AFLOAT AND ASHORE.
The petty officer in command of Number One whaleboat noted the effect
of the shot and then looked about for Herc. As we know, the red-headed
lad was not on board, nor did any inquiry among the crew bring a
satisfactory explanation of his whereabouts.
The men had seen him standing on the stern, and then had lost track of
him. They had supposed that he was "somewhere on board," they said.
Kennell alone volunteered an explanation.
"He may have tumbled overboard, sir," he suggested. "I saw him standing
up in the stern-sheets as I cast off with my boathook."
"We must communicate with Ensign Rosseau at once," said the officer,
greatly agitated.
He knew that a searching investigation would follow the loss of a
man, and he foresaw that he would appear in no very creditable light
without any explanation to offer as to the manner in which Herc had
vanished.
[Illustration: The triangular fin was now close upon the lad.]
Rapidly the whaleboat was rowed to the wherry, which "lay to" some
distance away, with the Number Two whaleboat alongside.
The tidings of Herc's loss were received with some anxiety by the
ensign. He turned to Ned, whose face had gone white at the news, and
asked curtly if Herc could swim.
"Like a fish, sir," was Ned's rejoinder, although he had hard work to
keep his lips from quivering at the thought of his friend's possible
fate.
"Then there is a chance that he can be saved yet," breathed the ensign;
"give way for that float yonder. Strong, signal the news to the
flagship and inform them that we are standing by."
Ned, badly unnerved as he was, made the necessary signals, and received
an order to "carry on" from the flag-ship.
The two whaleboats and the wherry at once got under way for the target
near which Herc had last been seen.
Suddenly Ned gave a shout and pointed ahead.
"Look, sir, look!" he cried.
Not more than a hundred feet from them a rubicund object, which a
second glance showed to be Herc's head, was bobbing about on the waves.
But the water had by this time grown dark and oily-looking. The
approaching squall would burst in all its fury in a few minutes.
The work of saving the swimming lad must be accomplished within a brief
few minutes, or not at all.
"Hold on, my lad, we'll get you," hailed the ensign encouragingly, as
the wherry drew closer and closer to the plucky boy.
"Aye, aye, sir," hailed back Herc, expelling a thin stream of water
from his lips and giving a cheerful grin; "but hurry up, for I've
forgotten my lightning-rod, and it looks like thunder."
But, just as Herc's easy rescue seemed a matter of certainty, the
intentions of his saviors were interfered with in a startling fashion.
It was Ned who saw the impending peril first.
"Look! Look there!" he shouted. "What's that, sir?"
"That" was a black, triangular object, moving through the water toward
the unconscious Herc, who was treading water easily. The dark object
came on at a rapid pace, the ripples parting on each side of it as it
cut its way along.
The ensign's reply to Ned's exclamation was a cry of alarm.
"Give way!" he shouted. "We've got to get that man quickly, if at all."
Ned looked his question.
"It's a shark!" shot out the ensign, his face ashy-white and his lips
sternly compressed; "these waters swarm with them."
Ned was almost unnerved. The boat was still some feet from Herc, and
the triangular fin was now close upon the lad.
Suddenly its steady motion ceased, and it shot forward with a rush.
At the same instant Herc perceived his peril, and gave one harrowing
shriek, as he saw the terrible nature of the approaching peril.
He swam desperately toward the boats, his countenance strained and
lined with the effort and the horror under which he labored.
"Crack!"
The sharp bark of a service revolver sounded.
"Crack! crack!"
Again and again the reports reverberated, and the water behind Herc
grew troubled and crimson.
The fin vanished and only a small whirlpool remained to show where the
mortally wounded shark had sunk slowly downward.
In the stern of the wherry stood Ned, his face set and stern, and in
his hand the navy revolver that had done the work.
It was the ensign's weapon, which he had laid on the stern seat for his
greater ease in moving about.
Ned, casting about for some means of saving Herc, had suddenly spied
it, and, on the impulse of the moment, had snatched it up and fired.
"Well done, my lad," said the ensign in a voice that still trembled
from the keen tension of the past few minutes.
"Sir--I----" began Ned, somewhat alarmed, now that Herc was out of
danger. He had committed what he knew must be a breach of discipline in
seizing the officer's pistol.
"You mean that it wasn't quite the thing to do to use my revolver,"
laughed the ensign. "My lad, I'm proud that it was put to such good
service; glad that you were quick enough of wit to use it in the nick
of time."
A few moments later Herc was on board the wherry, and in reply to the
eager questions of its occupants, gave them a brief account of his
accident. He did not mention the fact that it was Kennell who had
tripped him for the second time, however, saving that for Ned's private
ear later on. Herc had his own ideas about getting even with the brutal
blue-jacket.
"When I saw that nothing could save me from being 'wiped out,' I stayed
on the float," related Herc. "I recollected that I had felt an iron
brace on its subsurface with my foot, as I clambered up on to it.
"The minute I saw the signal, therefore, I dived and hung on to the
brace under water till I felt sure the shell had passed. Then I came up
to the surface, and the rest you know."
"Thanks to your friend Strong, here," amended the ensign, "whose
gallant conduct and presence of mind I mean to mention especially
to Captain Dunham on our return to the ship. Had it not been for
Strong's quick and sure aim, your adventure might have had a different
termination, my man."
And now the long-expected squall burst in leaden-colored fury. To the
boys, who had never witnessed a tropical squall, its rage was amazing.
The flag-ship, which had seen its approach, had already signaled the
recall, and the boats were on their way back to the _Manhattan_ when
the tempest broke.
"Bale boat!" was the order transmitted through the little flotilla as
the waves began to come climbing over the bows of the small craft and
torrents of rain invaded them also.
By the time the battleship's side was reached, however, the squall was
over and the sun shining out brightly once more.
"That's the suddenest thing I ever saw," gasped Ned to Herc, as they
regained the deck of their five-million-dollar home, as Herc called the
big Dreadnought.
"It's not half as sudden as what's going to happen to a young party
named Kennell before very long," grinned Herc meaningly.
* * * * *
Two nights later there was a brilliant scene at the Hotel del Gran
Plaza, the principal hostelry of Guantanamo. The mayor and civic
dignitaries of the town, together with the merchants of the place, were
giving a dinner and reception to the officers of the squadron.
During the time that had elapsed since Herc's rescue, the Dreadnought
Boys had been participating in their capacity as two of the crew of
the forward turret in battle practice. They had in that time become
used to the big twelve-inch gun, and proved themselves capable of the
responsibility and confidence vested in them by their officers.
Well pleased with themselves, therefore, the two lads had come off the
ship that evening for shore leave. They had employed much of their time
in strolling about, buying souvenirs and post-cards--which have even
invaded Cuba--and seeing the few sights the town had to offer. Being
both temperate, clean-cut young fellows, the low drinking dens and
other resorts of the place had no attraction for them, although they
were well patronized by a number of the sailors. To the credit of Uncle
Sam's navy, though, be it said that the keepers of such places are
coming to look less and less to the wearers of naval uniforms for their
profits. The man-o'-warsman of to-day is an ambitious young fellow.
He is far too anxious to get ahead in his chosen profession to haunt
places of foolish dissipation.
"Say, Ned--moving pictures!" Herc nudged his companion, as the two
stood in front of a brilliantly lighted building on the main street of
the Cuban town.
"We've got some time yet before the shore boats leave; let's take them
in," suggested Ned.
As this was just what Herc had been anxious to do, no time was lost in
buying tickets and securing two seats well down in front, where the two
boys had a clear view of every film as it was displayed.
After the exhibition of two or three of the pictures, stories familiar
in such places, the screen suddenly announced that the next picture was
to be a series of views taken in the Joliet penitentiary, showing the
various phases of convict life. A note explained that the pictures had
been taken a few years before, prior to the wave of prison reform that
had swept over the country.
The first scene showed the interior of a basket-making shop, with the
rows of stripe-clothed unfortunates at work on their monotonous tasks.
One after another similar repulsive views were shown.
"Say, let's get out of this--the air seems bad," breathed Ned at last.
As he spoke a fresh view was thrown on the screen. It showed a group
of life-prisoners at work in the prison-yard. Unlike the other
pictures, this one exhibited the figures at more than life-size. In
their exaggerated proportions every form showed up clear as print, and
the features of each hard face could be as clearly defined as if the
pictured subject was a living being.
The boys had risen to leave, but a sudden exclamation from Herc brought
them to a sudden halt.
Angry murmurs in Spanish rose about the boys.
"W-what's the matter?" asked Ned in an astonished voice, gazing about.
"Come on, you chump, and let's get out of here. We're blocking the
views of the Cubanolas, or whatever they call themselves; but before
you go, look at the two center convicts in that picture. Who do they
remind you of?"
Herc's voice shook with excitement. Ned gazed a few seconds fixedly at
the screen, while the angry hum of protest increased.
"Seat-a down," came voices.
"By the big horn-spoon, those two wearers of stripes are Carl Schultz
and his pal, Silas, or I'm a Dutchman," sputtered Ned, as the two boys,
having exhausted the patience of the audience seated behind them, beat
a hasty retreat.