OFF FOR THE SARGASSO.
The knowledge that Luther Barr's air-ship was so nearly ready to start
on the expedition which Sanborn's treachery had suggested to the old
millionaire, acted as a spur to the boys in making their final
arrangements. By starting from Galveston itself they saved the
necessity of laying in a large stock of supplies in New York, so that
when two days later "good-byes" having been said and last parental
warnings issued--their only equipment beside their personal belongings
were the boxes containing the sections of the Golden Eagle and the
pontoons. The coverings had not been removed from the aeroplane's
surfaces, but they had been packed, covered as they were. There was a
reason for this, as lacing on the coverings at sea, even with the
additional stability the boys hoped to secure by the use of the
pontoons, would have been a tedious or even perhaps an impossible
task. The wings, therefore, which joined at the center of the
aeroplane, above the chassis, were packed in four sections measuring
twenty-eight feet each. These sections Frank planned to carry in the
cabin of the Bolo where they would be out of harm's way.
Five days later the adventurers reached the flat, uninteresting city
of Galveston and lost no time in making immediate preparations for a
start. Frank found that the agent had followed his instructions to the
letter, and the galley shelves of the Bolo were filled with small
articles to be used in cooking, and that flour bins, sugar and other
receptacles had been well stocked. Besides all this there was a
plentiful supply of such staples as beans, onions, potatoes, bacon,
coffee, tea and a big stock of canned meats and vegetables. Their
weapons were the boys' own armory, and Harry put in the best part of a
day constructing neat racks in the cabin, which, when the various
rifles and shotguns were hung in place, gave the little chamber a very
businesslike appearance. The cabin was twenty-nine feet long, and the
wings of the Golden Eagle were therefore a snug fit when suspended on
slings from the cabin roof. The aeroplane engine was also placed in
the cabin. The framework and other less perishable parts of the Golden
Eagle, as well as the pontoons, were placed outside on the cabin roof,
securely lashed down and covered with waterproof tarpaulin.
In the space under the cabin floor was stored an extra heavy anchor
for use in emergency, in addition to the two fifty-pound mud-hooks the
Bolo regularly carried. The boys noted with satisfaction that the
booms on which the Bolo spread her auxiliary sails were lengthy
affairs and would readily lend themselves to use as derricks when the
time came to hoist the various parts on the Golden Eagle overboard
into the floating erection base. The Bolo also carried a twelve-foot,
high-sided dory, almost as seaworthy, despite her diminutive size, as
the larger vessel. Under the cockpit seats were reserve tanks for
gasolene and water, and beneath the cabin floor and in the bow were
additional receptacles for fuel. Besides this supply the boys laid in
a stock of five-gallon cans of gasolene, which were distributed
wherever they would fit in on the little craft; some even being lashed
on deck alongside the cabin.
The transportation of so much inflammable matter naturally called for
the greatest caution, and, much to the disappointment of Ben Stubbs,
who had insisted on joining the expedition, and Bluewater Bill, Frank
absolutely forbade smoking aboard the craft. Nor was anybody allowed
to carry matches. The only lucifers aboard were locked in the galley
under Frank's sole charge. However, they all agreed that no
precautions could be too stringent on a craft so laden with
inflammables and explosives as was the Bolo.
The night before they were to sail, the boys slept on board. The
Bolo's cabin was equipped with folding Pullman berths and also with
transoms. Each berth held two, and the transoms accommodated the same
number, so that eight could sleep comfortably aboard the little craft.
Early the next morning, while the appetizing aroma of coffee and
frizzling bacon filled the cabin from Ben's galley, a youthful news
peddler wandered on to the dock and took up his place with other
curious persons; for the equipping of the Bolo had made quite a stir
among the water-front loungers of Galveston. The lad insisted on
throwing a paper on board for "good luck," he said. Frank, who was out
in the cockpit at the time re-stowing some cases of gasolene, threw
the boy a coin and thought no more of the paper till, as they were
discussing Ben's breakfast, he idly glanced over its front page.
"Mysterious Air-ship," was the heading that instantly caught his eye
and caused him to set down his cup of coffee untasted. Reading the
article he found even more matter to hold his attention. The item was
dated Miami, Fla., and read as follows:
"Much curiosity has been excited here by the sudden appearance of a
tent housing a huge air-ship. The aerial camp is located at a point
several miles south of town. The tent is guarded by men armed with
shotguns and no one is allowed to approach anywhere near it. The
air-ship, however, has been seen at night taking flights seaward. So
far, no explanation of the object of the air-ship's presence here has
been vouchsafed by those interested in it. They are all strangers here
and will not impart any information."
A few paragraphs further down another Miami despatch caught the eye.
It was to the effect that "the Brigand, the yacht of Luther Barr, the
New York and Newport millionaire, arrived here yesterday and anchored
off shore. Mr. Barr is not a guest of any of our hotels, but is making
his home aboard his palatial craft."
"Well, here's some news as is news," laughed Frank, handing the paper
to the others. "It just goes to show that we are not any too previous
in making a start. Now, if everybody's finished breakfast, I propose
that we send our good-bye letters ashore and cast off for the
Sargasso."
"The sooner the better," cried Harry, diving into his locker for a
letter he had written the night before. The others also had their
correspondence ready, so no time was lost in entrusting the mail to
the same gamin who had thrown the paper on board and making final
preparations for the start.
With the exception of the loafers on the wharf there was no one to
look on, as the Bolo, with the Stars and Stripes bravely flying from
her staff astern and the Golden Eagle's pennant attached to her bow,
chugged out of the harbor and into the open Gulf.
"Off at last!" shouted Billy Barnes, from his seat on the top of the
piled up cabin roof, as the shores of Galveston rapidly receded and
finally became a mere blot. "If we don't have some dandy adventures
before we get back call me a doodle bug."
All that day and the next the Bolo forged steadily onward over the
purple waters of the Gulf. The boys set regular watches and things
moved aboard the little craft man-of-war fashion from the start. Every
night at sundown "colors" were made, that is, the flags were hauled
down and the sunset gun fired with the tiny saluting cannon the little
craft boasted. Then the red and green side-lights and the white
bow-light were set in position. After supper in the cockpit under the
awning--for it was far too warm to eat in the cabin--there would be
songs and stories by Ben Stubbs and Bluewater Bill, who had been
appointed navigating officer and first mate respectively, of the good
ship Bolo.
On the morning of the second day out the boys were treated to a rare
sea spectacle. There was a fair seaway, and the Bolo was plunging
along through it as if she enjoyed it as much as the boys, when a cry
from Billy, who had the lookout, aroused them all.
"Sail ho!--or rather, steamer ho!" hailed the amateur A. B.
"Where away?" thundered Bluewater Bill, who had the wheel, in true
nautical style.
Billy was up a stump. What to reply he had no idea.
"It's off our bow," he hailed back; "but I don't know if you call it
port or starboard."
Steadying himself by one of the foremast stays, Ben Stubbs sprang on
to the cabin roof.
"Steamer on the port bow," he hailed, "looks like a Mallory liner."
And a Mallory liner it was.
As the boys drew nearer they gazed entranced at the fine spectacle the
huge black hull made as she rushed through the rolling Gulf waters,
her bow piling up a huge creamy wave as she cut her way. Her
passengers lined her rail and waved madly at the tiny Bolo, rolling
and plunging about in the waves that did not even rock the big liner.
The boys for their part waved with all their might and Billy blew a
blast on the foghorn.
"Aft there--aft and dip your colors!" shouted Bluewater Bill.
Ben Stubbs scrambled to the stern and dipped the flag again and again
as the big black craft rushed on, without, however, noticing the
courtesy of the small boat. As she sped by the boys spied her name,
Brazos, in big gilt letters on her stern.
"I wish we could go as fast as that," remarked Billy, as the big
steamer rapidly dwindled and finally passed out of sight, leaving only
a black pall of smoke to show that she had passed.
"We are doing well enough," remarked Bluewater Bill, gazing back at
the Bolo's wake.
"What are we making, do you judge?" asked Frank.
"Ten knots easily," replied the sailor, squinting at the white line of
foam astern.
"Pretty good for this little craft," remarked Ben Stubbs, "though you
can't always judge by the wake. I remember when I was on the old
Dolphin brigantine in the China Sea. One morning we all of a sudden
noticed a most termendous wake ahind us. It was running like a
mill-race. I peeked over the side and it was fair whooping along.
"Why, we must be going twenty miles an hour," says the skipper; "queer
we can't feel any motion."
"Well, boys, to make a long story short, we was that way for three
days and never moved a foot. You see, it was one of them queer
currents, and the pace it streaked by made it look as though we was
going ahead when, shiver my top-gallants, if we wasn't standing still,
the wind being just strong enough to keep us going forward at the same
pace the current drew us back--what do you think of that?"
The boys didn't know what to think, and said so, but Bluewater Bill
winked at them with a portentous eye and merely said:
"That reminds me, shipmate, of what happened when I was aboard the
Flying Scud off Madagascar. If so be you don't mind, I'll spin you the
yarn.
"One night it comes on to blow most tremenjous, and by morning we
finds we was in one of them circular storms. Wall, mates, the wind
blew all around us, but we didn't move at all. At eight bells the
pig-pen fetched loose and them porkers got caught in the wind and
whisked off the deck by the hurricane. As I've said, it was a circular
storm and them poor porkers jest kep a goin' roun' and roun' and roun'
the ship all that day. It was night afore the wind died down, and
then, by a freak, it reversed and blew 'em all back again; but they
was so dizzy that for a week they ran round the deck in circles and
when we wanted pork it was no trick at all to catch a hog. All you had
to do was to find out how he was revolving and then get in his
way,--what do you think of that?"
"That you are exaggerating, William," said Ben, in a tone of reproof.
"Wall, if wind and tide can hold a ship still; wind alone can give a
bunch of hogs a merry-go-round, can't it?" rejoined Bill.
"It can, but it don't," was Ben's reply.
"Ah, but you never sailed off the coast of Madagascar, did yer?"
demanded Bill.
"No, I can't say as I ever did," replied Ben.
"Wall, then," triumphantly cried Bill, "you don't know what a pesky
wind that Madagascar one is."
How long this argument, which the boys listened to with some
amusement, might have gone on is hard to say, probably all night, if
Ben had not suddenly cut it short by springing to his feet with an
exclamation:
"Come on, shipmates!" he exclaimed, "stop gamming and get a move on
and snug down this yer awning if you don't want to lose it. Billy, you
open the self-baling scuppers in the cockpit, my lad, and Lathrop and
Harry, you get out forward and double lash all that top hamper."
"Why, Ben, what's the matter?" asked Frank, "the sea is just as smooth
as it has been all day and the sun is shining."
"Well, it won't be in a half an hour," replied the old salt, pointing
southward. "See that cloud?"
He indicated a tiny purplish bit of vapor floating against the distant
blue like an argosy. "There's wind in that cloud or my name's not Ben
Stubbs," he concluded.
Bluewater Bill nodded his assent.
"Mor'n a capful, too," he said grimly.
Even as the two old salts exchanged glances the cloud seemed to grow,
as if by magic, and by the time the awning was snugged home and lashed
and everything had been hauled taut in preparation for the blow, the
whole heavens were overcast with a sullen gray veil, and the sea began
to rise with a low moaning sound that presaged what Ben Stubbs termed
"a bad blow."