ABOARD THE CUTTER

When the boatswain made his report to the lieutenant on board he did not confine himself to the points Larry had suggested. It had been his first thought to do so, reporting only that he had found no smugglers but had discovered a law-abiding company of youths who knew where the smugglers were and were willing to act as guides to the point indicated.

But on his way it occurred to him that the lieutenant might ask him questions—how he knew the character of the boys, and why he had not placed them under arrest, and other things relating to the conduct of his expedition.

It would be humiliating to have the story thus drawn out of him, and it would be awkward for him to explain why he had not reported the whole thing in the first place. So, upon reflection, he told the story in full, though briefly.

When he mentioned Larry’s name the lieutenant gave a little start and leaning forward as if to make sure he heard aright, asked:

“What did you say his name is?”

“Lawrence Rutledge is the name he gave me, sir.”

“Of Charleston?”

“That’s where he said he lived, sir,” answered the boatswain, wondering why his superior was so closely questioning him on these points.

The lieutenant resumed his upright position and with a half laugh said:

“It’s lucky for you that you chose discretion as the better part of valor this time. If Lawrence Rutledge is any way akin to his father, you’d have had the tidiest little fight you ever heard of on your hands if you’d charged him.”

“I don’t think there would have been any fight at all, sir, if you’ll pardon me.”

“Why not?”

“Only that I think every man of us would have bitten dust before we could have fired a gun. Those fellows were ready with guns cocked and leveled.”

“The moral of that is that you too should always be ready and have your men ready. Order the gig alongside—men unarmed.”

When the gig was ready, which was almost instantly, the lieutenant ran down the ladder, dropped into her, took the helm, and gave the orders:

“Oars!” “Let fall!” “Give way!” and the boat shot away toward the plainly visible camp-fire.

Landing, he introduced himself to Larry, who received him cordially and in turn presented his comrades.

“I have the pleasure of knowing your father very well, Mr. Rutledge,” he began.

“Then, please,” Larry interrupted, “call me ‘Lawrence,’ or ‘Larry,’ and not ‘Mr. Rutledge,’ Lieutenant. I’m only a boy yet, and I’ll never be ‘Mister’ to any of my father’s friends.”

“Very well. ‘Larry’ it shall be then, the more gladly because that is what I called you years ago when, as I remember, I was telling a lot of sea stories to you and your brother Calhoun—”

“Make it Cal, Lieutenant,” said the youth mentioned. “Larry and I are twins, you know, and always share things evenly between us. We did so with your stories, you know. I remember it very well, though we were a pair of very small youngsters then.”

“So you were—so young that I didn’t think you would remember the matter. But we’re losing time, and time may be precious in this case. My petty officer tells me you young gentlemen have seen the miscreants I’ve been hunting for and can tell me where they are.”

“We’ve seen them, and our friend Tom Garnett here has been inside one of their caches and inspected their goods. We can tell you where they were two nights or so ago, and perhaps they are there yet.”

“Almost certainly they are,” broke in the lieutenant. “It is calm weather outside, and not a craft of any kind has put in here under plea of weather stress since the Senorita sailed two or three days ago.”

“The Senorita?” Tom repeated; “why, that’s the ship’s name I saw marked on some of the cigar cases and rum kegs they had.”

“Good, good, good!” said the officer enthusiastically. “If we can get to that hiding place before they remove the goods, I’ll telegraph to Baltimore to nab the ship also when she comes in. We must get there in time. My officer understood that you and your party were willing to go with us. Was his understanding correct?”

“Yes,” Larry answered, “we’ll be glad to do that, but we must make some provision for the safety of our boat while we are gone.”

“She’ll be safe enough when she rests on the cutter’s deck. I’ll send a crew to take her alongside and we’ll hoist her on board. When all’s over I’ll put you in the water again at any point you choose. Is that satisfactory?”

“I should say so,” answered Larry. “We’re ready, Lieutenant.”

“Come on then, and I’ll take you aboard. I’ll leave a man with your craft till a boat’s crew can come and tow her alongside. Then we’ll weigh anchor and be off.”

It was less than fifteen minutes later when the boys saw the Hunkydory carefully braced upon the little steamer’s deck and closely covered with a tarpaulin.

But it was nearly midnight and the lieutenant invited the boys to sleep in the comfortable berths provided for them until the cutter should reach the neighborhood of the smugglers’ camp. He thought he sufficiently recognized the locality from Cal’s description, and probably he could have steamed to it without further guidance. But there was no sleep in the eyes of the boys after their adventurous night, and they all heartily echoed Cal’s sentiment when he answered:

“What good is there in the frazzled end of a ragged night for sleeping purposes. I for one will stay up till we see this thing through, if it is going through to-night.”

The little cutter was a fleet-winged craft, built for speed, and carrying greatly more horse power than ordinary steamers of twice her size. Her navigator and all her officers, indeed, knew every detail of the waters they were traversing, and so the lieutenant hoped that he might reach his destination in time to descend upon the smugglers before morning.

In this he was disappointed. Some accident to the cutter’s machinery compelled a delay of two or three hours in a narrow strait where, to add to the annoyance of delay, a swarm of sand flies descended upon the ship’s company. These are minute insects, so minute that no screen or netting, however finely woven, interferes in the least with their free passage in or out of any opening. Their bite or sting is even more painful than that of a mosquito, and they come in myriads.

Under the advice of the commanding officer the boys retreated to a closed cabin below and remained there until the ship was under way again—otherwise for two or three hours, during which they lolled about and managed to get some sleep in spite of their impatience over the delay and the otherwise excited condition of their minds.

By way of making themselves more comfortable, they all drew off their boots, but they could not be persuaded to go to the bunks assigned to their use, because the ship might start again at any moment and they were determined to be ready for that whenever it should occur.

Cal, as usual, was the most wakeful of the party, and at first he was disposed to talk, but his impulse in that way was promptly checked when Tom and Larry each threw a boot at him and Dick, half asleep, muttered:

“I second the motion.”

As a consequence of this drastic treatment Cal closed his lips and his eyes at the same moment and was presently breathing as only a sleeper does. The others, tired and worn out with an excitement that had by this time passed away, were soon in a profound slumber which lasted until the engines began to throb again and the ship to jar and tremble with the rapid revolutions of the screw.

The sun was well up by that time, and after going on deck, where a sailor doused bucketfuls of salt water over them as an eye-opener, they were invited to breakfast with the commanding officer.