Encouraged by the success of individual vessels in disposing of their cargoes of booze, whiskey ships began to come in greater numbers. One day the marine observers at Atlantic Highlands and Sandy Hook sighted a great fleet of vessels approaching. Two steamships and fourteen schooners dropped anchor near the Ambrose channel and a little east of the Ambrose lightship, just beyond the three-mile limit. The steamer was apparently a tanker. The sailing ships appeared to be fishing smacks that had been converted into rum runners. The flotilla was a rum fleet from the Bahama Islands.
At once a swarm of small power boats put off from shore to meet them. The prohibition forces were caught napping. In a few hours’ time thousands of cases of forbidden intoxicants could be carried ashore. There was not a prohibition boat about, to enforce the law.
The instant word came to Mr. King from the marine observers, he rang his buzzer for Willie. “Get into touch with our boats,” he directed, “and order them to prepare for instant action. Have the Surveyor come to the Battery landing for me. I’m going to take personal charge of this expedition. We’re going to stop this rum running. These smugglers are a desperate bunch. We’ll have to meet them on their own grounds. Desperate diseases require desperate remedies.”
Willie hastened to his wireless. Ship after ship answered his signals, replying that they were ready for an instant dash after the smugglers. But from the Surveyor he could get no answer at all. Again and again he flashed out her signal. Then he called another of the Collector’s boats, to see if he could learn what was wrong with the Surveyor. The answer came back that her operator had suddenly been taken ill and had gone to the hospital. The relief man was ashore. There was no one on the Surveyor to operate the wireless.
Willie reported this to his Chief. For a moment Mr. King considered the situation. “There’s only one thing we can do, Willie,” he said. “You’ll have to go along and operate the Surveyor’s wireless. I can’t direct a fleet without a wireless operator.”
Willie could scarcely restrain himself for joy. So far he had had no end of good luck in being allowed to take a hand in operations against smugglers, but this was the greatest good fortune yet. To have a part in actually running down smugglers on the seas was a piece of luck too good to be true. Willie could hardly believe his ears. He wanted to give a war whoop, but somehow he restrained himself, and answered quietly, “I’m ready now.” But his heart was beating wildly with excitement.
“Get your overcoat and cap and the heaviest wraps you can find,” said Mr. King. “It’s already late in the day. It will be dark long before we can get near that rum fleet. And you’ll freeze to death if you aren’t warmly clothed.”
In a second everything was astir in the office. All the secret agents in the building were ordered aboard the patrol fleet. Orders were issued to clerks and stenographers. Revolvers were inspected and loaded. Fresh ammunition was tucked into coat pockets. Caps, gloves, overcoats, and outer footwear were produced and pulled on. And in a very few minutes the little party was hurrying across Battery Park to board the Surveyor. Willie hustled along beside his friend Easterly. But the pace was too rapid to permit conversation. In fact, Willie fairly had to run to keep pace with his longer legged companions. The booze forces had stolen a march on the enforcers of the law and there was not a second to lose.
The Surveyor was already at the boat landing. A member of the crew stood on the wharf, looking for the party. The Special Agent leaped aboard, followed by his little company. The sailor cast off the line that held the Surveyor, the engine began to roar, and the little craft drew quickly away from the landing. Not many hundred yards offshore the sub chasers and the other craft of the little fleet were gathered. Already customs agents had boarded them and they were idling on the tide, like restive horses champing their bits, eager to be off. The Surveyor headed directly for this flotilla.
“I suppose those sub chasers are the fastest units of our fleet,” said Mr. King to the captain of the Surveyor.