hans led them up through the galleys and pantries into the first class dining saloon without encountering a single soul. they went boldly up the main staircase to the promenade deck, which seemed deserted. a small figure hiding in the shadows ran up to them, and charlie gripped his friends’ hands.
“never mind the thanks,” he whispered. “we’ve got to work fast. there’s an armed seaman at the gangway head. we must quiet him first. then we’ll take the ship’s boat that’s moored below.”
“okay, boy.”
without another word, bill walked up to the gangway sentry, who immediately brought his rifle to the present.
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“there’s rust on that barrel,” growled bill and held out his hand. “i can see it even in this light.”
“but—but i think,” stammered the sentry, “that my officer is mistaken!” he passed over the gun without suspicion.
immediately afterward, he found himself in the same dilemma otto had encountered ten minutes earlier. tied up and gagged with a handkerchief, he was deposited behind a pile of deck chairs.
his captors wasted no further time. they ran down the gangway and piled aboard the skiff moored to the grating. hans got out the single pair of oars, osceola unloosed the painter, and bill, who seated himself beside charlie in the stern, steered their small craft away from the ship. there were men on the amtonia’s bridge but they received no hail to return.
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bill looked about. although there was no moon, the brilliant starlight gave ample light for him to size up his surroundings. he found that they were floating in a large cove or harbor almost landlocked. the body of water was eggshaped; perhaps a mile long by half that distance in width. the shores were rocky, with black patches of sandy beach. beyond grew a dense forest, except at one end of the bay, where twinkling lights marked a small settlement. the outlet to the ocean was narrow, and guarded by high cliffs. it was a perfect retreat for the baron and his pirates.
charlie piped up in his boyish treble. “the amtonia’s absolutely hidden by those heads from any ship passing up or down the coast. the harbor entrance makes a right-angled turn half way to the sea. i heard lieutenant brinkerhoff say that a warship passed the mouth, going west, about eleven-thirty. the lookout on the head signalled in. brinkerhoff was laughing about it, i guess it made him feel good.”
“well, his break is ours now,” declared bill. “and there’s another one for us!”
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he pointed to where the flying fish lay moored, with her wings spread, a few hundred yards away.
“it’ll be hot as tophet in her hull tonight! row on, hans. we’re going over there to pay a visit. by the way, does anyone know exactly where we are?”
“yes, sir,” replied the man, “this harbor is on the coast of maine. washington county, i think, sir—not very far from englishman’s bay.”
“good enough! what are those lights yonder?”
“you might call that our private navy yard, sir. it’s the baron’s shore base. he keeps a crew on duty there, while the ships are at sea. there are storehouses, a machine shop, the men’s quarters and a store. it’s ten miles back to the railroad. he owns all the shore acreage hereabouts. a high wire fence shuts in the property from all outsiders. there are one or two big estates up and down the coast, but the nearest house is a good three miles away.”
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“how are the roads?”
“there’s no road along the coast, sir. the one from the base runs back to the little town on the railroad. it’s in very bad condition, sir. there is no other way out.”
“thank you, hans. you’re a treasure-house of local knowledge.”
“thank you, sir. may i make a suggestion?”
“fire away.”
“my brother, august, is deck watch aboard the flying fish, sir. usually, in port, only one man is kept aboard her. august does not like this life. like me, he was shanghaied into it. once with this outfit, there is no getting away, unless by a miracle, like tonight, sir. august speaks no english. may i ask him to join us?”
“by all means, hans. it will save a lot of trouble. offer him what mrs. evans said she would give you. i will see that it is paid.”
“very good, sir. thank you, sir.”
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they were close to the converted submarine now. on the narrow deck, abaft the motors a man was seated on a camp chair, smoking. he stood up as the boat approached.
hans hailed him and for several minutes the two brothers hurled harsh gutturals at each other. bill guessed them to be speaking a low bavarian dialect of german. he failed to understand a single word of what they said.
“he wants me to thank you—he will come,” hans asserted presently.
“what a polite family you are—” chuckled bill. “let’s get aboard.”
fifteen minutes later those officers and men who had remained on deck aboard the anchored pirate ship were astonished to see the flying fish taxi down the harbor and take the air. a few seconds later her tail lights disappeared into the dark beyond the headlands. aboard the amtonia orders were shouted, bells clanged, and presently the whining howl of her siren awoke the echoes of the night.
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half an hour passed. bill, at the wheel of the flying fish, leaned forward, his eyes focussed on a pinpoint of light far below and about ten miles ahead of the speeding airplane.
“there she is on a bet,” he said to osceola, who was in the other pilot’s seat.
“you mean the warship charlie told us about? what makes you so sure?”
“i’ve got a hunch, that’s all. anyway, nothing but a fishing boat or one of the little steamers that put in at the small seaports along this part of the coast would be so close to shore. that’s a big ship out there. i think i’m right about her.”
bill’s hunch was correct, as the two in the cockpit presently saw.
“it’s the stamford, or her twin!” he declared. “uncle sam sure is on the job!”
catching up with the cruiser, he circled her three times. then the flying fish darted ahead, landed and came to rest half a mile beyond. by the time the warship hove to beside them, bill had a sea anchor out and was waiting on the heaving deck. he held a megaphone in his hand. beside him, staring at the big cruiser, stood osceola, charlie, hans and august.
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“what craft is that?” came a hail from the warship’s bridge.
“the convertible submarine-seaplane, flying fish, midshipman william bolton in command,” bill yelled back. “she was part of von hiemskirk’s pirate outfit. she belongs to uncle sam now. we captured her less than an hour ago. are you the stamford?”
“you’ve guessed it!” spoke a jubilant voice. “commander brown speaking,” it went on, “are you the chaps who sent out that wireless?”
“yes, sir.”
“congratulations, mr. bolton. where is the amtonia?”
“at anchor in a small harbor a few miles up the coast, sir. one of her propellers was shot off in the scrap the other day. she hasn’t got steam up, or didn’t have, when we left—so i guess she’s still there.”
“good! take off at once and lead us to her.”
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“aye, aye, sir. there’s plenty of water but the channel to the harbor is a narrow one between twin heads. you’ll have to be careful.”
“thank you, mr. bolton. any other suggestions?”
“yes, sir. please wireless to the state constabulary to guard the road from twin head harbor to clayton. that’s the only way von hiemskirk and his crew can escape by land.”
“we’ll attend to it at once,” said the commander. “cut along now. we’ll follow you, so don’t get too far ahead.”
“aye, sir,” said bill, and sent hans forward to haul in the sea anchor.
the first pale rays of summer dawn were brightening sea and land when the stamford navigated the entrance between twin heads and pushed her wicked snout into the harbor. at the same instant, bill landed the flying fish on the calm water.
through the cockpit windows bill saw that the amtonia was raising her anchors.
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“von hiemskirk was all set to run for it,” he said to the chief.
“but he wasn’t quite quick enough,” grinned osceola. “next stop, atlanta, for that bunch. there’s mighty little pirating to be done in a federal prison!”
“they’re hauling down the jolly roger!” cried bill. “well, that cuts it. somebody will be sending a boat over here after awhile. let’s see if we can rustle some chow in the meantime. i’m starved!”
the boat came alongside shortly after the five aboard the flying fish had finished doing justice to a very substantial breakfast. and all five were on deck when the ensign in charge came over the side.
“mr. bolton?” inquired the young officer, as bill stepped forward.
“himself,” smiled bill.
“i’m pierce, of the stamford.” the two shook hands.
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“commander brown’s compliments,” he continued after bill had introduced the quartet, “he wishes you to come aboard the amtonia. we wirelessed the news, of course, and have just received a message of thanks addressed to you, signed by the president. you are to go to washington, just as soon as this business here is cleaned up. in fact, the president wants to meet the five of you.”
“i bet bill will get the congressional medal!” shrilled charlie.
“i shouldn’t be surprised,” smiled pierce. “gosh!” he exploded, “this is a big thing you fellows have put over!”
“but bill was the brains of it,” said osceola.
“without everybody’s help,” said bill, “we never should have pulled it off.”
“cut the argument,” laughed ensign pierce. “the skipper is waiting, and so are several hundred delighted passengers.”
“that’s just it,” protested bill, “i’d rather be shot than face that mob!”
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“not me!” said charlie. “gee, it’ll be swell! because i was the youngest on board, everybody took pleasure in jumping on me. now i can tell them all where to shove off! let’s go!”
the end
those who read and enjoyed this book and the one preceding it, (bill bolton—flying midshipman) will want to read the next of this series, bill bolton and the hidden danger.
