Capt. Meade glances at the pasteboard and then his keen eyes wander to the newspaper man. Apparently the scrutiny is satisfactory, for the bronzed face wrinkles into the most benign of smiles and a tremendous fist grasps Jack’s right hand with a grip which causes him to mentally question his ability to write up the trial trip, or anything else, for a week at least.
“So you are from the Hemisphere?” Capt. Meade observes. “Well, I like that paper and one of its representatives is heartily welcome to my ship. In these days of sentiment and gush and peace and good-will and brotherly love, and so forth, and so forth, it does my heart good to get hold of a paper which isn’t afraid nor ashamed to speak right out in meetin’ for the land we live in and the flag that floats above it. But come below, Mr. Ashley, and we’ll clinch the sentiment with a toast.” And the captain leads the way to his sumptuous quarters, where the “splicing of the main brace” is accomplished with alacrity and vigor by commander and newspaper man.
“Well, what do you think of the America?” asks the captain. “Did you ever see anything like that on a vessel going over twenty knots an hour?” setting his glass, filled to the brim, on the table. The surface of the liquid is scarce more ruffled than that of a mirror. “No sign of vibration, eh? She stands up as steady as a house.”
Jack is really surprised as he considers the circumstances. “From what little I have seen of her I should say she is a remarkable craft and one that Uncle Sam should feel proud of,” he replies.
“Remarkable? She’s a wonder! Why, she can walk away from anything that floats—anything, big or little, torpedo catchers or stilettos. I was on her when her first trial trip with the builders aboard took place, and while she made twenty-five knots then, she can do better. And she is going to do it to-day. Before we reach Sandy Hook, young man, you can just put it down in your log-book that the American flag is being borne over the water faster than any other flag is likely to be carried for some time. One more splice and then we’ll show you how the trick is done.”
As the captain and his guest return to the quarterdeck of the cruiser it is apparent that something unusual is attracting the attention of officers and crew. Those who are not actively engaged in the manipulation of the cruiser are gathered at the port rail watching intently a steamer that is running parallel with the America, about an eighth of a mile distant and about three lengths astern.
“What is it, Mr. Jones?” inquires Capt. Meade of the third officer, who has just removed the binocular glasses from his eyes.
“A strange craft, sir, evidently a yacht which is apparently using the America as a pacemaker. She pulled up astern of us fifteen minutes ago, and has since been steadily gaining. Very fast, sir, I should say, but she bears no ensign or pennant of any kind.”
Capt. Meade takes the glasses from the hands of his subaltern and looks long and critically at the strange vessel. She is nearly the same length as the America, though manifestly of considerable less tonnage. And she is painted black, without a bit of gay color from stem to stern to relieve the somberness of her hull.
Two black smokestacks, that appear unusually large and are set at a decidedly rakish angle, are relieved by two narrow bands of white. Capt. Meade with a seaman’s appreciative eye admires the shapely lines of the yacht, but as his practiced vision notices the comparative ease with which she is creeping up on the America his jovial face becomes slightly troubled.