AN OLD FRIEND
Fishing rather palled upon both Whistler and Torry after sighting the
other boat. The younger boys had not paid much attention to the passing
of the craft which Whistler was confident was an oil lighter of some
kind.
"You're so plaguy suspicious, Whistler," muttered Al Torrance, as they
heaved up the anchor and the younger boys hoisted the big sail.
"For all you know, that Blake may be as harmless as a baby."
"Sure," agreed Morgan. "But what's he doing out in that boat, and what
is the boat itself doing out here? She's headed off shore--and you saw
she was loaded. The water almost lapped over her rail."
"Well?"
"She surely isn't headed for the other side of the Atlantic," Whistler
declared. "Yet she's aiming straight out to sea right now. She isn't
following the coast any longer."
It was a fact. Although the strange power launch was now at a great
distance, it was plain she was leaving the land behind her. There was
no land in that direction save the European coast.
"You believe she's a supply ship for German subs?" asked Torry.
"Or taking out gasoline or oil to put aboard some Swedish or Norwegian
ship that expects to give the cargo to the Germans at some rendezvous in
the North Sea. That isn't impossible, Torry."
"Just the same I fancy you are hunting a mare's nest," his chum
declared.
Torry--nor the other Navy boys--was not apt to call in question
Whistler's judgment. But on this occasion it seemed to him as though
Morgan was shooting wild.
Frenchy Donahue and Ikey Rosenmeyer had caught several fish and were
satisfied; but soon they began to notice that their companions had
something on their minds besides the catch of channel bass.
"What's bitin' you fellows?" demanded Frenchy. "Had a spat?"
"I bet they've had a lover's quarrel," grinned Ikey. "Ain't you going to
speak to us, ever again, Torry?"
"Oh, my eye!" growled Torry.
But he and Whistler really had very little to say while the boat was
running back into the cove. The wind was not so favorable, so it took a
much longer time for the trip than it had to come out to the fishing
grounds.
"But if we use a drop of his gas, old Cap Bridger will know it,"
grumbled Frenchy. "Maybe we'll have to row her in."
A little flicker of breeze helped after a while, however; but it was
just then, too, and after they had rounded one of the crab-claw capes
that defended the cove from the ocean, that Ikey sang out:
"What's this coming? Oi, oi! D'you see it, Whistler? It's a streak of
light!"
The other boys turned to look seaward. Rushing in from that watery world
was a gray shape--narrow, low-decked, with slight upperworks and a
single stack.
"A chaser!" cried Torry, finding his voice and growing excited.
"She's aiming right this way," added Frenchy excitedly.
Phil Morgan had his glass out again, and his lips unpuckered and the
tune he had been monotoning died.
"What do you make of her, Phil?" whispered Al Torrance.
"It is a sub patrol boat all right," agreed their leader.
Ikey, who had the tiller at this juncture, got so excited watching the
swiftly approaching craft that he pretty nearly swung the _Sue Bridger_
in a circle.
"Look out, you chump!" yelled Torry. "Want to yank the stick out of her?
If you haven't a care Captain Bridger will get the price of a new
catboat out of us."
Whistler gave Torrance the glass and went aft himself to relieve Ikey at
the helm.
"You're a fine garby," called Donahue to Rosenmeyer. "Lose your head
mighty easy. That chaser isn't chasing us."
"How do you know she isn't?" returned Ikey.
"She certainly is following us," Whistler said. "But until she bespeaks
our attention with her forward gun I guess we need not worry," and he
smiled grimly.
The boys watched the swiftly approaching boat. It came in through the
narrows at top speed, circled around toward the docks, and passed the
catboat at a distance.
"'S. P. 888'!" yelled Torry. "Look there!"
"I thought it was that same chaser we saw before," Frenchy said.
"Wonder what she wants in here at Seacove?" Ikey asked.
Whistler had changed their course to bring the catboat nearer to the
naval boat, which was slowing down. Torry leaped upon the low-decked
cabin and began signaling by the semaphore code. In his blue uniform
his body stood out clearly against the catboat's sail, and he was at
once observed by the crew of the S. P. 888.
"Whew! Look at that!" gasped Frenchy. "They are answering."
Then he and Ikey began to spell out the word that the seaman on the deck
of the chaser was signaling in the same code Torrance had used.
"M-O-R-G-A-N!"
"Oi, oi!" yelled Ikey. "They're after you, Whistler!"
"What's the next?" gasped Frenchy.
Another name was not long in coming.
"T-O-R-R-A-N-C-E!"
"They want you, too."
"Look, they are calling somebody else."
Quickly the Navy Boys spelt out the next name.
"D-O-N-A-H-U-E!"
"That's me," came in a groan from Frenchy.
"Maybe they don't want me," murmured Ikey.
"Don't you fool yourself," returned Whistler promptly. "We couldn't do
without you."
"But they ain't wigwaging no more, Whistler."
"Maybe the sailor doin' it got tired," offered Torry.
"R-O-S-E-N-M-E-Y-E-R!" came the signal presently.
"See them coming, boys!"
"Some speed there!"
"He's after us," said Torry. "Whip up this old tub, Whistler. Let's start
the engine."
"Hold your horses," advised Morgan. "He knows we are aboard. We'll get
there all right, give us time."
The chaser was circling around, and finally headed toward them. The
excited boys in the catboat saw Mr. MacMasters examining them through a
glass. The S. P. 888 came to a stop near the usual mooring of the _Sue
Bridger_. Captain Bridger put off in a dory from the float and began to
scull out toward the Government boat.
"We're going aboard!" cried Torry. "Say, Whistler! do you suppose he's
been sent for us? Shall we join up with the crew of that shark?"
"Oi, oi!" groaned Ikey. "No dreadnaught for us, then? What will my papa
and mama say? I've been tellin' 'em maybe I get to command a battleship
this next cruise."
"I had no idea Ensign MacMasters was in service again," Whistler said.
"But I am glad he is on this particular boat."
"Why?" asked Torry, to whom he spoke in a low tone.
"I want to tell him about that oil boat," returned Morgan, nodding his
head.
In a few moments they dropped the sail and fended off from the chaser's
side, just as Captain Bridger reached the spot too.
"You want these four boys, Skipper?" demanded the old fisherman.
"That's what I do," said Ensign MacMasters. Then to the chums: "Come
aboard, boys; I've news for you."
"They been using my catboat," said Captain Bridger. "All right, Phil
Morgan. You can go aboard. I'll take charge of the _Sue_. Got some
right nice lookin' bass, ain't you?"
"But you won't take charge of them!" Torry exclaimed. "I caught that
big fellow, and I donate it to the officer's mess of the S. P.
Eight-eighty-eight, right now!"
The fisherman looked somewhat disappointed, for he was eager to make a
penny. Whistler, however, gave him some of the smaller fish. The
remainder were tossed to a grinning sailor upon the deck of the chaser.
"Come right aboard, boys," Ensign MacMasters repeated. "I am glad to see
you looking so chipper."
He shook hands with them, in rotation, as they came over the side. But
the chums did not forget to salute the officer. They lined up before him
in a respectful attitude as Captain Bridger got aboard the catboat and
shoved her away from the chaser's side.
"I am only acting commander of this little knifeblade," said Ensign
MacMasters. "Junior Lieutenant Perkins has time off to attend to some
private business, and I have been stuck aboard here for a few days.
We're patrolling this stretch of coast, and I ran in to see if I could
pick up you boys. Do you know what is going to happen?"
"We're going to lick the Germans!" exclaimed Frenchy.
The ensign laughed. "Smart boy," he said. "You will go to the head of
the class for that. But my information is new stuff. I am assigned to
the _Kennebunk_ and you four boys are to go with me."
"Hurray!" shouted Torry, unable to suppress his delight.
"That will sure please my papa," declared Ikey, with a broad smile and
twinkling eyes. "It sure will."
"But how about the _Colodia_, sir?" asked Whistler anxiously.
"That's right! Be faithful to your first love, Morgan," laughed Ensign
MacMasters. "I imagine they intend to send us all back to her in time.
But--whisper!--the _Colodia_ is across the pond. So I am told. There is
something doing over there."
"Crickey!" gasped Torry. "And we not in it!"
"It may not come off before we get across in this new battleship----"
"Whew!" shrilled Frenchy, forgetting himself. "Will the _Kennebunk_ go
across, too?"
"That's telling," said Ensign MacMasters. "You will have several days
yet to get ready for the cruise, no matter how long it may be. Yes,
Morgan? What do you want to say?" for he observed that Whistler was
restless and wished to speak.
"I've something to report, sir," Whistler declared.
"Yes?"
"We made an observation just now. Well, perhaps an hour and a half ago,
sir."
"What was it?" queried the ensign, with interest.
"A power boat passed us. She was not as long as this chaser and not very
swift. She was steering into the sou'east, and she left a streak of oil
in her wake. She was laden to the guards with oil casks, I believe."
Ensign MacMasters made no comment for a moment; then he got the full
significance of Whistler's meaning and he briskly demanded:
"Sure her casks were filled, Morgan, and not empty?"
"She had a full cargo of something, sir," said Whistler, nodding.
"And headed southeast?"
"Yes, sir."
Mr. MacMasters wheeled to speak to his navigating officer. In thirty
seconds the swift craft started.
"Hold on, Mr. MacMasters!" cried Torry. "We've got to get ashore somehow
for supper, you know."
The ensign smiled at him. "I am afraid you will have to remain aboard
and help eat some of your own fish for supper. No time just now to put
you boys on land."