“Bother the luck!” grunted Midshipman Stark; “lay alongside again, will you, Mr. Lockyer. It may not be too late yet.”
Noiselessly as before, the submarine crept through the water, once more nearing the side of the sailing craft. But as they hauled closer and closer alongside, an unlucky stumble of the beleaguered officer upset a tin baling tub. The unusual noise brought one of the schooner’s men to the lee side. Instantly he saw the approaching submarine. Leveling a rifle he carried, he was about to fire at the huddled group on the deck when the lieutenant, springing out from behind a cask where he had been crouching, caught the fellow a blow on the jaw that sent him sprawling backward. Like a flash, the naval officer leaped forward, seized the fellow’s weapon, and before any of the schooner’s crew realized what had occurred, he had the weapon leveled.
Noiselessly as before, the submarine crept through the water, once more nearing the side of the sailing craft.
As they came for him in an angry, growling rush his voice rang out hard and sharp as tempered steel.
“Stop where you are. The first man who moves is going to get hurt.”
“Consarn it,” grumbled one of the men; “whar did you come from?”
“From the bottom of the sea,” was the reply, for the officer could afford to joke just then, having the situation well in hand. How long he could have kept it so is doubtful, for their first surprise over, the schooner’s crew, numbering some half-dozen hard-looking characters, began to rally.
“Go on and rush him, boys,” snarled the fellow who had been knocked over. “I only had one shot in that rifle, anyhow, and it’s ten to one he won’t hit anybody.”
He kept prudently in the background, however, and none of the others seemed inclined to “bell the cat” at that moment, at any rate. By the time they had made up their minds to commence an attack, the submarine, which had sneaked up swiftly in the excitement, was close alongside. Another instant and four active figures leaped from her decks into the schooner’s rigging.