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CHAPTER XXIII
"YOU ARE A PRISONER OF THE GOVERNMENT!"
He found it without much difficulty. It was located in a building in the centre of the town. The Stars and Stripes hung from the doorway. Ned saluted the flag as he passed under it. His heart beat more hopefully, and his step lightened and quickened. Already he felt as if his troubles were over.
A rather gruff-looking, red-faced quartermaster was in charge. He looked up sharply from a paper-littered desk as Ned entered.
"Well," he said quickly, "what can I do for you?"
"A good deal," rejoined Ned, and launched into his story forthwith.
"Humph!" said the man, when he concluded, "and so you want money to rejoin the fleet at Blackhaven?"
"Yes," said Ned. "I have, as I hinted, a good reason for my request. If I had had the money, I should have lost no time in communicating with Lieutenant De Frees."
"Humph! By the way, just tell me your name, young man."
"Strong – Ned Strong," rejoined Ned.
The red-faced man grew redder than ever, and burrowed among his papers like an industrious rabbit. At last he unearthed what he wanted and scanned it closely. He kept glancing from the paper to Ned, and from Ned to the paper, till the lad felt quite embarrassed. At last he finished.
"Humph!" he said, with his usual preparatory clearing of the throat, "so you are Ned Strong. It's a lucky thing you came in here, Strong."
"How is that?" asked Ned, with a smile. "Of course, I hope it's lucky for me," he added quickly.
"Humph! No, it's lucky for me," insisted the other.
"Is that so?" asked Ned, not knowing just what else to say.
The red-faced man rose to his feet, and, without another word, went into an adjoining room. Ned could hear him telephoning, but could not catch the words. He came back presently and sat down at his table once more.
"Can you advance me the money?" demanded Ned. "It's very important, you know, that I should start as soon as possible."
"Oh, yes; humph! by all means; humph! the money is on its way from the bank now."
"Thank you," said Ned simply.
"It must be a large sum," he thought to himself.
He picked up a paper that lay near at hand. Idly, to pass the time, he scanned it. Sandwiched in amidst the sensational news – for which Ned's wholesome mind did not care – was a headline that caught his eye:
"Fleet Sails for Blackhaven."
Ned's heart pounded violently. The recollection of that fluttering wireless message he had caught came back to him. With it, also, came a vivid remembrance of the torpedoes under the floor of the anarchists' craft.
Suddenly another item caught his eye:
"Mysterious Happening at Naval Aero Station – Two Navy Aviators Missing With Sum of Money."
All at once Ned caught his own name and then Herc's. The type swam before him for an instant, but he steadied his vision and read on. The paper gave a sensational account of their mysterious disappearance from the hotel in Bartonville. It also stated that Herc had drawn some of the money intrusted to their care just before he left.
"The men are being sought for by the department," the despatch added, "and when arrested will be summarily dealt with. Every recruiting office and naval station in the country, as well as the police, have been notified."
Ned looked up from his paper with startled eyes. He caught the gaze of the red-faced quartermaster fixed accusingly on him.
"So you've read it?" said that dignitary.
"I've read a lot of sensational rubbish," was the hot reply.
"Not half so sensational or rubbishy as what you've told me," sniffed the quartermaster.
"That being the case," said Ned hotly, "I shall not bother you further. Good afternoon."
"Hold on there! Humph! humph! Not so fast!" exclaimed the other, rising and stepping swiftly between Ned and the door, "you've to wait here a while."
"Wait!" echoed Ned. "I can't wait. Why, man alive, the safety of the fleet depends on my reaching there."
"Oh, nonsense! You don't mean to say you've brooded over that story so much you believe it yourself?"
Ned was first thunderstruck and then horrified. In living through the extraordinary events of the recent past, it had never struck him how fantastic and impossible they would seem to the average man.
"But it's true, I tell you! I can prove it, every word!" he burst out.
"How?"
"Why, by my shipmate, Hercules Taylor."
"Where is he?"
"A prisoner on that sloop."
"Come, come, young man. You've been reading too many dime novels. Why, there isn't a court martial in the land that would believe such a cock-and-bull story. I'll wager that your chum Taylor is hiding some place around town while you came up here to try and raise some more money. I must say it was a nervy thing to do."
"Good heavens!" cried Ned. "Do you mean to say that you don't credit a word of my story?"
"Nary a word. A wilder yarn I never listened to, and I've served on all kinds of craft, man and boy, for a good many years. Now, let me give you a bit of advice, young fellow. When you are on trial, don't spring any such gammoning as you've told me. Just stick to the plain truth and you may get off lighter than you otherwise would."
Ned gasped. For an instant he almost lost control of himself. But he realized that, if he was to be of service to the fleet, he must keep his self-possession.
"When I rejoin the fleet," he said, "it won't be as a prisoner."
"Won't, eh? Don't be too sure of that," was the response.
A sudden heavy tramping was heard on the stairs.
The quartermaster flung open the door.
"Here he is now," he called out, "the fellow Strong. Take him into custody and lock him up till I arrange with the naval authorities to have him sent back to his ship."
As he spoke, several heavy-footed men filed into the room. They all bore the unmistakable stamp of the country constable.
Ned's tongue almost stuck to the roof of his mouth, it grew so dry. Every nerve in his body quivered. Was it possible that all this was real? It seemed more like an ugly nightmare.
"Look here," he exclaimed, in a voice he tried to render calm and collected, "this has gone far enough. Everything can be explained. But you mustn't lock me up now. Let me go back to the fleet. There is a conspiracy on foot to destroy some of the ships. I must warn – "
A rough laugh interrupted him.
"What kind er moonshine be that, young chap?" grinned the constable. "Yer don't go ter thinkin' we puts any stock in such talk as thet, do yer? If yer do, yer mus' think we're 'dunderheads' jes 'cos this is Dundertown. Na-ow, come on! Air you comin' quiet, or air yer comin' rough?"
Ned turned to the quartermaster, who stood pompously puffed up, surveying the civil authorities with a patronizing air.
"Remember, officer," he said, "humph! the prisoner is not a civil prisoner. He is only placed in your temporary care by me as a representative of the United States government."
"Ve-ree well," rejoined the constable; "we'll take care of him, by heck! Jes' bin pinin' ter put some 'un in ther new jail. Thet reminds me, we've got another prisoner ter pick up daown ter ther circus grounds."
"His name isn't Taylor, this chap's companion, humph?" demanded the quartermaster.
"No. It's jes' a pickpocket. We'll go by the circus on our way to ther lock-up. It's only a step out'n our way. Come on, young feller."
He extended a pair of handcuffs. Ned burned with shame and mortification. Suddenly he bethought himself of Sam and all the picnic party at the circus. What if they should see him with handcuffs on? What would they think?
"For heaven's sake," he begged, "don't put those things on me. I'll give you my word of honor not to try to escape if you don't."
"Wa-al, I dunno," said the constable doubtfully, "handcuffs is reg-lar, but – "
"Put them on him – humph!" shrilled the quartermaster.
Luckily, this ill-natured interruption turned the tide in Ned's favor.
"Say, quartermaster," snapped the constable, "this man is er civil prisoner, fer the time being, an' what I say goes. Don't you go ter buttin' in."
"Ain't you going to put handcuffs on him?" exclaimed the naval officer.
"No, I bean't."
"I order you to."
"Keep yer orders fer ther navy. I'm constable uv this taown, an' I say this prisoner don't wear 'em."
"I'll report you to – to the president," was the tremendous threat of the pompous quartermaster, who had turned as red as an angry turkey cock.
"Even ther president of this United States ain't a-goin' ter say ha-ow things is to be run in Dundertown," snapped the constable. He laid a hand on Ned's elbow.
"Come on, young man," he said, "you promised to come quietly, remember."
Ned turned imploringly to the quartermaster.
"You have taken the oath of allegiance to the navy," he said passionately. "Now act up to it. Find some means to warn the fleet at Blackhaven that anarchists are going to try to torpedo some of the ships. Warn them against a black sloop with a red line round her bulwarks."
"Warn them against a fiddlestick!" sniffed the quartermaster. "Who ever heard such nonsense? Humph!"
Ned almost groaned aloud as he was ushered out, with a deputy on either side of him. But he managed to control himself. The lad had been in many tight places in foreign lands, and in active service. But not one of them had been more trying to bear up under than this disaster that had befallen him in a peaceful country town in his native land.
"When will my case be heard?" Ned asked, as they reached the street. He was in hopes that if it was to come up immediately he could convince the magistrate, or whatever dignitary he was tried by, that his arrest was absolutely unjustified.
"Wa-al, squire won't be back to ta-own till day arter ter-morrer," was the reply that dashed his hopes. "Anyhow, he couldn't do nuthin' fer yer. We're only holding yer here. You're a prisoner of the United States government."
Those were the bitterest words that Ned had ever heard. They seemed to sear his very being.
CHAPTER XXIV
A DASH FOR FREEDOM
To Ned's intense relief, the little cortege did not attract much attention as it passed down the street. Most of the town was at the circus, attracted, doubtless, by the prospect of a big, free aeroplane flight.
At last they reached the circus grounds. The performance had commenced, and the spaces outside the tents in which it was going on were almost deserted. Only a few canvasmen and hangers-on lounged about. From time to time a loud blare of music or a shout of applause came from the tent. Over by the main entrance Ned saw Professor Luminetti, still tinkering with his aeroplane. Some men were helping him. Among them was the man with the big moustache, who had addressed Ned so roughly when he pointed out the defective link.
"There, professor," he was exclaiming, as the constable came up, "that's done. I guess everything is all right now for the night performance."
"It all came from not paying attention to what that young chap said," put in one of them.
"Yes, the professor thought he knew it all," put in another.
"Hullo! There's the young chap now," said the black-moustached man, who was the manager of the show. "Say, young feller, you're all right. Any time you want a – "
He was about to shake Ned by the hand, when the constable interposed.
"You the manager of this sheebang?"
"Yes. What of it?"
"Wa-al, I'm ther constable. Whar's that pickpocket yer telephoned about?"
"Right inside the sideshow tent. We put him in there under the guard of two canvasmen."
"All right. I'll come and git him. Two uv you boys guard the prisoner here while I'm gone."
He hastened off. Ned felt his face burn as some of the men who had been clustered about Professor Luminetti gazed curiously at him. The word "prisoner" had attracted their attention.
The professor was too busy with his machine to pay any attention. He was starting up the engine to test it. The motor burred wildly and emitted flashes of flame and blue smoke. Suddenly he looked around.
"Say, young feller," he said to Ned, "if you know so much about aeroplanes, just tell me what ails this motor?"
Ned looked at his two guardians. They, perhaps curious to see if the lad really knew anything about air-craft, nodded permission. After all, they argued to themselves, there was no chance for the lad to escape. Ned, forgetting his troubles for a time in his joy at again being able to "fuss" over an aeroplane, bent over the refractory engine.
"The trouble's in one of the footpedals," he announced before long.
"Have to climb into the seat to fix it?" asked Luminetti.
"Reckon so."
Ned looked at his guardians. They nodded.
"Don't fly away," cried one of them jokingly, as Ned seated himself, grasped the levers and placed his foot on the pedals to test the mechanism.
"It would be a good joke if – "
Professor Luminetti, standing by the machine, was suddenly brushed off his feet and rolled over on the sward.
"Br-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r!"
A terrific whirring, like the voice of a multitude of locusts, filled the air.
Something huge and winged and powerful flashed by the amazed deputies, and launched itself into the air. Before they recovered their wits, it was out of reach.
"It's the aeroplane! He's stolen my aeroplane!" screamed Professor Luminetti.
"Hi! Come back!" yelled the deputies.
But so swiftly had the aeroplane shot into space that Ned was already out of ear-shot.
Hearing the babel of excited sounds, the constable came dashing from the tent. In the excitement, he let go of the pickpocket's collar, and that miscreant at once darted off.
"Get him! Bring him back!" shouted the arm of the Dundertown law.
"What do you think we are – a couple of birds?" demanded his deputies. "Get him yourself!"
The constable drew out his revolver and began firing into the air. He might as well have fired at the moon as at Ned. The aeroplane dwindled swiftly to a winged blot, then to a speck, and, finally, vanished altogether.
"I'll swear out a warrant for him!" shouted the manager.
"Well, don't do any more swearing, then," warned the constable, "er I'll arrest you fer usin' profane langwidge. I've lost two prisoners, an' I've got ter lock up somebody."
Luckily, at that moment, a small boy was captured as he was creeping under the canvas. In the act of giving him a sound spanking, the irate group left behind found some salve for their wounded feelings. Luminetti raved and tore his hair. The manager promised to wreak dire vengeance on Ned as soon as he got hold of him. As for the populace, when the story leaked out, some of them, among these being Sam, were so unfeeling as to laugh heartily. As for the quartermaster, he at once set about to report the constable to all the authorities in the United States, from the president down.
In the meantime, what of Ned?
If any of our readers imagine that he took the aeroplane on purpose, they are mistaken. What seemed like a cleverly executed plan of escape was, in reality, the result of an accident, pure and simple, but a fortunate one, as it proved.
When Ned had placed his foot on the starting pedal, to his astonishment the bit of machinery refused to budge. He pressed harder, and, suddenly something snapped. The next instant Ned felt himself being hurtled forward over the ground.
To prevent the aeroplane plunging into a tent or wagon and being wrecked, he had resorted to the only mode of procedure possible. He had set the rising planes.
Instantly the aeroplane responded. Behind him Ned could hear shouts and cries, and guessed that those he had left behind were imagining he was attempting to escape.
"If I land I'll have a hard job convincing them I wasn't," said Ned to himself.
But nevertheless, the lad tried with all his might to check the aeroplane's flight. But whatever had broken rendered this impossible. Try as he would, he could not stop the engine. His only safety, therefore, lay in keeping aloft. As the aeroplane rushed on through space, it gathered speed instead of diminishing the fury of its course.
It was all Ned could do to cling to the seat and control the frantic buckings and plungings of his aerial steed. The fact that though similar to the one he used, he was unfamiliar with the particular aeroplane in which he found himself, complicated his difficulties.
"I guess the only thing to do is to keep on till the gasolene gives out," he thought, after his twentieth attempt to check his runaway engine. "Reminds me of Don Quixote's ride with Sancho Panza to the palace of the magician in cloudland," was the whimsical thought that occurred to him. "Poor old Herc! It's not very complimentary to him to compare him to Sancho, but I wish he was here with me."
The fuel tank of the aeroplane must have been well filled, for the engine ran just as strongly at the end of an hour of aerial traveling as it had at the beginning of the trip.
"I'd turn round if I dared," thought Ned; "but I can't check the speed of the thing, and it would be suicidal to try to switch my course while going at this speed."
Ned's plight may be compared to that of a lad on a runaway bicycle on a steep hill. He did not dare turn for fear of disaster, and yet he didn't quite know what would happen if he kept on. However, he didn't have to be scared of colliding with a wagon!
Suddenly, to Ned's huge joy, the engine showed signs of slackening speed. He gently manipulated a lever, and found that he had partial control of the machine now. This being so, he decided to land as soon as practicable. From a clump of trees some distance ahead, the white spire of a church told him of a village. To his left hand lay the sea. Ned gazed at it longingly, as he dropped nearer and nearer to the ground.
He landed at the edge of a meadow adjoining a building which was occupied by the village post-office and telegraph office. A sign on a house across the way made his heart leap:
"Blackhaven Hotel."
Chance had actually brought him within close range of the fleet. It seemed too good to be true. But a crowd of villagers, who came rushing to inspect the visitor from cloudland, soon put all other thoughts but the safety of his machine out of his mind. If he had not watched it carefully, there seemed to be danger of its being ripped to bits by souvenir hunters.
A brief inspection showed Ned that a broken tension-spring had caused the runaway. It was soon adjusted. Then he peeped into the gasolene tank. It was almost empty.
"They sell gasolene in ther store there, mister," said a bright lad. "Gasolene gigs come through here onct in a while."
"When they's lost," struck in another lad.
This was good news to Ned. Leaving the lads to guard the machine, he entered the post-office. The postmaster imperturbably sold him five gallons of gasolene. Ned recollected that he couldn't pay for it. But, unfortunately, this did not occur to him till he had emptied it into the tank.
Hardly had he done so, and was starting back to the store with explanations, when the postmaster, who was also telegraph operator, appeared in the doorway of his emporium. He was waving a yellow telegram.
"Hold that feller, one of yer!" he shouted. "That thar's a stolen sky-buggy, and he's no better than a thief!"
A dozen men started forward to lay hands on Ned.
But a sudden determination had come to the lad. He was within striking distance of the fleet. It was his duty to warn the officers of the peril that menaced their vessels.
A rough hand seized his arm. Ned flung it off. At the same instant his fists drove full at a big fellow – the village blacksmith – who tried to bar his path, swinging a heavy hammer.
"Stand clear!" shouted Ned, as he sprang into the seat of his machine – or rather Professor Luminetti's – "this machine isn't stolen —it's borrowed on Uncle Sam's service!"
The next instant the machine skyrocketed upward, leaving behind it a trail of smoke, and sensation that furnished talk for the village of Blackhaven for more than a year.
CHAPTER XXV
THE MYSTERIOUS SCHOONER – CONCLUSION
"Bulkley, do you see some object in the air – off there to the northwest?"
Commander Dunham, of the Dreadnought Manhattan, paused in his steady pacing of the after deck, and turned to Ensign Bulkley, the officer of the deck.
Ensign Bulkley brought into play the insignia of his diurnal office, a powerful telescope, done in brown leather, with polished, black metal trimmings. With it, he swept the sky in the direction indicated by his superior, for some minutes.
"I do see something, sir," he said presently, "a black object, like a large bird. But it's bigger than any bird I ever saw. By Jove, sir, it's – it's an aeroplane!"
"An aeroplane! Impossible. How could one find its way to Blackhaven Bay? And what could be its errand here?"
"I've no idea, sir. But I'll wager my commission that it is one. Suppose you look yourself, sir?"
The officer of the deck handed his telescope to his commanding officer. Commander Dunham gazed intently through it for a few moments. Then he turned to Bulkley.
"By all that's wonderful, you're right, Mr. Bulkley. It seems to be coming this way, too."
"Not a doubt of it, sir. But at the rate it is advancing it should not be long before we are aware of its errand."
"At all events, it will relieve the monotony, Bulkley. Anchored here since yesterday and no orders yet. However, I suppose mine practice and general gunnery will be the program."
"I expect so, sir," was the response.
Both officers gazed over the leaden expanse of the landlocked bay about them.
Five battleships, two cruisers, and three torpedo-boat destroyers lay at anchor, in regular files. Hard by was a "parent ship," with her flotilla of submarines nestling alongside, like small chickens round a motherly old hen.
"Desolate country hereabouts," said Commander Dunham presently. "I shouldn't have thought that an airman could have found his way here."
"It hardly seems possible," agreed his junior; "it's as barren a bit of coast as can be imagined."
The aeroplane drew closer. Its outlines were quite apparent now. On every vessel of the fleet excitement over its approach was now visible. Bright bits of bunting began to "wig-wag" the news from ship to ship. On every foredeck jackies almost suspended the tasks in hand to watch the oncoming of the aerial craft.
"What a contrast, Bulkley," observed Commander Dunham presently. "See that old sloop off there to seaward? She is of an almost obsolete type, while above us is coming the herald of a new era in peace, as well as war."
"That is so, sir. But that sloop, obsolete as she may appear, is quite fast. I understand she has been tacking about the fleet all day. I wonder what she wants?"
"Some fisherman, probably. However, see that she does not come too close. In confidence, Bulkley, I have been warned, in common with every other commander of the fleet, to beware of a band of daring anarchists who, it appears, have made no secret abroad of their intention to damage the United States navy."
The navy officer showed no surprise. It is a common enough incident for warnings of the same character. The mail of the navy department at Washington is always full of letters – some of them menacing in tone – from over-zealous apostles of "universal peace." Occasionally, too, a spy is unearthed serving in Uncle Sam's uniform. Such fellows are usually deported quietly and swiftly.
"I shall keep an eye on that sloop, sir, in that case," said the ensign, "but I'm afraid it will be difficult to do so before very long."
"How is that, Bulkley?"
The ensign waved his hand seaward. A hazy sort of atmosphere enveloped the horizon.
"Fog, eh?" commented the commander.
"Yes, sir. It will be all about us soon, or I'm mistaken. But look, sir, that aeroplane is almost above us."
"By George! – so it is. What's the aviator doing? He's signalling us. He's pointing downward, Bulkley, too."
"Looks as if he wanted to land on our decks, sir."
"It does. Hark! What's that he's shouting? Pshaw, I can't hear. Tell you what, Bulkley, order the aerial landing platform rigged at once. It ought not to take more than fifteen minutes."
"I'll have it done at once, sir."
The officer hastened off on his errand. A scene of bustle ensued. A hundred jackies were busy transporting sections of the adjustable platform on which Ned had landed on the occasion of his great triumph. The scene appeared to be involved in inextricable confusion. But each man had his task to perform, and each pursued it industriously. Before long the platform was up – all but the flooring. The work of laying this on the steel uprights and skeleton supporting structure was soon accomplished.
All this time the mysterious aerial visitant had been hovering aloft. But his task of keeping above the battleship was getting momentarily more and more difficult. The atmosphere was rapidly thickening. In white wraiths and billows the fog, which Ensign Bulkley had prophesied, came rolling in. Beads of moisture gathered on everything. From the deck the tops of the basket-like military masts grew every minute more difficult to espy. The aeroplane, circling in space, was a mere blur.
"All ready, sir," announced Ensign Bulkley before long. By this time the after-deck was crowded with officers. All were gazing upward into the steamy fog.
"Give him a signal, Bulkley," ordered the commander.
"He'll find it hard to see one, sir."
"Signal the bridge, then, to blow three blasts on the siren. He can hear that."
"Hoo-oo-o-o-o! Hoo-oo-o-o-o! Hoo-o-o-o-o!"
A few seconds later the uncanny voice of the siren cut the mist. Without hesitation, the dim object in the fog above them, began to come downward. It swung through the thick air rapidly. In a short time it was off the stern of the Manhattan, and ten minutes after the signal had sounded Ned Strong ran his aeroplane upon the landing platform so speedily erected.
But if the manner of his arrival had been sensational, the effect it created was even more so.
"It's Strong! The man we were wirelessed had decamped with part of Lieutenant De Frees' funds!" exclaimed Captain Dunham amazedly.
Ned half staggered from his seat and came toward him. The sailors stood to one side, in a half-awed fashion. Ned's face, after his long and trying strain, was ghastly. His eyes shone with an unnatural brightness.
"Well, my lad," said the commander briskly, "what is the meaning of all this?"
"I – I – can I speak – " began Ned.
But suddenly the decks and the eager faces about him seemed to join in a mad dance. He swayed weakly, and would have fallen, had not some jackies near at hand caught him.
"Send that man to the sick bay," ordered Commander Dunham. "There's something out of the ordinary in all this," he said in a lower tone to his officers.
Ned was half-carried, half-supported, to the ship's hospital. He soon recovered from his temporary weakness, and asked to see the doctor at once. When that dignitary responded to the summons, he drank in, with eager ears, Ned's astonishing story. The result was, that Commander Dunham was at once requested to visit the sick bay. A conference ensued, which lasted till almost dark. By that time Ned was fully recovered.
It was after dark that a torpedo-boat destroyer, with Ensign Bulkley in command, slipped away from the fleet and vanished in the fog. On the conning tower, beside the officer, was Ned Strong.
The powerful searchlight cut a bright path through the mist ahead. Somewhere in that smother lay the craft they were in search of, the anarchists' sloop, on board of which Herc was a prisoner. How eagerly Ned longed for the fog to lift, may be imagined. But they cruised all night without a sign of its lifting. By daylight they were some distance out at sea. When, at eight o'clock, the fog began to lift, the shore was revealed, before long, as a dim, blue streak in the distance.
But nobody had eyes for that when a sudden shout went up from the lookout forward.
The man had sighted a sail on the horizon. But as they drew closer to it, the craft was seen to be a schooner with a short, stumpy mizzen-mast.
"That's not our boat," said the ensign disappointedly.
"But what can have become of the sloop, sir?" wondered Ned. "Surely, she couldn't have vanished from sight during the night. She's not a fast enough sailer for that."
"True," said Bulkley. "By Jove!" he exclaimed suddenly, "you don't think those chaps have disguised her, do you?"
"They might have, sir. Don't you think it's worth while to board that schooner, anyhow?"
"I do, Strong," agreed the officer.
The destroyer was headed toward the schooner. The wind had dropped and the vessel was rolling idly on the oily sea.
"Aboard the schooner there!" cried the officer, as they came up close to the vessel with the peculiar-looking after-mast. "Stand by! We are going to board you."
A bearded man stood at the helm. He was the only person visible. Ned scrutinized his face eagerly, but could not recognize him. This individual only waved a hand in response to the officer's order. But, as the destroyer's way was checked, and she lay idly on the waves, he suddenly vanished into the cabin. The next instant a square port at the schooner's bow was swung open, and, without the slightest warning, a long, shining, cylindrical object was shot forth.
It struck the water with a swirl of spray, and then, with a line of white wake, in its swift course, headed straight for the destroyer.
"A torpedo!" exclaimed the officer, who, with Ned, was just about to clamber into one of the lowered boats.
The men on board set up a horrified shout. So short was the distance between the two craft that between the launching of the torpedo and the dreaded impact of its "war head" against the side of the destroyer seemed but an instant. It was a fearful instant, though, and lived long in the recollection of those who endured it.
The torpedo struck the side of the destroyer with a metallic clang. But no explosion followed. Instead, the implement floated harmlessly off.
"Phew!" exclaimed the officer, wiping his forehead. "What an escape! I thought we were all booked for Kingdom Come. Come, lads, man the oars quickly. We'll get those anarchistic rascals out of their rat-holes and make them suffer for this outrage. But what the dickens was the matter with that torpedo?" he muttered.
