As Frank picked himself up there descended upon him a deluge of clothes, followed by the captain’s voice.
“There’s your outfit, Willie, and it won’t cost you a cent. You’ve got two minutes to get into them, and I hope you won’t force me to give you any assistance.”
Frank Chadwick was a lad of discretion. Therefore he made haste to change, and in less than the allotted time he again emerged on deck.
Frank had just passed his sixteenth birthday. Always athletically inclined, he was extremely large for his age; and his muscles, hardened by much outdoor exercise, made him a match for many a man twice his age, as he had proven more than once when forced to do so.
His father was a well-to-do physician in a small New England town. For a lad of his years, Frank was an expert in the art of self-defense. Also he could ride, shoot and fence.
While the lad was by no means an expert with sailing vessels, he nevertheless had had some experience in that line. At home he had a small sailboat and in the summer months spent many hours upon the water. Consequently he was well versed in nautical terms.
This summer Frank and his father had been touring Europe. The war clouds which had hovered over the continent for weeks had finally burst while father and son were in Germany. In getting out of the country the two had been separated, and for two days now the lad had been unable to find Dr. Chadwick.
Frank was well up on his history, and this, together with the fact that his mother was of English descent, turned his sympathies with the allies. Also he was a student of literature and languages, and could converse fluently in French, German and Italian.
As has been said, Frank was a lad of discretion; which is the reason he appeared upon deck again within the two minutes allowed him by the captain.
He emerged from below with blood upon his face and the grime of an unclean ship upon his hands. As he came on deck he saw the crew of the schooner hurrying forward, six of them, Italians every one. On the quarterdeck stood the captain.