PRISONERS
The seamen closed in about Bill and Osceola and they were marched off,
walking side by side.
“Our noble Captain has evidently waked up,” said Bill in an undertone to
his friend. “Here’s where we catch it, good and plenty!”
“You think then that he did recognize us last night?” Osceola’s voice
was lowered to a whisper.
Bill nodded. “One or both of us. We can’t deny it, you know. He’d only
make it the worse for those innocent suspects Geibel was talking about.”
“What do you suppose he’ll do?”
“Shoot us—very likely.”
“But, Bill—”
Lieutenant Brinkerhoff’s acid voice cut him short. “My orders are that
you gentlemen will refrain from all conversation. You will be good
enough to obey.”
Bill shrugged and Osceola nodded his acceptance of this dictum. They
moved forward in silence.
With the ramrod form of Brinkerhoff leading the way, the little
procession filed along the decks until they reached the captain’s cabin.
Here the lieutenant knocked, then entered, closing the door.
Presently he reappeared and beckoned them inside. Bill noted that two of
the armed seamen followed them over the threshold. Apparently the
wounded captain was taking no chances of further assault.
They found Baron von Hiemskirk propped up in bed with a pile of pillows
at his back. Around his head was a linen bandage. He looked pale and ill
and seemed to be in some pain. Seated beside the bed Commander Geibel
watched him devotedly, and at the foot stood the ship’s doctor.
At a sign from Brinkerhoff, the lads approached the sick man. He opened
his eyes and looked at them with a keen, appraising glance.
“So—my young friends,” he sneered. “You couldn’t leave well enough
alone, but must try to interfere with the excellent routine of my ship,
eh?”
“When you captured us last Monday,” said Bill, “and we had our chat
aboard the _Merrymaid_, I warned you that we would do our best to make
things hot for you and your crew if you insisted upon our working for
you. I believe you understood my warning. At that time you said that
your system was perfect. And that we were at liberty to do what we could
to disrupt it so long as we attended to the duties given us.”
“Ah! So you do not deny wrecking the ship’s wireless last night, and
sending messages to enemy warships? Not to mention your attack upon my
person—and the vast amount of trouble your disgraceful conduct has
caused my officers and crew today?”
“No, we do not deny it,” Bill asserted steadily. “Chief Osceola and I
did exactly what you describe. But believe me when I say that it was no
part of our plan that you should be injured. You have been courteous to
us on board here. We both regret your—accident.”
“Thank you. But that does not alter the rest of it.”
“No. My duty as an officer of the United States Navy is to break up your
pirate organization by any means in my power.”
“And my duty, as Captain of this ship, is to have you both executed for
mutiny. You are aware of that, of course?”
“I want to tell you, Baron,” Bill continued earnestly. “That I alone am
to blame. It was my plan and only mine. Chief Osceola worked under my
orders throughout.”
Osceola took a step forward. “Oh, cut out all this formality!” His dark
eyes flashed, first on the Baron and then on Bill. “And don’t you try
taking all the blame yourself. I’m just as guilty as you are. What’s
more, you know right well that if I’d had my way I’d have thrown that
Hun welcher over the rail instead of bothering to tie him up!”
“Be quiet, Osceola,” warned his friend. “I’m running our end of this
show.”
“Not now, you’re not—by a darn sight, Bill! I’ve got a few words to say
to the captain myself. Baron von Hiemskirk,” he turned to the big man on
the bed, “do you realize that if you have us murdered, you put a rope
around your own neck and the necks of every one of your officers and
crew?”
“One has to catch his fish before eating it,” said von Hiemskirk.
“True. And every warship on the Atlantic has a description of this
particular fish by now. Are you egotist enough to believe that you can
buck the Naval forces of the world and get away with it? Don’t tell me
that you, who have made an enemy of all society by your racketeering and
piracy, spare crews and passengers of captured ships through any motive
of kindness! You are afraid to send them to the bottom. Why? Because,
Herr Baron von Bluff, you are afraid to kill them! You know the penalty
for murder—you have funked it every time.”
“Ah! But not this time, young man. Secrets have a way of leaking out
aboard ship, I admit. But in your case we shall take no chances
whatever. In a day or two, you will be removed from the _Amtonia_ and
disappear completely and effectually, far from the haunts of men.”
“If,” said Bill, “you think you will be any safer in the state of Maine
than you are on the high seas—”
The Baron started up in bed. “And what do you know about the state of
Maine?” he thundered, visibly perturbed.
“Only what I broadcasted last night,” grinned Bill. “As you remarked
just now, ‘secrets have a way of leaking out on shipboard.’ You have
implicit confidence in your officers and crew of course. Did it never
occur to you that there might be a traitor amongst your devoted band?”
“Away with them!” shouted the Baron, now thoroughly angry.
“Just one moment—may I say a few words?”
The Baron was the type of bully who loves to see a victim cringe. From
the young Seminole’s tone, he was sure the lad was frightened, and that
he would beg for his life.
“Make it short. What is it you want to say?”
“Only this, sir. With such a captain, the Jolly Roger is no longer a
fitting ensign for this ship. May I, in all humility, suggest that
instead of a white skull and crossed bones on a black field, you
substitute a lollipop? A green one would be appropriate—and floating on
a broad field of bright yellow!”
“T-take them away!” stuttered the Baron, purple with rage.
As they were hustled along the passageway, they could hear him hoarsely
shouting invective after them. But as his further rantings were in
German, Osceola understood not a word of it.
“What’s he saying?”
“Plenty,” murmured Bill. “It would make me blush to tell you.”
As the brawny seaman who had Osceola by the arm, reminded him of the
order for silence, Osceola merely chuckled. But he continued to do so
until they were far below the waterline in the very bowels of the ship.
Eventually they came to a long passage running fore and aft. Electric
bulbs in the ceiling brightly lighted the corridor on either side of
which doors opened into tiny cabins, evidently the quarters for stewards
and the ship’s petty officers. Half way down a steel-barred gate blocked
this passageway from floor to ceiling. Before it lounged an armed
sentry.
The man straightened to attention as the party approached. Brinkerhoff
presented a paper which he read carefully.
“Very good, sir,” he pocketed the order and saluted. “All cells are
full, sir, except the first on the right. Better stick them in there.”
He unlocked the gate while the Lieutenant pushed Bill and Osceola into
an empty cell. Without a word the officer slammed shut the door. The
gate clanged and they were left together in their prison.
The cell boasted no illumination of its own. What light and ventilation
there was came through the door, which, like the gate in the passage,
was constructed of crossed bars of steel. It was no more than a
cubby-hole. There were two narrow bunks, one above the other on one
side; across from these, a washbowl and toilet. There was no other
furniture. Both the cell and the corridor were terribly hot and stuffy.
“Well, this isn’t so bad, I’ve had worse quarters,” Bill remarked
philosophically. “When the Baron took over this ship and needed a
special brig for his prisoners, he slapped that gate into the passageway
and put others in place of the doors to these cabins. The sidewalls are
of wood. If we had some tools, it wouldn’t be such a job to get out of
here.”
“Humph! but we haven’t any! And _if_ we had, and could cut our way
through into the next cabin, outside the gate, where would we go from
there?”
They were speaking in whispers, for the sentry outside the gate was only
a yard or so from their door.
“Well, we’ve been in worse fixes. This will take some thinking out,”
answered Bill.
“Worse fixes?” Osceola’s shoulders moved impatiently. “I doubt it.” He
sat down on the edge of a bunk. “Just because these bozos have been more
or less polite, don’t get the idea they aren’t dangerous customers. That
Baron means to put our lights out. You got him worried when you sprung
that Maine story on him, and I purposely got him just as angry as I
could.”
“What was your big idea?”
“Why, I figured that when he thought it over later, it would lead him to
believe we really did have something up our sleeves—some certain means
of rescue or escape. A big bully like he is would reason that we’d never
have the nerve to bait him otherwise.”
“You think it may help to postpone the—er—evil day?”
“I am hoping so. If I size that guy up right, he’ll make watchful
waiting his cue for a few days anyway. He’ll want to see if anything
really happens before he puts his own head into a noose.”
“And _when_ nothing happens, we’ll be put on the spot for that same
reason!”
“Tomorrow’s always another day, Bill. Say, you’re not up to your usual
form this morning. I’ll bet you got no sleep last night. You’d better
turn in now and take a siesta.”
“I’ll do that soon, Osceola. But I’m interested in our fellow prisoners.
You know, we’re lucky—our one consolation is that there wasn’t room in
this dump to separate us.”
“You bet.” Osceola yawned and standing up, stripped down to a pair of
shorts. “I’ve got the dope on those lads,” he said, as he climbed into
the upper berth. “I heard Geibel telling the Chief Engineer that he’d
jailed all the suspects on the wireless business. We’re down here with a
bunch of multi-millionaires. Does that make you feel any better?”
“It certainly does!”
“How come?” whispered the chief from his bunk.
“Why, don’t you see? With all the gaff we gave the Baron, he’ll suspect
we’re in cahoots with one or more of them—and keep them down here, where
they can’t help us.”
Osceola grunted. “You’ve sure got it in for the poor money kings—what
have you got against ’em?”
“Gosh, you’re thick!” snorted his friend. “So long as they fill the
cells we’ll be together. It’s a heap easier for us to get out of _one_
cell, together, than it would be to get out of two, separately!”
“Boy, you’re talking in circles. We now arrive at the fact, once more,
that we have no tools with which to get out! Take my advice and snatch a
nap. You need it worse than I do, and this little Indian is going
shut-eye right now!”