. Jack ran back, but already the little theatre was closed. “I'm out that book, then, if we sail in the morning,” he muttered, as he trudged along after his friends. On the way toward the water front Benson had to pass a vacant lot surrounded by a high board fence on a deserted street. He had passed about half way along the length of the fence, when a head appeared over the top followed by a pair of arms holding a small bag of sand. Down dropped the bag, striking Jack Benson on the top of the head, sending him unconscious to the ground. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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