CHAPTER XXII—JED RUNS A NAVAL BOMBARDMENT
“Get into my machine, all hands,” urged Deputy Sheriff Warren. “It’s the only way ever to get out of this crush.”
Those who could not sit in the auto had to stand, wedged in, as Warren, clearing a way as fast as he could, got the various members of the party to the car. Then, with a toot of the horn, the machine started.
“I want to get you all over to the hotel to see what is to be done in the way of prosecution,” the deputy explained to Mr. Dunstan. “Your lawyer can help us, too, if he will.”
Horace Dunstan had as yet had time to have but a very few words with his now astonished son. As soon, however, as the party got in a room by themselves Master Ted stepped quickly over to Halstead, holding out his hand.
“I put up as good a fight against you as I could, captain,” he said, “but now I want to apologize and thank you.”
“I knew that time would come,” Halstead laughed, as he took the younger boy’s hand.
“Now we want to understand a few things,” broke in Lawyer Crane. “Master Theodore, you have told us that you went away with strangers in obedience to what you considered written instructions from your father. Who handed you that note?”
“Gambon, dad’s gardener.”
“What did the note say?”
“The note said my inheritance was in great danger, and the two boys dad had hired to run the ‘Meteor’ were in the plot against me. I was told to go to the men to whom Gambon would take me and to follow their instructions in everything for a few days.”
“And you believed all that?” demanded the lawyer.
“Yes. Why not?” challenged Master Ted. “I thought the note was in dad’s own writing and he had always told me the truth about everything.”
“Did those men treat you roughly?” inquired the lawyer.
“Never a bit of it,” replied young Dunstan. “I thought I was having the best time of my life. It was such fun to be in the woods, hiding from the plotters, as they told me, and then scooting about from place to place to get rid of our enemies, as I also thought. And we had a lot of fine fishing. Oh, it was all a great good time—until Tom Halstead pounced upon me and bore me away.”
“Where is that scoundrel, Gambon, now?” asked Lawyer Crane, looking around at the others.
“He ought to be out at the Sanderson farm or near there,” replied Joe. “I trailed him there and it was just after Gambon had slipped up to the farmhouse that I ran against Tom in the dark.”
“We want that fellow, Gambon,” shouted Mr. Dunstan angrily. “I’ll pay a good reward to have him caught and jailed.”
“Remember, we have only your son’s evidence that Gambon handed him the note,” replied Mr. Crane. “There is no other witness on the point, and——”
Rap, rap, rap! sounded a brisk summons on the door. Warren admitted three men, one of whom he seemed to know.
“These gentlemen are United States officers,” the deputy stated, coming back with the visitors, after a few words exchanged in a low tone. “Mr. Dunstan, this is Mr. Lawrence. The Government turned over to him the letter you sent about Alvarez and that fellow’s filibustering work.”
“I thought the Government intended to pay no attention to my letter,” said Mr. Dunstan.
“At first our department couldn’t take up the matter,” replied Mr. Lawrence. “All our men were busy. But Mr. Joyce,” turning to indicate one of his companions, “has been here on the island since yesterday morning. His news, however, leads us to believe that the filibusters will not attempt to get away from here with their unlawful cargo for a few days yet.”
“Then perhaps Mr. Joyce does not know,” put in Tom, “that Alvarez and Sanderson have been moving that cargo from the farm buildings down to a new shed near the pier.”
The United States officers looked at each other queerly at this information.
“I think,” pursued young Captain Halstead, “that the Alvarez crew mean to get their goods away to-night or to-morrow night.”
“This matter will have to have quick looking into,” said Mr. Lawrence, hastily. “But one thing we came here to learn is whether you intend to prosecute any of that crowd under the state law?”
“If you can get the Alvarez crowd under the federal law,” said Lawyer Crane, quickly, “I think you will be able to push the prisoners harder. For one thing, we might be hampered by the fact that Alvarez and his associates didn’t actually steal young Dunstan, but lured him away. The same thing, perhaps, but it might make a difference with a jury. What do you say, Mr. Dunstan? Shall we forego prosecution in favor of giving the national Government the best chance at the offenders?”
“Why, after thinking it over a bit,” rejoined Horace Dunstan, “I am inclined to feel that I have won out over the rascals, and I can afford to let it go by by laughing at them.”
“Good,” nodded Inspector Lawrence. “Then, Mr. Dunstan, there are still hundreds of people outside the hotel, talking over the whole wonderful story. Why don’t you go out, the local officers and your lawyer with you? The crowd will be sure to yell for a speech. Make them a little one, and in it state that you consider the joke is on your enemies. Add that you have therefore forgiven that other crowd, and that you will show it by attempting no prosecution.”
“I’ll do that if it will help you,” replied Mr. Dunstan, after looking at his lawyer, who nodded.
“Dad, after this, if you send me notes,” said Ted, “you’ll have to have a private way of signing your name, so I’ll know the note really comes from you.”
Warren had been explaining the story of the mystery, aside, to Inspector Joyce, who now broke in:
“Alvarez, as you may not know, was formerly a Mexican. A series of forgeries, committed by him and detected, forced him to flee to Honduras. So it is easy to understand how the note to young Dunstan was forged.”
Ted again thanked Tom and Joe, and for that matter, the others who had aided him. Then the Dunstan party prepared to go.
“Halstead, you and your friend will remain, I hope,” proposed Mr. Lawrence.
“Certainly he may remain,” said Mr. Dunstan. “I fancy he can be of much assistance to you, gentlemen. So will Dawson.”
“And Mr. Dunstan,” suggested Lawrence, going after Ted’s father, “may we, if it seems necessary, use your boat to-night?”
“I would be a poor citizen to refuse that to the Government’s officers,” smiled Mr. Dunstan. “Certainly you may have the ‘Meteor.’”
Warren and his friends remained, but went to another side of the room. Tom and Joe were invited to seat themselves and go over the whole story with the Government officers.
When Lawrence saw the note that had been pressed into Halstead’s hand, out in the crowded square, the inspector looked rather grave.
“Yes, that defiance comes from Alvarez,” he declared. “Now, Captain Halstead, until the rascals have been taken, or driven from the country, you will do well to be wholly on your guard. Alvarez, when driven into a corner, is as desperate and remorseless as is the proverbial fighting rat.”
“You’re going over to Sanderson’s place to-night, are you?” asked Joe, after some more of the tale had been told.
“Assuredly,” replied Mr. Lawrence. “We shall have to watch every night until an attempt is made to get the unlawful cargo out onto the high seas. But I am afraid Alvarez and his crowd will be in hiding to-night, fearing the local officers on account of the Dunstan business.”
“Did you hear the cheers outside?” asked one of Warren’s companions, entering at this moment. “Mr. Dunstan just made the requested speech. There was a dead hush when he declared to the crowd that he had no idea of attempting to prosecute the men who had lured his boy away. The crowd was plainly disappointed.”
“It will be a good thing for us, if that news reaches the Sanderson-Alvarez crowd,” mused Mr. Lawrence.
“I haven’t a doubt that the pleasing news will reach ’em,” smiled Tom Halstead. “If they had a man in the crowd to force that note into my hand, the same man must still be there and will take back any news that he can.”
“Then we’ll stop talking of this matter until we’ve fortified ourselves with something to eat,” proposed Mr. Lawrence. “Are you young men of the ‘Meteor’ hungry?”
“Hungry?” echoed Halstead, feelingly.
“No, I’m not really hungry,” stated Joe. “At the same time if a nice little lamb, roasted whole, tried to walk by me just now, it would show great want of judgment on the lamb’s part.”
“Then we’ll go to supper,” declared the inspector rising. “But you young men would do well to keep away from us in the dining room, in case there should be any watchers about for the Alvarez party. We can meet up here again after the meal is over.”
When the boys, Warren’s party and the three United States officers came together again Mr. Lawrence proposed that Warren take Joe in the auto over to the Dunstan place. Joe and Jed could bring the “Meteor” around to a wharf in Nantucket harbor, and all could embark.
“The trip could be made by land, in autos, of course,” Inspector Lawrence explained to Halstead. “But there’s a possibility that we may need to pursue a filibustering steam craft.”
Later on the hotel party sauntered down, in three or four groups, to the wharf in question. By the time they arrived at the water front they made out the “Meteor” just gliding into the harbor, Jed Prentiss at the wheel and Joe in the engine room. The entire party quickly embarked, Tom now taking the wheel. Darkness was just coming down as the “Meteor” with no lights showing by Mr. Lawrence’s order, stole around Great Point. Now, Halstead let out a few more notches of speed, the boat going swiftly down the east coast of the island.
“Joe,” murmured Tom, his eyes shining as his chum came up from the engine room, “do you remember the ‘great night’ we had off the mouth of the Kennebec?”
“Yes,” nodded Dawson, “but this is going to be easier for us. Instead of one, there are seven officers aboard to-night, and the sea is almost glassy. This won’t be anything but a business trip, so to speak.”
Whether Joe was right in his prediction yet remained to be seen. At Halstead’s suggestion, made to Inspector Lawrence, the “Meteor” was run quietly into a small cove, just north of a bend that, in daylight, would have shut them out of a view of Sanderson’s pier. As the motor boat was carrying no lights Mr. Lawrence felt confident that they had made the cove without having been discovered from lower down the coast.
“We’ll want two guides who know every foot of the way,” decided Mr. Lawrence. “Dawson will know the way to the outbuildings behind the farmhouse, and the lay of the ground about there. Halstead, you can pilot some of us over the ground near the pier. Now that the anchor is overboard the ‘Meteor’ will be safe here. Prentiss can remain aboard. Even if he discovered trouble threatening, he could raise the anchor and slip swiftly out into open water. The ‘Meteor’ can show a vanishing stern to any other boat in these waters.”
“And if you should want to signal us for help, Jed,” said Tom, a moment later, bringing up on deck a box from one of the lockers, “here are the signal rockets and Roman candles. Wait a moment.”
Tom disappeared below once more, to return with a tin-lined trough affair. By means of two hooks he made this device fast at the port rail. This “trough” was intended to rest a rocket in before touching it off and sending it skyward.
“I’ll be snug and safe as anything,” declared Jed, smiling. He felt brave enough, in fact, until the dingey, going ashore for the second time, carried the last of his companions. Then all was still, absolutely quiet, lonely and black. Jed, being highly imaginative, began to fancy he saw figures darting from tree to tree on shore. The bushes had a mysterious look, for it was so nearly dark that he could just make out their outlines.
Prentiss had said of himself that he was a hero, in theory, but that when danger faced him he was likely to forget much of his courage. There are many such boys. They are not cowards, but are imaginative, have highly strung nervous systems, and are without real experience of danger. When that experience does come they often find themselves possessed of far more grit than they had believed.
Time slipped by. Nothing happened to justify the state of Jed’s nerves. He was lonely, and wondering what the others were doing. At last, however, he heard something real. Prentiss sprang up, stepping to the port rail to listen. The sound was unmistakable, that of a marine engine, though as yet the sound was far away.
“Can that be the filibustering steamer?” Jed wondered, thrilling.
Nearer and nearer came the sound. Prentiss was enough of a salt-water boy to know that the craft must be a more than usually fast one. The strange craft was evidently keeping in close to shore. At last, the keen-eyed boy grimly made out a sea-going tug. Then she came nearer, and Jed knew that she was going to pass within an eighth of a mile.
“It must be the filibustering steamer,” throbbed the boy. “She’s not a Government boat, yet she’s showing no lights. That boat must be making for Sanderson’s pier!”
Then, all of a sudden, a single light did show. An electric searchlight blazed out, sweeping its ray along the coast. It was hardly a moment before that ray of light fell across the “Meteor” and remained there.
“Wow!” ejaculated Jed, in his excitement. “Now, those fellows can get in here before I can signal any of our crowd back to the ‘Meteor.’”
Prentiss immediately found himself trembling. He sprang down into the engine room, intent on starting the motor. In his excitable state of mind it seemed to him that the motor had at least a dozen drive wheels and no end of other things that had to be handled.
“And, oh, dear! I haven’t got the anchor up!” he groaned. He rushed up onto deck, only to find that the tug had started ahead again, and was bearing down directly upon him. Three men could be dimly made out forward of the pilot house.
“They’re going to bear down upon this craft and sink her!” guessed Jed. “And, confound ’em, they can do it before I can get up anchor, get the engine going, and get out of here!”
That it was the intention of those aboard the tug to ram the “Meteor,” and thus put her out of commission, seemed decidedly plain. The tug was steaming slow but straight for the motor boat. Jed paused in a frenzy of uncertainty.
Then, all in a flash, a luminous idea came to him. It looked almost crazy, yet it was the only thing that it seemed possible to do. Bending down the signal rocket box, Jed grasped a piece of slow-match. This he lighted, his fingers trembling. Then, as swiftly, he unfastened the lower hook of that rocket trough. He was able, thus, to swivel the trough over the port rail.
“Now, we’ll see if the scheme’s any good,” quivered Jed, snatching up a rocket and resting it in the trough. Groping for his slow-match, he sighted along the stick of the rocket. Shaking, he applied the glowing end of the slow-match to the rocket’s fuse. There was a sputtering, then a hiss.
Out over the waters shot the rocket, leaving behind a fiery trail. It flew about three feet above the top of the tug’s pilot house, dropping into the ocean beyond.
“It was my trembling hand that spoiled my aim,” gasped Jed. “Now, another, and steady, old boy!”
Jed fitted the second rocket, applying the match. Whizz! Smash!
“Ho, ho!” roared Jed, for that rocket, going straight and true, had smashed a light of glass in the tug’s pilot house. Bang! Being an explosive rocket, the thing blew into a thousand fragments inside that pilot house. A yell came from the man at the helm.
But Jed did not waste time looking or listening. He fitted another rocket, touching it off after swift aim. That one whizzed between the heads of two of the three men out forward, and Jed heard their rough words of alarm and anger.
“Wow!” ejaculated the boy. “I’m a whole Navy! What?”
Another rocket he aimed at the three men. They scrambled in all directions. Still another rocket Prentiss drove through the pilot house windows. Jed heard the engine room bell jingle for the stop.
“I’ll give you plenty of it,” gritted Prentiss, thrusting a hand into the box and bringing forth this time a stout Roman candle—a fourteen-ball affair.
Lighting and waving it, Jed was ready, at the pop of the first ball, to aim the affair at the tug boat. The missiles fell all about. Though Jed did not know it, one of the hot, glowing balls struck Captain Jonas French squarely on the end of his bulb-like nose. He let out an Indian-like yell, dropping the wheel. Another man crawled in on his knees to take the skipper’s place, but he kept down below the wood-work of the front of the pilot house, steering by the lower spokes of the wheel.
The tug’s bell sounded for reversed speed, then for the go-ahead, as the craft swung her bow around. They were retreating, but Jed, chuckling aloud in his glee, sent three more rockets after the tug, just to show her people that he had plenty of ammunition left. Then, when the tug was out of range, Jed stood up, gazing after her dim lines.
“Say, maybe there are a few Deweys left in America,” he laughed aloud. “I wonder what’s the answer?”