On the second day of the cruise Jack Benson returned to full duty.
For four nights, in all, the submarine squadron tied up at moorings in harbors along the coast. On the fifth night, as [pg 073] darkness fell, the squadron continued under way, in Chesapeake Bay, for Annapolis was but three hours away.
Immediately after supper Captain Jack took his place in the conning tower. He concerned himself principally with the compass, his only other task being to keep the course by the “Hudson's” lights, for the parent boat supplied in its own conduct all the navigation orders beyond the general course. The “Farnum's” searchlight was not used, the gunboat picking up all the coast-marks as they neared land.
“Annapolis is the place I've always wanted to see,” Jack declared, as Hal joined him in the conning tower.
“It's the place where I've always wanted to be a cadet,” sighed Hal. “But there's no chance for me, I fear. Jack, I'd rather be an officer of the Navy than a millionaire.”
“Same here,” replied Jack, steadily. “It's hard to have to feel that I'll never be either.”
As she entered the mouth of the Severn River the “Hudson” signaled to the submarines to follow, in file, the “Pollard” leading. A little later the three craft entered the Basin at the Academy. While the gunboat anchored off the Amphitheatre, the two submarine boats were ordered to anchorage just off the Boat House. Then a cutter came alongside.
[pg 074] “The lieutenant commander's compliments to Mr. Benson. Will Mr. Benson go aboard the 'Hudson'?” asked the young officer in command of the cutter. Captain Jack lost no time in presenting himself before the lieutenant commander.
“Mr. Benson,” said Mr. Mayhew, after greeting the submarine boy, “your craft will be under a marine guard to-night, and at all times while here at the Naval Academy. If you and your crew would like to spend the night ashore, in the quaint little old town of Annapolis, there's no reason why you shouldn't. But you will all need to report back aboard, ready for duty, by eight in the morning.”
Jack thanked the naval commander, then hastened back to the “Farnum” to communicate the news.
“Me for the shore trip,” declared Eph, promptly. All the others agreed with him.
“I'll come back by ten o'clock to-night, though,” volunteered Sam Truax. “One of the crew ought to be aboard.”
“We'll stay ashore,” decided Jack, “and return in the morning.”
“I'm coming back to-night,” retorted Truax.
“Keep still, and follow orders,” muttered Eph, digging his elbow into Truax's ribs. “The captain gives the orders here.”
[pg 075] Jack, however, had turned away. Within five minutes a boat put off from shore, bringing two soldiers of the marine guard alongside. With them, in the shore boat, was a corporal of the guard.
“Any of your crew coming back to-night, sir?” asked the corporal.
“None,” Benson answered. “Will you instruct the sentries to see that none of the crew are allowed aboard during the night?”
“Very good, sir.”
The shore boat waited to convey them to the landing. Before going, young Captain Benson closed and locked the manhole entrance to the conning tower. A sullen silence had fallen over Truax. The instructions to the corporal of the guard, and the prompt acceptance of those instructions, told Sam, beyond any doubt, that he was not coming back on board that night.
Truax followed the others as they passed through the Academy grounds. Beyond the large, handsome buildings, there was not much to be seen at night. Lights shone behind all the windows in Cadet Barracks. Nearly all of the cadets of the United States Navy were in their quarters, hard at study. Here and there a marine sentry paced. A few naval officers, in uniform, passed along the walks. That was all, and the submarine party had crossed the [pg 076] grounds to the gate through which they were to pass into the town of Annapolis.
“Coming with us, Truax?” asked Williamson, as the party passed out into a dimly lighted street.
“No,” replied the fellow, sullenly. “I'll travel by myself.”
“You're welcome to,” muttered Eph, under his breath.
The others climbed the steps to the State Capitol grounds, continuing until they reached one of the principal streets of the little town.
“Say, but this place must have gone to sleep before we got ashore,” grumbled Eph. “Hanged if I don't think Dunhaven is a livelier little place!”
“There isn't much to do, except to wander about a bit, then go to the Maryland House for a good sleep on shore,” Jack admitted.
For more than an hour the submarine boys wandered about. The principal streets contained some stores that had a bright, up-to-date look, and in these principal streets the evening crowds much resembled those to be found in any small town. There were other streets, however, on which there was little traffic. In some of these quieter streets were quaint, old-fashioned houses built in the Colonial days.
“Annapolis is more of a place to see by daylight, [pg 077] I reckon,” suggested Hal. “How about that sleep, Jack?”
“The greatest fun, by night, I guess, consists in finding a drug-store and spending some of our loose change on ice cream sodas,” laughed the young submarine skipper.
This done, they found their way to the Maryland House. Jack and Hal engaged a room together, Eph and Williamson taking the adjoining one.
“As for me, in an exciting place like this,” grimaced Eph, “I'm off for bed.”
Williamson followed him upstairs. For some minutes Hal sat with his chum in the hotel office. Then Jack went over and talked with the night clerk for a few moments.
“There's a place near here, Hal, where a fellow can get an oyster fry,” Benson explained, returning to his chum. “With that information came the discovery that I have an appetite. Come and join me?”
“No,” gaped Hal. “I reckon I'll go up and turn in.”
“I'll be along in half an hour, then.”
Jack found the oyster house readily. As he entered the little, not over-clean place, he found himself the only customer. He gave his order, then picked up the local daily paper. As he ate, Jack found himself yawning. The drowsiness [pg 078] of Annapolis by night was coming upon him. Little did he dream how soon he was to discover that Annapolis, in some of its parts, can be lively enough.
As he paid his bill and stepped to the street, a young mulatto hurried up to him.
“Am Ah correct, sah, in supposin' yo' Cap'n Jack Benson?”
“That's my name,” Jack admitted.
“Den Ah's jes' been 'roun' to de hotel, lookin' fo' yo', sah. One ob yo' men, Mistah Sam Truax, am done took sick, an' he done sent me fo' yo'.”
“Truax ill? Why, I saw him a couple of hours ago, and he looked as healthy as a man could look,” Jack replied, in astonishment.
“I reckon, sah, he's mighty po'ly now, sah,” replied the mulatto. “He done gib me money fo' to hiah a cab an' take yo' to him. Will yo' please to come, sah?”
“Yes,” agreed Jack. “Lead the way.”
“T'ank yo', sah; t'ank yo', sah. Follow me, sah.”
Jack's mulatto guide led him down the street a little way, then around a corner. Here a rickety old cab with a single horse attached, waited. A gray old darkey sat on the driver's seat.
“Step right inside, sah. We'll be dere [pg 079] direckly. Marse Truax'll be powahful glad to see yo', sah.”
“See here,” demanded Jack, after they had driven several blocks at a good speed, “Truax hasn't been getting into any drinking scrapes, has he? Hasn't been getting himself arrested, has he?”
For young Benson had learned, from the night clerk at the hotel, that, quiet and “dead” as Annapolis appears to the stranger, there are “tough” places into which a seafaring stranger may find his way.
“No, sah; no, sah,” protested the mulatto. “Marse Truax done got sick right and proper.”
“Why, confound it, we're leaving the town behind,” cried Jack, a few moments later, after peering out through the cab window.
“Dat's all right, sah. Dere ain' nuffin' to be 'fraid ob, sah.”
“Afraid?” uttered Jack, scornfully, with a side glance at the mulatto. The submarine boy felt confident that, in a stretch of trouble, he could thrash this guide of his in very short order.
“Ah might jess well tell yo' wheah we am gwine, sah,” volunteered the mulatto, presently.
“Yes,” Benson retorted, drily. “I think you may.”
“Marse Truax, sah, he done hab er powah ob [pg 080] trouble, sah, las' wintah, wid rheumatiz, sah. He 'fraid he gwine cotch it again dis wintah, sah. Now, sah, dere am some good voodoo doctahs 'roun' Annapolis, so Marse Truax, he done gwine to see, sah, what er voodoo can promise him fo' his rheumatiz. I'se a runnah, sah, for de smahtest ole voodoo doctah, sah, in de whole state ob Maryland.”
“Then you took Truax to a voodoo doctor to-night?” demanded Jack, almost contemptuously.
“Yes, sah; yes, sah.”
“I thought Truax had more sense than to go in for such tomfoolery,” Jack Benson retorted, bluntly.
The mulatto launched into a prompt, energetic defense of the voodoo doctors. Young Benson had heard a good deal about these clever old colored frauds. In spite of his contempt, the submarine boy found himself interested. He had heard about the charms, spells, incantations and other humbugs practised on colored dupes and on some credulous whites by these greatest of all quacks. The voodoo methods of “healing” are brought out of the deepest jungles of darkest Africa, yet there are many ignorant people, even among the whites, who believe steadfastly in the “cures” wrought by the voodoo.
[pg 081] While the mulatto guide was talking, or answering Jack's half-amused questions, the cab left Annapolis further and further behind.
“Yo' see, sah,” the guide went on, “Marse Truax wa'n't in no fit condition, sah, to try de strongest voodoo medicine dat he called fo'. So, w'ile de voodoo was sayin' his strongest chahms, Marse Truax done fall down, frothin' at de mouth. He am some bettah, now, sah, but he kain't be move' from de voodoo's house 'cept by a frien'.”
“I'll get a chance to see one of these old voodoo frauds, anyway,” Jack told himself. “This new experience will be worth the time it keeps me out of my bed. What a pity Hal missed a queer old treat like this!”
When the cab at last stopped, Benson looked out to find that the place was well down a lonely country road, well lined with trees on either side. The house, utterly dark from the outside, was a ramshackle, roomy old affair.
“Shall Ah wait fo' yo'?” asked the old colored driver.
“Yes, wait for me,” directed Jack, briefly.
“Yeah; wait fo' de gemmun. He's all right,” volunteered the mulatto.
“Mebbe yo' kin see some voodoo wo'k, too, ef yo's int'rested,” hinted the guide, in a whisper, as he fitted a key to a lock, and swung a door [pg 082] open. In a hallway stood a lighted lantern, which the guide picked up.
“Now, go quiet-lak, on tip-toe. Sh!” cautioned the guide, himself moving stealthily into the nearest room. Jack Benson began to feel secretly awestruck and “creepy,” though he was too full of grit to betray the fact.
At the further end of the room the guide, holding the lantern behind his body as though by accident, threw open another door.
“Pass right on through dis room, ahead ob me, sah,” begged the guide, respectfully.
But Jack drew back, instinctively, out of the darkness.
“Don' yo', a w'ite man, be 'fraid ob ole voodoo house,” advised the mulatto, still speaking respectfully.
Afraid? Of course not. Relying on his muscle and his agility, Jack stepped ahead. By a sudden jerk of his arm the mulatto guide shook out the flame in the lantern.
“Here, you! What are you about?” growled Jack Benson, wheeling like a flash upon his escort.
“Go 'long, yo' w'ite trash!” jeered the mulatto. He gave the boy a sudden, forceful shove.
Jack Benson, under the impetus of that push, staggered ahead, seeking to recover his balance. [pg 083] Without a doubt he would have done so, but, just then, the floor under his feet ended. With a yell of dismay, the submarine boy tottered, then plunged down, alighting on a bed of soft dirt many feet below.
Jack Benson was on his feet in an instant. An angrier boy it would have been hard to find.
From overhead came the sound of a loud guffaw.
“Oh, you infernal scoundrel!” raged the submarine boy, shaking his fist in the dark.
“W'at am de matter wid yo', w'ite trash?” came the jeering query.
“Let me get my hands on you, and I'll show you!” quivered Benson.
“Yah! Listen to yo'! Yo' wait er minute, an' Ah'll show yo' a light.”
Gr-r-r-r! Gr-r-r-r! That sound from overhead was not pleasant. Jack, in the few seconds that were left to him, could only guess as to the cause of the sounds. Then, some fifteen feet over his head, a tiny flame sputtered. This match-end was carried to the wick of the [pg 084] lantern that the yellowish guide had been carrying, and now the light illumined the place into which Jack Benson had fallen.
That place was a square-shaped pit, with boarded sides. Up above, on a shelf of flooring, knelt the late guide, grinning down with a look of infernal glee. On either side of the mulatto stood a heavy-jowled bull-dog. Both brutes peered down, showing their teeth in a way to make a timid man's blood run cold.
“Put those dogs back and come down here,” challenged Jack, shaking his fist. “Come down, and I'll teach you a few things, you rascal!”
“Don' yo' shake yo' fist at me, or dem dawgs will sure jump down and tackle yo',” grinned the guide, gripping at the collars of the brutes, which, truly, showed signs of intending to spring below.
Jack fell back, his hands dropping to his sides. Had there been but one dog, the submarine boy, with all his grit forced to the surface, might have chosen to face the brute, hoping to despatch it with a well-aimed kick. But with two dogs, both intent on “getting” him, young Benson knew that he would stand the fabled chance of a snow-flake on a red-hot stove.
“Dat's right, gemmun, yo' keep cool,” observed the mulatto, mockingly.
“You've decoyed me—trapped me here with [pg 085] a mess of lies,” flung back Captain Jack, angrily. “What's your game?”
“Dis am a free lodgin' house—ho, ho, ho!” chuckled the late guide. “Ah's gwine gib yo' er place to sleep fo' de night. Yo' sho'ly must feel 'bleeged to me—ho, ho, ho!”
“You lied to me about Sam Truax!”
“Yeah! Ah done foun' dat was de name ob a gemmun in yo' pahty dat wasn't wid yo'. Truax do as well as any odder name—yah! Now, Ah's gwine leab yo' heah t' git a sleep. Ah'll toss down some blankets. 'Pose yo'se'f and gwine ter sleep, honey. Don't try to clim' up outer dat, or dem dawgs'll sho'ly jump down at yo'. Keep quiet, an' go ter sleep, an' de dawgs done lay heah an' jest watch. But don' try nuffin' funny, or de dawgs'll sho'ly bring trubble to yo'. Dem is trained dawgs—train' fo' dis business ob mine. Ho, ho, ho!”
Mulatto and light vanished, but enraged, baffled, helpless Captain Jack could hear the two dogs moving about ere they settled down on the shelf of flooring overhead.
“No matter how much of a liar that rascal is, he didn't lie to me about the dogs,” reflected Jack, his temper cooling, but his bitterness increasing. “They're fighting dogs, and one wrong move would bring them bounding down here on me—the two together. Ugh-gh!”
[pg 086] After a few moments the mulatto reappeared with a light and tossed down three heavy blankets.
“Now, Ah's gwine leave yo' fo' de night,” clacked the late guide. “Ef yo' done feel lonesome, yo' jes' whistle de dawgs down to yo'. Dey'll come!”
While the light was still there Benson, in raging silence, gathered the blankets and arranged them.
“Roll up one fo' a pillow, under yo' haid,” grinned the mulatto. “Dat's all right, sah. Now, good night, Marse Benson. Ef yo' feel lonesome, Marse Benson, jes' whistle fo' de dawgs. Dey'll come!”
The light vanished while the mulatto's sinister words were ringing in the boy's ears. Would the dogs jump down? Jack knew they would, at the first false move or sound on his part. He huddled softly, stealthily, on the blankets, there in the darkness.
As he lay there, thinking, Benson's sense of admiration gradually got to the surface.
“Well, of all the slick man-traps!” he gasped. “I never heard of anything more clever. Nor was there ever a bigger idiot than I, to walk stupidly into this same trap! What's the game, I wonder? Robbery, it must be. And I have a watch, some other little valuables and nearly a [pg 087] hundred and fifty dollars in money on me. Oh, I'm the sleek, fat goose for plucking!”
Lying there, in enforced stillness, Jack Benson, after an hour or so, actually fell asleep. A good, healthy sleeper at all times, he slumbered on through the night. Once he awoke, just a trifle chilled. He heard one of the dogs snoring overhead. Crawling under one of the blankets, Benson went to sleep again.
“Hey, yo', Marse Benson. It am mawnin'. Time yo' was wakin' up an' movin' erlong!”
It was the voice of the same mulatto, calling down into the pit. Again the rays of the lantern illumined the darkness. Both bull-dogs displayed their ferocious muzzles over the edge of the pit. Jack sat up cautiously, not caring to attract unfriendly interest from the dogs.
“Ah want yo' to take off all yo' clothes 'cept yo' undahclothes, an' den Ah'll let down a string fo' yo' to tie 'em to,” declared the mulatto, grinning. “Yo' needn't try ter slip yo' wallet, nor nuffin' outer mah sight, cause Ah'll be watchin'. Now, git a hurry on, Marse Benson, or Ah'll done push dem dawgs ober de aidge ob dis flooring.”
Jack hesitated only a moment. Then, with a grunt of rage, he began removing his outer garments. Down came a twine, to the lower end of which the boy made fast his garments, one after [pg 088] another. His money and valuables went up in the pockets, for the sharp eyes of the mulatto could not have been eluded by any amateur slight-of-hand.
“Now, yo' cap an' yo' shoes,” directed the grinning monster above.
These, too, Benson passed up at the end of the cord. The mulatto disappeared, leaving the two dogs still on guard. At last, back came the light and the yellowish man with it.
“Yo' sho' is good picking, Marse Benson,” grinned the guide of the night before. “Yo' has good pin feathers. Ah hope Ah'll suttinly meet yo' again.”
“I hope we do meet at another time!” Jack Benson flared back, wrathily. The cool insolence of the fellow cut him to the marrow, yet where was the use of disobeying a rascal flanked by two such willing and capable dogs?
“Now, yo' jes' put dese t'ings on, Marse Benson, ef yo' please, sah,” mocked the mulatto, tossing down some woefully tattered, nondescript garments, and, after them, a battered, rimless Derby hat and a pair of brogans out at the toes.
“I'll be hanged if I'll put on such duds!” quivered Jack.
“Jes' as yo' please, ob co'se, Marse Benson,” came the answer, from above. “But, ef yo' [pg 089] don' put dem t'ings on, yo'll sho'ly hab ter gwine back ter 'Napolis in yo' undahclo's. An' yo's gwine back right away, too, so, ef yo' wants ter gwine back weahin' ernuff clo'es—”
“Oh, well, then—!” ground out the submarine boy, savagely enough.
He attired himself in these tattered ends of raiment. Had he not been so angry he must have roared at sight of his comical self when the dressing was completed.
“Now, yo'll do, Ah reckons.”
With that, the mulatto guide of the night before threw down one end of an inch rope.
“Ah reckon yo's sailor ernuff to clim' dat. Come right erlong, 'less yo' wants de dawgs ter jump down dar.”
“But they'll tackle me if I come up,” objected Jack Benson.
“No, dey won't. Dem dawgs is train' to dis wo'k. Ah done tole yo' dat. Come right erlong. Ah'll keep my two eyes on dem dawgs.”
It looked like a highly risky bit of business, [pg 090] but Jack told himself that, now he had been deprived of his valuables, this yellow worthy must be genuinely anxious to be rid of the victim. So he took hold of the rope and began to climb. The mulatto and the dogs disappeared from the upper edge of the pit.
As his head came up above the level of the flooring Benson saw the mulatto and the dogs in the next room, the connecting door of which had been taken from its hinges.
“Come right in, Marse Benson. Dere ain' nuffin' gwineter hu't yo',” came the rascal's voice reassuringly. Jack obeyed by stepping into the next room, though he kept watch over the dogs out of the corners of his eyes.
“Now, yo' lie right down on de flo', Marse Benson,” commanded the master of the situation. “Ah's gotter tie yo' up, befo' Ah can staht yo' back ter 'Napolis, but dere ain' no hahm gwine come ter yo'.”
Making a virtue of necessity, Captain Jack lay down as directed, passing his hands behind his back. These were deftly secured, after which his ankles were treated in the same fashion. Immediately the mulatto, who was strong and wiry, lifted the boy and the lantern together. The dogs remaining behind, Jack was carried out into the yard, where he discovered that daylight was coming on in the East. [pg 091] He was dumped on the ground long enough to permit his captor to lock the door securely. Then the submarine boy was lifted once more, carried around the corner of the house and dumped in the bottom of a shabby old delivery wagon. A canvas was pulled over him, concealing him from any chance passer. Then the mulatto ran around to the seat, picking up the reins and starting the horse.
It seemed like a long drive to the boy, though Benson was certainly in no position to judge time accurately. At last the team was halted, along a stretch of road in a deep woods. The mulatto lifted the submarine boy out to the ground.
“Now, w'en yo's got yo' se'f free, yo' can take de road in dat direckshun,” declared the fellow, pointing. “Bimeby yo' come in sight ob de town. Now, Marse Benson, w'at happen to yo' las' night am all in de co'se ob a lifetime, an' Ah hope you ain't got no bad feelin's. Yo' suttinly done learn somet'ing new in de way ob tricks. Good-bye, sah, an' mah compliments to yo', Marse Benson.”
With that the guide of the night before swiftly cut the cords at Jack's wrists, then as swiftly leaped to the seat of the wagon, whipping up the horse and disappearing in a cloud of dust.
Jack, having now no knife, and the bonds [pg 092] about his ankles being tied with many hard knots, spent some precious minutes in freeing his feet. At last he stood up, fire in his eyes.
“Oh, pshaw! There's no sense in trying to run after that rascal and his wagon,” decided the young submarine skipper. “I haven't the slightest idea what direction he took after he got out of sight, and—oh, gracious! I'm under orders to be aboard the 'Farnum' at eight this morning. And on Mr. Farnum's business, at that!”
Clenching his hands vengefully, Jack started along in the direction pointed out by his late captor. Brisk walking wore some of the edge off his great wrath. Catching a comprehensive glimpse of himself, Jack could not keep back a grim laugh.
“Well, I certainly am a dandy to spring myself on the trim and slick Naval Academy!” he gritted. “What a treat I'll be to the cadets! That is, if the sentry ever lets me through the gate into the Academy grounds.”
As he hurried along, Jack Benson decided that he simply could not go to the Naval Academy presenting any such grotesque picture as he did now. Yet he had no money about him with which to purchase more presentable clothes in town. So he formed another plan.
Within a few minutes he came in sight of [pg 093] Annapolis. Hurrying on faster, he at last entered the town. The further he went the more painfully conscious the boy became of the ludicrous appearance that he made. He saw men and women turn their heads to look after him, and his cheeks burned to a deep scarlet that glowed over the sea-bronze of his skin.
“The single consolation I have is that not a solitary person in town knows me, anyway,” he muttered. Then he caught sight of a clock on a church steeple—twenty-five minutes of eight.
“That means a fearful hustle,” he muttered, and went ahead under such steam that he all but panted. At last he came to the Maryland House, opposite the State Capitol grounds. Into the office of the hotel he darted, going straight up to the desk.
A clerk who had been on duty for hours, and who was growing more drowsy every moment, stared at the boy in amazement.
“See here, you ragamuffin, what—”
“My name is Benson,” began the boy, breathlessly. “I'm a guest of the house—arrived last night. I—”
“You, a guest of this house?” demanded the clerk of the most select hotel in the town. “You—”
That was as far as the disgust of the clerk [pg 094] would permit him to go in words. A score of well-dressed gentlemen were staring in astonishment at the scene. The clerk nodded to two stout porters who had suspended their work nearby.
It had been Jack Benson's purpose to go to his room and keep out of sight, while despatching one of the colored bell-boys of the hotel with a note to Hal Hastings, asking that chum to send him up a uniform and other articles of attire. However, before the young submarine captain fully realized what was happening, the two porters had seized him. Firmly, even though gently, they hustled him out through the entrance onto the street.
“Scat!” advised one of the pair.
Jack started to protest, then realized the hopelessness of such a course. In truth, he did not blame the hotel folks in the least.
“Oh, well,” he sighed, paling as soon as the new flush of mortification had died out, “there's nothing for it but to hurry to the Academy. I hope the sentries won't shoot when they see me,” he added, bitterly.
Across the State Capitol grounds he hurried, then down through a side street until he arrived at the gate of the Academy grounds.
“Halt!” challenged a sentry, as soon as Jack showed his face through the gateway.
[pg 095] Young Benson stopped, bringing his heels together with a click.
“What do you want? Where are you going?” demanded the marine.
“I know I look pretty tough,” Jack admitted, shamefacedly. “But I belong aboard the 'Farnum,' one of the submarines that arrived last night. And I'm due there at this minute. Please don't delay me.”
“All right,” replied the sentry, after surveying the boy from head to foot once more. Then he added, in a lower tone, with just the suspicion of a grin showing at the corners of his mouth:
“Say, friend, for a stranger, you must have had a high old frolic in the town last night.”
Jack frowned. The sentry's grin broadened a bit. As he did not offer to detain the boy longer, Benson hurried on along one of the walks. He took as short a course as he could making straight for the Basin, where he made out the “Hudson” and the two submarines.
“Hey! There's the captain!” shouted Eph, wonderingly, for Somers's eyes were sharp at all times.
Out of the conning tower sprang Hal Hastings, looking eagerly in the direction in which Eph Somers pointed:
“Eh?” muttered another person, lounging near the rail of the gunboat. Then Lieutenant [pg 096] Commander Mayhew, after a keen, wholly disapproving look at the hard-looking figure of a young man at the landing, started, as he muttered:
“Benson, by all that's horrible! How did he come to be in that fearful shape? He must have been in one of the worst resorts within miles of Annapolis!”
“This isn't the first time the young man has come back the worse for wear,” the lieutenant commander continued, under his breath. “His friends were loyal enough to him, that time. I wonder if they can be, to-day?”
One of the shore boats, waiting about in the Basin, put young Benson aboard the “Farnum” as soon as he explained who he was. Hal and Eph stood awaiting the coming of their young commander, their faces full of concern and anxiety. Both gripped Jack's hand as soon as he gained the platform deck of the submarine.
“Come below,” whispered Hal. “We'll talk there. You need a bath and to get into a uniform as quickly as you can.”
This need Jack Benson proceeded to realize without an instant's delay. While he washed himself off, in one of the staterooms aft, he talked through the door, which had been left ajar. He continued his story while he dressed.
[pg 097] “We were fearfully anxious this morning,” Hal confessed. “I went to sleep last night, and didn't know of your absence until this morning. Then Eph and I decided to come on down to the boat to see if you were here. We were just planning to send quiet word to the Annapolis police when Eph spotted you coming.”
“And Truax?” inquired Captain Jack.
“He and Williamson are forward in the engine-room, now, at breakfast.”
“Oh, well, Truax wouldn't know anything about the scrape, anyway,” returned Jack. “His name was learned and used—that's all.”
“Are you going to try to find that place, catch the mulatto and force the return of your money?” demanded Eph Somers.
“I've got to think that over,” muttered Jack, as he drew on a spick-and-span uniform blouse. “I don't know whether there'll be any use in trying to find that mulatto. I haven't the least idea where his place is. Even if I found it, it's ten to one I wouldn't find the fellow there.”
“'Farnum,' ahoy!” roared a voice alongside, the voice coming down through the open conning tower.
Eph ran to answer. When he returned, he announced:
“Compliments of Lieutenant Commander Mayhew, and will Mr. Benson wait on the lieutenant [pg 098] commander on board the parent boat?”
“I will,” assented Jack, with a wry face, “and here's where I have to do some tall but truthful explaining to a man who isn't in the least likely to believe a word I say. I can guess what Mr. Mayhew is thinking, and is going to keep on thinking!”
It was a tailor-made, clean, crisp and new-looking young submarine commander who stepped into the naval cutter alongside.
Jack Benson looked as natty as a young man could look, and his uniform was that of a naval officer, save for the absence of the insignia of rank.
Up the side gangway of the gunboat Jack mounted, carrying himself in the best naval style. On deck stood a sentry, an orderly waiting beside him.
“Lieutenant Commander Mayhew will see you in his cabin, sir,” announced the orderly. “I will show you the way, sir.”
Mr. Mayhew was seated before a desk in his cabin when the orderly piloted the submarine boy in. The naval officer did not rise, nor did he ask the boy to take a seat. Jack Benson was [pg 099] very well aware that he stood in Mr. Mayhew's presence in the light of a culprit.
“Mr. Benson,” began Mr. Mayhew, eyeing him closely, “you are not in the naval service, and are not therefore amenable to its discipline. At the same time, however, your employers have furnished you to act, in some respects, as a civilian instructor in submarine boating before the cadets. While you are here on that duty it is to be expected, therefore, that you will conform generally to the rules of conduct as laid down at the Naval Academy.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Jack.
“As I am at present in charge of the submarine purchased by the United States from your company, and at least in nominal charge of the 'Farnum,' as well, I am, in a measure, to be looked upon, for the present, as your commanding officer.”
“Yes, sir,” assented the boy.
“You came aboard your craft, this morning, in a very questionable looking condition.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jack Benson's composure was perfect. His sense of discipline was also exact. He did not propose to offer any explanations until such were asked of him.
“Have you anything to say, Mr. Benson, as to that condition, and how you came to be in it?”
[pg 100] “Shall I explain it to you, sir?”
“I shall be glad to hear your explanation.”
Thereupon, the submarine boy plunged into a concise description of what had happened to him the night before. The lieutenant commander did not once interrupt him, but, when Jack had finished, Mr. Mayhew observed:
“That is a very remarkable story, Mr. Benson. Most remarkable.”
“Yes, sir, it is. May I ask if you doubt my story?”
Jack looked straight into the officer's eyes as he put the question bluntly. An officer of the Army or of the Navy must not answer a question untruthfully. Neither, as a rule, may he make an evasive answer. So the lieutenant commander thought a moment, before he replied:
“I don't feel that I know you well enough, Mr. Benson, to express an opinion that might be wholly fair to you. The most I can say, now, is that I very sincerely hope such a thing will not happen again during your stay at the Naval Academy.”
“It won't, sir,” promised Jack Benson, “if I have hereafter the amount of good judgment that I ought to be expected to possess.”
“I hope not, Mr. Benson, for it would destroy your usefulness here. A civilian instructor [pg 101] here, as much as a naval instructor, must possess the whole confidence and respect of the cadet battalion. I hope none of the cadets who may have seen you this morning recognized you.”
Then, taking on a different tone, Mr. Mayhew informed his young listener that a section of cadets would board the “Farnum” at eleven that morning, another section at three in the afternoon, and a third at four o'clock.
“Of course you will have everything aboard your craft wholly shipshape, Mr. Benson, and I trust I hardly need add that, in the Navy, we are punctual to the minute.”
“You will find me punctual to the minute before, sir.”
“Very good, Mr. Benson. That is all. You may go.”
Jack saluted, then turned away, finding his way to the deck. The cutter was still alongside, and conveyed him back to the “Farnum.”
“Mr. Mayhew demanded your story, of course?” propounded Hal Hastings. “What did he think?”
“He didn't say so,” replied Jack Benson, with a wry smile, “but he let me see that he thought I was out of my element on a submarine boat.”
“How so?”
[pg 102] “Why, it is very plain that Mr. Mayhew thinks I ought to employ my time writing improbable fiction.”
“Oh, Mayhew be bothered!” exploded Eph.
“Hardly,” retorted Jack. “Mr. Mayhew is an officer and a gentleman. I admit that my yarn does sound fishy to a stranger. Besides, fellows, Mr. Mayhew represents the naval officers through whose good opinion our employers hope to sell a big fleet of submarine torpedo boats to the United States Government.”
“Then what are you going to do about it?” asked Hal, as the three boys reached the cabin below.
“First of all, I'm going to rummage about and get myself some breakfast.”
“If you do, there'll be a fight,” growled Eph Somers. “I'll hash up a breakfast for you.”
“And, afterwards?” persisted Hal.
“I'm going to try to win Mr. Mayhew's good opinion, and that of every other naval officer or cadet I may happen to meet.”
“Why the cadets, particularly?” asked Eph Somers.
“Because, for one business reason, the cadets are going to be the naval officers of to-morrow, and the Pollard Submarine Boat Company hopes to be building craft for the Navy for a good many years to come.”
[pg 103] “Good enough!” nodded Hal, while Eph dodged away to get that breakfast ready.
Sam Truax lounged back in the engine room, smoking a short pipe. With him stuck Williamson, for Eph had privately instructed the machinist from the Farnum yard not to leave the stranger alone in the engine room.
“Why don't you go up on deck and get a few whiffs of fresh air?” asked Truax.
“Oh, I'm comfortable down here,” grunted the machinist, who was stretched out on one of the leather-cushioned seats that ran along the side of the engine room.
“I should think you'd want to get out of here once in a while, though,” returned Truax.
“Why?” asked the machinist. “Anything you want to be left alone here for?”
“Oh, of course not,” drawled Truax, blowing out a cloud of tobacco smoke.
“Then I guess I'll stay where I am,” nodded Williamson.
“Sorry, but you'll have to stop all smoking in here now,” announced Eph, thrusting his head in at the doorway. “There'll be a lot of cadets aboard at eleven o'clock, and we want the air clear and sweet. You'd better go all over the machinery and see that everything is in applepie order and appearance. Mr. Hastings will be in here soon to inspect it.”
[pg 104] “Just what rank does that young turkey-cock hold on board?” sneered Truax, when the door had closed.
“Don't know, I'm sure,” replied Williamson. “All I know is that the three youngsters are aboard here to run the boat and show it off to the best advantage. My pay is running right along, and I've no kick at taking orders from any one of them.”
“This is where I go on smoking, anyway,” declared Truax, insolently, striking a match and lighting his pipe again. Williamson reached over, snatching the pipe from between the other man's teeth and dumping out the coals, after which the machinist coolly dropped the pipe into one of his own pockets.
“If you go on this way,” warned Williamson, “Captain Benson will get it into his head to put you on shore in a jiffy, and for good.”
“I'd like to see him try it,” sneered Sam Truax.
“You'll get your wish, if you go on the way you've been going!”
“Humph! I don't believe the Benson boy carries the size or the weight to put me ashore.”
“He doesn't need any size or weight,” retorted Williamson, crisply. “If Captain Benson wants you off this boat, it's only the matter of a moment for him to get a squad of marines [pg 105] on board—and you'll march off to the 'Rogues' March.'”
“So that's the way he'd work it, eh?” demanded Sam Truax, turning green and ugly around the lips.
“You bet it is,” retorted the machinist. “We're practically a part of the United States Navy for these few days, and naval rules will govern any game we may get into.”
On that hint things went along better in the engine room. When Hal Hastings came in to inspect he found nothing to criticise.
At the minute of eleven o'clock a squad of some twenty cadets came marching down to the landing in front of the boat house. There Lieutenant Commander Mayhew and one of his engineer officers met them. Two cutters manned by sailors brought the party out alongside, where Jack and Hal stood ready to receive them.
A very natty looking squad of future admirals came aboard, grouping themselves about on the platform deck. It was rather a tight squeeze for so many human beings in that space.
After greeting the submarine boys, Mr. Mayhew turned to the cadets, calling their attention to the lines and outer construction of the “Farnum.” Then he turned to the three submarine boys, signing to them to crowd forward.
“These young gentlemen,” announced the [pg 106] lieutenant commander, “are Mr. Benson, Mr. Hastings and Mr. Somers. All three are thoroughly familiar with the Pollard type of boat. As the Navy has purchased one Pollard boat, and may acquire others, it is well that you cadets should understand all the working details of the Pollard Submarine Company's crafts. A few of you at a time will now step into the conning tower, and Mr. Benson will explain to you the steering and control gear used there.”
Half a dozen of the cadets managed to squeeze into the conning tower. Jack experienced an odd feeling, half of embarrassment, as he explained before so many attentive pairs of eyes. Then another squad of cadets took the place of the first on-lookers. After a while all had been instructed in the use of the conning tower appliances.
“Mr. Benson,” continued the lieutenant commander, “will now lead the way for all hands to the cabin. There he will explain the uses of the diving controls, the compressed air apparatus, and other details usually worked from the cabin.”
Down below came the cadets, in orderly fashion, without either haste or lagging. Having warmed up to his subject, Jack Benson lectured earnestly, even if not with fine skill. At last he paused.
[pg 107] “Any of the cadets may now ask questions,” announced Lieutenant Commander Mayhew.
There was a pause, then one of the older cadets turned to Jack to ask:
“What volume of compressed air do you carry at your full capacity?”
“Mr. Benson's present status,” rapped Mr. Mayhew, quickly, “is that of a civilian instructor. Any cadet who addresses Mr. Benson will therefore say 'sir,' in all cases, just as in addressing an officer of the Navy.”
The cadet so corrected, who was at least twenty-one years old, flushed as he glanced swiftly at sixteen-year-old Jack. To say “sir” to such a youngster seemed almost like a humiliation. Yet the cadet repeated his question, adding the “sir.” Jack quickly answered the question. Then two or three other questions were asked by other cadets. It was plain, however, that to all of the cadets the use of “sir” to so young a boy appealed, at least, to their sense of humor.
Through the engine room door Sam Truax and Williamson stood taking it all in. Sam saw a flash in the eye of one big cadet when the question of “sir” came up.
Presently the squad filed into the engine room. Here Hal Hastings had the floor for instruction. He did his work coolly, admirably, though he [pg 108] asked Jack Benson to explain a few of the points.
Then the questions began, directed at Hal. This time none of the cadets, under the watchful eyes of Mr. Mayhew, forgot to say “sir” when speaking to Hastings.
Sam Truax edged up behind the big cadet whose eyes he had seen flash a few moments before.
“Go after Benson, good and hard,” whispered Truax.
The cadet looked keenly at Truax.
“You can have a lot of fun with Benson,” whispered Truax, “if you fire a lot of questions at him, hard and fast. Benson is a conceited fellow, who knows a few things about the boat, but you can get him rattled and red-faced in no time.”