IN THE ENEMY'S CAMP.
"Whew! Out of the frying pan into the fire!" was Ned's instant thought.
Facing him in the moonlight was a Jackie in uniform. He was armed
with a carbine and looked very business-like. He regarded Ned with no
friendly air.
There was good reason for this, from the man's standpoint, anyway. He
had been placed on guard duty there, and to be surprised after midnight
by a stalwart youth who had sculled himself ashore in a small dinghy
was a suspicious circumstance.
"Who are you? Give an account of yourself," he said gruffly.
"It's all right. I'm on business connected with the aero camp up
above," said Ned glibly, making use of information he had gained
through the crack in the bulkhead.
"Humph! In the service?"
"Certainly. Aero squad."
"How am I to know you are not one of those newspaper fellows. We've
been pestered to death with them for the last week. Fine thing it would
be if they got hold of the Blue fleet's secrets and printed them."
"Oh, you needn't have any fear of me. I'm not connected with any paper."
"No, now I come to look at you, you appear like one of Uncle Sam's
boys. But where have you come from?"
"From that schooner out there."
"Oh, the one we unloaded this evening?"
"That's the idea. My business is urgent."
"I should judge so. Everybody's is right now. The Red fleet is reported
moving up on New York. The aero squadron sails to-morrow. Maybe we
won't give 'em a surprise, eh?"
Ned gave an inward chuckle. This was just the information he was after.
"Oh, that'll surprise 'em all right, shipmate," said he, and struck
off up a trail that appeared to lead over the little point of land. He
had to trust to luck for it being the right one, for he did not dare
disclose his unfamiliarity with the camp by asking the sentry questions.
But the sentry suddenly halted him. Ned's heart sank. After all he had
been discovered.
The next instant his worst fears were realized.
"You'll have to give me the password, shipmate," declared the sentry.
Ned's heart sank into his boots. But suddenly he gave a glad
exclamation, although not so loud as to attract the sentry's notice.
While listening to the unloading of the cargo, he had heard the
password given out by the petty officer in charge of the men.
For the moment he had forgotten it, but now it came suddenly back to
him.
"Aerolite!" he said confidently.
"Pass on, shipmate, you're all right," declared the sentry, and Ned,
breathing freely once more, continued on his way.
It was a daring enterprise, this that he had undertaken of penetrating
into the "enemy's" camp and discovering just the strength of their aero
fleet, and the exact method of attack that they meant to pursue.
But Ned felt that it was up to him to "make good." His absence from his
ship, he felt might be open to evil construction by his enemies. If he
returned with the information, he hoped at least they could not say
that whatever had been his ill luck, he had neglected his duty.
With this thought in mind, Ned kept on along the trail which wound in
eccentric fashion through brush and tall grass.
"I ought surely to be nearing the camp now," he thought at length
as the trail, after doubling and twisting upon itself like a chased
rabbit, brought him out at a point overlooking a little bay.
And there below him he saw that for which he was searching. Screened
by trees, the tents lay in orderly rows,--big, high-walled canvas
structures, housing, so Ned guessed, the aero fleet of the Blue
squadron.
Some little distance out from the shore were the lights of vessels.
After some straining of his eyes, Ned made the craft out to be
a flotilla of destroyers. They lay there waiting for the dawn,
it appeared, hidden from the prying eyes of the scribes of the
metropolitan papers who would have given their eyes, almost, to know
the facts which Ned was now learning.
He counted the tents. There were twenty of them, each housing a flying
boat or a naval aeroplane. Truly a formidable fleet, and one which,
swooping down upon the Reds unexpectedly, might "technically" blow up
the whole squadron before action could be taken. But now Ned possessed
knowledge which would be of incalculable value to his officers. He
could not have felt more exultant had it been in actual war time.
Standing there, carefully concealed, he made voluminous mental notes.
It was then, and not till then, that he suddenly realized what in the
haste of his flight he had forgotten: He was penniless and in the
"enemy's" country without means of rejoining his ship. His delight
turned to ashes. Of what use was all the information he had acquired if
he could not communicate it to the fleet.
"Bother the luck," exclaimed Ned. "What on earth am I to do?"
It was truly a quandary. The camp was located in a lonely bit of
country and it was without doubt a long walk to the nearest place of
civilization.
"Marooned, and all for the lack of a few dollars!" groaned Ned. "If
only I had some money along, I might easily get some fisherman to run
me to the nearest town, and once there, I could get hold of a telegraph
wire and send some despatches. But now----"
He stopped short. His gaze had lighted on something standing outside
one of the tents. It did not take him long to make out what it was. The
moonlight showed up its butterfly-like outlines to perfection.
"Great hookey!" muttered Ned, "a flying boat! If--if--I only dared,
I'd----"
He paused irresolute a moment, and then, squaring his shoulders and
thrusting out his chin with his old determined gesture, he strode off
down the hill.
A daring plan had come into Ned's mind and with his characteristic
energy he was proceeding to act upon it at once.
But it was a scheme so risky, so desperate, that sanguine as the
Dreadnought Boy usually was, he had to admit that the chances were
about five hundred to one against his putting it through successfully.