Oh, what would they not give to awake and find that this was all a dream! But no; here they were holding tight for their lives, and there, below, stretched the pier where the light-house-tender always landed. There was the steamer. Two minutes more and they would—
But here is where Quartermaster Tim Muldoon comes into the story. It was his watch on the deck of the U.S.S. Fern, light-house-tender, and Tim had returned from liberty ashore early in the evening. He was drowsy and tired. Suddenly he was aroused by hearing a sound as if made by giant rushing wings. He raised his head, and then fell backwards flat upon the deck; not forty feet above him a huge thing was shooting along through the air.
Tim closed his eyes, and called in a whisper upon the saints. He would have screamed, but his voice apparently had left him. The first shock over, however, he rose to his feet and rubbed his eyes. No, it was not imagination. There was the huge thing dashing along over the surface of the bay. Then, as Mr. Muldoon watched it, it remained stationary for a minute, and slowly sank. Tim put his hand in his pocket and pulled something out. There was a splash, and a big black bottle sank alongside the pier-head. Then, with a frightened look on his face, Tim went below and called the other watch.
Half an hour later two dripping boys appeared at the Schreiber house. They were weak and pale, and when Mrs. Schreiber saw them they stood there holding on to the banisters.
"Don't let's tell them a thing," whispered Billy.
"All right," said Gibb. "Let 'em think what they want to."
"You've been out on the water and upset," said Mrs. Schreiber, emphatically. "William, I'll tell your father to-morrow morning. You'll catch it!"
"All right, ma'am," said Billy, meekly. "I guess me and Gibb will go to bed."
As the boys went up stairs Mrs. Schreiber heard her nephew say,
"Billy, I guess we swum half a mile."