The Motor Boat Club and The Wireless: or, the Dot, Dash and Dare Cruise

CHAPTER VI
CARRYING DANGEROUS LIVE “FREIGHT”

“Cooped!” chuckled Joe Dawson, jubilantly.

Yet his voice could not much more than be heard above the racket that sounded below. Anson Dalton and his seven rough men were raising a hubbub, indeed.

“Smash the door down!” roared Dalton.

“Maybe we kin do it, boss, but the hatch is a stout one, and we ain’t jest ’zactly fixed for tools,” replied another voice.

After a few moments the fruitless hammering with mere fists subsided. In that time Hank Butts had raced forward, and now was back again with a prize that he had caught up from a locker near the motors. This was nothing more nor less than the hitching weight that Hank had once made very nearly famous, as described in the preceding volume, “The motor boat club off long island.”

“Let ’em get out if they can,” advised Hank, grimly. “This for the feet, or the head, of the first roustabout that shows himself!”

Joe now raced forward to set the motors in motion. Though the young trio had temporary command of the deck, there was no telling how soon they would be overwhelmed. Every moment must be made to count.

Captain Tom, grasping his stick, stood by to help Hank in case the furious ones below succeeded in breaking out.

Hardly any time passed before the rhythmic chugging of the motors came to the young skipper’s delighted ears. Then Joe waved his arms as a signal from the raised deck forward. Halstead swiftly joined his chum. Together they got the anchor up, stowing it well enough for the present.

“Now, you’d better get back to Hank, hadn’t you?” quivered Joe. “I can handle speed and the wheel, too.”

“Bless you, old Joe!” murmured Captain Tom, fervently, and raced aft. Dawson leaped to the wheel, at the same time setting one of the bridge controls so that the “Restless” began to move forward under slow speed. This move came just in time, for, even in the cove, the water had motion enough to threaten the yacht with grounding.

But now alert Joe Dawson swung the boat’s head around, pointing her nose out of the cove.

“Get that hatch down in a hurry!” sounded Anson Dalton’s hoarse voice, imperiously. “If you don’t, we’ll all be tight in a worse trap than this.”

Blows with fists and feet resounded once more. Then, after an instant’s pause, came the slower, harder thump-thump which told that one of the strongest of those caught below was using his shoulder, instead. Soon two cracks seamed the surface of the hatch door.

“Good! Go at it hard!” encouraged the voice of Dalton. “Batter it down. It will be worth money – and freedom – to you and to us all!”

“Yes, just clear a passage, and see what happens!” roared back Tom Halstead, as soon as he could make his own voice heard distinctly.

“Don’t mind the talk of those boys!” warned Dalton, angrily, as there came a pause in the shoulder assaults against the hatch.

With a grin Hank raised his iron hitching weight above his head, hurling it down to the deck with crashing force. Then, still grinning, he stooped to pick it up again.

That noisy thump on the deck timbers caused a brief ensuing silence down in the cabin. It was plain that Dalton and his fellows were wondering just how dangerous their reception would be in case they succeeded in breaking out.

The cabin was lighted, in day time, by side ports and a barred transom overhead. The ports were too small to permit of a man forcing his way through. Even though they broke the glass overhead, the prisoners in the cabin would still have iron bars to overcome. Tom Halstead, with his club, could hinder any work at that point.

In the meantime, the “Restless,” once out of the cove, was bounding over the waves like a thing of life. Though the water had been hard to swim through, it did not present a rough sea for a fifty-five foot power boat.

In less than three minutes Engineer Joe Dawson was sounding his auto whistle like mad as he neared the dock at Lonely Island.

Just as the boat glided in, under decreased headway, to the dock the bungalow door was seen to open. Powell Seaton, shot-gun in hand, appeared on the porch. He watched, not knowing whether friend or foe commanded the “Restless.” Mr. Seaton, himself, was made to stand out brightly in the middle of the searchlight ray that Joe turned upon him, yet he could not see who was behind that light.

Running the boat in, bow-on, Joe leaped ashore with the hawser. Making fast only at the bow, he next raced up the board walk, shouting the news to Mr. Seaton. The latter, with a hail of delight, darted toward the dock, arriving barely behind Dawson.

Down in the cabin the din of the men trying to escape had redoubled. Powell Seaton tramped hurriedly aft, while Tom and Joe fell in behind him with heavy tread, to give the rascals below an idea that numerous reinforcements had arrived.

Bang! Pausing before the hatch Mr. Seaton raised the shot-gun to his shoulder, discharging a single shell. Hastily slipping one into the magazine of the weapon to replace the fired one, Seaton shouted sternly:

“Stop your nonsense down there! If you get out it will be only to run into the muzzles of fire-arms. You fellows are fairly caught!”

There was a startled silence, followed by indistinct mutterings. Not even Anson Dalton, it appeared, cared to brave what looked like too certain death.

Tom held a whispered consultation with his employer, then stepped over to young Butts.

“Hank, we’re going to leave you on shore. Mr. Seaton will come along with the gun. Keep your eyes open – until you see us again! Don’t be caught napping. Remember, you and Dr. Cosgrove have the whole protection of that helpless man, Clodis, in your hands.”

Hank Butts made a wry face for a moment. He would have much preferred to see the present adventure through. Yet, a second later, the Long Island boy bounded to the dock, then stood to cast off the bow-line.

After the line had come aboard, Joe Dawson again took his place at the wheel, turning on the speed gradually as the boat rounded out past the island, then turned in toward the mainland.

It was about five miles, in a direct westerly course, to the shore, but by an oblique, northwesterly course a fishing village some nine miles away could be reached.

“Steer for the fishing village,” nodded Powell Seaton. Captain Tom hurried forward to give the order, adding: “Make it at full speed, Joe. If you have to go to the engine, call me forward to take the wheel.”

Soon afterwards Tom slipped into the motor room, rubbed down and got on dry clothing. Joe, in turn, did likewise, afterward returning to the wheel.

Down in the cabin all had been quiet for some minutes after the discharge of the gun on deck. Yet Captain Tom, by peeping through the transom, discovered the heads of Dalton and some of his rough men close together in consultation.

“I’ll annoy them a bit,” chuckled the young skipper, moving swiftly forward. Dropping down into the motor room he switched off all the cabin lights. An instant roar of anger came from below.

“Funny we didn’t think of that before,” grinned Dawson, as Halstead came up out of the motor room.

“It’ll bother the rascals a bit,” chuckled Captain Tom back over his shoulder.

With such a boat as the “Restless” ordinary distances are swiftly covered. It was barely twenty-five minutes after leaving the dock that Joe reached the entrance to the little harbor around which the houses of the fishing village clustered, nor had much speed been used.

Now the whistle sounded steadily, in short, sharp blasts. Moreover, Dawson managed to send the distress signal with the searchlight. By the time he slowed down speed, then reversed, to make the little wharf, a dozen men had hurried down to the shore.

“What’s wrong?” hailed one of them.

“Get the sheriff, or a sheriff’s officer!” shouted back Powell Seaton. “Be quick about it, one of you, please, and the rest of you stay here to help us.”

Joe sent the bow hawser flying ashore, Tom doing the same with the stern line. Willing hands caught both ropes, making them fast around snubbing posts. As two men started away on the run, the rest of the bystanders came crowding aboard, filled with curiosity.

“What happens to be wrong on board?” demanded one bronzed fisherman.

“We’ve a cabin full of pirates, or rascals about as bad,” returned Mr. Seaton, grimly.

“Men of this coast?” asked another speaker.

“Yes, evidently,” nodded Mr. Seaton, whom the new-comers had recognized as the owner of Lonely Island.

“Then they must be the crew of the ‘Black Betty,’” commented the first speaker.

“Is that a black, fifty-foot schooner, low in the water, narrow and carrying tall masts with a heavy spread of canvas?” interposed Tom Halstead.

“Yes,” nodded the fisherman. “That’s the ‘Black Betty.’ She claims to be a fishing boat, but we’re ready to bet she’s a smuggler. She carries nine men, including Captain Dave Lemly.”

“I reckon we’ve got most of the ‘Black Betty’ outfit below, then,” declared Captain Halstead. “Or else – gracious!”

For, at that moment, the cracked hatch gave in with a smash. Powell Seaton had neglected to remain on guard closely. There was a surge of the prisoners below.

“Halstead, you’ll hear from me again – and so will your crew!” shouted Anson Dalton out of the press of struggling men that formed on the after deck. “I won’t let you forget me, Halstead!”

There was a splash past the rail. Dalton had gone overboard, followed by two of his companions.

CHAPTER VII
POWELL SEATON’S BAD CASE OF “FORGET”

“Don’t let any more get away!” called Powell Seaton, excitedly.

Tom Halstead promptly leaped at one of the rough fugitives just as the latter was trying to reach the wharf. Another one Joe Dawson grabbed. Several of the fishermen sprang to help. For a minute or two there was a good deal of confusion. When matters quieted down, it was found that Halstead and Dawson, with the fishermen helping, had secured five of the rough lot.

Powell Seaton, by threatening with his shot-gun, had induced a sixth to swim ashore. But Anson Dalton and another man, believed to be Captain Dave Lemly of the “Black Betty,” had escaped, swimming under water in the darkness. They must have come to the surface at some point not far away, yet, in the black darkness of the night, they managed to escape safely for the time being, at any rate.

The six men thus arrested were forced inside a ring of the fishermen, whose numbers had been greatly increased by new arrivals. Powell Seaton, his shot-gun on his shoulder, now patrolled close to the human ring. Three or four men hurried with Tom and Joe on a quest for Anson Dalton and the latter’s companion in flight.

In less than a quarter of an hour one of the messengers who had first hurried away returned with a deputy sheriff, who brought several pairs of handcuffs. A justice of the peace was aroused at his home, and held the prisoners over for trial, after Powell Seaton had preferred against them a charge of stealing the yacht that was under his charter.

The search for Dalton and his companion was given up, for it became plain that both had succeeded in their effort to get away.

“It’s altogether too bad,” sighed Mr. Seaton, on coming out of the justice’s house. “However, we can be thankful for what success we have had. We have the boat back and have balked Dalton’s rascals in what they were planning for to-night.”

“Are you going back to Lonely Island now, sir?” asked Captain Tom.

“We must, very soon,” replied Mr. Seaton. “Yet, Halstead, I’ve been thinking that I cannot afford to take any further chances, with Anson Dalton still at large. These fishermen are a rough but honest lot of splendid fellows in their way. I’m going to see if I can’t hire a special guard of eight men for Lonely Island for the present. I’ll engage the deputy sheriff to vouch for the men I engage. So go down to the boat and be ready for me as soon as I arrive.”

Joe was aboard, waiting, when the young skipper returned. Several of the men of the village were still about the dock.

“We’re to be ready to cast off as soon as Mr. Seaton gets here, Joe,” Captain Tom Halstead announced. “Better look to your motors. If you want any help, call on me.”

It did not take Mr. Seaton very long to recruit the guard of eight men that he wanted. Carrying rifles or shot-guns, borrowed in some instances, the men tramped along after their new employer. They came aboard, two or three of them going below, the others preferring to remain on deck.

“Cast off, Captain, as soon as you can,” directed Powell Seaton.

Two or three of the new guards sprang forward to help in this work. Halstead rang for half speed, then threw the wheel over, making a quick start. Once under way, he called for full speed, and the “Restless” went bounding over the waves, which were running much lower than a couple of hours earlier.

During the first half of the run Captain Halstead remained at the wheel. Then Joe came up from below, relieving him. Tom strolled back to take a seat on the deck-house beside Mr. Seaton.

“I’m on tenterhooks to get back,” confessed the charter-man.

“Anxious about your friend, Clodis, of course,” nodded Tom, understandingly.

“Partly that, yes. But there’s another matter that’s bothering me fearfully, too. You remember the packet of papers I took from Clodis’s trunk?” asked Mr. Seaton, lowering his voice.

“Yes,” murmured Tom. “But you have those in an inner pocket.”

“I wish I had!” uttered Powell Seaton. “Halstead, the truth is, after you young men went out, this evening, to patrol about the island, I became a little uneasy about that packet, and took it out and hid it – under some boxes of ammunition in the cupboard where I keep my gun. Then I locked the closet door. When Dawson called me from the porch, in such haste, and I was needed on board with my gun, I clean forgot the packet for the instant.”

“Oh, it will be safe, anyway,” Tom assured his employer. “Even if Dalton had been able to get a boat at once, in this neighborhood, there’s no other craft in these waters capable of reaching Lonely Island earlier than we shall do it.”

“I do hope that packet is safe,” muttered Mr. Seaton, in a voice tense with anxiety. “Halstead, you’ve no notion of the fearful blow it would be to friends and to myself to have it disappear.”

Hearing a slight noise on the opposite side of the deck-house top, Seaton and Tom Halstead turned together. They were just in time to see one of the new guards leaning toward them, one hand out as though to steady himself.

“It’s rough footing on deck to-night,” said the guard, with a pleasant laugh, then passed on aft.

Tom took the helm again as the “Restless,” after picking up the landing place with the searchlight, moved into the harbor and went to her berth.

Powell Seaton led all of his guards but one up to the bungalow. The eighth man, armed with a rifle, was left aboard the “Restless,” with the searchlight turned on, ready for use at any moment. Tom and Joe went up to the bungalow with their employer.

“Wait out on the porch for just a little while,” called Mr. Seaton, in a low voice. “And be careful to make no noise that will disturb the sick man.”

Five minutes later Mr. Seaton returned to the porch.

“I’ve been looking for that packet,” he whispered to the young skipper. “It’s safe, so I’ve left it in the same place.”

Then, after a moment, the owner of the bungalow added:

“Captain, you can have your friend, Butts, now, as we can do without him in the house. I think you three had better turn in on the boat and get some sleep. Then, soon after daylight, I can have the guard at the wharf rouse you, for I want you to go over to Beaufort and get supplies for repairing the wireless outfit at the earliest hour. Things are likely to happen soon that will make it dangerous for me to be without wireless communication with land and sea.”

Twenty minutes later the three Motor Boat Club boys were stretched out in their berths in the motor room. It was considerably later, though, ere sleep came to them. When slumber did reach their eyes they slept soundly until called by the guard.

Hank prepared a breakfast in record time. After eating this, and after Hank had been sent up to the house to learn whether there were any further orders, the Motor Boat Club boys were ready to cast off.

Once they were under way, Hank, not being needed, went aft to stretch himself on one of the cabin cushions. Joe, having his motors running smoothly, followed Hank into the cabin. Dawson, however, did not seek further sleep. He wanted to make a more thorough test than he had done a few hours before, in order to make sure that the vandals locked in there the night before had not thought to destroy his beloved wireless instruments or connections.

“The whole wireless plant is in shape for instant use,” he reported, coming back at last to the bridge deck.

“That’s mighty good news,” declared Tom Halstead. “With the man we are working for now we’re likely to need the wireless at any minute in the twenty-four hours.”

“Say,” ejaculated Joe, after a few moments of silent thought, “there’s something hugely mysterious and uncanny back of all these doings of less than twenty-four hours. I wonder what that big mystery really is?”

CHAPTER VIII
THE RED MESSAGE

When the boys reached Beaufort and had tied up at a wharf, it was still too early to expect to find any shops open. They left Hank on watch, however, and went up into the town, Joe to look, presently, for a dealer in electrical supplies, while Captain Tom sought a ship’s joiner to fit and hang a new hatch to replace that smashed in the affair of the night before. Both boys were presently successful, though it was noon before the joiner had his task finished.

While the last of the work on the new hatch was being done, Tom and Joe went once more uptown to get a message from Mr. Seaton’s attorney regarding the date when the formal hearing of the men arrested the night before would take place in court. Hank Butts was left to watch over the boat and keep an eye over the joiner.

“Any strangers around here?” queried the young skipper, after the joiner, his work completed, had gone aboard.

“Only a young black boy,” Hank replied. “He seemed curious to look over the boat, but he didn’t offer to go below, or touch anything, so I didn’t chase him off.”

“Cast off, Hank. Give us some power, Joe, and we’ll get back to Lonely Island,” declared the young captain, going to the wheel.

Hardly more than a minute later the “Restless” was gliding out of the harbor.

“Guess Hank’s young negro visitor left a note,” called up Joe, showing in the doorway of the motor room and holding forth a note. Hank took it, passing it to Halstead.

“Mind the wheel a minute, Hank, please,” requested Tom, looking closely at the envelope.

It was addressed only to “Halstead,” the writing being in red, and thick, as though laid on with the point of a stick. The message on the sheet inside was crisp and to the point. It ran:

If you think your doings have been forgotten, you’ll soon know differently!

“Humph!” muttered Joe, following up, and taking the sheet as his chum held it out. “That must be from Anson Dalton.”

“Or Captain Dave Lemly, of the ‘Black Betty,’” returned Tom, without a trace of concern in his tone.

“It’s a threat, all right,” muttered Hank Butts, his hair bristling when the sheet came into his hands. “Confound ’em, I hope whoever sent this tries to make good – when we’re looking!”

Just then Captain Tom changed the course abruptly, the bows of the “Restless” sending up a shower of spray that sprinkled Hank from head to foot. As he turned to get out of the way the wind caught the sheet written in red from his hand, blowing it out across the water.

“Let it go,” laughed Tom. “We know all the red message had to say.”

“The negro that I allowed on deck came on purpose to drop the note where it would be found,” muttered Hank.

“No matter,” smiled Tom. “We’re always glad to know that we’re remembered by nice people.”

“I’d like to have that black boy here for a minute or two,” grunted Hank, clenching his fists.

“What for?” Tom Halstead queried. “He probably didn’t have any guilty knowledge about the sender.”

“That reminds me,” broke in Joe. “Stand close by the motors a few minutes, will you, Hank?”

With that Dawson vanished aft. When he came back he announced:

“I’ve just flashed the wireless word back to Mr. Seaton’s lawyer about the message we got, advising the lawyer that it probably shows Dalton, or Lemly, or both, to be in Beaufort. And the lawyer was able to send me news, received just after we left.”

“What?”

“The schooner, ‘Black Betty,’ has just been seized, thirty miles down the coast, by United States officers. She’ll be held until the customs men have had a chance to look into the charges that the schooner has been used in the smuggling trade.”

“Was Lemly caught with her?” asked Tom, eagerly.

“No such luck,” retorted Joe.

“I’d feel better over hearing that Dave Lemly was the prisoner of the United States Government,” remarked young Halstead. “If he keeps at liberty he is the one who is going to be able to make Anson Dalton dangerous to us.”

“Then you’re beginning to be afraid of that pair, are you?” asked Joe Dawson, looking up.

“No, I’m not,” rejoined Tom Halstead, his jaws firmly set. “A man – or a boy, either for that matter – who can be made afraid of other people isn’t fit to be trusted with the command of a boat on the high seas. But I’ll say this much about my belief concerning Dalton: For some reason we’ve been in his way, and are likely to be much more in his way before we’re through with him. If Dalton got a chance, he wouldn’t hesitate to wreck the ‘Restless,’ or to blow her up. For any work of that sort Dave Lemly is undoubtedly his man.”

“What can make them so desperate against Mr. Seaton?” queried Joe.

“We can’t even guess, for we don’t yet know the story that’s behind all this mystery and the list of desperate deeds.”

“I wonder if Mr. Seaton will ever tell us?” pondered Joe.

“Not unless he thinks we really need to know.”

“But he has already hinted that it’s all in a big fight for a fortune,” urged Hank.

“Yes, and we can guess that the fight centers in South America, since that is where Clodis was bound for when this business started,” replied Skipper Tom.

“I wonder if there’s any chance that our cruise will reach to South America?” broke in Hank Butts, eagerly.

“Hardly likely,” replied Tom, with a shake of the head. “If there had been even a chance of that, Mr. Seaton would have arranged for an option extending beyond the end of this month.”

“Just my luck,” grumbled Hank, seating himself on the edge of the deck-house. “Nothing big ever happens to me.”

“Say, you’re hard to please,” laughed Joe, turning and going down into the motor room.

They were not long in making Lonely Island, where the “Restless” was tied up and the hatchways locked securely. The boys were not required to remain at the boat, one of the guards being stationed, night or day, at the wharf.

Powell Seaton was much interested in the account Tom gave him of the red message, though he did not say much.

There was no change or improvement in the condition of Mr. Clodis, who still lay in a darkened room, like one dead.

That afternoon Joe, with some help from his comrades, repaired the bungalow’s wireless plant and got in touch with the shore once more.

Through the night four men were kept on guard, one on the porch, another at the wharf, and two others patrolling the island. No attempt of any sort on the part of Dalton or the latter’s confederates was discovered.

The next morning brought still no change in the condition of Clodis. He was alive, breathing feebly, and Dr. Cosgrove was attempting to ward off an attack of brain fever.

Through the forenoon Joe was kept rather busy sending messages ashore to the authorities, for Powell Seaton, though not leaving the island, was waging a determined campaign to get hold of Dalton.

“I don’t need Dalton, particularly,” confessed Mr. Seaton, as he sat with the three motor boat boys at the noon meal. “But it would be worth a very great deal of money to get back the papers that Dalton must have stolen after assaulting my sick friend, yonder, on board the ‘Constant.’”

“Do you – do you know – what was in the stolen papers?” asked Captain Tom Halstead, hesitatingly.

“Very well, indeed,” rejoined their employer, with emphasis. “But the real trouble is that I don’t want to have that knowledge pass to the gang that are behind Anson Dalton.”

“Yet Dalton must have had time to join his principals, or confederates, by this time, and turn the papers over to them,” hazarded Halstead.

“That’s hardly likely,” murmured Powell Seaton, “since the gang of rascals behind Anson Dalton must be, at this moment, somewhere in the interior of Brazil.”

“Oh!” said Tom, reflectively.

“You’re curious, I see, to know what all this great mystery means,” smiled Mr. Seaton.

“I – I don’t want to let myself be curious about what is none of my business,” declared Tom Halstead, bluntly.

“I’m going to tell you the story now, just the same,” replied Powell Seaton, in a still lower voice.