CHAPTER VII
FOG HAUNTED
The S. P. 888 was shaking throughout her structure before she camesquare with the exit of the cove. If a destroyer is "a tin box builtaround a mighty big engine," the term even more nearly fits one of thesechasers.
The four Navy boys from Seacove were amazed by the quickness with whichshe got under way and the brief time it took to tune her up to top-notchspeed.
"She's a hundred and ten feet long," said Mr. MacMasters, "about as wideas a happy thought, and can make her thirty-five knots an hour withoutany particular effort."
"No effort?" muttered Torry. "And it feels as though she was shakingherself to pieces!"
"She's faster than the _Colodia_," observed Whistler, somewhat as thoughhe felt pained by that fact. That any other craft should be a sweetersailer than his beloved destroyer seemed to him almost a crime.
"She most certainly is," agreed Ensign MacMasters. "She is some speedboat!"
"Why!" Frenchy cried, "she must be faster than the admiral's hydroboatwe saw at Newport."
"No, no!" said the ensign. "Those hydroboats have got every other craftin the Navy beaten to a standstill. And about all they use 'em for ispleasure boats."
"They'll be dispatch carriers maybe?" suggested Whistler.
"What do they want of dispatch carriers in a day of wireless?" returnedthe ensign, and went about his duty of conning the S. P. 888 as she shotthrough the breach between the claw-like capes that defended the cove,and so straight out to sea in a southeasterly direction.
The "bone in her teeth," as sailors call the white water under theship's bows, became a windrow of sea, foamed-streaked and agitated,parted by the knife-sharp bows, and rolling away on either hand. TheS. P. 888 traveled so swiftly that at a distance "shark" really wasthe name for her.
She was not camouflaged, as were the hull and upperworks of many Navyvessels with which the four friends were familiar; but her dull coloringmade her well nigh unobservable at a few miles' distance when she lay atrest. When she was in action no amount of deceiving paint would hideher, because of the water she disturbed.
The motor boat Phil had suspected had more than an hour and half'sstart. If she had kept straight ahead on the course she was going whenlast observed by the boys, she must now be twenty miles or more offshore.
The chaser, propelled by her powerful engines, could traverse thatdistance, and the oil boat's additional miles, in less than two hours.If the pursued vessel did not change her course she could be easilyovertaken before twilight.
Ensign MacMasters was too busy to talk further with the four chums;indeed it would not be conducive to discipline for the commissionedofficer to give the apprentice seamen too much of his attention.
But Mr. MacMasters and the four Seacove boys had been through some warmincidents together; and there is always a particular bond between thosewho have been shoulder to shoulder in a good fight.
"Remember the rumpus we had, Mr. MacMasters and us fellows, when thoseGermans tried to recapture the _Graf von Posen_?" Ikey asked his mates.
"Are we likely to forget it?" retorted Al.
"What about it, Ikey?" asked Michael Donahue, complacently. "It was alovely fight!"
"Do you s'pose the fellows on this oil tender we are chasin' willfight?" asked Ikey.
"Not a chance. Here's fifty men on this chaser. The Germans--if they areGermans--wouldn't stand any show. There are only a few of them," saidTorry.
"Including the black-whiskered chap Whistler tells about," Frenchy said."Hey, Whistler!"
"What is it?" asked the older lad seriously.
"D'you really think that power boat we saw is going out to meet asubmarine?"
"Ask me an easier one," said Morgan. "I can't guess. But she might. Weknow very well that German submarines and German raiders, and evenGermany itself, pass news back and forth by wireless. We can't controlthe vibrations of the air--worse luck!"
"Now you've said something, boy!" agreed Torry.
"They read all the news that passes between our ships, too, unless it isin a secret code. And they pick everything they need to know about ourship movements out of the air."
"Too bad wireless was ever invented, then," grumbled Torry.
"Six of one and half a dozen of the other," grinned Frenchy. "You betour operators steal German messages."
"It's likely. You know that chap on the _Colodia_ whom we all liked sowell, the chief wireless operator, got lots of information that wassupposed only to be picked up by German submarines.
"In this case," added Whistler Morgan, "the sub may have wirelessed wordfor supplies. We don't know how many alien enemies may be runningwireless stations in the United States. The Secret Service men areunearthing them all the time."
"Well," sighed Ikey, "I only hope we'll catch up with this oil tub we'rehunting just as she is unloading her cargo onto a sub. Then! Blooey!We'll drop a depth bomb or two, and settle Mr. Submarine."
"Just like _that_!" drawled Whistler. "It sounds easy. How many timesdid the _Colodia_ chase a U-boat and lose it?"
"Crickey!" breathed Torry, "even the _Colodia_ couldn't travel like thisshark."
"Oh! you admit it, do you?" grinned Frenchy. "Well, we are going some!"
But there was an element working against the S. P. 888--an element whichcould not be controlled. No matter how speedy the oil boat might havebeen, the chaser could have overtaken her had she kept a straightcourse. That was understood.
But the farther they went the more certain it was that this new elementwas going to balk them. It was fog. The horizon was masked by it, andsoon the damp feel of it was upon them.
Mr. MacMasters paced the deck anxiously. Not a smudge of smoke did he orthe lookouts raise. But the growing fog cloud would soon have hiddenanything of the kind, even if the oil boat had been near at hand.
"Fog-haunted, Morgan," he said to Whistler, with disappointment. "We'llrun on for a while; but it is hopeless, I guess. You say you know one ofthe men aboard that power boat?"
Morgan told him what he knew of the bewhiskered man called Blake; andalso of the little water wheel that was whirling under the waterfall atthe Elmvale Dam, although really, it did not seem to him as though thatlittle invention could have a serious connection with any alien-enemyactivities.
"I will report the whole thing," Mr. MacMasters said. "But, of course,the Department receives similar and even less assured testimony everyday, of suspiciously acting persons. The information furnished theDepartment has all to be sifted. There may be nothing wrong with thisman Blake."
"If he is working at the munition factory, how comes it that he is outhere on an oil-laden boat?" demanded Whistler, with what he thought wasshrewdness.
"Quite so. You boys are naval apprentices, but you were out fishingto-day," returned Mr. MacMasters, grimly. "There is an explanation foreverything, my boy."
They ran on for another hour, but more slowly. They did not raise acraft of any kind, and Mr. MacMasters lost hope.
"I will put you boys ashore at Rivermouth," he said. "You can go home byrail. I shall not be able to put in at Seacove again to-night. AndRivermouth is off yonder--within a few miles."
Even in the fog the navigator found the harbor in question withoutdifficulty. Just as they would have apprehended the presence of asubmarine had one been near. There are very delicate and wonderfulinstruments aboard American naval vessels--instruments that may not bedescribed at present--that enable the officers to apprehend the nearapproach of other vessels and their own nearness to the shore as well.
The S. P. 888 made her landfall correctly and slipped into RivermouthHarbor like a ghost in the fog. There was a quantity of small shippingin the place, and Ensign MacMasters did not want to take any chances ofcollision. So he hailed a fishing smack and put the four friends fromSeacove aboard of her.
"Good-bye, boys!" he said, as they went over the side into the smack."We shall meet in a few days. You will get your notice by telegraph whento join the _Kennebunk_, and where
. I shall be relieved from thecommand of this shark, and we'll have a big cruise on thesuperdreadnaught, I have no doubt."
He spoke prophetically, as it was proved later. But at this time neitherEnsign MacMasters nor any of the four apprentice seamen imagined justhow wonderful a cruise it would be.
As the fishing smack chugged away with her auxiliary engine toward thedocks of the town, the S. P. 888 swung in a narrow circle and put out tosea so swiftly that in five minutes she was completely out of sight inthe fog and almost out of sound as well.
The fishermen were curious about the boys and the business of the chaserin this locality; but the Navy boys had long since learned to saynothing that would circulate information of any moment. "Keep your mouthclosed" is an inflexible rule of the Navy; the yarns Ikey told his"papa" and his "mama" notwithstanding!
As they drifted in toward shore slowly, weaving their way among themoored craft, Whistler suddenly began to sniff the air and showexcitement.
"What's the matter?" demanded Torry, his closest chum. "You act like ahound dog on a hot scent."
"Or a colored gem'man smelling po'k chops on the frypan," suggestedFrenchy, chuckling.
"Say, Mister," asked Whistler, turning to the skipper of the smack, "isthere a tank ship in here?"
"An oil tanker? No! Nothing like it."
"I smell it, too!" exclaimed Ikey suddenly.
"What you boys smell is the _Sarah Coville_ that came in just ahead ofus. She's anchored here somewhere," said the fisherman.
"What sort is she?" Whistler demanded. Then he described swiftly the oiltender he had marked that afternoon passing the Blue Reef fishinggrounds.
"That's her," said the man. "She often slips in here. Don't know whoowns her now. Used to belong to the Texarcana Oil Company before thewar. She's only a lighter."
"Is she laden?" asked Whistler.
"Didn't look so to me," was the reply.
Whistler Morgan said no more, and he warned his friends to have nofurther talk upon the matter. After they got ashore, however, all fourwere much excited by the incident.
"She was loaded to the Plimsoll mark when she passed us," Torry said."What could she have done with her cargo in so short a time?"
"I'd like to know," agreed Whistler thoughtfully.
"We ought to tell somebody," declared Frenchy.
"Let's be sure we tell the right person," Whistler advised. "Come on nowand get some supper. We've an hour to wait for a train to Seacove."
They marched up the main street of the port. The fog was not so thickinshore here. Just before they reached the restaurant they usuallypatronized when they were in the town, Whistler uttered an exclamationand held his friends back.
"See those two men going into Yancey's Restaurant?" he queried.
"What about 'em?" Frenchy asked.
"The fellow ahead," said Whistler Morgan deeply in earnest, "is that manBlake. The other I bet is the captain of the _Sarah Coville_."
"Well," asked Torry, after a moment, "what are you waiting for? Theireating at Yancey's won't stop us from going there too, will it?"