A PLOT OVERHEARD.
"Say, didn't that boy move?"--the prisoner that Herc knew as Carl put
the question.
The lad heard rapid footsteps pace across the narrow cell, and felt the
hot breath of one of the men in his ear as he lay still and feigned
slumber as best he could, although his heart beat so wildly he was sure
its agitation must have been audible to the two men.
Apparently, however, his ruse succeeded. The men were satisfied that he
was wrapped in slumber, for, with a growl, the one that had bent over
him said:
"He's off; sound as a top."
"A good thing," rejoined the other, "both for us and for him."
It was Carl who spoke, and the tone in which his soft, refined voice
uttered the words left the Dreadnought Boy no room to doubt that if
the two plotters had imagined he had overheard them they would have
done something exceedingly unpleasant to prevent their secret being
betrayed. As it was, however, they seemed to feel no uneasiness and
resumed their conversation.
"The yacht will be waiting at Boco del Toros, about ten miles above
Guantanamo Bay," continued the black-browed man. Herc recognized his
bearlike growl. "All we have to do when we get the plans is to steal
aboard and sail. Her captain will be prepared for us, and will take us
on board when we give the signal."
"Then all that we will have to do will be to waylay Varian," said Carl
in his soft way, which, mild as it seemed, yet impressed Herc with
the same sense of chill as if the cold muzzle of a revolver had been
pressed to the nape of his neck.
"That's it. An easy way of earning ten thousand dollars, eh?"
"Yes, if--if we don't get caught."
"No fear of that," laughed the black-browed man; "at any rate, if we
are it will be our own fault. But I see no chance of a slip-up. Varian
sails from New York to Havana on a vessel of the Ward line. He will put
up at a hotel at Guantanamo. We are to meet the others ashore, and if
all goes well we'll finish our business in a few hours. If not----"
"Well, if not, we'll have to get what we're after from the captain
himself, and that's going to be difficult and perhaps fatal for him."
"Well, I've taken longer chances than that for less money," laughed
Carl's companion. "Lucky thing they didn't look back into our records,
or they'd have found out a thing or two which would have made us very
undesirable subjects for Uncle Sam's navy. Likewise Kennell, I guess.
I'd 'a' hard time to get him to join, but a golden bait will catch the
shyest fish."
Carl gave a high-pitched chuckle, almost a giggle, but the two worthies
instantly lapsed into what seemed sullen silence as the key of their
jailer grated in the lock of the bulkhead door.
As for Herc, he judged that his best and safest course was to emit a
loud snore, which he did. So well was his slumber simulated that the
master-at-arms who had entered, accompanied by two orderlies carrying
the prisoners' food, exclaimed in an astonished tone:
"That youngster must be an older hand than I thought him. He's actually
sleeping like a baby."
Herc pretended to feel very sleepy when the master-at-arms shook his
shoulder and indicated a smoking dinner of cornbeef and cabbage,
flanked by bread and butter and a big mug of coffee.
"Here, wake up and eat this," commanded the officer; "you ought to be
alive to your luck. The other prisoners only get full rations once a
day. They have to dine on bread and water."
The boy stretched his arms as if he was only partially awake, and,
after what he judged to be a proper interval of feigning sleepiness,
fell to on his hot dinner. Empty as he was, the food heartened him up
wonderfully, despite the scowls that his two companions leveled at him
as he ate. When the master-at-arms arrived, just before two bells--one
o'clock--to take his prisoners to the tribunal at the mast, Sam felt
better prepared to face his ordeal than he had a few hours previously.
The captain's "court" convened just forward of the stern awnings, and a
little abaft the towering "cage" aftermast.
The "old man," in full uniform, with a sword at his side,
Lieutenant-Commander Scott, and several of the officers stood in a
little group chatting, as the prisoners were brought aft. All wore
side arms and what the Jackie calls "quarter-deck faces"--meaning that
they looked as stern and uncompromising as flint.
"I guess I'll get life," muttered Herc to himself, as he heard the
stern doom, of stoppage of five days' pay and ten days in the brig,
without future shore leave, pronounced on three sailors who had been
found guilty of coming on duty in an intoxicated condition, at New York.
"You men are to understand that the United States navy has no place
for men who wilfully indulge in such practices," the captain had said,
with blighting emphasis, as the men trembled before him. "Clean men,
clean-living men is the material the government wants, and such as you
are better out of the service. The navy is better off without you if
you go on as you have been doing."
Herc felt his cheeks blanch as pale as had the countenances of the
guilty ones as he heard this stern speech.
Next came the turns of the two men who had shared the same cell with
him.
"Carl Schultz, ordinary seaman, and Silas Wagg, ordinary seaman," read
the captain's yeoman who acted as a sort of "clerk of the court."
"What's the offense?" asked the captain.
"Overstaying their shore leave four hours, sir," was the rejoinder.
"Any previous bad record?"
"No, sir. I have found none," volunteered the master-at-arms.
"Men," said the captain, in the same icy tones as he had used toward
the three intemperate prisoners, "you are guilty of a serious offense.
In the navy regularity should be a watchword with all of us. It may
seem to you that to overstay your leave by four hours was but a small
matter, and that you yourselves would not be missed among eight hundred
or more men. Yet every one of the crew and each of your forty-two
officers has a niche of his own to fill. We are all cogs in the same
great machine, servants working for the good of the same government.
"If any one of us is derelict in his duty, he is not only derelict to
himself and to his officers, but to his country and his flag. Always
bear that in mind. As this is your first offense, and your officers
tell me you are hard-working men and good seamen, I shall dismiss you
with a reprimand. But mind," he added sternly, "if either of you is
brought before me again I shall not prove so lenient. Carry on."
With grateful faces, the two men hastened off forward.
How Herc longed to tell of what he had heard in the cell! But he
dreaded to make himself appear ridiculous by reciting what might seem
an improbable story, cooked up by one who already rested under a cloud,
so he said nothing.
In fact, he was not allowed long to entertain these thoughts, for
hardly had the two worthies who had shared his cell made the best of
their way forward, before the yeoman, in a voice that affected Herc
much as a sudden plunge into ice water would have done, shouted out:
"Ordinary Seaman Taylor!"
The story of Herc's knocking out the bully had already spread through
the ship--a place where gossip travels as swiftly as through a small
village--and the officers and the few men whose duties brought them
near to the "court room"--eyed Herc curiously as he stepped forward,
with head bared, holding himself as erect as possible. He saluted as he
clicked his heels together with painstaking precision. His heart beat
fast and thick, however, and there was an anxious look in his eyes as
he faced his inquisitors.
Herc was a brave boy, full of pluck and grit; but the ordeal before him
might have caused a stouter heart than his to quail.
"Master-at-arms, what do you know about this case?" asked the captain,
as Herc stood rigid, twisting his cap in his big hands.
The master-at-arms rapidly rehearsed what he knew of the affair, and
then the captain turned to his executive officer.
"Mr. Scott, there is a complainant in this case, is there not?"
"Yes, sir," was the reply. "Mr. Andrews, who had the deck this morning,
so reported to me."
"Able Seaman and Gunner Ralph Kennell is the man, sir," said Lieutenant
Andrews, stepping forward.
"Very good. Where is this man Kennell?"
"Here, sir," said Kennell, stepping forward in his turn.
His face shone with soap, which yet had not been able wholly to
eradicate the traces of slate-colored paint with which he had been
shower-bathed. Over his left eye a big bit of plaster showed where
"Pills" had patched him up. Beneath the same eye a dark bruise was
beginning to spread. His jaw was also woefully swollen where Herc had
landed his effective blow.
"Now, Kennell," began the captain, who was perfectly aware of the
bully's record, and marvelled as much as his officers how such a slim
lad as Herc could have inflicted such injuries on him; "now, Kennell,
tell us in as few words as you can what occurred this morning between
you and Ordinary Seaman Taylor."
"Well, sir," began Kennell sullenly, "I was making my way aft to clean
brasswork, sir, when this man here, sir, drops a pot of paint on my
head, sir, out of pure malice, as I believe, sir."
"Never mind what you believe. What happened then?"
"Then, when I protested, sir," went on Kennell, "he climbs down from
the turret he was a-painting, sir, and strikes me."
"Where?"
"Right by the forward twelve-inch turret, sir."
"You mean your eye, don't you?"
"Well, sir, he struck me all over, sir," complained Kennell.
"And you had done nothing to him?"
"Nothing, sir."
"Very good. You may stand aside. Taylor, what have you to say to this
story?"
"Not much, sir, except that it is a fabrication," said Herc
indignantly, his fear at the officers swallowed in his wrath at
Kennell's lying tale. "It is true I dropped the paint on his head. That
was accidental, however. So far as his injuries go, I believe that he
got the cut over his eye when he fell against the turret. He hit it an
awful whack, sir." Herc grinned broadly at the recollection.
"No levity, please. You are to understand this is a serious matter. Who
struck the first blow?"
Herc hesitated. It was no part of his ideas of what was right to tell
tales on a fellow seaman, and yet Kennell had lied cruelly about him.
Suddenly his mind was made up.
"I had rather not say, sir," he said at length in a low tone.
"What! Are you aware that this is a confession of guilt, or equivalent
to it?"
"Perhaps so, sir, but I cannot say," repeated Herc stubbornly.
"Very well, then," said the captain in his most dignified tones,
"I shall have to inflict a heavier punishment on you than I would
otherwise. You are one of the two recruits whose gallant conduct on the
_Rhode Island_ caught my favorable attention. I am therefore doubly
reluctant to punish you. But the discipline of the service must be
upheld. Seemingly, you are screening some one. You must learn that your
officers are to be obeyed, and also the regulations. No regulation is
more mandatory than that forbidding fighting and unseemly conduct on
the ships of the United States Navy. I shall therefore sentence you to
two days in the brig with prison rations. Master-at-arms!"
"Sir!"
"Carry on!"
The officer saluted, and a few minutes later poor Herc was once more in
his steel cell. This time he occupied it alone, however.
"Well, two days is not such a very long time," mused Herc
philosophically; "and I expected at least two months, by the way that
captain talked to me. I'm in here now, but let that old 'dog Kennel'
look out for me when I'm foot loose again!"