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Contents

Illustrations

He came to a full stop and gazed steadily at the upturned paper in the typewriter in front of him. Twenty-fives times he had written that sentence, and twenty-five times with mechanical precision and true adherence to time-honored custom he had finished it by tapping off the word "party."

It was a formula of words which some genius had devised for the fingering practice it gave one on the keyboard, and Joe Harned had written it hundreds of times before, just as thousands of others had done, without giving a thought to its meaning, or the significance that the substitution of a single word would give it.

He read it again, and as if it were the result of an uncontrollable impulse, his fingers began the rapid tap-tap-tap. And this time he substituted the new word that the big idea had suddenly thrust into his mind.

Joe gave the roller a twirl, the paper rolled out, dropped to the floor, and he grasped for it eagerly.

Even Joe was surprised. He hadn't realized that in his enthusiastic haste he had pushed down the key marked "caps."

In bold, outstanding letters near the bottom of the sheet was an historic sentence, and Joe Harned—Harned, of Brighton Academy—had devised it.

"NOW IS THE TIME FOR ALL GOOD MEN TO
COME TO THE AID OF THEIR COUNTRY!"

Joe gazed at it again for a moment, and then let his eyes travel across the little office to where red-headed, freckle-faced, big-hearted and impetuous Jerry Macklin was rapping away at another typewriter, and, two feet away from Jerry, "Slim" Goodwin, "one-hundred-and-seventy pounds in his stockinged feet, and five-feet-four in his gym suit," was working the telegraph key with a pudgy hand.

"Jerry!" he called. "Oh, Slim! Come over here a moment, both of you. I want to show you something."

Jerry immediately ceased typewriting, but Slim was reluctant to release the telegraph key. However, as Joe began folding the paper in such a way that only the last sentence showed, their aroused curiosity brought both of them to his side.

"Read that," said Joe, trying to suppress the quiver in his voice, and holding the paper up before them. "Read it carefully."

One lad on either side of him, they hung over Joe's shoulder and followed his bidding.

"Right!" shouted Jerry, as he came to the last word. "Joe, you're a wizard, and what you've written there is the truth."

"Ain't it—I mean isn't it?" added the delicate Slim Goodwin, and, partly to hide his grammatical error, but mostly to express his enthusiasm, he gave Joe a one-hundred-and-seventy-pound whack on the back that sent him sliding out of the chair and half way under the typewriter table.

"Say!" Joe remonstrated. But just then Philip Burton, telegraph operator and genial good friend of all three of the lads, bustled into the room, a sheaf of yellow telegrams in his hand.

"What's all the excitement?" he asked, striding toward the typewriter just left by Jerry.

"Why," explained Slim, "Joe's just done something that means something."

"Impossible," said Mr. Burton, turning toward them with one of those irresistible smiles which long ago had made him the boys' confidant.

"If you don't believe it, read this," commanded Jerry, thrusting the paper before the telegrapher's eyes.

Mr. Burton read it through and then turned to the three boys again. "Well?" he asked.

"It means what it says," explained Jerry. "Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their country."

"And we're 'good men,' ain't—aren't we?" demanded Slim, drawing in his stomach and throwing out his chest as he straightened up to his full five-feet-four-inches "in his gym suit."

"None better anywhere," said Mr. Burton in a tone that showed he meant it. "But just how do you contemplate going to the aid of your country?"

It was Joe's turn to say something, and he did. "By enlisting," he announced, briefly but firmly.

"Yes," agreed Slim, "that's it, by enlisting."

"Uh-huh," said Jerry, nodding his head vigorously and watching Mr. Burton's face for evidence of the effect of their decision.

"And when did you determine upon that?" the telegrapher asked, with increasing interest.

"Well," said Slim, his face now painfully red from his efforts to keep chest out and stomach in, "it was finally decided upon just now, although we have talked about the thing in a general way many times."

"You really mean to enlist—all three of you?" Mr. Burton demanded.

"Yes, sir," they chorused, "all three."

"Good!" exclaimed the man who had been their friend and helper. "Fine! I'm proud of you," and he proceeded to shake hands heartily with each in turn.

"Have you decided upon the branch of the service you intend to enter?" he then asked.

Joe looked at Jerry, Jerry looked at Slim, and Slim cast a helpless glance back at Joe.

"I see you haven't," said Mr. Burton hastily, "and I'm glad of it. Now how about the Signal Corps?"

"What do men in the Signal Corps do?" asked Jerry.

"Do they fight?" demanded Slim.

"Yes," Mr. Burton replied, "they do some fighting on their own account, and often in tough places and against discouraging odds. But they do even more than that. Without their assistance no general would dare lay plans for a battle. The Signal Corps keeps the commanders posted, not only as to the whereabouts and disposition of his own troops, but also of those of the enemy. The Signal Corps is the telephone, the telegraph, the wireless, and often the aviation section as well, of the American army, and often of the American navy, too."

"Isn't that great?" exclaimed the breathless Slim, as Mr. Burton went over to the ticker to answer the code call for his station.

During the ten minutes that he was engaged in receiving and sending messages, the boys perfected plans for notifying their relatives of their intention. Had their attention not been so entirely taken by the subject under discussion they would have seen Herbert Wallace—another and very unpopular student at Brighton—pass by the office window, stop for a moment to stare at them, and then step away quickly in the direction of the door, near which they were standing.

"Well, what's the verdict?" asked Mr. Burton, having finished his duties.

"The Signal Corps is our choice," said Joe, speaking for all, "but how do we go about getting into it?"

"I think I can arrange that," Mr. Burton informed them. "You boys have been studying telegraphy under me for more than six months, and I'm willing to certify that each of you can now handle an instrument. In addition to that, you are able to take down messages on the typewriter as they come over the wire. Yes, sir," Mr. Burton finished, "I think your Uncle Sam will be mighty glad to get three such lads as you, and I know the recruiting agent to put the thing through."

So it was arranged that the three lads should return to the dormitory, write the letters which were to procure them the desired permission to enlist, and then inform the headmaster of their intentions.

Joe and Jerry, who had roomed together throughout their entire three years at Brighton, already were well on with their epistles of explanation when Slim, whose room was seven doors down the corridor, dragged himself in, looking more downcast than any boy in Brighton ever had seen him look before.

"No use," he informed his two friends, a choke in his voice. "They won't have me. I'm overweight."

"Oh, now, Slim, what are you worrying about that for? I don't believe any such thing," counseled Joe.

"It's true, though," affirmed Slim. "That's the worst part of it; I saw it in the book. I'm toting around about twenty pounds more than the government wants, and I'd have to stand on tiptoe in high-heel shoes to meet the requirement in height."

Poor Slim! He showed his disappointment in every look and every action.

"What kind of a book did you see it in?" asked Jerry, in a tone almost as sad as Slim's.

"In the manual," Slim groaned. "Herb Wallace showed it to me."

"That settles it," exclaimed Joe. "If Herb Wallace had a hand in it anywhere there's something wrong. I'll tell you what we'll do, fellows. We'll go and ask the headmaster."

Now the headmaster of Brighton had once been a boy himself. He could be stern, even cruelly severe, when occasion demanded, but he was kind of heart and broad of understanding.

Before him the three lads laid their case, as before the final tribunal.

"H'm," said he, when all the details had been related and the all-important information asked. "You say Herbert Wallace showed you this in a manual?"

Slim solemnly affirmed that that was the case.

The headmaster pushed a button on the side of his desk and in a few seconds his secretary, a big, bluff fellow, appeared.

"Bring Herbert Wallace here at once," said the headmaster. And in five more minutes, while the headmaster was shrewdly questioning the three lads as to the seriousness of their determination to enlist, the secretary returned, accompanied by young Wallace, flushed and shamefaced.

"Well, Wallace," said the principal of Brighton, "I hear you've been studying up on military subjects. Intending to get into the fight?"

Herbert Wallace hung his head and muttered an unintelligible reply.

"Now look here, Wallace," spoke the headmaster sternly, "where did you get the military manual from which you gave Goodwin the information that he could not pass the examination for the army?"

"I—I got it from the library, sir."

"Got it without permission, too, didn't you?" pursued the headmaster.

"Yes, sir," said Wallace, in confusion.

"And didn't know that it was out of date, and that the requirements were completely changed after the United States entered this war, eh?"

"No, sir," answered Wallace, on the verge of a breakdown.

"I'll decide upon your punishment later," announced the headmaster. "See me here at four o'clock. Meanwhile, Wallace, be careful where you get information, and be careful how you dispense it."

And Herbert Wallace, utterly humiliated, was glad to flee from the room.

"I don't think," said the headmaster, "that any of you will have difficulty passing the examinations. I dislike to see you go, but you speak the truth when you say that your country does need you, and I pay a great tribute of respect to you for the patriotism and courage with which you step forth to shoulder your obligations. Others already have gone from Brighton. Still others will go in the future. God bless all of you, and may you return safe and sound to reap the full benefits of the democracy for which you are going to fight."

The suspicion of tears dimmed the kindly eyes of the headmaster, and each boy choked up as he bade him good-by.

But, after all, this was no time for sadness. Young gladiators were going forth to the fray. And so we will skip over the farewells the following day, in which the parents of each lad, with many a heartache but never a word of discouragement, bade the boys Godspeed in the service of their country.

The three lads, together with fifteen others, formed a detachment of the recently enlisted who were to go to the Philadelphia Navy Yard for further assignment. Just before the train pulled out a students' parade that seemed to include every boy in Brighton marched to the station to see them off.

One of the lads carried a large transparency on which was printed:

And just as the train pulled out, and there was great cheering and waving of hats and handkerchiefs, Joe, Jerry and Slim, leaning from adjoining windows, sang out in chorus:

"For Uncle Sam."

"Well, let's climb out and see," was a suggestion from Jerry which found ready response in the other two; and a moment later, while half the passengers were still asleep, they were investigating the mysteries of Washington Avenue, near Broad Street, in the Quaker City.

Strings of freight cars were stretched out on the sidings, and either side of the railroad yard was flanked by large manufacturing buildings, which already were showing preliminary signs of industrial activity.

"You are enlisted men, sirs?" queried a deep voice just behind them, and all three turned, somewhat startled to find they were not alone.

They faced a young giant of a fellow, who wore the khaki uniform of Uncle Sam, with a sergeant's stripes upon his sleeve. He was unable wholly to suppress a smile as Slim came to a difficult and not entirely regulation salute.

"We are," answered Joe. "We just stepped off that train to get a breath of fresh air and to learn where we were."

"No harm done," the sergeant responded in a friendly tone. "You are in Philadelphia, and the only restriction upon you now is that you are not to stroll too far away. We leave here in a short while for the navy yard, where mess will be served."

"Mess? That's breakfast, ain't—isn't it?" asked Slim anxiously.

"Yes," the sergeant replied, "and a good one, too."

Each boy touched his cap respectfully as the non-commissioned officer turned to return to the train.

"Hope we have sausage," said Jerry in an undertone; "but I'm hungry enough to eat anything they give me."

"Same with me," Slim added in melancholy tones; "but I guess I'll have to diet some until I'm sure, certain, and solidified in the service."

At that instant the shrill blast of a whistle brought their attention back to the train, where the sergeant was signaling them to return. Three automobiles had arrived, and into these our three friends and the other fifteen recently enlisted men climbed, for the trip to League Island, where is located one of the Nation's largest and most important navy yards.

Down wide, asphalted Broad Street the party sped, past solid rows of handsome dwellings, and then across the stretch of beautiful park that was once a mosquito-ridden marshland, and to the gates of the navy yard.

Here the detachment of marines on guard gave the boys their first close association with the spirit of war. As they swung through the gates a virtual wonderland of the machinery of sea battles greeted their eyes—powerful battleships, lithe and speedy cruisers, spider-like destroyers, tremendous colliers capable of carrying thousands of tons of coal to the fleets at sea, and in the distance a transport, waiting to take on its human freight of Uncle Sam's fighters for foreign battlefields.

On the parade ground several companies of marines were going through maneuvers, while on every ship bluejackets were engaged in various tasks, and activities were in full sway in the many large manufacturing buildings at the lower end of the yard, near the waterfront.

It was a scene to inspire the lads with a full appreciation of the great military and naval service of which they were to become a part, and in their patriotic enthusiasm they forgot even their healthy young appetites.

Mess was in one of the big barracks, where they mingled with hundreds of others, some of whom were raw rookies like themselves, others of longer experience, and some of previous service in Haiti and elsewhere.

The big sergeant, whose name they learned was Martin, brought the entire eighteen together immediately after the meal, and they joined a score of others who had arrived a few days before. All were then marched to another building, where their instructions began, and they were informed that before night they would be uniformed.

This was welcome information, indeed. To get into the uniform of Uncle Sam! Every young man in the group breathed a little deeper and drew himself up a little straighter at the thought.

We will not trace Joe, Jerry and Slim through their initial instruction, for it had lasted less than an hour, when an orderly hastily entered the room, saluted the officer who was acting as instructor, and then talked to him for a moment in an undertone.

The officer's countenance underwent a curious change. Finally he turned toward the youths before him.

"Are there any men here who are already telegraphers?" he asked.

Instantly Joe, Jerry, and two others arose, while Slim tried to, but had great difficulty getting himself out of the small, school-child's sort of desk at which he was seated. Finally he managed it by sliding out sidewise, the way he had entered, instead of attempting a direct upward rise.

"How many of you can use the international code?" the officer continued.

Thanks to good old Burton, Joe, Jerry and Slim were as familiar with that as they were with the Morse American code. The other two men resumed their seats. Sergeant Martin had entered the room. Apparently he was not at all displeased to find the three polite young men whom he had addressed earlier in the day, now able to show greater capabilities than the other men in the detachment.

"You are excused from further instruction here at this time," the officer announced to the trio. "You will accompany Sergeant Martin for further orders."

And they hurried from the room with the non-com., who they instinctively knew was their friend.

What was this new experience that lay before them? They were not long in learning, and the information almost carried them beyond the restraints of good discipline and to the indulgence in three ripping good cheers.

Sergeant Martin could be a hard taskmaster when it was necessary to be so, but, like the headmaster of Brighton, he did not believe in needless red tape, nor did he delude himself that the stripes upon his sleeve made him a better man—except in official authority—than the one who wore none at all. He realized the curiosity that must be consuming the three lads, and he was not averse to satisfying it.

"Selected for service aboard a transport bound for Europe," he announced briefly.

"Thank you, sir," said Joe, not entirely able to control the happiness in his voice, while Slim's excess stomach almost entirely disappeared in the abnormal expansion of his chest. Jerry could find no other dignified way of expressing his great pleasure than by quietly poking Slim under the ribs, to the entire undoing of that young man's military attitude.

"Do we go at once, sir?" inquired Joe deferentially.

"Probably to-morrow evening," said Sergeant Martin, as they arrived at the building housing the captain and staff in charge of men of the Signal Corps then stationed at the navy yard.

It was the busiest office the three boys had ever seen. Typewriters were clicking, telegraph instruments were at work, orderlies were hurrying about, and every man in the place was engrossed in his own particular task.

Sergeant Martin guided them to an inner office. Here they confronted an austere gentleman whose uniform denoted that he was a captain, and whose whole bearing bespoke military service.

The three boys were dumbfounded to learn that he already had their names on a card before him. They were getting a new idea of the efficiency of Uncle Sam's service.

The captain made numerous notes as he questioned them about their experience, general knowledge, and extent of their education. He eyed Slim shrewdly as he inquired whether they thought they might be subject to seasickness.

"Young men," he said abruptly, "this country is engaged in the greatest war in all history. Considering your youth and present lack of experience, yours is to be a part of great responsibility. You look like capable and courageous young Americans, and I believe you are. I have confidence that you will bear your share of the burdens of war with credit to yourselves and glory to your country. With one other man of more experience, you will be placed in charge of the wireless and other signal apparatus aboard the transport Everett, leaving within thirty-six hours. Sergeant Martin will now aid you in procuring your uniforms."

The three boys came to full military salute, the captain returned it, they swung upon their heels like seasoned soldiers and departed behind their friend, the young giant of a sergeant.

An hour later, fully uniformed, they were taken to the Everett and down into the wonders of the transport's wireless room, where they were introduced to Second Lieutenant Gerald Mackinson, who was to be their superior officer on the perilous trip.

Lieutenant Mackinson was a square-jawed young fellow with keen eyes, bushy hair and a good breadth of shoulders. He had been an electrical engineer prior to entering the service, and had gained his promotion three months before strictly upon his merit and knowledge, which were the qualities he demanded in others. He already had been "across" three times, and he knew the many problems and dangers that would confront them.

Satisfied by his questioning that the three young men who were to accompany him "had the stuff in them," Lieutenant Mackinson then began instructing them in the elementaries of the radio.

It seemed, though, that that day was destined to be one of interruptions, but not, however, of the sort to be of disadvantage to the three boys from Brighton. For, just as the sudden ending of their instructions in class in the morning had led to their assignment to a transport, to start overseas within thirty-six hours, so the call now which required Lieutenant Mackinson's presence elsewhere, indirectly led to a new and thrilling experience for the lads.

"I am ordered to report to aid in the repairs to the wireless of another vessel," said the lieutenant, after perusing the order that a private had brought to him. "It will require until late to-night to finish. Inasmuch as this is probably the last night that you lads will spend on land for some time, you might as well see a little of the city, if you care to, but be sure that you are within the gates of the yard before ten o'clock."

He then gave each of the boys a pass, and told them to be aboard the Everett not later than half-past ten o'clock, and departed for the special work to which he had been called.

"Wouldn't you like to be a lieutenant, though?" exclaimed Joe enthusiastically. "Just imagine being called from ship to ship to help them out of their difficulties."

And, discussing their aspirations and what the future held for them, the three young men from Brighton went to mess, afterward brushed their brand-new uniforms of the last possible speck of dust, and left the navy yard for a stroll through the southern section of the city founded by William Penn.

How far they walked none of them knew. They had turned many corners, and their conversation had covered a wide field—always, however, turning upon some military subject—when a church clock tolled out nine times.

"I think we had better return," said Slim, who was beginning to tire under the long day's strain and excitement.

"Yes," agreed Jerry, "but which way do we go?"

They were, in truth, lost. Uniformed as they were, they were ashamed to ask directions, and finally agreed that Joe was right in indicating that they should walk straight southward.

Twelve blocks southward they walked, and the damp, marshy atmosphere assured them that they were nearing the river, but their only hope now, as they plodded across desolate and deserted dumps, and even invaded a truck patch or two, was that they would strike a road that led around to the navy yard entrance.

"What's that?" exclaimed Jerry in a hoarse whisper, grasping a boy on either side of him by the arm. "Did you hear?"

"I thought I heard something," averred Slim, also lowering his voice. "What did it sound like to you?"

"We are almost upon the river bank," said Joe. "It was someone rowing, but it sounded to me as though they were using muffled oars."

While the boys stopped to listen, the rowing began again, very slowly, very cautiously, and then there was a muffled splash.

At the same instant a great flashlight to the south began playing first upon the sky, and then, in a slow arc, down the river and then inland toward themselves.

Although they did not come quite within its radius, the boat they had heard was between them and the light! It was a row boat, evidently heavily laden, for it rode low in the water, and it was occupied by one man, who was crouching in the bottom as though to avoid discovery!

Just as suddenly as it had appeared, the searchlight was obscured, and the blackness of the night was more intense by contrast.

"That light was at the navy yard," said Joe, beginning to peel off his coat. "Jerry, you're a fast runner. By heading straight in the way I'm looking you ought to be able to get to the yard in ten minutes. Do it as quickly as you can. Slim will stay here."

By this time Joe had stripped off his shirt and preparing to unlace his shoes.

"And you," blurted Jerry and Slim, almost at the same instant, but still in guarded tones, "what are you going to do?"

"I'm as safe as a duck in the water, and almost as noiseless," responded Joe calmly. "I'm going to swim out and see what is going on. That man out there is a spy!"

To Sergeant Martin, between gasps, Jerry managed to blurt out enough to make the other understand. Within two more minutes Sergeant Martin had imparted the vital information to the captain of the company of marines charged with guarding the navy yard for that particular night. The captain sent two aides scurrying, one to his major, the other to the office of the navy yard commandant.

Twenty marines, fully armed, were hurried aboard a launch that constantly was kept under steam for just such an emergency, and, with Jerry directing, the boat swung out to Joe's aid.

Rapidly as Jerry had traveled the distance between the spot where Slim waited and the navy yard itself, it seemed like ages to Joe, out there in the icy water, a quarter of a mile from shore.

At first the tense excitement of the manhunt had made him unmindful of the low temperature, and he swam with strong, even, silent strokes that sent his lithe body gliding through the current noiselessly; but when he had come within forty feet of the rowboat its lone occupant had turned suddenly, as though scenting danger, and Joe, after waiting for a few seconds to see what might happen, considered the absolute silence an omen of danger and had dived under water, staying there as long as he could, and coming to the surface at an entirely different point from the boat.

After that the cold got to the very heart of him. His muscles grew numb, he felt his strength waning, and he had to bring the whole force of his will to bear to keep from turning back to shore.

But just as Jerry had maintained his courage and strength by keeping constantly in mind Joe's plight, so Joe stuck to his terrible task, suffering the most severe punishment, by an unwavering confidence in Jerry's ability to get assistance in the shortest possible time.

He could see and hear that the man in the boat was working hastily, even laboriously; and every few seconds there was the smothered splash of something heavy being dropped carefully overboard.

And then, at the most inopportune moment, just when Joe was head and shoulders out of the water, not more than twenty feet away from the boat, the searchlight was thrown full upon him.

He dived; but not before the other man saw him. Joe, swimming ten feet under water, and as hard as he could with the current down stream, knew that he had been discovered, for he heard the quick rap-rap of the oars, the sound dying away as the little craft sped toward shore.

When he did come to the surface it was with the certain feeling that the fatal searchlight had been played upon the scene two minutes too early, and just in time to prevent the capture red-handed of a very questionable character, undoubtedly carrying out some plot for an enemy government.

For as distinctly as he could hear the oars thrashing the water toward shore, he could discern the steady but subdued puffing of a steam launch racing up the river.

Joe was now on the point of exhaustion. He was flapping the water desperately, but he was making no progress, and he was having the greatest difficulty keeping himself afloat. He tried to cry out, and this final effort took his last bit of strength.

The steam launch was then perhaps thirty feet away, but Jerry's words, "Right about here," floated to him as from the opposite side of the river. The boat's searchlight that was then suddenly thrown on blinded him; he lost all account of things, and had the vague feeling of sailing across great spaces on fleecy white clouds.

When he regained partial consciousness Sergeant Martin was in the water with him, and trying to raise his body over the side of the launch; then he relapsed again, for what seemed to him hours, but what was actually only about two minutes, and was awakened to his real senses by the shouts of Slim, on shore.

"Slim's got him," Jerry almost shouted. "Hurry, captain, right off this way to the shore. Slim must have him. Listen to Slim's bellow."

And if there wasn't a first-class ruction in progress just upon the spot from which Slim's vocal signals were emanating, then Slim's voice was deceptive, indeed.

As a matter of fact, there was the finest sort of a fracas afoot.

Slim, on shore, had been a silent and anxious witness to the sudden turning on of the navy yard searchlight, and to all that it exposed—the boat, the man at work in it, Joe in the water, and his discovery by the boat's occupant.

And then, as the light was extinguished, and the whole affair was engulfed in darkness, Slim heard the rapid beating of the oars upon the water, and the rower heading toward shore—and Slim.

Unable to see the craft approaching, he traced its course by sound, and when the man stepped ashore Slim was only a few yards away. Discerning a shadow just ahead of him, the youth threw himself at it with his whole weight, only to grunt his pain and disgust as he came into violent contact with the trunk of a dead tree.

The sound, however, startled the enemy into an exclamation which revealed his whereabouts, and a moment later the two were locked together and rolling over the ground, Slim with a desperate grip upon the stranger's throat, and the latter landing blow after blow upon Slim's stomach.

It was during this mêlée that Slim spied the searchlight of the launch and let out his first call. After that most of his "bellows" were involuntary and but punctuated the rapid-fire attack with which the other man was landing his blows just above Slim's waist-line, or where his waist-line should have been.

As the launch headed toward shore, its searchlight trained over the bow, the man of the rowboat resorted to more desperate tactics. With a tremendous jerk he managed to free his throat from Slim's grasp. An instant later he gave the youth's neck a twist which almost broke it. Then he landed a vicious kick which put poor Slim out of business.

Just as the marines from the launch were climbing ashore the fellow sped off into the denseness of the night; and as his footsteps died away all present trace of him was gone. A dozen of them searched for an hour, but without result, and further investigation along that line had to be abandoned until the following day.

Meanwhile, however, all three lads were hurried back to the navy yard for fresh clothing and other repairs; having received which, together with hot coffee from the cook at the barracks mess, they were permitted, at their own earnest solicitation, to return to the scene with four marines who were to be stationed along that section of the shore for the balance of the night.

What they saw upon their arrival astounded them. Three additional launches had arrived upon the scene, and the commandant of the navy yard was himself directing matters.

He had in his hand a slight rope that ran down into the water, and close beside it was a hose line attached to an apparatus in the boat. The boys knew at once that a diver was at work down on the river bed.

From the side of another launch anchored parallel with the first, and fifteen feet distant, four husky bluejackets were waiting expectantly to divide their strength on two stout ropes that were being attached to something down in the water. The third launch played its flashlight upon the work, while the fourth steamed about, doing patrol duty.

Even as the boys watched, the commandant gave a signal and the sailors began hauling upward on the two heavy ropes. In a moment an oblong box, about two feet long, a foot wide and of the same depth, came dripping from the water. As it was brought to the boat's side two other men grasped it carefully and placed it in the bottom of the launch. Then the ropes, which were attached to a guide line, were hauled down into the river again.

"What does it mean?" Joe asked of Sergeant Martin, who had changed his clothes and arrived back ahead of them.

"What does it mean?" repeated the big sergeant. "It means that you three young men are due for several credits and early recognition, or I'm much mistaken. The man you discovered has not yet been caught, but he cannot escape for long. And when he is captured it will be a long time before he is free again.

"You lads have frustrated a dangerous plot by an enemy government. The river bottom seems to be paved with those cases. They've taken out a dozen already. One of them was opened, and, just as expected, it proved to be a water-tight container for smokeless powder!

"The government that had those boxes hidden there undoubtedly was scheming to have plenty of ammunition ready for use if it ever managed to land its men on American soil.

"But you boys appeared here just in time to blow up the whole plot. You have been in your first real action in the service of your country, and you have come off with flying colors."