Boy Scouts in Southern Waters Part 30

"Well, maybe they felt that if they did they would have had fair treatment and maybe not. You know a captain of a vessel is king on board his boat when they are at sea. He might log a man for mutiny and the chap would be glad to run away from the vessel when he landed.

"It must be a tough life on those deep sea craft in spite of all the fine stories we read. I don't want to go to sea."

"Right you are, Tom," cried Jack. "But look at the chap, he's headed right in for us. I do believe he'll be on us in a minute."

"Sound the Klaxon a little," said Frank. "Maybe he'll sheer off. Why not switch on the lights? He might see them."

Quickly this suggestion was followed. Not a moment too soon it seemed, for the tug crew had evidently been watching the vessel they were towing and had not noticed the Fortuna. A whirl of the spokes by the pilot brought the tug on a course away from the motor boat, but the schooner had headway enough so that she came right on. By the narrowest margin she cleared the Fortuna.

The boys breathed easier as she slipped past them, her bulk looming large beside the vessel they occupied.

"What was that?" asked Jack, holding up a hand for silence.

"I didn't hear anything," declared Tom. "What do you hear?"

"I thought I heard it, too," cried Frank. "The Bob White call."

"Where could it have come from? It must be that some of the men around here use that whistle," Jack decided. "We've heard it before."

Although the boys discussed the matter thoroughly they could not decide where the call could have been sent from and finally again composed themselves for sleep, after extinguis.h.i.+ng all but the riding or anchor light gleaming at the head of their signal staff.

Morning was just breaking when they were again aroused. This time a tap at a window brought Rowdy to attention and made Jack spring to his feet in alarm. In a boat sat Doright, the negro.

"What do you want?" demanded Jack. "Can we do anything for you?"

"No sir, Boss, youall caint do nothin' for me," answered the negro, rolling his eyes upward. "Mebbe youall kin do something for them pardners of yourn! They done gone away."

"Gone away!" gasped Frank, now joining Jack. "Gone away!"

"Yaas, sir, Boss, dey done goned away on a s.h.i.+p named the 'Walkfast.' I done holp Mister Pete put 'em on board."

"Where is this s.h.i.+p now?" demanded Frank crisply.

"She done lef' a hour or two ago," answered the negro. "If youall wants to know where she gwine, go ax de man at de custom house."

"That's a sensible thing to do," declared Jack. "Take this fellow aboard, while I go up to the custom house and find where the s.h.i.+p Walkfast was bound for and if this chap is not lying, we'll take a little cruise for an appetizer. Don't let him get away."

In a few minutes Jack came running back breathless. He made haste to get aboard, signaling for the boys to hoist the anchor.

Not a second was lost in getting the Fortuna under way with her nose pointed out to sea. After the engines had been set whirling Jack recovered his breath and explained that the vessel had been the schooner "Quickstep," that had so nearly wrecked the Fortuna. Her clearance was for New York and she was heavily laden with lumber.

"We can make about three miles to his one," Jack explained. "We're about three hours behind him so we ought to catch him in about an hour or so from now unless he steers a course different from that taken by other vessels. He's heading for the Dry Tortugas."

"Shall we boost the engines a little?" urged Tom.

"No; better let them go as they are," replied Jack. "Every machine has what I'd call an 'economy notch.' Beyond that on either side more work may be done, or less, but at the expense of straining the engines or fuel or something. They're doing excellent work right now, so let's not disturb them. It won't be long now."

The minutes seemed to drag like hours, however, to the boys. The gla.s.ses were constantly used by Tom, who was perched on top of the pilot house, sweeping the water for a trace of a sail.

"I see her," he shouted. "I mean s.h.i.+p Ahoy. No, Sail Ho."

Directly the Fortuna overhauled the vessel they pursued.

"I want to speak to your captain," hailed Jack.

"Keep off, or I'll shoot," replied the mate at the rail.

"Bob, Bob White," came a whistle from the rigging.

CHAPTER XX

RESCUED AT SEA

"Bob, Bob White," replied Frank from the Fortuna. "Oh, there you are, Charley. Thank G.o.d. Oh, come down and come aboard."

"Yes, he'll come aboard," vociferated the mate in a coa.r.s.e voice. He was a brutal looking fellow, to whom the boys instantly took a violent dislike. "He'll stay where he is and so will you."

With these words he drew from the pocket of his trousers a revolver of old style, but of aspect fully as vicious as its owner. It was of large calibre, and from the way in which the mate handled it he was evidently familiar with its use.

But Jack was not to be daunted so easily. Stretching the truth a bit, perhaps, he replied to the threat of the mate:

"Oh, well, if you feel like bucking the government, go ahead. I can't sink you with this craft, or you'd be at the bottom in a jiffy. But you know what it means to disobey orders of an officer."

At this the fellow perceptibly weakened. But because the members of the crew had overheard his threats and feeling like so many cowardly bullies do that he must make good his word, even though in the wrong, he again shook the menacing revolver and shouted:

"You fellows keep off or I'll shoot. You can't steal my crew. I'm a bucko mate, I am. You better sheer off."

"Drop that gun, you villain!" cried Charley Burnett, high up in the schooner's rigging. At his words the mate turned.

Instantly a ringing voice from the Fortuna called out:

"Now I've got the drop on you! Let that gun go and tell the captain I want to talk to him or I'll have to shoot."

Tom was perched on top of the Fortuna's pilot house with a rifle in his hands, the muzzle pointed straight at the mate.

When the coward saw that he was indeed covered by a weapon in the hands of a determined person, his grasp on his own means of offense loosened, permitting the revolver to drop to the deck.

Seeing that he was for the time worsted he tried to cover his confusion with a grin that was more of a snarl.

"Better send for your captain and be quick about it," cried Jack impatiently. "We can't afford to burn up good gasolene chasing you. Move quickly and it will be better for you."

Ungraciously the mate dispatched one of the hands to call the captain who appeared on deck directly in a not very good humor.