“As soon as I’ve made the end of the rope fast, sir,” was the reply, as Ned rapidly took a half-hitch with the loose end about a cleat on the deck. This done, he made fast the other end to another cleat on the side of the conning-tower. The submarine was now practically in tow of the Brooklyn, the looped rope about the jackstaff holding the two vessels together.
Ned slipped off his shoes, and then cast his coat back into the conning-tower. In the meantime, Lieutenant Parry had stooped low, and tearing a page out of his note-book, had rapidly written something in the light from the periscope binnacle.
He folded the paper and handed it to Ned.
“Good luck!” he whispered, thrusting it into the lad’s hand.
“Thank you, sir,” rejoined Ned briefly.
Then, with the note thrust into his shirt, he ran forward, and began clambering up the ropes. It was no trick at all for the nimble, hard-muscled lad to gain the afterdeck of the gunboat. His progress was eagerly watched until the curve of the counter shut him out from view.
“Oh, but won’t there be fireworks in a while,” chortled Midshipman Stark, doubling up with mirth.
“Hush, Stark,” admonished the lieutenant. “Listen!”
From above there came the sharp ring of a musket butt, and then an astonished hail.
“Halt! Who goes there?”