“I don’t believe so,” Dalzell returned.
“But there is no warship in this harbor,” Darrin remonstrated. Indeed, the only craft above the size of small boats were a battered old tramp steamer, a former trawler, now a patrol boat, a steam fishing-smack and a schooner.
“All the shipping in this harbor combined wouldn’t make a proper command for a lieutenant-commander in the United States Navy,” Dave observed. “Dan, you’ve been grinning ever since you brought me the veiled news yesterday. It is now about time to unmask and tell me what you’re up to in the way of mischief.”
“That would be to open up the case of the watch and show you the whole works,” Dan retorted, mockingly.
“Then I give it up,” sighed Dave.
In response to a mere hand signal a boat put off from under the quarter of the battered tramp. As it neared the wharf Dave’s wonder grew.
“So that old tramp steamer is going to act as tender, and take you out to your new ship?” Dave inquired, feeling as mystified as he looked. “Have a care, Danny-boy. That tramp won’t keep afloat long enough in an open sea to take you far!”
But Dalzell made no reply. Instead, he walked to the steps that led down to a landing stage, returning the salute of the seaman in the stern of the row-boat. Plainly the tramp could by no possibility be Dan’s “new” ship, for not even a man in the boat-crew wore the uniform of the United States. Though the men showed bright, intelligent faces, their garb was of the most nondescript character worn by seafaring men.
Dan gravely led the way to seats in the stern.
“Shove off!” ordered the coxswain. Then the men gave way at the oars. Dave watched their rowing. To an amateur eye the handling of the oars wasn’t so bad, but it was utterly different from the rowing done by a smart man-o’-wars crew. Dave felt the mystery deepening.