The Boy Aviators' Flight for a Fortune

CHAPTER V.—ADVENTURES ON THE HULK.

It would have been a trying one for a man to face, let alone a lad; but Harry’s numerous adventures had given him a power of calm thought beyond his years, and he managed to marshal his ideas into some sort of shape as he crouched under the bow bulwarks.

“Evidently the Betsy Jane was caught by the tide, when it turned, and carried out to sea,” he thought, “and then, when the wind got up, she drifted still faster. I wonder if her mooring rope broke or if it was cut—guess I’ll take a look.”

The boy dragged inboard the end of the mooring line that still hung over the bow. One look at it was enough. The clean cut strands showed conclusively that it had been severed, just above the water line, by a sharp knife. The fact that the Daniels could not know that any one would come on board after they slashed the line did not make their act any less heinous in Harry’s eyes. It had been their deliberate intention to set the schooner adrift, and they had succeeded only too well in their act of spite.

“Whatever will they be thinking on the island when they discover all this?” thought Harry with a low groan. “They’ll imagine that I’m dead, or at least that some fatal accident has befallen me, and, worst of all, they have no boat to use to reach the mainland. They are just as much prisoners as I am.”

Sharp pangs of hunger now began to assail the lad, and he recollected, with a thankful heart, that on board the motor boat there were the remains of a lunch they had taken ashore with them on their expedition the previous day. There was also a keg of water. Harry lost no time in descending the gangway and making his way to the locker where the food had been stored. First, however, he made a foray on the water keg. Taking out the stopper he found that it was only half full, but he slaked his thirst gratefully, taking care to use as small a quantity of the fluid as possible. He knew that before long the water might be precious indeed.

In the locker he found the remnants of the lunch. As he consumed the scraps of bread and cheese, and a small hunk of corned beef, he recalled with what light hearts they had fallen to the meal of which he was now devouring the remains. The recollection almost overcame him. With a strong effort the boy choked back a sob and formed a grim determination not to dwell upon his miserable situation more than was possible. He felt that the main thing was to keep a clear head.

There was some spare rope on board the hulk, and with this Harry made the fastenings of the launch more secure, leading one end of the rope on board the schooner itself, and making it fast to a cleat. He felt that the craft would be more safe if attached thus than would have been the case had he depended on the gangway alone.

This done, he took a look about him. He had had a vague hope that he might sight a ship of some sort, but the ocean was empty as a desert. Not a sail or a smudge of smoke marred the horizon. All this time the wind had been steadily freshening, and Harry judged that the schooner must be drifting before it quite fast. The inclined superstructure naturally added to her “windage” and made her go before the gale more rapidly. The sea, too, was piling up in great, glistening, green water rows, which looked formidable indeed. But so far the Betsy Jane had wallowed along right gallantly, only shipping a shower of spray occasionally when a big sea struck her obliquely on the bow.

“If only I had plenty of food and water,” thought Harry, “this would be nothing more than a good bit of adventure, but——”

In accordance with his resolution not to dwell on the more serious aspects of his predicament he dismissed this side of the case from his mind. But as the day wore on, and he grew intolerably thirsty, the thought of what might be his fate, if he did not fall in with some vessel, beset his mind more and more, to the exclusion of all else. In the afternoon, as closely as he could judge the time, he took another drink from the fast-diminishing supply in the keg. He noticed, with an unpleasant shock, that the fluid was growing alarmingly lower. Before he took the draught he had cleaned up the remaining crumbs left in the locker, and was now absolutely without food.

The rest of that afternoon he passed watching the empty sea for some sign of a ship, but not a trace of one could he discover. Utterly disheartened he watched the sun set in a blaze of crimson and gold. The sunset lay behind him, and Harry knew by this that he was drifting east at a rapid rate. Just how rapid he had, of course, no means of calculating. Of one thing he was thankful—the sea had not increased, and the wind appeared to have fallen considerably with the departure of daylight.

“Surely,” thought the boy, “I must have drifted on the track of ocean vessels by this time. I know there’s a line to Halifax, and another to Portland, besides the coasters.”

With this thought came another. What if he should be run down during the night? The idea sent a shudder through his scantily clothed form. He knew that derelicts are often the cause of marine disasters, and during the dark hours the hulk might invite such a fate if he did not take steps to guard against it.

Accordingly he lit his lantern and hung it in the underpinning of the inclined superstructure.

“At least they can see that,” he thought, as he completed the hanging of his warning light.

Then, having done all he well could under the circumstances, Harry cast himself down in the lee of the weather bulwarks and tried to sleep. But in his scanty attire he was far too cold to do aught but lie and shiver till his teeth chattered. He determined to pass the rest of the night below, and once more sought a couch in the empty bunk. But sleep was a long time coming. Tired, excited and hungry as the boy was, he could not compose himself to slumber. Ten or a dozen times he started up and ran to the deck, thinking that he had heard the distant beat of some vessel’s engines. But each time it proved a false alarm.

At length tired nature asserted herself, and he sank to sleep in good earnest. When he awakened it was daylight, and there was an odd feeling about the motion of the Betsy Jane. She seemed to have ceased her rolling and pitching, and was almost steady in the water. Suddenly there came a jarring crash that almost threw Harry out of the bunk.

Much startled, he ran on deck, and found, to his astonishment, that the vessel lay right off an island. Seemingly she had grounded on a reef of rocks stretching out from the island itself. At any rate, as the waves rocked her she gave a jarring, crunching bump with each pitch of her hull. The island appeared to be a small one, and in general appearance was not unlike Brig Island. In fact, at first Harry had thought that in some magical way the Betsy Jane had drifted back to that small speck of land. But a second glance showed him that the island off which the dismantled hull had grounded differed in many essentials from the one he had left. Far to the westward, about twenty miles as well as the boy could judge, lay a dim streak of dark blue that Harry guessed was the mainland. But for all the good it did him it might have been a hundred miles removed.

Harry was still gazing at the island and wondering how he could reach it before the Betsy Jane pounded herself to pieces on the rocks, when he started violently. The island was not, as he had supposed, uninhabited—at least, he had caught sight of a swirl of blue smoke rising from among the trees on its highest part. This meant help, companionship and food. An involuntary cry of joy rose to the boy’s lips, which the next instant turned to a groan as he looked over the side of the schooner and saw that the reef on which she had struck was much too far out from the shore for him to try to swim the distance, even if a roaring, racing tide would not have made it suicidal to attempt the feat.

“Unless I can attract the attention of whoever lives there by shouting, I’m as badly off as I was before,” exclaimed Harry, in a voice made quavery by panic.

CHAPTER VI.—HARRY MEETS AN OLD FRIEND.

“Harry Chester!”

“By the great horn spoon! What the dickens are you doing out there?”

Cupping his hands to make his voice carry the better, Harry hailed back once more.

“I drifted here on this hulk. Can you take me off?”

“Can I? Wait a jiffy.”

Ben Stubbs—for it was actually the “maroon” whom the boys had rescued from a miserable fate in the Nicaraguan treasure valley—began running along the shore as fast as his short legs would carry him. Presently he vanished around a wooded promontory, leaving Harry in a strange jumble of feelings. What could the good-hearted old companion of several of their adventures be doing on this desolate island off the Maine coast? When they had last heard from him he had been running a tug boat line in New York harbor, having purchased the business with the profits made out of the discovery of the treasure trove in the Sargasso Sea.

Before a great while the man who had so opportunely appeared came into view once more This time he was in a skiff, rowing with strong strokes toward the stranded hulk of the Betsy Jane. Harry watched him with eager eyes. Fast as Ben Stubbs rowed, it seemed an eternity to the anxious boy before his strangely rediscovered friend reached the side of the grounded schooner.

When he did so he hastily made fast, and was up the gangway ladder three steps at a time. Fortunately for his haste, the sea had diminished in roughness considerably, and the Betsy Jane lay almost motionless on the reef. Otherwise he would have stood a strong chance of being thrown from his footing. Harry was at the gangway as Ben Stubbs’ weather-beaten countenance came into view at the top of the steps.

Ben seized the boy’s hand in a grip that made Harry flinch, but he returned it with as strong a clench as he could. For a moment both of them were too much overcome with emotion at the strange meeting to utter a word. It was Ben who spoke first.

“Waal, what under the revolving universe are you doing here?” he demanded.

“I was about to ask the same question of you.”

“It’s a long story, boy, and you look just about played out. What has happened? I never dreamed that you were even in this neighborhood.”

“I guess the same thing applies to me, so far as you are concerned, Ben,” rejoined Harry, between a laugh and a sob. “As for myself, I’ve been adrift all night on this old hulk. Some rascals cut her loose from her moorings at Brig Island.”

“Wow! you’ve drifted all the way from there. Why, it’s fifty miles or more away.”

“I know it. It seemed a million to me. What worries me is what the others must be thinking. They won’t know if I’m dead or alive.”

“We’ll find a way to let ’em know, never fear,” struck in Ben in his deep, rumbling voice; “but I reckon you’re hungry and thirsty?”

“Am I? Why, I could eat a horse without sauce or salt, as you used to say.”

“Then get in the skiff and come ashore. I’ve got a sort of a hut there. It ain’t much of a place, but I’ve got enough to eat and a good spring of clear water, and I can give you a suit of slops.”

“But the schooner?” demanded Harry.

“She’ll be all right, I reckon. She’s lying on a sort of sandy ridge that runs out here. The sea’s gone down so that she won’t do herself any harm, and we can’t do her any good right now. You see, the tide is falling. When it rises we’ll try to get her off and anchor her in a snugger berth.”

Harry might have argued the point, but the prospect of food and drink made so strong an appeal to him that he did not stop to waste words. Five minutes later they were rowing ashore, and, while Ben bent to the oars with a will, Harry told him in detail all that happened since they came to Brig Island, and the reason of their presence there. He knew that he was safe in confiding in old Ben.

The relation of his story occupied the entire trip to the shore, and when Ben had beached his skiff he seized Harry by the arm and began hurrying him up the beach toward a small hut, half canvas, half lumber, which stood back under the shelter of a low bluff. The boy was desperately anxious to learn the reason of Ben’s presence on the island, for he knew it could have no ordinary cause. But the weather-beaten old adventurer would not allow the boy to say another word till he had clothed himself and eaten all he could put away of a rabbit stew washed down with strong coffee.

“Now, then,” remarked Ben, as soon as Harry had finished, “I suppose you’re a-dyin’ to hear what I’m doin’ on Barren Island, which is the name of this bit of land?”

“I am, indeed,” declared Harry, shoving back the cracker box which had served him as a chair; “the last person in the world I would have expected to see when the Betsy Jane grounded was Ben Stubbs.”

Ben chuckled.

“Allers turnin’ up, like a bad penny, ain’t I?” he said, shoving some very black tobacco into his old pipe. “’Member ther time I dropped out of the sky in thet dirigible balloon?”

“Well, I should say I did,” laughed Harry; “but how you got here is past my comprehension. What became of the tug boat line?”

Ben snapped his fingers.

“All gone, my lad! Gone just like that! I reckon I’m not a good hand at business, or the crooked tricks that answers for that same. Anyhow, to make a long yarn a short one, I went on a friend’s note and he dug out. That was blow number one. To meet that note I had to mortgage some of my boats, and in some way—blow me if I rightly understand it yet—I got myself in a hole whar’ the lawyer fellers bled me till I was mighty near dry. I tried to struggle along, but it wasn’t no go. Then came a strike of tug boat hands and that finished me. I couldn’t stand the long lay off without anything to do, so I sold out for what I could get, and—and here I am.”

“I’m mighty sorry to hear that you failed, Ben,” said Harry with real sympathy in his tones, “but you haven’t said yet what you are doing here on Barren Island, as you call it.”

“I’m a-gettin’ to that, lad,” said Ben, emitting a cloud of blue smoke; “give me time. As I told you, that feller on whose note I went, skedaddled. You see, I’d trusted him as my own brother, bein’ as I knew his father when I was a miner. He—that’s this chap’s father, I mean—was a Frenchman, Raoul Duval was his name, and his son’s name the same. Old man Duval made his pile in Lower Californy and was makin’ fer his home in New Orleans when ther steamer he was travelin’ on blew up, and he and all his gold dust—a whalin’ big lot of it—went to the bottom.

“I never calculated to hear anything more of Duval arter this, but one day this young feller I’ve been tellin’ you about shows up in New York and hunts me up. He tells me that he’s old Raoul’s son, and that he’d had a run of hard luck and so on, and wants to go into business, and if, for his father’s sake, I’ll help him out. I asks him how he found me out, and he says that in his father’s letters home I had often been mentioned, and that when he heard of the Stubbs Towing Line he made inquiries and found that I was in all probability the same man.

“As I told you, I let him have the money. It don’t matter just how much, but it was quite a bit. You see, I did it for the old man’s sake. I was sorry afterward. Young Duval wasn’t a chip of the old block at all. He was idle and dissipated. His business went under and he skipped out.”

“Did you lend him this money without security of any sort?” asked Harry incredulously.

“In a way, yes. In another way, no. The young chap, when he came to me, had a wild story about knowing where the steamer on which his dad lost his life had sunk. He said that from letters written home before he left Lower Californy, he knew the old man was carrying with him, besides the dust, a fortune in black pearls. Of course, all these went down when the steamer blew up. He had tried, he said, to get a lot of folks interested in a scheme to get at the wreck and recover the dust and the pearls, but they had all laughed at him. He said if I’d give him the money he wanted he’d give me, in return, the plan of the location whar’ the steamer went down.”

“And did he?”

“Yes; but since he acted as he did I guess there’s no more truth in his yarn than there was in anything else he told me. Anyhow, I’ve never bothered my head about the matter since.”

“Have you got the plan?”

“Sure enough,” Ben fumbled in his pocket, “here it is; it’s a roughly drawn thing, as you see, but I reckon if the ship was really there it would be an easy matter to locate her bones.”

Harry nodded. He was looking over the map with deep attention. It was, as Ben had said, a crudely drawn affair, and purported to have been sketched by one of the survivors of the wreck, who, of course, did not know that in the returning miner’s cabin there was so much wealth.

“How did young Duval get hold of this?” he asked at last.

“He said that by chance he met a man who was the lone survivor of the disaster. This feller didn’t know who Duval was, and began talking to him about the wreck. Duval, recollecting that his father had carried a sum that amounted to more than $75,000, was naturally interested. He asked the man if he could draw him a sketch of the scene where the steamer sank. The feller said he could, and that thar sketch is what he drawed. At least that’s Duval’s story, and I’m frank to tell you I don’t believe a word of it.”

“But still you haven’t told me what you are doing on this island,” said Harry after an interval.

“That’s so, too, lad. I got so interested in tellin’ my troubles I clean forgot about Barren Island. Well, it’s this way. Arter the crash I felt ashamed to show my face. Oh, all the creditors were paid up—every last one of ’em. But I felt like I was an old failure, and good fer nuthin’, so I remembered all of a sudden about this island that I’d been stranded on a good many years ago. I made inquiries and found that I could live here rent free as long as I liked, with none to interfere, and so I came here. It’s quiet and might be lonesome to some folks, but it suits me well enough, and I was calculatin’ to spend the rest of my days here, till you came along. But I feel different now.”

“How’s that?” asked Harry, not knowing well just what to say to the old man who took his business failure so much to heart.

“Why, I was watching you studyin’ that map. I could see by yer face that you put some stock in Duval’s yarn. Ain’t that so?”

Harry could not but confess that it was. The old man’s story, and the map, had aroused in him the strong desire for adventure that both Boy Aviators possessed to a marked degree. Of course, from what Ben had said, Duval did not appear to be a person on whom much reliance could be placed, but then, again, there was the map, and it at least, even if crude, appeared to have been a genuine effort to mark the spot where the wreck lay. It showed a bayou marked “Black Bayou,” running back from the main stream of the Mississippi. A black dot some distance up this bayou was lettered “Belle of New Orleans,” presumably the name of the steamer on which Duval met his end.

The boy was still pondering over the map when, from seaward, there came a sound that made both Harry Chester and Ben Stubbs spring to their feet.

“It’s a gun!” shouted the old man, as the booming echoes died away; “may be a ship in distress.”

“Hardly, in this weather,” rejoined Harry, in a perplexed tone.

But Ben Stubbs had darted from the shanty and was running for the beached skiff. A minute later Harry was close on his heels, and presently they were pulling around the point, about to run into the surprise of their lives.

CHAPTER VII.—A PUZZLING PROBLEM.

“Perhaps not; but it’s our duty to be on guard. If anything happened to Dr. Perkins’ invention now it would be almost impossible to repair it in time for the tests he wants to make.”

Talking thus the two lads got into their clothes, drank some coffee, which Frank had prepared while they were dressing, and then set out into the night. They made for the cove from which Harry had started his eventful swim.

“Best wait here till they come round,” said Frank, and he and Billy found places in the sand and made themselves as comfortable as possible till they should hear the footsteps of one of the young sentries. They had not long to wait. Hardly fifteen minutes had elapsed before Frank’s sharp ears caught the sound of some one approaching. A minute later Pudge joined them. His first words were not calculated to make the newcomers feel at ease.

“Where’s Harry?” he demanded.

“Don’t you know?” ejaculated Frank with considerable surprise.

“No. I’ve been making my patrol regularly, and the last three times I’ve been round I haven’t met him.”

Frank’s face could only be dimly seen in the darkness, but all his alarm was plain enough in his next words.

“What can have become of him?”

“Maybe he took the dinghy and decided to look over the motor boat and the hulk,” suggested Billy.

“That’s easy enough to find out,” declared Frank, starting for the place where the dinghy had been beached. A moment later he stumbled over the anchor and, closely following this, by the aid of a lighted match, he made the discovery that the rope had been slashed.

“Harry never took that dinghy,” he exclaimed apprehensively, “there’s been some crooked work here.”

“Thunder and turtles! What do you mean?” gasped Pudge, fully as anxiously.

“That some one has landed here and stolen the dinghy and taken Harry along with them. I can’t think of any other explanation. Harry would never have cut that rope.”

“You mean he’s been carried off?” The question came from Billy Barnes.

“I can’t think of any other explanation. Pudge, did you hear anything that sounded suspicious?”

“Oilskins and onions, no! Not a sound. Let’s fire a pistol and see if we get any answer.”

“That’s a good idea, Pudge—Great Scott!”

“What’s the matter?” demanded Billy Barnes, as Frank broke off short and uttered the above exclamation.

“Look here! Harry’s clothes! Wait till I get a light. There! Now, see all his outer garments and his pistol lying by them.”

“Gatling guns and grass hoppers, if this doesn’t beat all.”

“He can’t have been carried off, then,” burst out Billy, “but if he wasn’t, how did that dinghy rope come to be cut?”

Frank made no answer at the moment. The discovery of Harry’s clothes on the beach had put a dreadful fear into his mind. What if the boy had heard a disturbance on the hulk or on the motor boat and, having swum off to see what was the trouble, had been seized with a cramp and drowned?

But Frank firmly thrust the question from him the next minute. Such thoughts were by far too unnerving to be dwelt on. The others remained silent. They seemed to be waiting for Frank to speak. Presently the words came.

“It’s too dark to see anything out there,” said the boy, in as firm a voice as he could command. “Let’s fire three shots—the signal we agreed upon—and then if Harry is on the hulk or the motor boat he will be sure to answer them.”

The others agreed that this seemed about the best thing to do, and Pudge, taking Harry’s discarded weapon, fired it three times. Then came a long pause, filled with an ominous silence.

“Try again,” said Frank in a strained voice. Once more three sharp reports sounded. But again there was no answer.

“That settles it,” declared Frank solemnly; “something has happened to Harry. We must get out to the hulk and to the motor boat.”

“How? The dinghy’s gone, and——”

“I’m going to swim for it.”

Already Frank had thrown off his outer garments. On the beach lay a balk of timber which they sometimes used to tie the dinghy to. Frank now ordered his companions to help in rolling this down to the water.

“I’m going to use it as a help in swimming out there,” he said; “the water’s pretty cold, and I don’t want to risk a cramp.”

“Wait till daylight, Frank,” urged Billy; “it won’t be long till dawn now, and——”

But Frank cut him short abruptly.

“My brother’s out there somewhere,” he said in a sharp, decisive voice, “and I’m going to find out what’s happened to him.”

A minute later Frank was in the water pushing the balk of timber before him and heading, as nearly as he knew how, for the spot where the hulk and the motor boat had been moored.

It was more than half an hour before Billy and Pudge saw him again. Then he reappeared, chilled through and shivering in every limb. His first words almost deprived his companions of breath.

“They’re gone!” he exclaimed.

“What!” the exclamation came from both Billy and Pudge simultaneously. They guessed by some sort of intuition what Frank referred to.

“Yes, they’re both gone,” repeated Frank; “the Betsy Jane and the motor boat.”

“Are you sure you’re not mistaken, Frank?” inquired Billy, unwilling to believe the extent of the catastrophe that had overtaken them.

“I’m as sure that they’re gone as I am that I am standing here,” was the reply. “I cruised about on my log for quite a radius, and couldn’t discover a sign of them. I found the motor boat’s buoy, though. She had been untied by some one.”

“But the Betsy Jane? Schooners and succotash! The Betsy Jane!” broke in Pudge.

“Gone, too,” Frank’s voice broke, “but I wouldn’t care about either if I only knew what had become of Harry.”

“Come on up to the hut and we’ll have some hot coffee and talk it over,” said Billy, who saw that Frank, besides being almost numb with cold, was half crazy at the mystery of Harry’s fate.

Frank suffered himself to be led up to the hut and the rest of the night was passed in speculation as to the fate of the missing boy. All three of the lads were pretty sure that the two Daniels had had a hand in the night’s work somehow, but they were far from guessing what had actually occurred.

Soon after daylight the wireless began working. Dr. Perkins notified them from Portland that he expected to arrive that afternoon at Motthaven, and wished them to meet him. Frank found some relief for his wrought-up feelings in informing the inventor of what had occurred.

“Will charter fast boat and be there with all speed,” came the reply through the air; “make the best of it till I come. Am confident that everything will come out all right.”

And with this message the “marooned” trio on the island had to be content. The day was passed in making a careful survey of the island to discover, if possible, some trace of the marauders. But none was to be found. The tide had even obliterated any footmarks they might have left in the damp sand. Thoroughly disheartened and miserable, the boys ate a scanty lunch and then sat down to await the arrival of Dr. Perkins.

It was sundown when a fast motor boat appeared to the southward, cleaving the water at a rapid rate. A quarter of an hour later Dr. Perkins was hearing from the boys’ own lips the strange story of their adventures of the past day and night.

CHAPTER VIII.—THE DERELICT DESTROYER.

As he spoke there was a flash from the side of the lead-colored craft, and a projectile shrieked by above the pair in the boat, causing them to duck involuntarily.

“Cracky!” shouted Harry, “I’ve got it. That craft is a derelict destroyer. One of Uncle Sam’s craft whose duty it is to put obstructions to navigation out of the way.”

“You’re right, boy, and they are bent on sending that there Betsy Jane to the bottom.”

“We must stop them,” ejaculated Harry excitedly; “that schooner is wanted by Mr. Perkins to use in his experiments. That’s why he had the runway built. We must signal them somehow.”

“No need to, lad. See, here comes a boat.”

Sure enough, as he spoke a cutter was lowered from the warlike-looking vessel’s side, and before long, impelled by muscular arms, it was flying over the water toward the hulk.

“Pull round and meet them,” suggested Harry.

But Ben was already doing that very thing. So fast did the government cutter approach that just as the skiff was rounding the stern of the ill-used Betsy Jane, the former craft, with a dapper young officer in the stern, was drawing alongside the hulk.

The astonishment of the officer was great when Harry explained matters.

“It’s lucky that I decided to make an examination into the effect of the shots already fired before I finished her up,” he laughed. “I am in command of the United States derelict destroyer Seneca, yonder. We’ve just despatched an old hulk some miles out at sea, and when, on our return down the coast, we saw your old hull, we thought it was a good chance to try out a new kind of gun we have to despatch these menaces to navigation.”

“I’m glad we heard your first shot in time to explain matters,” said Harry; “this craft belongs to Dr. Perkins, the aëronautical inventor, who wishes to use it in some experiments. As I told you, I unfortunately drifted to sea in it when some rascals cut the rope.”

The officer sympathized to the full with Harry and offered to give him a spark plug for his motor boat from a supply carried for a similar craft on board the Seneca.

“But,” he continued, “I’ve got a better plan than that. I’m bound down the coast. I know Dr. Perkins slightly and should be glad to do him a service. Why not accept a tow from me? I’ll get you to Brig Island by nightfall anyway, and that’s much quicker than you could tow this hulk with the motor boat, even if you could get her off the sand.”

Harry gladly agreed to this arrangement. A line was made fast to the Betsy Jane and affixed to the towing bitts of the derelict destroyer. The tide by this time had turned, and after a short struggle the Betsy Jane once more floated in deep water.

“I don’t know if this is exactly regular,” remarked the young officer in command, when the hulk lay bobbing astern of the trim and trig government craft, “but I guess it’s all in the line of duty. So come on board.”

Harry and Ben were in the skiff alongside the Betsy Jane when this offer was made.

Without hesitation Harry stepped upon the companionway. He turned to Ben, and was about to bid that veteran adventurer good-by, with a promise to visit Barren Island in the near future, when, to his astonishment, Ben calmly hitched his skiff alongside the motor boat and stepped up after him.

“I reckon I’ve had about enough of that island,” he said; “I’m a-goin’ to ship with you on this cruise if it’s agreeable.”

“Agreeable?” laughed Harry. “Why, Ben, you are as welcome as the flowers in May. But haven’t you left a lot of stuff behind on the island?”

“Nothing that ’ull hurt. The only other suit I own you’ve got on, and funny enough you look in it, too,” and Ben chuckled; “as for the hut and what grub’s left, and so forth, any one’s welcome to ’em that takes a fancy to ’em. I’ve got a bit left in the bank yet, and I guess I can afford a new outfit anyway, so heave ahead, Mister Skipper, as soon as you’re ready.”

The officer, who had watched this scene in some astonishment, broke into a laugh.

“I see you are an individual of impulse,” he said, “but if you want to go along it will spare my sending a man on board the schooner to help our young friend.”

“Waal, then, it’s an arrangement that’s agreeable to all parties,” rejoined Ben, lighting his pipe; “so that’s all settled.”

A short time later the Seneca moved ahead, at first slowly, and then faster, while the wandering Betsy Jane followed docilely after her through the now calm sea. True to Lieut. MacAllister’s promise, they were off Brig Island by sunset. As deep water extended close inshore, the derelict destroyer was enabled to tow the hulk almost up to the boys’ “front door,” so to speak, and from the beach a little group set up a loud cheer as the Betsy Jane’s spare anchor rattled down and she swung at rest.

The presence of the little party to witness the arrival is due to the fact that Lieut. MacAllister, who knew from Harry that there was a wireless on the island, had kept his operator busy sending “bulletins” to Dr. Perkins all the way down the coast; and so, when first the Seneca’s smoke streaked the horizon, all was ready to give the returned wanderer a big reception.

The Betsy Jane, having been safely anchored, the Seneca, with three toots of her siren, departed on her way, while Harry and Ben lost no time in tumbling into the skiff and rowing ashore. To describe what took place then would take up a lot of space without giving any clearer picture of the reunion that each of you can imagine for himself.

Readers of the former volumes of this series know how highly the Boy Aviators regarded Ben Stubbs, and after a short conversation with him Dr. Perkins came to share their good opinion of the rugged old adventurer. It would be impossible to tell with accuracy how many times that night Harry’s story was told, and how many times Frank and the others repeated the tale of their anxious hours while he was missing. The first wireless flash from the Seneca, Frank described as “the best thing that ever happened.” This opinion the others heartily echoed.

“Well,” said Dr. Perkins, as at last they made ready to “turn in,” “all is well that ends well, and to-morrow I have an announcement of some interest to make to you lads. From my inspection of the work done so far on the ‘Sea Eagle,’ as I have decided to christen her, I think that within a few days we can take her on her trial trip.”

“Anchors and aëroplanes!” shouted Pudge, in high glee, “I book passage right now!”

“And I—and I—and I,” came from the others, while Ben Stubbs inquired plaintively if there would be room for him.

CHAPTER IX.—THE FLIGHT OF THE “SEA EAGLE.”

The Daniels, having discovered that Harry was on board the Betsy Jane after they cut that craft loose, had vanished from the little community. As for the dinghy, it was supposed that they had taken that small craft with them. At any rate, it was impossible to get any news of their whereabouts on shore. This may be attributed to a distinct prejudice felt by the fishing community against the dwellers on Brig Island. Your down-easter is inquisitive to a degree, and the secrecy under which operations on the island were carried on was felt as a distinct affront to the little town. So therefore, although the local authorities promised every co-operation in seeking out the Daniels and punishing them for their outrageous conduct, it may be doubted if the efforts went much further than the mere assurance.

But after all, in the rush of interesting work that was now on hand, the Daniels were almost forgotten. The Betsy Jane had been towed round into the nearer cove, where she could be constantly watched, and the motor boat was used in the operation, the officer of the derelict destroyer having fulfilled his promise to furnish the boys with a new spark plug for the engine in place of the one taken by the marauders.

The morning after Harry’s return to the island Dr. Perkins had laid down a systematic plan of action. Frank and Harry were assigned to aid him in giving the finishing touches to the Sea Eagle, while his son and Billy Barnes were set to work with axes to clear a sort of runway down to the beach. Both Billy and Pudge would much rather have had a hand in the mechanical part of the work, but they pluckily went ahead on their designated duty and stuck to it till a broad path had been cleared from the summit of the island to the margin of the beach.

When this “roadway” through the brush had been cleared, two lines of planking, firmly nailed to stout supports, were run down on each side of it, forming a sort of railway, similar to those from which vessels are launched.

It was down this runway that it was designed to introduce the Sea Eagle to her initial plunge. At last the day arrived when all was complete, and the Sea Eagle was pronounced fit for the test. During the night before this event not one of the boys got more than half his usual allowance of sleep. In fact, it is doubtful if Dr. Perkins enjoyed much more repose.

By earliest dawn they were out, to find every promise of a glorious day. Breakfast that morning was a hasty apology for a meal, and hardly had it been gulped down before all hands were in the Sea Eagle’s shed. As has been said, the boat-like underbody of the craft had been mounted on a wheeled frame before it was assembled. All that had to be done then to get everything in readiness for the final test was to make fast a block and tackle to a stoutly rooted tree, and then wheel the Sea Eagle to the top of the inclined runway.

When the odd-looking craft was safely poised on the top of the rails the loose end of the tackle was made fast to the stern of the substructure, and Billy, Pudge and Harry were delegated to “belay” the rope as required. Frank and Dr. Perkins seated themselves in the “boat,” and at the words “Let her go!” the Sea Eagle in her wheeled frame began her descent down the runway. By means of the tackle the three boys at the summit of the incline easily controlled the novel craft’s descent, stopping from time to time while Dr. Perkins and Frank made a survey to see that all was going well.

“Bunting and buttercakes!” grumbled Pudge, as the boys alternately “let go” and “hauled in” on the tackle, “I thought a launching was more of a gala event than this.”

“I guess the doctor is too anxious to test out the Sea Eagle to bother with the trimmings,” laughed Harry; “it’s results that he’s after.”

As a matter of fact, the launching of the Sea Eagle was a very mild affair compared with what might have been expected. Had the villagers ashore known of it, doubtless a small fleet of boats would have been lying off the cove to witness it, but it was for that very reason that the deepest secrecy had been observed, and that the early hour had been chosen. As Dr. Perkins said, he “didn’t want any fuss and feathers” made over what was merely, after all, an experiment.

The rolling glide down the runway was made without incident, and at last the bow of the Sea Eagle’s “hull” struck the water. A cheer went up then that, rang shrill and clear out over the calm sea. Even Dr. Perkins joined in the enthusiasm, as well he might, for the goal of his ambition was in sight at last.

The Sea Eagle had been sent on her initial voyage without the aëroplane wings or the auxiliary lifting bags being attached. It was desired, first of all, to try out her qualities as a water skimmer. As soon as she was fairly afloat, the wheeled carriage on which the descent had been made was drawn ashore. Having been weighted before the start was made, it of course sank under the Sea Eagle when the sea and air craft floated, thus allowing it to be reclaimed with ease.

“Looks like a butterfly with its wings clipped off,” commented Billy Barnes as, with the others, he hastened to the beach as soon as their task was over.

Indeed, the odd-shaped hull, with its naked frame and two gaunt aërial propellers, did look strangely incomplete. But the boys knew that the wings were all ready for instant attachment. In fact, it was one of the features of the Sea Eagle that the craft was capable of being taken to pieces and put together again with very little loss of time or labor.

As the hydroplane portion of the Sea Eagle floated clear of the weighted frame in which it had made its journey to the beach, Frank looked inquiringly at the inventor. His hand was on the self-starting device which put the powerful motor in operation. Dr. Perkins was actually pale, and Frank could see that his strong hand shook perceptibly as he nodded his head.

But he mastered his nervousness quickly, and, grasping the steering-wheel in a firm grip, he spoke:

“You can start up now,” he said.

Frank turned the starting handle, admitting a charge of gas to the cylinders. Then he pressed a button and instantly the motor responded with a roar and a series of explosions, like those of a battery of gatling guns going into action. Having started it he admitted gasolene, and adjusted the carburetor till the cylinders were all working steadily.

Close to Dr. Perkins’ hand was a lever. This, when moved, “threw in” the clutch connecting the motor with the driving mechanism. Directly Frank had finished tuning up the motor Dr. Perkins’ hand reached for the lever. He jerked it nervously back. There was a whirr and a buzz, as the chains whirled the twin propellers round, and at the same instant the Sea Eagle darted forward like an arrow from a bow.

Faster and faster she went, getting up speed with seemingly marvelous rapidity. But instead of driving deeper into the water, under the pressure of the aërial propellers which rushed her forward through the atmosphere, the faster the Sea Eagle was driven the more lightly did the craft skim the surface of the water, till at top speed—2,000 revolutions a minute—her bottom barely touched the water. This was owing to the peculiar construction of the hull, which was designed so as to “plane” the water in exactly the manner it did.

Cheer after cheer broke from the lads on shore as they saw the swift craft dart off, slicing the tops of the small waves like a cream skimmer. Dr. Perkins circumnavigated the island three times before he gave the signal to Frank to slow down. Then, releasing the clutch, the inventor allowed the Sea Eagle to come to rest, with its bow almost touching the beach.

“Now we will have a weight test,” he announced; “come on, boys.”

The lads ashore surely needed no second invitation. Without bothering to remove shoes or stockings they waded into the water and out to the Sea Eagle’s side. In less time than it takes to tell it they were swarming over the side of the cockpit and struggling for positions near the engine. But Dr. Perkins made them arrange themselves so that their weight would be evenly distributed. Ben Stubbs and Harry sat in the extreme stern, while Pudge and Billy occupied opposite seats amidships.

This done, off darted the Sea Eagle once more, and speedily set at rest all doubts as to her capability to “plane,” or skim the water, under an added load.

“It’s like riding on a floating island over a sea of raspberry ice cream soda,” declared Billy, when he was asked later to describe his sensations.

But a severer test awaited the Sea Eagle, namely, the trying out of her capacity actually to rise into the air. The craft was run partially ashore, and the great wings bolted in place and the stay wires adjusted. The stay wires were tightened by turn buckles till they were taut as fiddle strings, assuring stability of the wings. But in addition the wings were, of course, partially supported on the light but strong skeleton framework before noticed.

Much to the disappointment of the others, only Frank and Harry Chester and Dr. Perkins were to participate in the flying trials. But they took it all in good part, being promised rides later if the tests were successful. As before, the Sea Eagle, after she had been backed off and the propellers started, skimmed along the top of the water like a flying fish. But all at once the watchers on shore saw her rise bodily from the water and soar upward into the air. Higher and higher went the craft, gliding like a gull through the ether. It was an inspiring sight, and a perfect tornado of yells broke from Ben Stubbs, Billy and Pudge. But those on board the Sea Eagle could not hear the sounds of enthusiasm above the roaring of the motor.

Under Dr. Perkins’ skillful guidance the Sea Eagle climbed the aërial staircase till a height shown by the barograph to be almost 4,000 feet had been attained.

“Now to test the buoyancy apparatus,” cried the doctor suddenly. “Shut off power, Frank.”

Frank, who knew what was coming, obeyed the order and turned a valve admitting the pure hydrogen gas from one of the cylinders into the buoyancy devices. Instantly the upper wings swelled, till they resembled puffed-out mattresses more than anything else, and the “volplaning” downward movement was perceptibly checked. But, setting the descending device, Dr. Perkins headed the Sea Eagle for the water, and, skillfully manipulating the craft, landed it as lightly as a drifting feather on the water by the hull of the Betsy Jane.

Now came a further trial of the capabilities of the wonderful new craft which, so far, had proven such a success. Dr. Perkins set the planes in a rising position and allowed the Sea Eagle to hover above the Betsy Jane, like the bird for which the aërial craft had been named. Then suddenly he began a rapid descent, landing finally on the very summit of the inclined runway before mentioned. The sides of the Sea Eagle were equipped with large metal hooks, which were hastily thrown out by the boys and attached to four “eyes” arranged to receive them.

When this had been done the suction pump was set to work, and the inflated wings emptied of the gas, which was forced back into its receiver, and the valve closed. It was calculated that less than two per cent of the gas was lost during the process. The Sea Eagle was now once more a simple hydroplane, without any buoyancy device.

At a word from Dr. Perkins the hooks which had held the machine in place were disengaged, and instantly the craft began to glide down the runway. Half way down the engine was started, and when the graceful craft reached the abrupt end of the incline, the Sea Eagle went soaring off into space like a huge white-winged bird. This test was regarded by Dr. Perkins as the most important, for it proved the entire practicability of launching the Sea Eagle from a ship far out on the ocean.

After circling in the air a few times the tests were concluded by a rapid drop toward the earth right above the summit of the island. Just as it seemed as if the new craft must end her career by being dashed to bits against the construction shed, a skillful twist of the steering device sent her soaring upward once more. Two more swinging aërial loops were described, and then, with hardly a jar or vibration, the Sea Eagle was brought to rest by her inventor, almost in front of the shed where she had been assembled.

As the thrilling and wonderful trip was concluded, the boys came pressing about Dr. Perkins, showering congratulations and good wishes.

“Why, one could fly across the ocean in such a craft,” declared Frank enthusiastically.

The others laughed, but, to their astonishment, Dr. Perkins looked perfectly serious.

“I have a long trip in view,” he said, “a flight that will test every wire and bolt in the Sea Eagle’s construction. I did not announce this before for I wished first to see if everything worked satisfactorily.”

“No doubt about that,” said Billy Barnes with enthusiasm. He had been dodging about the great flying machine, taking photos from every possible angle.

“No,” admitted Dr. Perkins; “I must say that so far the Sea Eagle is all that I could desire. But the final test will put that beyond the shadow of a doubt. Do you boys wish to undertake a long trip?”

“Cookies and cucumbers! Do we!” roared Pudge, as the others pressed eagerly about to hear the unveiling of the doctor’s plan.

CHAPTER X.—“C. Q. D.!”

“I’m afraid, my boy,” he said, “that you are in for a disappointment. While I thoroughly believe the Sea Eagle is capable of conveying our whole party through almost anything, I am unwilling to place too great a burden on her at her first long-distance trial.”

Pudge’s face lengthened.

“Oceans and octopuses!” he groaned, “I s’pose I’m to be left behind, as usual.”

“I’m afraid it will be necessary,” was the reply; “you see, there will only be room under my present plan for experienced navigators. But not to keep you in suspense any longer, my present plan is to cruise down the coast to Florida, round that peninsula, and then fly up to New Orleans, and then possibly I might test out the Sea Eagle still further on a flight up the Mississippi.”

“Wow! And we’re to miss all that?”

“Not all of it, Pudge,” smiled the doctor. “I was planning to send you and Billy on ahead to meet us at New Orleans and make arrangements for our arrival there.”

“Cookies and catamounts! That’s not so bad. I’ve always longed to see New Orleans. But, then, would you take us with you up the Mississippi?”

“If we go—yes.”

“Look a-here,” struck in Ben’s bass voice at this point, “I don’t want to butt in, or nothing like that, doctor; but this here is a cruise that just suits me. Would you have any objection if I went along with ther boys ter New Orleans?”

“Why, I hadn’t thought of it,” confessed Dr. Perkins.

“You see, I’ve got some partic’lar business down that way,” said Ben, with a portentous wink at Harry; “ain’t I, Harry?”

The boy addressed instantly guessed that Ben referred to the supposed treasure trove lying at the bottom of the Black Bayou. Now, in the rush of events following Harry’s return from his strange cruise on the Betsy Jane, he had quite forgotten about Raoul Duval’s map. But now it flashed back on him, and the recollection caused him to flush with excitement.

Dr. Perkins looked puzzled, while a glance of intelligence shot between the grizzled old adventurer and the boy.

“Have I got your leave to tell about the sunken steamer?” inquired Harry.

“Sure. Heave ahead, my boy,” was the hearty answer; “I was never much of a hand at spinning a yarn.”

“Pirates and petticoats! What’s all this about a yarn and a sunken ship?” demanded Pudge.

“Sounds like some fresh adventure. Anything like the Buena Ventura cruise?” asked Billy Barnes, referring, of course, to their experiences in the Sargasso Sea.

“I hope not,” laughed Harry. “No, this is a much tamer affair,” he continued. “Ben, here, thinks that he knows of a craft sunk in a bayou off the Mississippi, on board of which is a small fortune in gold dust and black pearls.”

“Gold dust and black pearls!” cried Billy Barnes. “Wow! that sounds like a regular story.”

“Suppose we let Harry heave ahead, as Ben calls it, and tell us what all this is about,” suggested Frank quietly. But his eyes were shining. He knew that what Harry was about to communicate must be of deep interest from the manner in which the boy had spoken.

“Yes, let us hear the story,” said Dr. Perkins; “since we plan to be down in that region, anything of interest to be investigated will add to the pleasure of the trip.”

Thereupon Harry, without further delay, plunged into the narrative as Ben had related it to him. He was interrupted from time to time by excited exclamations, but at last he finished his narration and then, turning to Dr. Perkins, he said:

“What do you think of it, sir?”

“Aye, aye,” growled out Ben, “supposin’ the yarn is true, have I got a legal right to the stuff?”

“Undoubtedly, if you have papers assigning the claim to you,” said Mr. Perkins, after a moment’s thought.

“Oh, I’ve got them fast enough. I was goin’ to chuck ’em away, but I thought better of it. Glad I did now, but you see I never thought I’d have a chance to go down there.”

Ben reached into his pocket and drew out a battered, brown leather wallet. From it he produced Raoul Duval’s promise to deed him his (Duval’s) interest in the supposed treasure chest, providing the loan Ben had made the mining man’s son was not repaid. He handed the document to Dr. Perkins, who perused it with knitted brows.

“This certainly appears to give you a legal claim to whatever may be of value in the late Duval’s effects,” he said.

“Then you think it is worth looking into?”

“By all means. While the story sounds fanciful to a degree, it is not much more so than plenty of recorded cases. At all events, no harm can be done by trying to locate the wreck, and it may be the means of rehabilitating your fortunes.”

“I dunno what that means,” grinned Ben, “but if it signifies that I’m to get some money out of the cruise, I’m willing right now to split it up any way it suits you.”

“We can talk about that later,” said Dr. Perkins, with a smile at the old man’s enthusiasm; “now would you mind letting me have a look at that map to which Harry has referred?”

“Here it be,” grunted Ben, once more diving into the wallet and producing the map that Harry had looked over on Barren Island.

“At any rate, this looks definite enough,” declared Dr. Perkins after a careful examination of it. “Of course, as this Duval appears to be a thorough rascal, he may have ‘cooked this up,’ as the saying goes, in order to induce you to make him a loan. But certain things about it make me believe that it may be genuine. I recall reading some time ago a newspaper account of mysteries of the Mississippi, and among them was an account of the serious disaster to the Belle of New Orleans, so, at any rate, that part of the story is authentic enough.”

“Meanin’ it’s true,” murmured Ben. “Waal, if you’ll help me we’ll soon find out the truth of it, or otherwise.”

“As I said,” rejoined Dr. Perkins, “I had intended to cruise up the Mississippi from New Orleans. What you have told us furnishes us with a distinct object in making the trip, and,” he added with a smile, “I suppose the spice of adventure about it does not displease the lads here.”

Frank was about to reply when, from the wireless table, there came a queer buzzing sound from an instrument which the boy had connected with his detector.

“Hullo! some one is sending out a message,” he exclaimed, “and our wires have caught it. Wonder what it can be.”

The boy rose and went over to the wireless table. Seating himself on the stool in front of the instruments he adjusted the “phones” and began putting his variable condenser in tune to catch whatever message was pulsing through the air.

“What’s coming?” demanded Harry, as the instruments began to crackle and snap.

“Don’t know yet,” spoke Frank, again changing the capacity of the condenser; “looks as if——”

He ceased speaking suddenly. Sliding his hand across the table he made an adjustment to catch longer sound waves. Instantly a hail of aërial dots and dashes came pattering against his ear drums, like rain on a window pane.

With startling suddenness Frank sensed the meaning of the storm of desperate flashes.

“C-Q-D! C-Q-D! C-Q-D!”

“Some one out at sea is calling us in distress!” he cried loudly. The others, brim full of excitement, rose and crowded about him. But Frank waved them back.

“No questions yet, please!” he said sharply, and then bent all his faculties to catching the voice out of the black night.