Jack flushed, then bit his tongue. In another moment a pallor had succeeded the red in his face.

He was blamed for the disaster, and he was not really at fault.

Yet, under the rebuke he had just received, he did not feel it his place to retort further for the present.

Mr. Mayhew and Mr. Trahern conferred in low tones for a moment or two.

“You may as well leave the bridge, young man,” resumed Mr. Mayhew, turning upon the submarine boy. “You are not likely to be of any use here.”

As Jack, burning inwardly with indignation, though managing to keep outwardly calm, descended to the deck below, he caught sight of Hal Hastings, hovering near in the rowboat. Hal signaled to learn whether he should put in alongside to take off his chum, but Benson shook his head.

Over on the “Farnum” the yard's owner and Eph Somers watched wonderingly. They understood, well enough, that the new, trim-looking gunboat was in trouble, but they did not know that Jack Benson was held at fault.

“We're stuck good and fast,” remarked the engineer officer. “We can't drive off out of that sand for the reason that the propellers are buried in the grit. They'll hardly turn at all, and, when they do, they only churn the sand without driving us off.”

“Confound that ignoramus of a boy!” muttered Mr. Mayhew, walking slowly forward. It was no pleasant situation for the lieutenant commander. Having run his vessel ashore, he knew himself likely to be facing a naval board of inquiry.

Hal, finding that the shore boat was not wanted for the present, had rowed over to the “Farnum's” moorings. Now Jacob Farnum came alongside in the shore boat.

“May I speak with your watch officer?” he called.

“I am the commanding officer,” Mr. Mayhew called down, in the cold, even, dulled voice of a man in trouble.

“I am Mr. Farnum, owner of the yard. May I come on board?”

So Mr. Farnum went nimbly up over the side.

“May I ask what is the trouble here, sir?” asked the yard's owner.

“The trouble is,” replied Mr. Mayhew, “that your enterprising boy pilot has run us aground—hard, tight and fast!”

Jacob Farnum glanced swiftly at his young captain. Jack shook his head briefly in dissent. Jacob Farnum, with full confidence in his young man, at once understood that there was more yet to be learned.

“Come up on the bridge, sir, if you will,” requested the commander of the gunboat, who was a man of too good breeding to wish any dispute before the men of the crew. “You may come, too, Benson.”

Jack followed the others, including the engineer officer of the “Hudson.” Yet Benson was clenching his hands, fighting a desperate battle to get full command over himself. It was hard—worse than hard—to be unjustly accused.

Jacob Farnum wished to keep on the pleasantest terms with these officers of the Navy. At the same time he was man enough to feel determined that Jack, whether right or wrong, should have a full chance to defend himself.

“Perhaps he is not to be blamed too much, on account of his extreme youth,” responded Mr. Mayhew.

“Forget his youth altogether,” urged Mr. Farnum. “Let us treat him as a man. I've always found him one, in judgment, knowledge and loyalty. Do you mind telling me, sir, in what way he erred in bringing you in here?”

“An error in giving his advice,” replied Mr. Mayhew. “Or else it was ignorance of how to handle a craft as large as this gunboat. For my anchorage he told me—”

Here the lieutenant commander repeated the first part of Jack's directions correctly, but wound up with:

“He advised me to throw my wheel over four points to port.”

“Pardon me, sir,” Jack broke in, unable to keep still longer. “What I said, or intended to say, was to bring your vessel so that the forward end of the submarine shed over there would be four points off the port bow.”

“What did you hear Mr. Benson say, Mr. Trahern?” demanded the gunboat's commander, turning to the ensign who had stood with him on the bridge.

“You are sure of that, Mr. Trahern?”

“Unless my ears tricked me badly,” replied the ensign, “Mr. Benson said just what he now states. I wondered, sir, at your calling for slow speed astern.”

Lieutenant Commander Mayhew gazed for some moments fixedly at the face of Ensign Trahern. Then, of a sudden, the gunboat's commander, who was both an officer and a gentleman, broke forth, contritely:

“As I think it over, I believe, myself, that Benson advised as he now states he did. It was my own error—I am sure of it now.”

Wheeling about, Mayhew held out his right hand.

“Mr. Benson,” he said, in a deep voice full of regret, “I was the one in error. I am glad to admit it, even if tardily. Will you pardon my too hasty censure?”

“Gladly, sir,” Benson replied, gripping the proffered hand. Jacob Farnum stood back, wagging his head in a satisfied way. It had been difficult for him to believe that his young captain had been at fault in so simple a matter, or in a harbor with which he was so intimately acquainted.

“Mr. Farnum,” inquired the gunboat's commander, “have you any towboats about here that can be used in helping me to get the 'Hudson' off this sand ledge?”

“The only one in near waters, sir,” replied the yard's owner, “is a craft, not so very much larger than a launch, that ties up some three miles down the coast. She's the boat I use when I need any towing here. Of course, I have the two torpedo boats, though their engines were not constructed for towing work.”

“May I offer a suggestion?” asked Jack, when the talk lagged.

“I'll be glad to have you, Mr. Benson,” replied Mr. Mayhew, turning toward the submarine boy.

“That sounds like the best plan to me,” nodded Jacob Farnum. “I'll have a message sent at once for that towboat.”

A white-coated steward now appeared on deck, moving near the lieutenant commander.

“Is dinner ready, Greers?” called Mr. Mayhew.

“Yes, sir.”

“Lay two more plates, then. Mr. Farnum, I trust you and your young submarine commander will sit as my guests to-night.”

This invitation the yard's owner accepted, asking only time enough to arrange for keeping some of his workmen over-time, awaiting the coming of flood-tide.

So, presently, Jack and his employer found themselves seated at table in the gunboat's handsome wardroom. Besides the lieutenant commander there were Lieutenant Halpin, two ensigns, two engineer officers and a young medical officer. In the “Hudson's” complement of officers there were also four midshipmen, but these latter ate in their own mess.

The time passed most pleasantly, Mr. Mayhew plainly doing all in his power to atone for his late censure of the submarine boy.

It was a moment of tremendous relief for Mr. Mayhew.

“Call the tugboat captain aboard, and I'll settle with him at my own expense,” proposed the lieutenant commander.

“I trust you will think of nothing of the sort,” replied Jacob Farnum, quickly. “In this harbor I wish to consider you and your vessel as my guests.”

Again Mr. Mayhew expressed his thanks. Presently, glancing ashore through the night, he asked:

“What sort of country is it hereabouts?”

“Delighted,” replied the commander of the gunboat.

One of the “Hudson's” cutters being now in the water alongside, the party went ashore in this. Jack, after bidding the naval officers good-night, found Hal and Eph, who had just come ashore from supper on board the “Farnum.”

“No sailing orders yet, I suppose?” Hal asked.

“None,” Jack replied. “I reckon we'll start, all right, some time to-morrow morning.”

“What'll we do to-night?” Eph wondered.

“I don't know,” replied Jack. “We've few friends around here we need to take the trouble to say good-bye to. We could call on Mrs. Farnum, but I imagine we'd run into the naval party up at the Farnum house. We want to keep a bit in the background with these naval officers, except when they may ask for our company.”

“Let's take a walk about the old town, then,” Hal suggested.

“Is this shipyard open nights?” he queried.

“Only to some employees,” Jack answered.

“I suppose Mr. Farnum isn't about?”

“No.”

“Captain Benson?”

“Benson is my name.”

“This letter is addressed to Mr. Farnum,” went on the stranger, “but Mr. Pollard told me I could hand it to you.”

Captain Jack took the letter from the unsealed envelope.

“My dear Farnum,” ran the enclosure, “since you're short a good machinist for the engine room of the 'Farnum,' the bearer, Samuel Truax, seems to me to be just the man you want. I've examined him, and he understands the sort of machinery we use. Better give him a chance.” The note was signed in David Pollard's well-known, scrawly handwriting.

“I'm sorry you can't see Mr. Farnum to-night,” said Benson, pleasantly. “He'll be here early in the morning, though.”

“When do you sail?” asked Truax, quickly.

“That you would have to ask Mr. Farnum, too,” smiled Jack.

“It looks that way, doesn't it?” laughed the young skipper.

“And you're the captain?”

“Yes; but I can't undertake to handle Mr. Farnum's business for him.”

“You'll let me go aboard the craft to sleep for to-night, anyway?” coaxed Truax.

“Why, that's just what I'm not at liberty to do,” replied the young submarine captain. “No; I couldn't think of that, in the absence of Mr. Farnum's order.”

“But that doesn't seem hardly fair,” protested Truax. “See here, I have spent all my money getting here. I haven't even the price of a lodging with me, and this isn't a summer night.”

“Why, I'll tell you what I'll do,” Benson went on, feeling in one of his pockets. “Here's a dollar. That'll buy you a bed and a breakfast at the hotel up the street. If you want to get aboard with us in time, you'd better show up by eight in the morning.”

“But—”

Jack knew well enough that there wasn't any chance of Mr. Farnum returning, unless possibly at a very late hour with the naval officers, but the boy had seen the night watchman peering out through the gateway.

Retracing his steps, Jack drew the night watchman inside, whispering:

“Just a pointer for you. You've seen that man on the street with us? He has a letter from Mr. Pollard to Mr. Farnum, but I wouldn't let him in the yard to-night, unless Mr. Farnum appears and gives the order.”

“I understand,” said the night watchman, nodding.

“That's all, then, and thank you.”

Jack Benson hastily rejoined the others on the sidewalk.

“I don't believe, Mr. Truax, it will be worth your while to come here earlier than eight in the morning. Better go to the hotel and tie up to a good sleep. Good night.”

“Say, why did you take such a dislike to the fellow?” queried Eph, as the three submarine boys strolled on up the street, Truax following slowly at some distance in the rear.

“I didn't take a dislike to him,” Jack replied, opening his eyes wide.

“If it looked that way, then I'm sorry,” Benson protested, in a tone of genuine regret. “All I wanted to make plain was that I couldn't pass him on to our precious old boat without Mr. Farnum's order.”

Truax plodded slowly along behind the submarine boys, a cunning look in the man's eyes as he stared after Jack Benson.

“You're a slick young man, or else a wise one,” muttered Truax. “But I think I'm smart enough to take it out of you!”

Nor did Sam Truax go to the hotel. He had his own plans for this evening—plans that boded the submarine boys no good.

The three boys strolled easily about town, getting a hot soda or two, and, finally, drifting into a moving picture show that had opened recently in Dunhaven. This place they did not leave until the show was over. They were half-way home when Captain Jack remembered that he had left behind him a book that he had bought earlier in the evening.

“You fellows keep right on down to the yard. I'll hurry back, get the book and overtake you,” he proposed.

Jack ran back, but already the little theatre was closed.

On the way toward the water front Benson had to pass a vacant lot surrounded by a high board fence on a deserted street. He had passed about half way along the length of the fence, when a head appeared over the top followed by a pair of arms holding a small bag of sand. Down dropped the bag, striking Jack Benson on the top of the head, sending him unconscious to the ground.

With a thoughtful air Sam Truax drew a small bottle from his pocket, sprinkling some of the contents over Jack's uniform coat. Immediately the nauseating smell of liquor rose on the air.

“Now, if someone finds you before you come to, you'll look like a fellow that has been drinking and fighting,” muttered Truax under his breath. “If you come to and get back to the yard without help, you'll walk unsteadily and have that smell about your clothes. Usually, it needs only a breath of suspicion to turn folks against a boy!”

He got slowly to his feet, using the board fence as a means to help steady himself. Then, though he found himself weak and tormented by the pain in his head, Benson managed to feel his way along the fence until he came to the opening made by the loose board. Holding himself here, he thrust his head beyond.

Now, Hal and Eph, having waited for some time at the shore boat, before going out on board the “Farnum,” had at last made up their minds to go back and look for their missing leader. They came along just at the moment that the young captain's head appeared through the opening in the fence.

“There he is,” muttered Hal, stopping short. “Gracious! He acts queerly. I wonder if anything can have happened to him? Come along, Eph!”

The two raced across the street.

“Jack, old fellow! What on earth's the matter?” demanded Hal Hastings, anxiously.

“I wish you could tell me,” responded Jack Benson, speaking rather thickly, for he was still somewhat dazed. “Oh, my head!”

While the two submarine boys were guiding their weak, dizzy comrade out to the sidewalk a man came by with a swinging stride. Then he stopped short, staring in amazement.

“Hullo, boys! What on earth has happened?”

It was Grant Andrews, foreman of the submarine work at the yard, and a warm personal friend of Benson's.

“I don't believe the old chap feels like telling us just now,” muttered Hal, with a sour face.

“Whiskey!” muttered Andrews, almost under his breath. “What does it mean? Benson never touched a drop of that vile stuff, did he?”

“He'd sooner drown himself,” retorted Hal, with spirit.

“Of course he would,” agreed Grant Andrews. “But what is the meaning of all this?”

“Oh, there's some queer, hocus-pocus business on foot,” muttered Hal, bitterly. “But I don't believe Jack feels much like telling us anything about it at present.”

“I'll pick him right up in my arms and carry him,” proposed Andrews. “I'll take him to Mr. Farnum's office. Then I'll get a doctor. We don't want much noise about this, or folks will be telling all sorts of yarns against Jack Benson and his drinking habits, when the truth is he's about the finest, steadiest young fellow alive!”

Just as Andrews was about to carry his purpose into action, however, an automobile turned the nearest corner and came swiftly toward them. In another instant it stopped alongside. It contained Mr. Farnum and his chauffeur, besides three naval officers.

“What's wrong, Andrews?” called the yard's owner. “Why, that's Jack Benson! What has happened to him?”

Hal and Eph stood supporting their comrade, almost holding him, in fact. Jacob Farnum leaped from his automobile. Lieutenant Commander Mayhew followed him.

“Liquor, eh?” exclaimed the naval officer, the odor reaching his nostrils.

“No such thing,” retorted Farnum, turning upon the officer. “At least, Jack Benson has been drinking no such stuff.”

“There is liquor on his clothing,” continued the shipbuilder. “It looks as though someone had assaulted the lad, laid him out, and then sprinkled him. It's a wasted trick, though. I know him too well to be fooled by any such clumsy bit of nonsense.”

“A stupid trick, indeed,” agreed Lieutenant Commander Mayhew, but the naval officer did not quite share the shipbuilder's confidence in the submarine boy's innocence. Mr. Mayhew had known of too many cases of naval apprentices ruined through weak indulgence in liquor. Indeed, he had even known of rare instances in which cadets had been dismissed from the Naval Academy for the same offense. The lieutenant commander's present doubt of Jack Benson was likely to work to that young man's disadvantage later on.

Others of the party left the auto. Hal and Mr. Farnum got into the tonneau, supporting Jack there between them. Thus they carried him to Mr. Farnum's office at the yard, Grant Andrews then going in the car after a doctor, while the others stretched Jack on the office sofa. The naval officers returned to the “Hudson,” at anchor in the little harbor below.

“Of course you can't,” commented Jacob Farnum, crisply. “Will Benson be fit to sail in the morning?”

“I think so,” nodded the doctor. “But there ought to be a nurse with him to-night.”

“Take my car, Andrews, and get a man nurse at once,” directed Mr. Farnum. “Doctor, can the young man be moved to his berth on the 'Farnum'?”

“Safely enough,” nodded the medical man. They waited until the nurse arrived, when Jack was put to bed on the newer submarine craft.

Jack slept through the night, moaning once in a while. Mr. Farnum and the Dunhaven doctor were aboard early to look at him. The surgeon from the “Hudson” also came over.

Under the effects of medicine Jack Benson was asleep when, at ten o'clock that morning, the two submarine torpedo boats slipped their moorings, following the “parent boat,” the “Hudson,” out of the harbor.

Ten minutes later the motion of the sea awoke the young skipper.

“Sailing these days without word from your captain, eh?” Jack called, in a voice that carried, though it shook.

“Gracious—you?” ejaculated Hal, looking down for an instant. Then Hastings pressed a button connecting with a bell in the engine room.

“I'm going up there with you,” Jack volunteered.

“Right-o, if you insist,” clicked Eph Somers, appearing from the engine room and darting to the young skipper's side. True, Jack's head swam a bit dizzily as he climbed the stairs, but Eph's strong support made the task much easier. There was space to spare on the seat beside Hal, and into this Jack Benson sank.

“Say, you ought to sleep until afternoon,” was Hastings's next greeting, but Jack was looking out of the conning tower at the scene around him.

The three craft were leaving the coast directly behind. About three hundred yards away, abeam, steamed the “Hudson” at a nine-knot gait.

“Yes,” Hal nodded.

“Naval crew aboard her?”

“Yes; Government has taken full possession of the 'Pollard.'”

“Who's running this boat? Just you and Eph?”

“No; that new man, Truax, is on board, and at the last moment Mr. Farnum put Williamson, one of the machinists, aboard, also. You can send Williamson back from Annapolis whenever you're through with him.”

“Williamson is all right,” nodded Jack, slowly. “But how about Truax?”

“I think he's going to be a useful man,” Hal responded. “He seems familiar with our type of engines. Of course, he knows nothing about the apparatus for submerging the boat or making it dive. But he doesn't need to. Now, Jack, old fellow, we're going along all right. Why not let Eph help you back to your bunk, or one of the seats in the cabin, and have your sleep out?”

“I've had it out,” Benson declared, with a laugh. “I'm ready, now, to take my trick at the wheel.”

“Can't rest, when I know I'm doing nothing,” Benson retorted, stubbornly. “Besides, this is the first time I've ever found myself moving along in regular formation with the United States Navy. I feel almost as if I were a Navy officer myself, and I mean to make the most of the sensation. Say, Hal, wouldn't it be fine if we really did belong to the Navy?”

“Gee-whiz!” murmured young Hastings, his cheeks glowing and his eyes snapping.

“If we only belonged to the old Flag for life, and knew that we were practising on a boat like this as a part of the preparation for real war when it came?”

“Don't!” begged Hal, tensely. “For you know, old fellow, it can't come true. Why, we haven't even a residence anywhere, from which a Congressman could appoint one of us to Annapolis!”

“One of us?” muttered Jack, scornfully. “Then it would have to be you. I wouldn't go, even as a cadet at Annapolis, and leave you behind in just plain, ordinary life, Hal Hastings!”

Though his head throbbed, and though a dizzy spell came over him every few minutes, Jack Benson stuck it out, up there beside his chum, for an hour. Then, disdaining aid, he crept down the stairs, stretching himself out on one of the cabin seats. Eph brought him a pillow and a blanket. Jack soon slept, tossing uneasily whenever pain throbbed dully in his head.

“Guess I'll go out and have a little look at the young captain,” proposed Sam Truax, an hour later.

“Try another guess,” retorted Eph, curtly. “You'll stay here in the engine room. Jack Benson isn't going to be bothered in any way.”

“I'm not going to bother him; just going to take a look at him,” protested Truax, moving toward the door that separated the engine room from the cabin.

“Do you know what folks say about me?” demanded Eph, with a significant glare.

“What do they say?”

“Folks have an idea that, at most times, I'm one of the best-natured fellows on earth,” declared Eph, solemnly. “Yet they do say that, when I'm crossed in anything my mind's made up to, I can be tarnation ugly. I just told you I don't want the captain disturbed. Do you know, Sam Truax, I feel a queer notion coming over me? I've an idea that that feeling is just plain ugliness coming to life!”

Truax came back from the door, a grin on his face. Yet, when he turned his head away, there was a queer, almost deadly flash in the fellow's eyes.

Jack slept, uneasily, until towards the middle of the afternoon. As soon as Eph found him awake, that young man brought the captain a plate of toast and a bowl of broth, both prepared at the little galley stove.

“Sit up and get away with these,” urged Eph, placing the tray on the cabin table. “Wait a minute. I'll prop you up and put a pillow at your back.”

“This boat isn't a bad place for a fellow when he's knocked out,” smiled Jack.

As Captain Jack ate the warm food he felt his strength coming back to him.

“Poor old Hal has been up there in the conning tower all these hours,” muttered Captain Jack, uneasily. “He must have that cramped feeling in his hands.”

“Humph!” retorted Eph. “Not so you could notice it much, I guess. It's a simpleton's job up in the conning tower to-day. All he has to do is to shift the wheel a little to port, or to starboard, just so as to keep the proper interval from the 'Dad' boat. Besides, I've been up there on relief, for an hour while you slept, and Hal came down and sat with the engines. Cheer up, Jack. No one misses you from the conning tower.”

Benson laughed, though he said, warningly:

“I reckon we'll do as well to drop calling the gunboat the 'Dad boat' instead of the 'parent vessel.'”

“Well, you needn't bother at all about the conning tower to-day,” wound up Eph, glancing at his watch. “It's after half-past three at this moment and I understand we're to drop anchor about five o'clock.”

“Who could have hit me in that fashion, last night, and for what earthly purpose?” wondered the boy. “I've had some enemies, in the past, but I don't know a single person about Dunhaven, now who has any reason for wishing me harm.”

Never a thought crossed his mind of suspecting Sam Truax. That worthy had come with a note from David Pollard, the inventor of the boats. Sam, therefore, must be all right, the boy reasoned.

Jack lay back on the upholstered seat. He sat with his eyes closed most of the time, though he did not doze. At last, however, he heard the engine room bell sound for reduced speed. Getting up, the young captain made his way to the foot of the conning tower stairs.

“Making port, Hal?” he called.

“Yep,” came the reply. “We'll be at anchor in five minutes more.”

Jack made his way slowly to the door of the engine room.

“Eph,” he called, “as soon as you've shut off speed, take Truax above and you two attend to the mooring.”

“Time you learned, then,” returned Eph Somers, “if you're to stay aboard a submarine craft.”

“Take this other man up with you,” again urged Truax.

Eph Somers turned around to face him with a good deal of a glare.

“What ails you, Truax? You heard the captain's order. You'll go with me.”

“Don't be too sure of that,” uttered Sam Truax, defiantly.

“If you don't go above with me, and if you don't follow every order you get aboard this boat, I know where you will go,” muttered Eph, decisively.

“Where?” jeered Sam.

“Ashore—in the first boat that can take you there.”

“You seem to forget that I'm on board by David Pollard's order,” sneered Truax.

“All I am sure of,” retorted Eph, “is that Jack Benson is captain on board this craft. That means that he's sole judge of everything here when this boat is cruising. If you were here by the orders of both owners, Jack Benson would fire you ashore for good, just the same, after you've balked at the first order.”

Clang! Jangle! The signal bell was sounding.

“Shut up,” ordered Eph Somers, briskly. “I've got the engine to run on signal from the watch officer.”

There followed a series of signals, first of all for stopping speed, then for a brief reversing of engines. A moment later headway speed ahead was ordered. So on Eph went through the series of orders until the “Farnum” had been manœuvred to her exact position. Then, from above, Captain Jack's voice was heard, roaring in almost his usual tones:

“Turn out below, there, to help make fast!”

“Take the lever, Williamson,” directed Eph. “Come along lively, Truax.”

“Humph! Let Williamson go,” grumbled Truax.

“You come along with me, my man!” roared Eph, his face blazing angrily. “Hustle, too, or I'll report you to the captain for disobedience of orders. Then you'll go ashore at express speed. Coming?”

Sam Truax appeared to wage a very brief battle within himself. Then, nodding sulkily, he followed.

“Hustle up, there!” Jack shouted down. “We don't want to drift.”

“Get forward, you two,” Jack called briskly, “and make the bow cable fast to that buoy.”

Hal still sat at the wheel in the tower. As Eph and Truax crept forward over the arched upper hull of the “Farnum,” Hal sounded the engine room signals and steered until the boat had gotten close enough to make the bow cable fast. Then the stern cable was made fast, with more line, to another buoy.

“A neat hitch, Mr. Benson,” came a voice from the bridge of the “Hudson,” which lay a short distance away. Jack, looking up, saw Lieutenant Commander Mayhew leaning over the bridge rail.

“Thank you, sir,” Jack acknowledged, saluting the naval officer.

The parent vessel and her two submarine charges now lay at anchor in the harbor at Port Clovis, one of the towns down the coast from Dunhaven. This mooring overnight was to be repeated each day until Annapolis should be reached.

“I'd like to go ashore, sir,” announced Sam Truax, approaching Captain Jack.

“When?”

“Now.”

“For how long?”

“Until ten o'clock to-night.”

“Be back by that hour, then,” Jack replied. “If you're not, you'll find everything shut tight aboard here.”

Truax quickly signaled one of the hovering boats, and put off in it. Eph watched the boat for a few moments before he turned to Captain Jack to mutter:

“Somehow, I wouldn't feel very badly about it if that fellow got lost on shore!”