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Submarine Boys and the Middies

<h1>CHAPTER VI: TWO KINDS OF VOODOO</h1> On the second day of the cruise Jack Benson returned to full duty. For four nights, in all, the submarine squadron tied up at moorings in harbors along the coast. On the fifth night, as darkness fell, the squadron continued under way, in Chesapeake Bay, for Annapolis was but three hours away. Immediately after supper Captain Jack took his place in the conning tower. He concerned himself principally with the compass, his only other task being to keep the course by the “Hudson's” lights, for the parent boat supplied in its own conduct all the navigation orders beyond the general course. The “Farnum's” searchlight was not used, the gunboat picking up all the coast-marks as they neared land. “Annapolis is the place I've always wanted to see,” Jack declared, as Hal joined him in the conning tower. “It's the place where I've always wanted to be a cadet,” sighed Hal. “But there's no chance for me, I fear. Jack, I'd rather be an officer of the Navy than a millionaire.” “Same here,” replied Jack, steadily. “It's hard to have to feel that I'll never be either.” As she entered the mouth of the Severn River the “Hudson” signaled to the submarines to follow, in file, the “Pollard” leading. A little later the three craft entered the Basin at the Academy. While the gunboat anchored off the Amphitheatre, the two submarine boats were ordered to anchorage just off the Boat House. Then a cutter came alongside. “The lieutenant commander's compliments to Mr. Benson. Will Mr. Benson go aboard the 'Hudson'?” asked the young officer in command of the cutter. Captain Jack lost no time in presenting himself before the lieutenant commander. “Mr. Benson,” said Mr. Mayhew, after greeting the submarine boy, “your craft will be under a marine guard to-night, and at all times while here at the Naval Academy. If you and your crew would like to spend the night ashore, in the quaint little old town of Annapolis, there's no reason why you shouldn't. But you will all need to report back aboard, ready for duty, by eight in the morning.” Jack thanked the naval commander, then hastened back to the “Farnum” to communicate the news. “Me for the shore trip,” declared Eph, promptly. All the others agreed with him. “I'll come back by ten o'clock to-night, though,” volunteered Sam Truax. “One of the crew ought to be aboard.” “We'll stay ashore,” decided Jack, “and return in the morning.” “I'm coming back to-night,” retorted Truax. “Keep still, and follow orders,” muttered Eph, digging his elbow into Truax's ribs. “The captain gives the orders here.” Jack, however, had turned away. Within five minutes a boat put off from shore, bringing two soldiers of the marine guard alongside. With them, in the shore boat, was a corporal of the guard. “Any of your crew coming back to-night, sir?” asked the corporal. “None,” Benson answered. “Will you instruct the sentries to see that none of the crew are allowed aboard during the night?” “Very good, sir.” The shore boat waited to convey them to the landing. Before going, young Captain Benson closed and locked the manhole entrance to the conning tower. A sullen silence had fallen over Truax. The instructions to the corporal of the guard, and the prompt acceptance of those instructions, told Sam, beyond any doubt, that he was not coming back on board that night. Truax followed the others as they passed through the Academy grounds. Beyond the large, handsome buildings, there was not much to be seen at night. Lights shone behind all the windows in Cadet Barracks. Nearly all of the cadets of the United States Navy were in their quarters, hard at study. Here and there a marine sentry paced. A few naval officers, in uniform, passed along the walks. That was all, and the submarine party had crossed the grounds to the gate through which they were to pass into the town of Annapolis. “Coming with us, Truax?” asked Williamson, as the party passed out into a dimly lighted street. “No,” replied the fellow, sullenly. “I'll travel by myself.” “You're welcome to,” muttered Eph, under his breath. The others climbed the steps to the State Capitol grounds, continuing until they reached one of the principal streets of the little town. “Say, but this place must have gone to sleep before we got ashore,” grumbled Eph. “Hanged if I don't think Dunhaven is a livelier little place!” “There isn't much to do, except to wander about a bit, then go to the Maryland House for a good sleep on shore,” Jack admitted. For more than an hour the submarine boys wandered about. The principal streets contained some stores that had a bright, up-to-date look, and in these principal streets the evening crowds much resembled those to be found in any small town. There were other streets, however, on which there was little traffic. In some of these quieter streets were quaint, old-fashioned houses built in the Colonial days. “Annapolis is more of a place to see by daylight, I reckon,” suggested Hal. “How about that sleep, Jack?” “The greatest fun, by night, I guess, consists in finding a drug-store and spending some of our loose change on ice cream sodas,” laughed the young submarine skipper. This done, they found their way to the Maryland House. Jack and Hal engaged a room together, Eph and Williamson taking the adjoining one. “As for me, in an exciting place like this,” grimaced Eph, “I'm off for bed.” Williamson followed him upstairs. For some minutes Hal sat with his chum in the hotel office. Then Jack went over and talked with the night clerk for a few moments. “There's a place near here, Hal, where a fellow can get an oyster fry,” Benson explained, returning to his chum. “With that information came the discovery that I have an appetite. Come and join me?” “No,” gaped Hal. “I reckon I'll go up and turn in.” “I'll be along in half an hour, then.” Jack found the oyster house readily. As he entered the little, not over-clean place, he found himself the only customer. He gave his order, then picked up the local daily paper. As he ate, Jack found himself yawning. The drowsiness of Annapolis by night was coming upon him. Little did he dream how soon he was to discover that Annapolis, in some of its parts, can be lively enough. As he paid his bill and stepped to the street, a young mulatto hurried up to him. “Am Ah correct, sah, in supposin' yo' Cap'n Jack Benson?” “That's my name,” Jack admitted. “Den Ah's jes' been 'roun' to de hotel, lookin' fo' yo', sah. One ob yo' men, Mistah Sam Truax, am done took sick, an' he done sent me fo' yo'.” “Truax ill? Why, I saw him a couple of hours ago, and he looked as healthy as a man could look,” Jack replied, in astonishment. “I reckon, sah, he's mighty po'ly now, sah,” replied the mulatto. “He done gib me money fo' to hiah a cab an' take yo' to him. Will yo' please to come, sah?” “Yes,” agreed Jack. “Lead the way.” “T'ank yo', sah; t'ank yo', sah. Follow me, sah.” Jack's mulatto guide led him down the street a little way, then around a corner. Here a rickety old cab with a single horse attached, waited. A gray old darkey sat on the driver's seat. “Step right inside, sah. We'll be dere direckly. Marse Truax'll be powahful glad to see yo', sah.” “See here,” demanded Jack, after they had driven several blocks at a good speed, “Truax hasn't been getting into any drinking scrapes, has he? Hasn't been getting himself arrested, has he?” For young Benson had learned, from the night clerk at the hotel, that, quiet and “dead” as Annapolis appears to the stranger, there are “tough” places into which a seafaring stranger may find his way. “No, sah; no, sah,” protested the mulatto. “Marse Truax done got sick right and proper.” “Why, confound it, we're leaving the town behind,” cried Jack, a few moments later, after peering out through the cab window. “Dat's all right, sah. Dere ain' nuffin' to be 'fraid ob, sah.” “Afraid?” uttered Jack, scornfully, with a side glance at the mulatto. The submarine boy felt confident that, in a stretch of trouble, he could thrash this guide of his in very short order. “Ah might jess well tell yo' wheah we am gwine, sah,” volunteered the mulatto, presently. “Yes,” Benson retorted, drily. “I think you may.” “Marse Truax, sah, he done hab er powah ob trouble, sah, las' wintah, wid rheumatiz, sah. He 'fraid he gwine cotch it again dis wintah, sah. Now, sah, dere am some good voodoo doctahs 'roun' Annapolis, so Marse Truax, he done gwine to see, sah, what er voodoo can promise him fo' his rheumatiz. I'se a runnah, sah, for de smahtest ole voodoo doctah, sah, in de whole state ob Maryland.” “Then you took Truax to a voodoo doctor to-night?” demanded Jack, almost contemptuously. “Yes, sah; yes, sah.” “I thought Truax had more sense than to go in for such tomfoolery,” Jack Benson retorted, bluntly. The mulatto launched into a prompt, energetic defense of the voodoo doctors. Young Benson had heard a good deal about these clever old colored frauds. In spite of his contempt, the submarine boy found himself interested. He had heard about the charms, spells, incantations and other humbugs practised on colored dupes and on some credulous whites by these greatest of all quacks. The voodoo methods of “healing” are brought out of the deepest jungles of darkest Africa, yet there are many ignorant people, even among the whites, who believe steadfastly in the “cures” wrought by the voodoo. While the mulatto guide was talking, or answering Jack's half-amused questions, the cab left Annapolis further and further behind. “Yo' see, sah,” the guide went on, “Marse Truax wa'n't in no fit condition, sah, to try de strongest voodoo medicine dat he called fo'. So, w'ile de voodoo was sayin' his strongest chahms, Marse Truax done fall down, frothin' at de mouth. He am some bettah, now, sah, but he kain't be move' from de voodoo's house 'cept by a frien'.” “I'll get a chance to see one of these old voodoo frauds, anyway,” Jack told himself. “This new experience will be worth the time it keeps me out of my bed. What a pity Hal missed a queer old treat like this!” When the cab at last stopped, Benson looked out to find that the place was well down a lonely country road, well lined with trees on either side. The house, utterly dark from the outside, was a ramshackle, roomy old affair. “Shall Ah wait fo' yo'?” asked the old colored driver. “Yes, wait for me,” directed Jack, briefly. “Yeah; wait fo' de gemmun. He's all right,” volunteered the mulatto. “Mebbe yo' kin see some voodoo wo'k, too, ef yo's int'rested,” hinted the guide, in a whisper, as he fitted a key to a lock, and swung a door open. In a hallway stood a lighted lantern, which the guide picked up. “Now, go quiet-lak, on tip-toe. Sh!” cautioned the guide, himself moving stealthily into the nearest room. Jack Benson began to feel secretly awestruck and “creepy,” though he was too full of grit to betray the fact. At the further end of the room the guide, holding the lantern behind his body as though by accident, threw open another door. “Pass right on through dis room, ahead ob me, sah,” begged the guide, respectfully. But Jack drew back, instinctively, out of the darkness. “Don' yo', a w'ite man, be 'fraid ob ole voodoo house,” advised the mulatto, still speaking respectfully. Afraid? Of course not. Relying on his muscle and his agility, Jack stepped ahead. By a sudden jerk of his arm the mulatto guide shook out the flame in the lantern. “Here, you! What are you about?” growled Jack Benson, wheeling like a flash upon his escort. “Go 'long, yo' w'ite trash!” jeered the mulatto. He gave the boy a sudden, forceful shove. Jack Benson, under the impetus of that push, staggered ahead, seeking to recover his balance. Without a doubt he would have done so, but, just then, the floor under his feet ended. With a yell of dismay, the submarine boy tottered, then plunged down, alighting on a bed of soft dirt many feet below. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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