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Submarine Boys and the Middies

<h1>CHAPTER XVIII: HELD UP BY MARINES</h1> 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 come alongside, sir.” Eph quickly rang the signal, then did some careful manœuvring. 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. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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