HE MAKES A DISCOVERY AND RECEIVES A SHOCK
Soon after dusk the soldiers were ordered to throw away their "smokes"
and either go below or lie flat upon the decks. Officers patrolled the
rail while others strolled among the boys and reminded the unruly and
forgetful not to raise themselves, and soon the big ship, with its
crowding khaki-clad cargo, was moving down the stream--on its way to
"can the Kaiser." Then even the patrol was discontinued.
A crowded ferryboat paused in its passage to give the great gray
transport the right of way, and the throng of commuters upon its deck
saw nothing as they looked up but one or two white-jacketed figures
moving about.
Tom thought the ship was off, but after fifteen or twenty minutes the
throb of the engines ceased and he heard the clank, clank of the anchor
winches. A little distant from the ship tiny green, red and white lights
appeared and disappeared and were answered by other colored lights from
high up in the rigging of the _Montauk_. Other lights appeared in other
directions and were answered by still others, changing rapidly. Tom
thought that he could distinguish a dark outline below certain of these
lights. The whole business seemed weird and mysterious.
In the morning he looked from the rail at a sight which astonished and
thrilled him. No sign of land was there to be seen. Steaming abreast of
the _Montauk_ and perhaps a couple of hundred yards from her, was a
great ship with soldiers crowding at her rail waving caps and shouting,
their voices singularly crisp and clear across the waters. Beyond her
and still abreast was another great ship, the surging army upon her
decks reduced to a brown mass in the distance. And far off on either
side of this flotilla of three, and before it and behind it, was a
sprightly little destroyer, moving this way and that, like a dog jumping
about his master.
Upon the nearest vessel a naval signaler was semaphoring to the
_Montauk_--his movements jerky, clean-cut, perfect. Enviously Tom
watched him, thinking of his own semaphore work at Temple Camp. He read
the message easily; it was something about how many knots the ship
could make in a steady run of six hundred miles. The _Montauk_ answered
that she could make twenty-eight knots and keep it up for nineteen
hours. The other signaler seemed to be relaying this to the transport
beyond, which in turn signaled the destroyer on that side. Then there
was signaling between the _Montauk_ and her own neighbor destroyer about
sailing formation in the danger zone.
It was almost like A B C to Tom, but he remembered Mr. Conne's good
advice and resolved not to concern himself with matters outside his own
little sphere of duty. But a few days later he made a discovery which
turned his thoughts again to Adolf Schmitt's cellar and to spies.
He had piled the captain's breakfast dishes, made his weather memoranda
from the barometer for posting in the main saloon, and was dusting the
captain's table, when he chanced to notice the framed picture of a ship
on the cabin wall. He had seen it before, but now he noticed the tiny
name, scarcely decipherable, upon its bow, _Christopher Colon_.
So that was the ship on which somebody or other known to the fugitive,
Adolf Schmitt, had thought of sailing in order to carry certain
information to Germany. As Tom gazed curiously at this picture he
thought of a certain phrase in that strange letter, _"Sure, I could tend
to the other matter too--it's the same idea as a periscope."_
Yet Mr. Conne's sensible advice would probably have prevailed and Tom
would have put these sinister things out of his thoughts, but meeting
one of the steward's boys upon the deck shortly afterward he said,
"There's a picture of a ship, the _Christopher Colon_----"
"That's this ship," interrupted the steward's boy. "They don't say much
about those things. It's hard to find out anything. Nobody except these
navy guys know about how many ships are taken over for transports. But I
saw a couple of spoons in the dining saloon with that name on them. And
sometimes you can make it out under the fresh paint on the life
preservers and things. Uncle Sam's some foxy old guy."
Tom was so surprised that he stood stark still and stared as the boy
hurried along about his duties. Upon the _Montauk's_ nearest neighbor
the naval signalman was semaphoring, and he watched abstractedly. It was
something about camouflage maneuvering in the zone. Tom took a certain
pride in being able to read it. Far off, beyond the other great ships,
a sprightly little destroyer cut a zigzag course, as if practicing. The
sky was clear and blue. As Tom watched, a young fellow in a sailor's
suit hurried by, working his way among the throng of soldiers.
Presently, Frenchy strolled past talking volubly to another soldier, and
waving his cigarette gracefully in accompaniment. A naval quartermaster
leaned against the rail, chatting with a red-faced man with
spectacles--the chief engineer, Tom thought.
Who were Secret Service men and who were not? thought Tom. Who was a spy
and who was not? Perhaps some one who brushed past him carried in his
pockets (or more likely in the soles of his shoes) the designs of the
Liberty Motor. Perhaps some one had the same thought about _him_. What a
dreadful thing to be suspected of! A spy!
That puzzling phrase came into his mind again: _Sure, I could tend to
the other matter too--it's the same idea as a periscope._ What did that
mean? So the _Montauk_ was the _Christopher Colon_....
He was roused out of his abstraction by the fervid, jerky voice of
Frenchy, talking about Alsace. Alsace was a part of Germany, whatever
Frenchy might say.... Again Tom bethought him of Mr. Conne's very wise
advice, and he went to the main saloon and posted the weather
prediction.
That same day something happened which shocked him and gave him an
unpleasant feeling of loneliness. Mr. Wessel, the steward, died suddenly
of heart failure. He was Tom's immediate superior and in a way his
friend. He, and he alone, had received Tom's recommendation from Mr.
Conne, and knew something of him. He had given Tom that enviable place
as captain's boy, and throughout these few days had treated him with a
kind of pleasant familiarity.
He stood by as the army chaplain read the simple burial service, while
four soldiers held the rough, weighted casket upon the rail; and he saw
it go down with a splash and disappear in the mysterious, fathomless
ocean. It affected him more than the loss of a life by torpedoing or
drowning could have done and left him solemn and thoughtful and with a
deep sense of loss.
Just before dark they semaphored over from the _Dorrilton_ that they
could spare the second steward for duty on the _Montauk_. Tom mentioned
this to one of the deck stewards, and to his surprise and
consternation, an officer came to him a little later and asked him how
he knew it.
"I can read semaphoring," said Tom. "I used to be in the Boy Scouts."
The officer looked at him sharply and said, "Well, you'd better learn to
keep your mouth shut. This is no place for amateurs and Boy Scouts to
practice their games."
"Y-yes, sir," said Tom, greatly frightened.
The next morning, when the sea was quieter, they rowed his new boss over
in a small boat.