CHAPTER XVII
THE LAST HOUR OF COMMAND
Through the night the "Sudbury" rolled lazily over the waves.
A wireless message had carried the news through space to Washington.
Orders had come to return to Norfolk, there turning Gray over to the
United States authorities.
Benson and his comrades were instructed to return to Washington with the charts and record books.
Down in a berth in the sick bay, lay Gray. The hospital steward had made the wounded man as comfortable as possible. The latter was painfully but not seriously wounded.
At the speed at which the gunboat was now proceeding the "Sudbury" was due at anchorage at six in the morning.
Lieutenant Jack had turned in, after leaving orders that he was to be called a few minutes before five. He wanted to be on deck to enjoy the sensations of his last hour of command on the cruise of a vessel of the United States Navy. Forward, the sailors of the watch were talking in low tones of their very youthful officers.
"There's the real stuff in those boy officers, mates," grunted one sailor who had been in the boarding party. "It don't make any difference whether they've been through Annapolis or not. Look at the way the lieutenant and Mr. Somers went up against the shooting. Kept us back, and took the medicine themselves, like real officers."
"You'd expect it of Somers," rejoined another sailor. "There's a bit of the bull-neck about him, and such men always fight. But the lieutenant makes a real officer that I'd be glad to foller anywhere."
"Mr. Hastings didn't get a chance to show what was in him," suggested another of Uncle Sam's old salts.
"Oh, you leave Mr. Hastings alone for fighting, if he saw any need to," retorted the sailor who had been the first to speak. "He's one of your very quiet chaps. Your quiet ones always sail into a fight while a brawler is getting his mouth wound up to do some talking."
"Hanged, if I don't wish them lads could remain on board!" muttered another old salt.
"With the young lieutenant to command the ship?" asked another.
"Him as well as anyone. He knows what he's doing, for which reason I don't care for the number of the year he was born in. Why, mates, the lieutenant is the head of them submarine boys we've read so much about in the newspapers when layin' in port. And the other two are his messmates. Now, I'll stand for it that the submarine boys are good for any kind of a job on salt water. I'd foller their lead on a battleship!"
It would have been fine for the three submarine boys had they been able to know what great opinions the crew held of them.
But Hal was again on the bridge in the last watch, and Eph had gone below for an hour's sleep ere he, like Jack Benson, was to be called.
Then, at last, two sleepy-eyed boys came from their cabins, going up to the bridge for what they felt was their last hour of real sea-glory.
Ensign Fullerton appeared half an hour before anchorage was made.
"You have the satisfaction, sir, of knowing that your task was put through in record time," said Fullerton, by way of congratulation.
"For which I'm truly glad," smiled Benson. "Yet I could wish our experience with the Navy had not ended so soon."
"Why, it hasn't ended yet, sir," smiled the executive officer.
"It will, in a few minutes more, however," sighed Jack. "My last official act will be to order the gig into the water to take us on shore. We're under orders to take the next train for Washington, you know."
"Very true," smiled Ensign Fullerton. "But, sir, you are commanding officer of the 'Sudbury,' no matter where you may be, until you receive an order to relinquish command. Also, sir, your present appointments as officers in the service run until the orders appointing you are revoked."
"But that will all happen before the day is much older," replied Jack, with a forced smile.
It was going to come harder than he had thought, after this brief taste of real naval life, to give it all up!
No sooner had the "Sudbury" let go her anchors than Jack called for the gig. He and his comrades hurried below, doffing their uniforms, which went back into the dress suit cases. Then, in citizen dress, with their precious swords again wrapped in chamois skin, the three submarines went over the side.
There was the same ceremony, however, which had attended their coming aboard. The marine guard turned out, presenting arms as Lieutenant Jack Benson passed to the side gangway. Ensign Fullerton and Mr. Drake stood by to salute Jack, and to receive his formal acknowledgment of their courtesy.
Their feet touched the bottom of the gig. They seated themselves, and the short row to the landing stage commenced.
On the landing stage stood an orderly, who promptly saluted.
"The Commandant's compliments to Lieutenant Benson, and will the
Lieutenant and his comrades report at the Commandant's office."
Early as the hour was, the commandant was at his desk, in uniform, and received the young officers most graciously.
"Mr. Benson, and gentlemen," declared the commandant of the navy yard, "you have done your work well, and as quickly as it could have been done. I congratulate you. The Secretary of the Navy, I believe, will thank you personally, It was splendidly done. And now, if you will come around to the officers' club with me, you will find that your breakfasts have been ordered. It will be an hour and a half, yet, before it will be necessary for me to furnish you with the carriage that will convey you to the railway station."
In the presence of this much older officer the lads did not attempt to make too merry at breakfast. Seated in the dining room of the officers' mess, they listened respectfully to whatever the commandant saw fit to discuss.
The meal was about over when a marine orderly entered, crossed the dining room, stopped at a respectful distance, and saluted.
"Telegram, sir."
The commandant received the envelope, drawing out the sheet it contained.
"Lieutenant Benson, this will interest you and your comrades," pursued the commandant.
"The order revoking my command of the gunboat," thought Jack. Oddly enough, though he expected it, knew it must happen, the arrival of the moment brought a strange sinking at heart.
"I wonder how on earth it could have happened?" pursued the commandant, his eyes again turned toward the paper. "Millard has escaped from Fort Craven, and, so far, has eluded recapture!"