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“You Are Not Likely to Be of Any Use Here.”

Frontispiece.

The Submarine Boys and the Middies
OR
The Prize Detail at Annapolis

By Victor G. Durham
Author of The Submarine Boys on Duty, The Submarine Boys' Trial Trip, The Submarine Boys and the Spies, Etc.

Contents

List of Figures

[pg 007]

CHAPTER I: THE PRIZE DETAIL

“The United States Government doesn't appear very anxious to claim its property, does it, sir?” asked Captain Jack Benson.

The speaker was a boy of sixteen, attired in a uniform much after the pattern commonly worn by yacht captains. The insignia of naval rank were conspicuously absent.

“Now, that I've had the good luck to sell the 'Pollard' to the Navy,” responded Jacob Farnum, principal owner of the shipbuilding yard, “I'm not disposed to grumble if the Government prefers to store its property here for a while.”

Yet the young shipbuilder—he was a man in his early thirties, who had inherited this shipbuilding business from his father—allowed his [pg 008] eyes to twinkle in a way that suggested there was something else behind his words.

Jack Benson saw that twinkle, but he did not ask questions. If the shipbuilder knew more than he was prepared to tell, it was not for his young captain to ask for information that was not volunteered.

The second boy present, also in uniform, Hal Hastings by name, had not spoken in five minutes. That was like Hal. He was the engineer of the submarine torpedo boat, “Pollard.” Jack was captain of the same craft, and could do all the talking.

Jacob Farnum sat back, sideways, at his rolltop desk. On top of the desk lay stacked a voluminous though neat pile of papers, letters, telegrams and memoranda that some rival builders of submarine torpedo boats might have been willing to pay much for the privilege of examining. For, at the present moment, there was fierce competition in the air between rival American builders of submarine fighting craft designed for the United States Navy. Even foreign builders and inventors were clamoring for recognition. Yet just now the reorganized Pollard Submarine Boat Company stood at the top of the line. It had made the last sale to the United States Navy Department.

At this moment, out in the little harbor that [pg 009] was a part of the shipyard, the “Pollard” rode gently at anchor. She was the first submarine torpedo boat built at this yard, after the designs of David Pollard, the inventor, a close personal friend of Jacob Farnum.

Moreover, the second boat, named the “Farnum,” had just been launched and put in commission, ready at an hour's notice to take the sea in search of floating enemies of the United States.

“The United States will take its boat one of these days, Captain,” Mr. Farnum continued, after lighting a cigar. “By the way, did Dave tell you the name we are thinking of for the third boat, now on the stocks?”

“Dave” was Mr. Pollard, the inventor of the Pollard Submarine boat.

“No, sir,” Captain Jack replied.

“We have thought,” resumed Mr. Farnum, quietly, after blowing out a ring of smoke, “of calling the third boat, now building, the 'Benson.'”

“The—the—what, sir?” stammered Jack, flushing and rising.

“Now, don't get excited, lad,” laughed the shipbuilder.

“But—but—naming a boat for the United States Navy after me, sir—”

Captain Jack's face flushed crimson.

[pg 010] “Of course, if you object—” smiled Mr. Farnum, then paused.

“Object? You know I don't, sir. But I am afraid the idea is going to my head,” laughed Jack, his face still flushed. “The very idea of there being in the United States Navy a fine and capable craft named after me—”

“Oh, if the Navy folks object,” laughed Farnum, “then they'll change the name quickly enough. You understand, lad, the names we give to our boats last only until the craft are sold. The Navy people can change those names if they please.”

“It will be a handsome compliment to me, Mr. Farnum. More handsome than deserved, I fear.”

“Deserved, well enough,” retorted the shipbuilder. “Dave Pollard and I are well enough satisfied that, if it hadn't been for you youngsters, and the superb way in which you handled our first boat, Dave and I would still be sitting on the anxious bench in the ante-rooms of the Navy Department at Washington.”

“Well, I don't deserve to have a boat named after me any more than Hal does, or Eph Somers.”

“Give us time, won't you, Captain?” pleaded Jacob Farnum, his face straight, but his eyes laughing. “We expect to build at least five [pg 011] boats. If we didn't, this yard never would have been fitted for the present work, and you three boys, who've done so handsomely by us, wouldn't each own, as you now do, ten shares of stock in this company. Never fear; there'll be a 'Hastings' and a 'Somers' added to our fleet one of these days—even though some of our boats have to be sold to foreign governments.”

“If a boat named the 'Hastings' were sold to some foreign government,” laughed Jack Benson, “Hal, here, wouldn't say much about it. But call a boat named the 'Somers,' after Eph, and then sell it, say, to the Germans or the Japanese, and all of Eph's American gorge would come to the surface. I'll wager he'd scheme to sink any submarine torpedo boat, named after him, that was sold to go under a foreign flag.”

“I hope we'll never have to sell any of our boats to foreign governments,” replied Jacob Farnum, earnestly. “And we won't either, if the United States Government will give us half a show.”

“That's just the trouble,” grumbled Hal Hastings, breaking into the talk, at last. “Confound it, why don't the people of this country run their government more than they do? Four-fifths of the inventors who get up great things that would put the United States on top, [pg 012] and keep us there, have to go abroad to find a market for their inventions! If I could invent a cannon to-day that would give all the power on earth to the nation owning it, would the American Government buy it from me? No, sir! I'd have to sell the cannon to England, Germany or Japan—or else starve while Congress was talking of doing something about it in the next session. Mr. Farnum, you have the finest, and the only real submarine torpedo boat. Yet, if you want to go on building and selling these craft, you'll have to dispose of most of them abroad.”

“I hope not,” responded the shipbuilder, solemnly.

Having said his say, Hal subsided. He was likely not to speak again for an hour. As a class, engineers, having to listen much to noisy machinery, are themselves silent.

It was well along in the afternoon, a little past the middle of October. For our three young friends, Jack, Hal and Eph, things were dull just at the present moment. They were drawing their salaries from the Pollard company, yet of late there had been little for them to do.

Yet the three submarine boys knew that big things were in the air. David Pollard was away, presumably on important business. Jacob Farnum was not much given to speaking [pg 013] of plans until he had put them through to the finish. Some big deal was at present “on” with the Government. That much the submarine boys knew by intuition. They felt, therefore, that, at any moment, they were likely to be called into action—to be called upon for big things.

As Jack and Hal sat in the office, silent, while Jacob Farnum turned to his desk to scan one of the papers lying there, the door opened. A boy burst in, waving a yellow envelope.

“Operator said to hustle this wire to you,” shouted the boy, panting a bit. “Said it might be big news for Farnum. So I ran all the way.”

Jacob Farnum took the yellow envelope, opening it and glancing hastily through the contents.

“It is pretty good news,” assented the shipbuilder, a smile wreathing his face. “This is for you, messenger.”

“This” proved to be a folded dollar bill. The messenger took the money eagerly, then demanded, more respectfully:

“Any answer, sir?”

“Not at this moment, thank you,” replied Mr. Farnum. “That is all; you may go, boy.”

Plainly the boy who had brought the telegram was disappointed over not getting some [pg 014] inkling of the secret. All Dunhaven, in fact, was wildly agog over any news that affected the Farnum yard. For, though the torpedo boat building industry was now known under the Pollard name, after the inventor of these boats, the yard itself still went under the Farnum name that young Farnum had inherited from his father.

While Jacob Farnum is reading the despatch carefully, for a better understanding, let us speak for a moment of Captain Jack Benson and his youthful comrades and chums.

Readers of the first volume in this series, “The Submarine Boys on Duty,” remember how Jack Benson and Hal Hastings strayed into the little seaport town of Dunhaven one hot summer day, and how they learned that it was here that the then unknown but much-talked-about Pollard submarine was being built. Both Jack and Hal had been well trained in machine shops; they had spent much time aboard salt water power craft, and so felt a wild desire to work at the Farnum yard, and to make a study of submarine craft in general.

How they succeeded in getting their start in the Farnum yard, every reader of the preceding volumes knows; how, too, Eph Somers, a native of Dunhaven, managed to “cheek” his way aboard the craft after she had been [pg 015] launched, and how he had always since managed to remain there.

Our same older readers will remember the thrilling experiences of this boyish trio during the early trials of the new submarine torpedo boat, both above and below the surface. These readers will remember, also, for instance, the great prank played by the boys on the watch officer of one of the stateliest battleships of the Navy.

Readers of the second volume, “The Submarine Boys' Trial Trip,” will recall, among other things, the desperate efforts made by George Melville, the capitalist, aided by the latter's disagreeable son, Don, to acquire stealthy control of the submarine building company, and their efforts to oust Jack, Hal and Eph from their much-prized employment. These readers will remember how Jack and his comrades spoiled the Melville plans, and how Captain Jack and his friends handled the “Pollard” so splendidly, in the presence of a board of Navy officers, that the United States Government was induced to buy that first submarine craft.

After that sale, each of the three boys received, in addition to his regular pay, a bank account of a thousand dollars and ten shares of stock in the new company. Moreover, Messrs. Farnum and Pollard had felt wholly justified in [pg 016] promising these talented, daring, hustling submarine boys an assured and successful future.

Jacob Farnum at last looked up from the final reading of the telegram in his hands. Captain Jack Benson's gaze was fixed on his employer's face. Hal Hastings was looking out of a window, with almost a bored look in his eyes.

“You young men wanted action,” announced Mr. Farnum, quietly. “I think you'll get it.”

“Soon?” questioned Jack, eagerly.

“Immediately, or a minute or two later,” laughed the shipbuilder.

“I'm ready,” declared Captain Jack, rising.

“It'll take you a little time to hear about it all and digest it, so you may as well be seated again,” declared Farnum.

Hal, too, wandered back to his chair.

“You've been wondering how much longer the Government would leave the 'Pollard' here,” went on Mr. Farnum. “I am informed that the gunboat 'Hudson' is on her way here, to take over the 'Pollard.'”

“What are the Navy folks going to do?” demanded Captain Jack, all but wrathfully. “Do they propose to tow that splendid little craft away?”

“Hardly that, I imagine,” replied Farnum. “It's the custom of the United States Navy, you know, to send a gunboat along with every two [pg 017] or three submarines. They call the larger craft the 'parent boat.' The parent boat looks out for any submarine craft that may become disabled.”

“The cheek of it,” vented Jack, disgustedly. “Why, sir, I'd volunteer to take the 'Pollard,' unassisted, around the world, if she could carry fuel enough for such a trip.”

“But the Navy hasn't been accustomed to such capable submarine boats as ours, you know,” replied Mr. Farnum. “Hence the parent boat.”

“Parent boat?” interjected Hal Hastings, with his quiet smile. “You might call it the 'Dad' boat, so to speak.”

Mr. Farnum laughed, then continued:

“A naval crew will take possession of the 'Pollard,' and the craft will proceed, under the care of the Dad boat”—with a side glance of amusement at Hal—“to the United States Naval Academy at Annapolis.”

“Annapolis—where they train the naval cadets, the midshipmen, into United States Naval officers? Oh, how I'd like to go there!” breathed Captain Jack Benson, eagerly.

“As a cadet in the Navy, do you mean?” asked Mr. Farnum.

“Why, that would have been well enough,” assented Jack, “before I had such a chance in [pg 018] your submarine service. No; I mean I'd like to see Annapolis. I'd like to watch the midshipmen at their training, and see the whole naval life there.”

“It's too bad every fellow can't have his wish gratified as easily,” continued Jacob Farnum.

“Do you mean we're going to Annapolis, too?” asked Jack Benson, his eyes glowing. Even Hal Hastings sat up straighter in his chair, watching the shipbuilder's face closely.

“Yes,” nodded Jacob Farnum. “Permission has been granted for me to send our second boat, the 'Farnum,' along with the 'Pollard'—both under the care of the—”

“The Dad boat,” laughed Hastings.

“Yes; that will give us a chance to have the 'Farnum' studied most closely by some of the most capable officers in the United States Navy. It ought to mean, presently, the sale of the 'Farnum' to the Government.”

“That's just what it will mean,” promised Captain Jack, “if any efforts of ours can make the Navy men more interested in the boat.”

“You three youngsters are likely to be at Annapolis for some time,” went on Mr. Farnum. “In fact—but don't let your heads become too enlarged by the news, will you?”

Hal, quiet young Hal, neatly hid a yawn behind one hand, while Benson answered for both:

[pg 019] “We're already wearing the largest-sized caps manufactured, Mr. Farnum. Don't tempt us too far, please!”

“Oh, you boys are safe from the ordinary perils of vanity, or your heads would have burst long ago. Well, then, when you arrive at Annapolis, you three are to act as civilian instructors to the middies. You three are to teach the midshipmen of the United States Navy the principles on which the Pollard type of boat is run. There; I've told you the whole news. What do you think of it?”

Mr. Farnum's cigar having burned low, he tossed it away, then leaned back as he lighted another weed.

“What do we think, sir?” echoed Captain Jack, eagerly. “Why, we think we're in sight of the very time of our lives! Annapolis! And to teach the middies how to run a 'Pollard' submarine.”

“How soon are we likely to have to start, sir!” asked Hal Hastings, after a silence that lasted a few moments.

“Whenever the 'Hudson' shows up along this coast, and the officer in command of her gives the word. That may be any hour, now.”

“Then we'd better find Eph,” suggested Captain Jack, “and pass him the word. Won't Eph Somers dance a jig for delight, though?”

[pg 020] “Yes; we'd better look both boats over at once,” replied Mr. Farnum, picking up his hat. “And we'll leave word for Grant Andrews and some of his machinists to inspect both craft with us. There may be a few things that will need to be done.”

As they left the office, crossing the yard, Captain Jack Benson and Hal Hastings felt exactly as though they were walking on air. Even Hal, quiet as he was, had caught the joy-infection of these orders to proceed to Annapolis. To be sent to the United States Naval Academy on a tour of instruction is what officers of the Navy often call “the prize detail.”

Farnum and his two youthful companions went, first of all, to the long, shed-like building in which the third submarine craft to be turned out at this yard was now being built. From inside came the noisy clang of hammers against metal. The shipbuilder stepped inside alone, but soon came out, nodding. The three now continued on their way down to the little harbor. All of a sudden the three stopped short, almost with a jerk, in the same second, as though pulled by a string.

At exactly the same instant Jacob Farnum, Captain Jack Benson and Engineer Hal Hastings put up their hands to rub their eyes.

Their senses had told them truly, however. [pg 021] While the “Pollard” rode serenely at her moorings, the “Farnum,” the second boat to be launched, was nowhere to be seen!

“What on earth has happened to the other submarine?” gasped the shipbuilder, as soon as he could somewhat control his voice.

What, indeed?

There was not a sign of her. At least, she had not sunk at her moorings, for the buoys floated in their respective places, with no manner of tackle attached to them.

“A submarine boat can't slip its own cables and vanish without human hands!” gasped the staggered Jack Benson.

“There's something uncanny about this,” muttered Hal Hastings.

Jacob Farnum stood rooted to the spot, opening and closing his hands in a way that testified plainly to the extent of his bewilderment.

CHAPTER II: HOW EPH FLIRTED WITH SCIENCE

Jack Benson was the first of the trio to move.

Without a word he broke into a run, heading for the narrow little shingle of beach.

“Got an idea, Captain?” shouted Jacob Farnum, [pg 022] darting after his young submarine skipper.

“Yes, sir!” floated back over Jack's shoulder.

“Then what's at the bottom—”

“Eph and the boat, both together, or I miss my guess,” Captain Jack shouted back as he halted at the water's edge, where a rowboat lay hauled up on the shore.

Jacob Farnum's face showed suddenly pallid as he, also, reached the beach. Hal, who was in the rear, did not seem so much startled.

“Do you think Eph has gone off on a cruise all alone?—that he has come to any harm?” gasped the shipbuilder.

“I don't know, but I'm not going to worry a mite about Eph Somers until I have to,” retorted Jack Benson, easily.

“Eph can generally take care of himself,” added Hal Hastings. “He rarely falls into any kind of scrape that he can't climb out of.”

“But this is a bad time for him to take the 'Farnum' and cruise away,” objected the owner of the yard. “The 'Hudson' may be here at any hour, you know, and we ought to be ready for orders.”

As he spoke, Mr. Farnum scanned the horizon away to the south, out over the sea.

“There's a line of smoke, now, and not many [pg 023] miles away,” he announced. “It may, as likely as not, be smoke from the 'Hudson's' pipe.”

“Going out with us, sir?” inquired Captain Jack Benson, as Hal took his place at a pair of oars.

“Yes,” nodded the owner of the yard, dropping into a seat at the stern of the boat, after which Benson pushed off at the bow.

Down on the seashore, on this day just past the middle of October, the air was keen and brisk. There had been frost for several nights past. Sleighing might be looked for in another month.

“Cable's gone from this buoy,” declared Captain Jack, as Hal rowed close. “Over to the other one, old fellow.”

Here, too, the cable was missing. Evidently the “Farnum” had made a clean get-away. If there had been any accident, it must have taken place after the new submarine boat had slipped away from her moorings.

“Humph!” grunted Jack, scanning the sea. “No sign of the boat anywhere. Eph may be anywhere within twenty miles of here.”

“Or within twenty feet, either,” grinned Hal, looking down into the waters that were lead-colored under the dull autumn sky.

“What are we going to do, Captain?” inquired Jacob Farnum. “There are Grant Andrews [pg 024] and three of his machinists coming down to the water.”

“I reckon, sir, we'd better put them aboard the 'Pollard' first, sir,” Benson suggested.

Mr. Farnum nodding, the boat was rowed in to the shore and Andrews and his men were put aboard the “Pollard” at the platform deck. Captain Jack Benson unlocking the door to the conning tower, was himself the first to disappear down below. When he came back he carried a line to which was attached a heavy sounding-lead.

“It won't take us long to sound the deep spots in this little harbor,” said the young skipper, as he dropped down once more into the bow of the shore boat. “Row about, Hal, over the places where the submarine could go below out of sight.”

As Hal rowed, Skipper Jack industriously used the sounding-lead.

For twenty minutes nothing resulted from this exploration. Then, all of a sudden, Benson shouted:

“Back water, Hal! Easy; rest on your oars. Steady!”

Jack Benson raised the lead two or three feet, then let it down again, playing it up and down very much as a cod fisherman uses his line and hook.

[pg 025] “I'm hitting something, and it is hardly a rock, either,” declared young Benson. “Pull around about three points to starboard, Hal, then steal barely forward.”

Again Benson played see-saw with his sounding-line over the boat's gunwale.

“If my lead isn't hitting the 'Farnum,'” declared the young skipper, positively, “then it's the 'Farnum's' ghost. Hold steady, now, Hal.”

Immediately afterward, Benson caused the lead fairly to dance a jig on whatever it touched at bottom.

“What's the good of that, anyway?” demanded Jacob Farnum.

“You don't think I'm doing this just for fun, do you, sir?” asked Captain Jack, with a smile.

“No; I know you generally have an object when you do anything unusual,” responded the shipbuilder, good-humoredly.

“You know, of course, sir, that noises sound with a good deal of exaggeration when you hear them under water?”

“Yes; of course.”

“You also know that all three of us have been practicing at telegraphy a good deal during the past few weeks, because every man who follows the sea ought to know how to send and receive wireless messages at need.”

[pg 026] “Yes; I know that, Benson.”

“Well, sir, I guess that the lead has been hitting the top of the 'Farnum's' hull, and I've been tapping out the signal—”

“The signal, 'Come up—rush!'” broke in Hal, with an odd smile.

“Right-o,” nodded Jack Benson.

“How on earth did you know what the signal was, Hastings?” demanded Mr. Farnum.

“Why, sir, I've been sitting so that I could see Jack's arm. I've been reading, from the motions of his right arm, the dots and dashes of the Morse telegraph alphabet.”

“You youngsters certainly get me, for the things you think of,” laughed the shipyard's owner.

“And the 'Farnum,' or whatever it is, is coming up,” called Captain Jack, suddenly. “I just felt my lead slide down over the top of her hull. Hard-a-starboard, Hal, and row hard,” shouted young Benson, breathlessly.

Though Hastings obeyed immediately he was barely an instant too soon. To his dismay, Mr. Farnum saw something dark, unwieldy, rising through the water. It appeared to be coming up fairly under the stern of the shore boat, threatening to overturn the little craft and plunge them all into the icy water.

Hal shot just out of the danger zone, though. [pg 027] Then a round little tower bobbed up out of the water. Immediately afterward the upper third of a long, cigar-shaped craft came up into view, water rolling from her dripping sides, which glistened brightly as the sun came out briefly from behind a fall cloud.

In the conning tower, through the thick plate glass, the three people in the shore boat made out the carroty-topped head and freckled, good-humored, honest, homely face of Eph Somers. The boat lay on the water, under no headway, drifting slightly with the wind-driven ripples. Then Eph raised the man-hole cover of the top of the conning tower, thrusting out his head to hail them.

“Hey, you landsmen, do you know a buoy from an umbrella?”

“Do you know the difference between a Sunday-school text and petty larceny?” retorted Jack Benson, sternly. “What do you mean by taking the submarine without leave?”

“I've been experimenting—flirting with science,” responded Eph, loftily. “Say, if you landsmen know a buoy from a banana, get down to the bow moorings of this steel mermaid, and I'll pass you the bow cable. It's a heap easier to lead this submarine horse out of the stall, single-handed, than it is to take him back and tie him.”

[pg 028] Hal rowed easily to the buoy, while Eph, returning to the steering wheel and the tower controls, ran the “Farnum,” with just bare headway, up to where he could toss the bow cable to those waiting in the boat. A few moments later the stern cable, also, was made fast, in such a way as to allow a moderate swing to the bulky steel craft.

“Now, you can take me ashore, if you feel like it,” proposed Eph, standing on the platform deck.

“Not quite yet,” returned Skipper Jack, though the small boat lay alongside. “We've got some inspecting to do. But how did you get on board in the first place?”

“Why, the night watchman was in the yard for a few minutes, and I got him to put me on board. I figured I could hail somebody else when I was ready to go on shore.”

“But what on earth made you do such a thing?” demanded Captain Jack, in a low tone. “It's really more than you had a right to do, Eph, without getting Mr. Farnum's permission.”

“Why, I've known you to take the 'Pollard' and try something when Mr. Farnum wasn't about,” retorted Somers, looking surprised.

“You never knew me to do it when I could ask permission, although, as captain, I have the [pg 029] right to handle the boat. But that leave doesn't extend to all the rest, Eph. What were you doing down there, anyway?”

“Why, I came on board, and left the manhole open for ten minutes,” answered Somers. “Then I found the cabin thermometer standing at 49 degrees. I wondered how much warmth could be gained by going below the surface. I had been down an hour and five minutes when you began to signal with that sledge-hammer—”

“Sounding-lead,” Jack corrected him.

“Well, it sounded like a sledge-hammer, anyway,” grinned young Somers. “While I was down below I found that the temperature rose four degrees.”

“Part of that was likely due to the warmth of your body, and the heat of the breath you gave off,” hinted Benson.

“You could have gotten it up to eighty or ninety degrees by turning on the electric heater far enough,” suggested Hal.

“I wanted to see whether it would be warmer in the depths; wanted to find out how low I could go and be able to do without heat in winter,” Somers retorted.

“I could have told you that, from my reading, without any experiment,” retorted Skipper Jack. “Close your conning tower and go down [pg 030] a little way, and the temperature would gradually rise a few degrees. That's because of the absence of wind and draft. But, if you could go down very, very deep without smashing the boat under the water pressure, you'd find the temperature falling quite a bit.”

“Where did you read all that?” inquired Eph, looking both astonished and sheepish.

“Here,” replied Jack, going to a small wall book-case, taking down a book and turning several pages before he stopped.

“Just my luck,” muttered Eph, disconsolately. “Here I've been dull as ditch-water for an hour, trying to find out something new, and it's all stated in a book printed—ten years ago,” he finished, after rapidly consulting the title-page.

Jacob Farnum had been no listener to this conversation. Taking the marine glasses from the conning tower, the shipbuilder was now well forward on the platform deck, scanning what was visible of the steam craft to the southward. At last the yard's owner turned around to say:

“I don't believe you young men can have things ship-shape a second too soon. The craft heading this way has a military mast forward. She must be the 'Hudson.' If there's anything to be done, hustle!”

Jack and Hal sprang below, to scan their respective [pg 031] departments. Five minutes later Grant Andrews hailed from the “Pollard,” and Eph rowed over in the shore boat to ferry over the machinists.

Half an hour later Andrews and his men had put in the few needed touches aboard the newer submarine boat. The sun, meanwhile, had gone down, showing the hull of a naval vessel some four miles off the harbor.

Darkness came on quickly, with a clouded sky. As young Benson stepped on deck Grant Andrews followed him.

“All finished here, Grant?” queried the yard's owner.

“Yes, sir. There's mighty little chance to do anything where Hal Hastings has charge of the machinery.”

“That's our gunboat out there, I think,” went on Mr. Farnum, pointing to where a white masthead light and a red port light were visible, about a mile away.

“Dunhaven must be on the map, all right, if a strange navigating officer knows how to come so straight to the place,” laughed Jack Benson.

“Oh, you trust a United States naval officer to find any place he has sailing orders for,” returned Jacob Farnum. “I wonder if he'll attempt to come into this harbor?”

[pg 032] “There's safe anchorage, if he wants to do so,” replied Captain Jack.

While Somers was busy putting the foreman and the machinists ashore, Mr. Farnum, Jack and Hal remained on the platform deck, watching the approach of the naval vessel, which was now plainly making for Dunhaven.

Suddenly, a broad beam of glaring white light shot over the water, resting across the deck of the “Farnum.”

“I guess that fellow knows what he wants to know, now,” muttered Benson, blinking after the strong glare had passed.

“There, he has picked up the 'Pollard,' too,” announced Hastings. “Now, that commander must feel sure he has sighted the right place.”

“There go the signal lights,” cried Captain Jack, suddenly. “Hal, hustle below and turn on the electric current for the signaling apparatus.”

Then Benson watched as, from the yards high up on the gunboat's signaling mast, colored electric lights glowed forth, twinkling briefly in turn. This is the modern method of signaling by sea at night.

“He wants to know,” said Benson, to Mr. Farnum, as he turned, “whether there is safe anchorage for a twelve-hundred-ton gunboat of one hundred and ninety-five feet length.”

[pg 033] Reaching the inside of the conning tower at a bound, the young skipper rapidly manipulated his own electric signaling control. There was a low mast on the “Farnum's” platform deck, a mast that could be unstepped almost in an instant when going below surface. So Captain Jack's counter-query beamed out in colors through the night:

“What's your draught?”

“Under present ballast, seventeen-eight,” came the answer from the gunboat's signal mast.

“Safe anchorage,” Captain Jack signaled back.

“Can you meet us with a pilot?” questioned the on-coming gunboat.

“Yes,” Captain Jack responded.

“Do so,” came the laconic request.

“That's all, Hal,” the young skipper called, through the engine room speaking tube. “Want to row me out and put me aboard the gunboat?”

In another jiffy the two young chums had put off in the boat, Hal at the oars, Jack at the tiller ropes. The gunboat was now lying to, some seven hundred yards off the mouth of the little harbor. Hastings bent lustily to the oars, sending the boat over the rocking water until he was within a hundred yards of the steam craft's bridge.

[pg 034] “Gun boat ahoy!” roared Hal, between his hands. Then, by a slip of the tongue, and wholly innocent of any intentional offense, he bellowed:

“Is that the 'Dad' boat?”

“What's that?” came a sharp retort from the gunboat's bridge. “Don't try to be funny, young man!”

“Beg your pardon, sir. That was a slip of the tongue,” Hal replied, meekly, as he colored. “Are you the gunboat 'Hudson?'”

“No; I'm her commanding officer, young man! Who in blazes are you?”

“I'm the goat, it seems,” muttered Hastings, under his breath. But, aloud, he replied:

“I have the pilot you requested.”

“Then why don't you bring him on board?” came the sharp question. “Did you think I only wanted to look at a pilot?”

“All right, sir. Shall I make fast to your starboard side gangway?” Hal called.

“In a hurry, young man!”

“That's the naval style, I guess,” murmured Jack to his chum. “No fooling in the talk. I wonder if that fellow eats pie? Or is his temper due to coffee?”

Answering only with a quiet grin, Hal rowed alongside the starboard side gangway. Jack, waiting, sprang quickly to the steps, ascending, [pg 035] waving his hand to Hal as he went. Young Hastings quickly shoved off, then bent to his oars.

“Where's the pilot?” came a stern voice, from the bridge, as Jack Benson's head showed above the starboard rail.

“I am the pilot, sir,” Jack replied.

“Why, you're a boy.”

“Guilty,” Jack responded.

“What does this fooling mean? You're not old enough to hold a pilot's license.”

By this time Benson was on the deck, immediately under the bridge. A half dozen sailors, forward, were eyeing him curiously.

“I have no license, sir,” Jack admitted. “Neither has anyone else at Dunhaven. For that matter, the harbor's a private one, belonging to the shipyard.”

“Hasn't Mr. Farnum a man he can send out?”

“No one who knows the harbor better than I do, sir.”

“Who are you? What are you?”

“Jack Benson, sir. Captain of the Pollard submarine boats.”

“Why didn't you tell me that before?”

The question came sharply, almost raspingly.

“Beg your pardon, sir, but you didn't ask me,” Jack replied.

[pg 036] “Come up here, Benson,” ordered the lieutenant commander, in a loud voice intended to drown out the subdued titter of some of the sailors forward.

Jack ascended to the bridge, to find himself facing a six-footer in his early thirties. There was a younger officer at the far end of the bridge.

“Does Mr. Farnum consider you capable of showing us the way into the harbor?” demanded the commanding officer of the “Hudson.”

“I think so, sir. He trusts me with his own boats.”

“Then you are—”

“Benson, Mr. Farnum's captain of the submarine boats.”

Lieutenant Commander Mayhew gazed in astonishment for a moment, then held out his hand as he introduced himself, remarking:

“I was told that I would find a very young submarine commander here, but—”

“You didn't expect to find one quite as young,” Jack finished, smiling.

“No; I didn't. Mr. Trahern, I want you to know Captain Jack Benson, of the Pollard submarines.”

Ensign Trahern also shook hands with young Benson.

[pg 037] “And now,” went on the commander of the “Hudson,” “I think you may as well show us the way into the harbor.”

“You'll want to go at little more than headway, sir,” Jack replied. “The harbor is small, though there's enough deep water for you. In parts there are some sand ledges that the tide washes up.”

“I can't allow you to pilot us, exactly, but you'll indicate the course to me, won't you, Mr. Benson?”

The “mister” was noticeable, now. Naval officers are chary of their bestowal of the title “captain” upon one who does not hold it in the Army or Navy service.

At Mr. Mayhew's order the “Hudson” was started slowly forward, the searchlight playing about the entrance to the harbor.

“For your best anchorage, sir,” declared Captain Jack, after he had brought the gunboat slowly into the harbor, “you will do well to anchor with that main arc-light dead ahead, that shed over there on your starboard beam, and the front end of the submarine shed about four points off your port bow.”

Mr. Mayhew slowly manœuvred his craft, while men stood on the deck below, forward, prepared to heave the bow anchors.

“Go four points over to port, Mr. Trahern,” [pg 038] instructed Mr. Mayhew. “Now, back the engines—steady!”

Jack Benson opened his mouth wide. Then, as he saw the way the “Hudson” was backing, he suddenly called:

“Slow speed ahead, quick, sir!”

“You said—” began Mr. Mayhew.

Gr-r-r-r! The stern of the gunboat dug its way into a sand ledge, lifting the stern considerably.

“Slow speed ahead!” rasped Lieutenant Commander Mayhew, sharply.

But the gunboat could not be budged. She was stuck, stern on, fast in the sand-ledge.

“Benson!” uttered the lieutenant commander, bitterly, “I congratulate you. You've succeeded in grounding a United States Naval vessel!”

CHAPTER III: “YOU MAY AS WELL LEAVE THE BRIDGE!”

There was so much of overwhelming censure in the naval officer's tone that Jack's spirit was stung to the quick.

“It's your mistake, sir,” he retorted. “You didn't follow the course I advised. You swung the ship around to port, and—”

“Silence, now, if you please, while men are [pg 039] trying to get this vessel out of a scrape a boy got her into,” commanded Mr. Mayhem, sternly.

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.

Down between decks the engines of the “Hudson” [pg 040] were toiling hard to run the craft off out of the sand. Then the machinery stopped. An engineer officer came up from below. He and Mr. Mayhew walked to the stern, while a seaman, accompanying them, heaved the lead, reading the soundings.

“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?”

[pg 041] “Be glad to have you,” Lieutenant Commander Mayhew responded.

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.

[pg 042] “I understand, sir,” began Mr. Farnum, “that you attach some blame in this matter to young Benson?”

“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.

[pg 043] “Why, sir, I understood the lad to say what he states that he said.”

“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.