CHAPTER XX
NED, CAST AWAY
But as Herc and Herr Muller crashed floorward together a rush of footsteps came down the companionway stairs. The shot that had destroyed the sending key of the sloop's wireless had been heard on deck. Rescue was at hand for the two scoundrels who had been overborne by the Dreadnought Boys.
Before hands could be laid on Herc, however, the freckle-faced youth had banged his fists twice into Herr Muller's face. He raised his hand for a third blow when a sharp pain shot through him, and he sank back with a groan of helpless pain. Something had flashed in the anarchist's hand for an instant and had buried itself in Herc's side.
"Ned! Ned!" cried the lad in accents of shrill alarm, "the fellow's stabbed me."
With a superhuman effort, Ned flung Merritt's arms from him and dashed across the cabin. Herr Muller had struggled to his feet. He rose just in time to be spun clear across the cabin by the infuriated Dreadnought Boy. Such was the force in Ned's righteously indignant blow, that before the anarchist leader ceased spinning, he crashed clear through a wooden panel.
"Herc, old fellow!" cried Ned, sinking to his knees beside his comrade, "are you badly hurt?"
"I – I – I'm all right, old chap. Save the ships!" mumbled Herc and his eyes closed. The freckled face grew fearfully white.
Before any of the excited crew could lay a hand on him Ned picked up Herc as if he had been a child, and began backing toward one of the cabin doors with him.
"You scoundrels will pay dear for this!" he shouted angrily as he went out.
Paralyzed for the time being by the lightning-like rapidity of events, not one of the men made a move just then. Ned bore Herc into the cabin unmolested. Chance, leaning on one elbow, was lying in the lower bunk. His head was bandaged, but Ned tumbled him out by the scruff of his neck.
"Out of that, you traitor!" he shouted, "and make room for a real man-o'-war's-man."
While Chance, still weak from the effects of his blow, tottered about the cabin, Ned laid Herc on the bunk as gently as a woman might have done with an infant. Herc opened his eyes and smiled up at his shipmate.
"Thanks, old fellow," he breathed, "I – I'm all right. You – "
He lapsed into unconsciousness once more.
Ned ripped his shirt open with a quick movement. With another he tore it into sheds and bandaged the wound in the lad's side. Luckily, in the struggle, Herr Muller's aim had not been good, and the knife thrust was little more than a flesh wound, extending up under Herc's armpit. But the pain was considerable.
Ned had hardly finished his work before the men outside came out of their half-stunned period of inaction. Headed by Merritt, they charged at the cabin. Ned sprang for the door to close and lock it against them, but Chance was too quick for him. The fellow had been leaning back against the bulkhead. As Ned swept forward he extended his foot, and the Dreadnought Boy came to the floor in a heap. In another instant they were all piled on him. Ned struck out furiously.
His blows were driven by steel-plated muscles, but they had little effect on the sprawling mass of humanity piled above him. Before many minutes had passed Ned was a prisoner, tied and bound as securely as Herc had been when he was carried on board.
To his surprise, no violence was attempted by his captors. They worked in grim silence. Ned wondered vaguely what was going to happen to him. In his dazed state he didn't much care. Under Herr Muller's orders the lad was roughly thrust into the wireless room and the door locked upon him.
While this was being done he noted with satisfaction that upon the faces of both Herr Muller and Merritt sundry large, angry-looking swellings were beginning to obtrude themselves like purple plums.
"At any rate, I've spoiled Merritt's beauty for him," thought Ned with a grim satisfaction.
He was left unmolested in his prison place for what seemed hours. Finally, after an interminable period, he began to notice that the rough rolling motion of the sloop had ceased. Had the sea gone down, or were they at anchor in some sheltered haven, he wondered. He was not to be long in doubt.
The door was flung open. Merritt, Kennell and Muller entered. At a word from Muller the powerless Ned was shoved and half carried through the portal. Then he was propelled up the companionway stairs.
"Are they going to chuck me overboard?" he found himself wondering.
A swift glance showed him that the sloop was anchored in a small bay. The sky was clear and a bright moon showed the surroundings to be sand dunes and desolate barrens.
"Is the boat ready?" he heard Muller ask.
From over side, where the sloop's dinghy was floating, came a response in the affirmative. The next instant Ned found himself tumbled from the sloop's low side into the small craft. The fall bruised him considerably, but if his captors had expected him to make any outcry they were deceived. He uttered no word of complaint, although, what with the tightness of his bonds and the jouncing his fall had given him, he was in considerable pain.
Herr Muller, Chance, Merritt and Kennell dropped into the boat after him, taking the places of the two men who had unlimbered it from the stern davits.
Evidently their plans had been prearranged, for Chance and Merritt fell to the oars without uttering a word. Muller and Kennell, grim and silent, sat in the stern.
It was a short row to the shore, and presently the bow of the boat grated on a sandy beach.
"Chuck him out!" growled Herr Muller.
Ned was tumbled unceremoniously out on the sands. In the moonlight he could see that the men in the boat were keeping him covered with pistols. Muller leaped out by his side.
"Keep him covered while I cut him loose," Ned heard Muller grate out.
The anarchist bent over him and severed his bonds.
"What on earth is he doing that for?" wondered Ned. But he was duly grateful as he felt his limbs free once more.
The task of cutting the ropes completed, Herr Muller lost no time in jumping back into the boat. But he need not have feared Ned, the lad was too stiff and sore to do more than feebly stretch his limbs. As soon as Muller was on board, Chance and Merritt laid hold of the bow of the boat and shoved off. They leaped nimbly on board as the little craft floated.
As they fell to their oars Muller stood up in the stern and shouted something back at Ned. The boy could not catch all of it, but he was to realize its import before long. All his ears could get of the message was something about "Island – rot there!"
Then came the rhythmic splash of oars as the boat was pulled swiftly back to the sloop. After a while Ned, although the effort made his cramped limbs wince, managed to get to his feet. He was just in time to see the sails of the sloop being hoisted and the little vessel, as they filled, stagger and move out toward the open sea once more.
"And poor Herc, wounded and alone, is on board her," was Ned's bitter thought; "but, thank goodness," he murmured the next instant, "I'm on land and free, and it won't be long before I find some means of running down that sloop."
He sat down and chafed his ankles and wrists, and after a while was able to move about freely. As soon as he did so he struck off across the sandy dunes on which he had been set ashore. A few minutes of walking brought him to a broad arm of water. It flowed swiftly under the moonlight.
A sudden flash of fear shot through Ned. He gave a slight shiver as an alarming idea shot through his mind. But he shook off his presentiment and struck out once more. It was not till he had made the third circuit of the shifting, grass-grown dunes that he realized, with a flash of horror, the bitter truth of his situation.
The inexplicable fact of his freedom and of his bonds being cast off was fully explained now.
Herr Muller had marooned the lad on a desolate island. It was cut off from the shore by a swift flowing arm of water, its current so broad and so rapid that even such a strong swimmer as Ned did not dare trust himself to try to cross it.
By a stern effort of will Ned repressed a desire to cry aloud. Was this to be his destiny? To perish on a sandy islet off the Atlantic Coast, while the sloop forged ahead on her errand of destruction?
CHAPTER XXI
A STRIKE FOR UNCLE SAM
How long it was that Ned sat reviewing the situation in all its bearings he never knew. But it must have been a considerable period, for, when he began to take notice of his surroundings once more, the first flush of an early summer's dawn was visible behind him as he faced what he judged to be the mainland.
The light showed the character of the country across the broad channel which separated him from it to be much the same as that of the island on which he had been marooned by the anarchists. It was criss-crossed with sand dunes till it resembled a crumpled bit of yellow parchment. Scanty, spear-like grass grew in hummocks on the undulations. As the light became stronger sea birds began to whirl about him, screaming weirdly.
Ned gazed seaward. Far out on the horizon was a smudge of black smoke. It was too great in volume for one vessel to have made. The cloud reached as far as the eye could see; as if a gigantic and dirty thumb had been swept across the sky line. To Ned it meant one thing.
"The fleet has passed down the coast on its way to Blackhaven," he mused. "Oh! for a chance to get to the mainland."
For a time he was in hopes that some fishing craft, or small boat, might pass within hail. But nothing of the kind occurred.
"I've got to get something to eat pretty soon," thought Ned, who was beginning to feel faint, "or – hullo! where have I seen that log before?"
His gaze was riveted on a big spar that was drifting idly through the arm of sea that swept between him and the land.
"I saw that fellow go through here last night; the tide must have turned and it's drifting back. Well, that settles it. There's almost as much water and current in there at low water as at high."
He fell to pacing the beach moodily. Once in desperation he waded into the turbid water and essayed to swim. But he was instantly swept from his feet, and a strong undertow seized on his legs and drew them down. When, panting and trembling, he stood once more on shore, he resolved not to risk his life in that manner again.
"An elephant couldn't swim that," he said to himself sadly.
All at once he looked up, from one of his despairing moods, to see something that caused him to choke and gasp with hope. Bobbing about on the water, not a hundred yards from the shore, was – of all things – a small boat!
Ned watched it fascinated.
Would the current drift it within his reach, or would it be carried tantalizingly past him? At the moment he gave little thought as to how it came to be there. It was enough for him that it was a boat, and offered – providing he could reach it – a means of getting to the mainland.
In an agony of apprehension he watched the little craft as it came on, dancing merrily on the choppy ripples of the inlet. Now it shot in toward the shore, as if it meant to drive bow-on upon the beach, and then, as Ned sprang forth to grasp it, the current would sweep it out of his reach. At last it was abreast of him, and in the next second it had passed beyond. Ned grew desperate.
"Better die in the effort to get to land than perish here of starvation and thirst," he thought.
Without bothering to kick his shoes off he sprang into the water, which was deep right up to the margin of the shore, and swam out after the boat.
In a flash he felt the undertow grip him. He struck out with every ounce of reserve strength that he possessed, but the current proved the stronger of the two. Ned, weakened by his long fast and rough experiences, found himself being rapidly drawn under.
Fighting every inch of the way he was gradually submerged. With a last effort he struck out again, but the final struggle proved too much for his already depleted muscles.
The boy was sucked under like a straw.
Where his head had appeared a second before, there was now nothing but the whirl of the waters.
Suddenly, just as it felt as if his lungs must burst, Ned was shot up to the surface once more. Too weak to strike out he flung out his hands in a desperate effort to clutch at anything to sustain his weight.
His hands closed on something solid that buoyed him up refreshingly. It was the gunwale of the boat!
Ned hung limply to her side, getting back his strength as she glided along. After several minutes he felt equal to the effort of trying to board her. He kicked his way round to the stern and clambered over the transom.
Once on board he lay languidly on the thwarts for some time, too much exhausted even to move. But by-and-bye, his strength began to trickle back. He raised himself and looked around him. About the first object his eyes lighted on was a bit of crumpled paper in the bottom of the craft.
"Maybe this is some sort of a clew as to how the boat happened along so providentially," thought Ned.
He opened the paper, scanned the few words it contained, and then his jaw dropped in sheer amazement. The words of the note were in Herc's big, scrawly handwriting.
"Ned, Hope you find the boat. I heard them say they had marooned you on an island, so I cut the rope. Herc."
Ned saw at once what had happened, even if a glance at the cut end of rope in the bow had not told him. Herc had managed to reach out of the cabin port and slash the rope by which the dinghy had been attached to the sloop's stern. It had been a long chance, but it had won out.
"I don't believe there's another chap in the world like good old Herc," thought Ned tenderly, with a suspicious mist in his eyes as he thought of his absent comrade; then he took up the oars.
"Now where shall I row to?" he asked himself, as he pulled the boat along.
He scanned the barren-looking coast, with its inhospitable sand dunes and melancholy-colored grass, with the sea birds wheeling and screaming above.
"Humph! Not much choice, apparently. I guess I'll pull just inside of that little point yonder, and then strike out across the country. I'll have to trust to luck to find somebody who'll give me a hand."
Half an hour later Ned pulled the small boat ashore and abandoned it.
When he landed he had cherished some hopes of finding a fisherman's hut, or "beachcomber's" dwelling behind the rampart of sand dunes. But no trace of even such primitive habitations met his eye. Salt meadows, threaded by muddy, sluggish creeks, lay inland, and beyond was rising ground dotted with clumps of woodland.
This looked hopeful. Determined to keep pegging along to the uttermost that was in him, Ned struck out across the salt meadows.
It was harder work than he had thought. Under the hot sun the miasmic salt land steamed and perspired. Rank odors arose, and the muddy creeks steamed. Once or twice he had to wade through the foul water courses, and, at such times myriads of bloated-looking crabs, that had been sunning themselves, scuttled, with splashes, into the water.
To add to his discomfort, as the sun grew higher, millions of black flies and stinging midges arose to plague him. They settled on him in swarms. Every time Ned wiped out a legion of the tormentors that had settled on his face, his countenance bore a red smudge. By the time he had – he hardly knew how – traversed this bad bit of country and found himself on a dusty white highroad, Ned was scarcely a presentable-looking object. Mud, from the creeks he had waded, caked his legs; his face was red and bloody from the onslaughts of the insects. His clothes were tattered from his fight on the sloop, and, altogether, he was not an object to inspire confidence.
To add to his misfortunes, he had no money, and Ned knew enough of the world to know that a lad in his condition, tattered and penniless, does not, as a rule, excite any feeling but suspicion. However, when about half a mile further on he came to a small house nestling among rose vines and creepers, he walked bravely up to the door and knocked.
A prim-looking old maid, in a checked apron, opened the door. As soon as her eyes fell on Ned she uttered a shrill scream and slammed the door with an exclamation of alarm and indignation.
"Get along with you, you tramp!" she cried.
Ned turned and trudged down the footpath. But, as he reached the gate, he heard a commotion behind him. He turned just in time to face a big, savage-looking bulldog that was about to fly at his leg. Ned raised his foot and planted it fair and square on the snarling animal's mouth.
The dog fled with a yelp of pain. Ned followed it with his eyes.
"I'll bet that cur has fared better than I have for the last twenty-four hours," he muttered as he once more began his weary trudging along the dusty highroad.
CHAPTER XXII
SOME ADVENTURES BY THE WAY
By noon his hunger was positively ravenous. Yet he did not like to risk another rebuff by asking for something to eat at any of the thrifty-looking farmhouses he passed.
Of course, Ned could have represented himself as one of Uncle Sam's sailors, but it was, somehow, repugnant to him – the idea of asking for food and urging, as an excuse for the petition, the uniform he was entitled to wear and the flag he served under.
All at once as he rounded a turn in the road he came upon a scene that quickened his hunger tenfold. A group of men, women and children were bivouacked under a tree enjoying the shade, and were evidently about to enjoy a picnic lunch. Two or three buggies, and an aged carry-all stood near at hand. Ned, with averted gaze, was hurrying by, when a voice hailed him.
"Hullo, there, shipmate!"
Ned turned quickly. It was a middle-aged man, with a sunburned face, dressed in a prosperous farmer's best, who had hailed him.
"Sam Topping!" exclaimed Ned, genuinely pleased, "what are you doing here?"
"Why, picnicking, as you see. But what on earth does all this mean?" his eyes roamed over Ned's disreputable figure. "What has happened? What are you tramping about in that rig for?"
Sam Topping had served on the Manhattan during Ned's days as a raw apprentice. He had retired, a short time before, on a well-earned pension, and his savings had served to buy him a farm. Ned recalled now having heard that Sam had settled down in that part of the country.
The lad colored as Sam put his question. He could feel the women and children of the group looking curiously at him, while the men regarded him with more frank curiosity. It was plain that they looked upon him as a tramp or something of the kind. A traveling peddler, possibly.
As Sam seemed to be waiting for an answer to his question, Ned drew him aside. He told him as much of his story as he thought advisable. Sam was sympathetic. He invited Ned to lunch with them, and after the lad had washed and made himself more presentable at a small stream, he joined the party. They made him welcome, and no embarrassing questions were asked. Sam had concocted a story to fit the case while Ned was at his wayside ablutions. How good that food tasted to the half-famished boy! He could not help thinking, in the midst of his enjoyment, of poor Herc. He wondered sadly how his shipmate was faring.
With this came another thought. The safety of the fleet was imperilled. Its salvation lay in his hands. He alone could give warning of the danger that threatened from the anarchists. When he got an opportunity, he questioned the friendly Sam.
"How far is it to Blackhaven?"
"Well, let's see," rejoined Sam thoughtfully, "it's about one hundred miles to the closest point. But Blackhaven Bay, where the warships go, is twenty miles from a railroad, and only a few fishing villages are on its shores. It's a wild and desolate spot."
"I've got to get there," said Ned.
Sam looked at him as if doubtful that he was in his right mind.
"Get to Blackhaven!" he exclaimed. "What for?"
"To join my ship," explained Ned, not wishing to go into details concerning the anarchists. Sam was a talkative person, and if all he knew was noised abroad it might defeat the justice Ned was grimly determined to visit on them.
Sam had already explained the occasion of the roadside picnic. The party was composed of himself and several of his neighbors on their way into Dundertown, about five miles off, to witness a performance of the circus. Ned had already noted upon barns and outhouses as he came along the gaudy colored posters announcing its arrival. They had interested him particularly, as one flaming bill had set forth the wonderful aerial feats of one Professor Luminetti, who was modestly billed as "The King of the Air." The professor, it appeared, performed his feats in an aeroplane of similar construction to the one which Ned had been using.
"I'd like to see that chap," Ned had thought, as he regarded the pictures.
"Tell you what you do, Ned, old shipmate," quoth Sam suddenly. "You come into town with us and see the circus. There's a recruiting office in Dundertown. You can go there afterward and tell them your story. They'll probably advance you the money to get back to your ship."
Ned agreed that this would be a good idea. But he declined the circus invitation. He was too anxious, for reasons of which we know, to rejoin the fleet. The gravest danger threatened the flower of the American navy, and, for all Ned knew, its fate depended on the speed with which he could reach Blackhaven.
Soon afterward the farmers and their wives clambered into their rigs and started driving toward town. Sam, who was unmarried, drove alone, and Ned shared a seat in his buggy. It seemed to his tired frame and blistered, worn feet, the most luxurious conveyance he had ever known. Sam drove straight on to the circus lot. It presented a lively scene of shifting color and action.
Bright flags, huge erections of lumping canvas, blaring brass bands were everywhere. In front of the main tent a big crowd had gathered. Sam and Ned were caught in a swirl of humanity and rushed toward it. By a shifting of the crowd they soon found themselves in its midst. The throng was grouped about an aeroplane, the motor of which was already whirring and buzzing. By it stood a man in red tights, bright with spangles. He was lecturing on the points of the machine, which formed a "free attraction" to draw the crowds.
Ned smiled as he listened. The fellow evidently didn't know much about his subject. But even at that, he knew more than his listeners, who gazed on him, gaping and awestruck. It was the first time that most of them had seen an aeroplane at close range. The sight seemed to fascinate them.
"I will now make a short flight," announced the man as he finished, and as he clambered into the seat, a regular "barker" began shouting at the top of his voice:
"Lum-in-e-t-t-i! The King of the Ae-ar! See him in his unprecedented frantic, furious, thrilling flight into space! Watch him soar toward the haunt of the eagle bird and cloud-land! The sight of a century! The wonder of the nations! Lumin-e-t-t-i! Luminett-i-i-i-i-i! The Ke-eng of the Ae-ar!"
The crowd came running from all directions at the cry. It was soon packed so densely about "The King of the Air" that Ned and Sam found themselves almost within touching distance of the wing tips. All at once Ned's trained eye noted something. A link in one of the drive chains of the propellers was badly twisted.
Under a sudden strain it would be likely to snap.
He stepped forward and touched "The King of the Air" on the shoulder.
"Well," growled the King gruffly, "what's up?"
His gruffness was not unnatural. He saw in Ned only a rather tattered-looking member of the crowd, and not one of the most competent airmen of the United States Navy.
"One of the links on your drive chain is twisted," said Ned; "I thought I'd tell you."
"Oh, it is, is it?" brusquely rejoined the other; "since when have you qualified as an expert?"
"It's dangerous," Ned warned him again in an earnest voice.
"Oh, mind your own business," was the impatient reply; "it's all right, I guess. Anyhow, I'm not taking lessons from a Rube."
The crowd began to laugh and jeer. A big man in a loud check suit, and with an aggressive black moustache, came bustling up.
"Now, then! Now, then!" he exclaimed truculently. "What's up here? What do you want, young man?"
"This man's machine is not in a condition for a flight," exclaimed Ned hotly.
"Oh, it isn't, eh?" he said sarcastically. "Well, I tell you what, young man, you be off, or you'll be in no condition for a flight, either, 'cause I'll have you locked up!"
"Ho! ho! ho!" roared the crowd.
"All right. If he's injured, it will be his own and your fault," said Ned sharply.
Burning with mortification, he elbowed his way through the crowd to its outskirts. As he reached them he heard a deep-throated murmur.
"He's off!"
"Hooray!" shouted the crowd, but in a jiffy their cheering changed to a groan of dismay. There was a sharp crack like a pistol shot. The twisted link had parted under the strain of the engine, as Ned knew it would.
Luckily, the accident had happened just as the aeroplane began to move, and no damage was done to machine or aviator. Waiting only to ascertain this, Ned took his leave of Sam, and set out for the recruiting office to tell his story.