Assuredly it was a surprising sight that greeted the eyes of Harry and Ben Stubbs as the latter pulled the skiff around the point. Not half a mile away lay a dull, gray-colored craft like a gunboat, with the Stars and Stripes floating from her stern. From her bow a puff of smoke was drifting away, showing that she had been the craft that had fired the shot which had aroused them.
But what could she be doing? Above all, why had the shot been fired? Harry’s eyes furnished the answer as he saw that part of the rail of the schooner was missing, a jagged break showing where it had been torn away.
“Great guns!” shouted Ben, “they’ve bin firin’ at your old hulk.”
As he spoke there was a flash from the side of the lead-colored craft, and a projectile shrieked by above the pair in the boat, causing them to duck involuntarily.
“Cracky!” shouted Harry, “I’ve got it. That craft is a derelict destroyer. One of Uncle Sam’s craft whose duty it is to put obstructions to navigation out of the way.”
“You’re right, boy, and they are bent on sending that there Betsy Jane to the bottom.”
“We must stop them,” ejaculated Harry excitedly; “that schooner is wanted by Mr. Perkins to use in his experiments. That’s why he had the runway built. We must signal them somehow.”
“No need to, lad. See, here comes a boat.”
Sure enough, as he spoke a cutter was lowered from the warlike-looking vessel’s side, and before long, impelled by muscular arms, it was flying over the water toward the hulk.
“Pull round and meet them,” suggested Harry.