discipline is brought to an excellent state of perfection on all warships as a rule, and the practice cruiser was no exception.
naval officers are trained to exercise instant discretion in time of danger, and it is considered a sign of incompetency if one should lose his wits under such circumstances.
lieutenant watson, the executive officer of the monongahela, aroused from a sound sleep by the indescribable pandemonium, lost no time in heedless inquiries, but rushed on deck clad only in his nightclothes.
by the time he had cleared the companion ladder the officer of the watch and the captain of the ship were thundering orders right and left.
under their instructions the old monongahela was again before the wind, and an immediate examination of damages being made.
but in the midst of it all, over on the port side of the main deck, trolley, excited and happy, was dancing about clif, and shouting half in japanese and half in english:
“you right, you right! hurray! hiko boto, cli jara. you see ship after all. hurray! you bully boy. no sleep, but see ship all the time. you are great peach. hurray!”
“i knew he was right all the time,” exclaimed toggles.
“so did i,” chimed in little nanny.
“the first luff was evidently of a different opinion,” said clif, grimly. “but what can be the matter aboard that ship, and what is she?”
“there is something wrong on board,” spoke up joy. “those screams were horrible. my blood is running cold. yet—look! there she is again!”
he pointed excitedly to leeward, where, dimly visible through the lightening mist, was the peculiar craft with which the monongahela had just been in collision.
she lurched and pitched and rolled with the wild irresponsible motion of a vessel at the mercy of the waves. the dawn was not far enough advanced to enable those on board the practice ship to distinguish more than vague outlines.
every glass on board was directed toward the strange craft as soon as it was ascertained that little damage had been done the monongahela by the collision, but nothing indicating the presence of human beings on board could be seen.
clif and his friends were wild with curiosity, but not more so than their shipmates. the peculiar experiences of the night, the sighting and sudden disappearance of the stranger, the collision, and above all those weird, half-human cries, had created intense interest.
the captain, lieutenant watson and other officers were gathered in the gangway near where the carpenter and his assistants were making hasty repairs.
the gale was giving promise of lessening. the wind had died down with the coming of the sun, but the seas were still running high. nothing had been done to increase the spread of canvas, and the old frigate lurched along at a reduced speed.
“i would give a great deal to learn what ship that is, and the meaning of those horrible cries,” said captain brookes, gravely. “there’s some mystery about it.”
“she looks like an old-time lightship,” spoke up the executive officer, working his spyglass.
“hardly of this century though,” remarked the surgeon, who was a student of naval architecture from choice. “see! the mist is clearing now. the sun is shining on her. by jove, what a queer-looking craft she is.”
“i’ve a notion,” began the captain, reflectively.
standing at a respectful distance, but within earshot, were clif and his companions. they edged eagerly toward the group of officers, and faraday’s intelligent face lighted up with excitement and keen anticipation.
“he’s going to send a boat,” he whispered to trolley. “if he does i’ll be one of the crew or break a leg.”
“me, too,” chattered the japanese youth. “i no miss that for——”
“i have a notion, gentlemen,” repeated the captain, “to send over there and investigate.”
“it’s our duty, sir,” said lieutenant watson, emphatically. “if you say the word, sir, i will take a boat now.”
“any room for me?” asked the paymaster, earnestly.
“i can pull an oar, sir,” insinuated the marine officer.
“as navigator, i consider it my duty to make the visit,” spoke up a tall, fine-looking lieutenant.
the captain laughed.
“if it wasn’t against the rules i’d go myself,” he said. “as it is, the first deck officer shall make the trip. mr.jones,” turning to another officer, “take the whaleboat and a good crew, and see what you find on board that vessel. better go armed. there’s no telling what you will encounter. make haste, and bring me a detailed report.”
the practice ship’s course was changed, and in less than an hour she was hove to within a half-mile of the mysterious vessel.
the latter was in plain view now, and she presented a sight that brought exclamations of wonder and amazement from the monongahela’s crew.
she was unlike anything in the shape of a vessel they had ever before seen. she was high forward and aft, with a curious house-shaped structure amidships. the masts were mere poles, guiltless of yards, ropes or sails. there was no regular bowsprit forward, but in its place was a queer, stumpy bow.
at the top of each mast were small, circular, wooden cages. the sides of the hull seemed to be painted green at first, but the surgeon’s sharp eyes soon ascertained that it was not paint, but a luxuriant growth of marine grass.
the decks were littered with débris, and trailing over the stern was apparently a mass of tangled ropes and sails.
this much was made out when the shrill notes of the boatswain’s whistle calling away the whaleboat echoed through the practice ship. clif was disconsolate. his boat was the gig. he stood in the gangway watching the work of lowering the narrow, double-ended craft, wishing with all his heart and soul that he was one of the lucky crew.
suddenly the coxswain poked his head above the hammock netting and called out that he was a man short.
the lieutenant who had been selected to go, glanced about the deck inquiringly. his eyes fell upon clif, and that youth sprang forward, hopped nimbly up the main shrouds, and was descending the boatfalls before the officer could make up his mind to select him. a few moments later the whaleboat was clear of the monongahela, and being propelled across the heaving sea by her sturdy crew.
once, while the boat was swung around by a wave, clif sighted the strange ship. something moving near the bow caught his eye, and he gave a start and almost dropped his oar.
“steady, there! what is the matter with you?” came sternly from the lieutenant.
clif said nothing, but his hands trembled as they clasped the oar again. his brain was in a whirl. he longed to rub his eyes to see if he was still awake, or if that which he had just seen or fancied he had seen, was real or a phantom.
the cadet behind him said as he leaned forward:
“did you sight anything? you look white and scared.”
clif compressed his lips, and maintained an uncompromising silence. he was not certain of his own senses, and he had no desire to expose himself to ridicule.
the whaleboat swept on and finally gained a position on the lee side of the tossing hulk. a weather-beaten rope dangling over the side promised a means of ascending to the deck.
“catch it, one of you,” shouted the officer. “shin up the side and take the painter.”
the position of the boat brought the rope within reach of clif’s hands, and he lost no time in obeying the order.
fortunately the black tarry strands were strong enough to bear his weight, and he was soon climbing agilely toward the high railing.
slipping and sliding, up, up he went, the pressure of his feet dislodging masses of the strange, slimy green marine vegetation adhering to the storm-beaten planks.
finally he grasped the rail and crawled over. then, just as he disappeared, those below heard a strangling, unearthly cry, followed by the sounds of a desperate struggle.
then came one shrill, agonizing appeal for help, and—silence!
