THE MYSTERIOUS SCHOONER—CONCLUSION.

"Bulkley, do you see some object in the air—off there to the northwest?"

Commander Dunham, of the Dreadnought Manhattan, paused in his steady pacing of the after deck, and turned to Ensign Bulkley, the officer of the deck.

Ensign Bulkley brought into play the insignia of his diurnal office, a powerful telescope, done in brown leather, with polished, black metal trimmings. With it, he swept the sky in the direction indicated by his superior, for some minutes.

"I do see something, sir," he said presently, "a black object, like a large bird. But it's bigger than any bird I ever saw. By Jove, sir, it's—it's an aeroplane!"

"An aeroplane! Impossible. How could one find its way to Blackhaven Bay? And what could be its errand here?"

"I've no idea, sir. But I'll wager my commission that it is one. Suppose you look yourself, sir?"

The officer of the deck handed his telescope to his commanding officer. Commander Dunham gazed intently through it for a few moments. Then he turned to Bulkley.

"By all that's wonderful, you're right, Mr. Bulkley. It seems to be coming this way, too."

"Not a doubt of it, sir. But at the rate it is advancing it should not be long before we are aware of its errand."

"At all events, it will relieve the monotony, Bulkley. Anchored here since yesterday and no orders yet. However, I suppose mine practice and general gunnery will be the program."

"I expect so, sir," was the response.

Both officers gazed over the leaden expanse of the landlocked bay about them.

Five battleships, two cruisers, and three torpedo-boat destroyers lay at anchor, in regular files. Hard by was a "parent ship," with her flotilla of submarines nestling alongside, like small chickens round a motherly old hen.

"Desolate country hereabouts," said Commander Dunham presently. "I shouldn't have thought that an airman could have found his way here."

"It hardly seems possible," agreed his junior; "it's as barren a bit of coast as can be imagined."

The aeroplane drew closer. Its outlines were quite apparent now. On every vessel of the fleet excitement over its approach was now visible. Bright bits of bunting began to "wig-wag" the news from ship to ship. On every foredeck jackies almost suspended the tasks in hand to watch the oncoming of the aerial craft.

"What a contrast, Bulkley," observed Commander Dunham presently. "See that old sloop off there to seaward? She is of an almost obsolete type, while above us is coming the herald of a new era in peace, as well as war."

"That is so, sir. But that sloop, obsolete as she may appear, is quite fast. I understand she has been tacking about the fleet all day. I wonder what she wants?"

"Some fisherman, probably. However, see that she does not come too close. In confidence, Bulkley, I have been warned, in common with every other commander of the fleet, to beware of a band of daring anarchists who, it appears, have made no secret abroad of their intention to damage the United States navy."

The navy officer showed no surprise. It is a common enough incident for warnings of the same character. The mail of the navy department at Washington is always full of letters—some of them menacing in tone—from over-zealous apostles of "universal peace." Occasionally, too, a spy is unearthed serving in Uncle Sam's uniform. Such fellows are usually deported quietly and swiftly.

"I shall keep an eye on that sloop, sir, in that case," said the ensign, "but I'm afraid it will be difficult to do so before very long."

"How is that, Bulkley?"

The ensign waved his hand seaward. A hazy sort of atmosphere enveloped the horizon.

"Fog, eh?" commented the commander.

"Yes, sir. It will be all about us soon, or I'm mistaken. But look, sir, that aeroplane is almost above us."

"By George!—so it is. What's the aviator doing? He's signalling us. He's pointing downward, Bulkley, too."

"Looks as if he wanted to land on our decks, sir."

"It does. Hark! What's that he's shouting? Pshaw, I can't hear. Tell you what, Bulkley, order the aerial landing platform rigged at once. It ought not to take more than fifteen minutes."

"I'll have it done at once, sir."

The officer hastened off on his errand. A scene of bustle ensued. A hundred jackies were busy transporting sections of the adjustable platform on which Ned had landed on the occasion of his great triumph. The scene appeared to be involved in inextricable confusion. But each man had his task to perform, and each pursued it industriously. Before long the platform was up—all but the flooring. The work of laying this on the steel uprights and skeleton supporting structure was soon accomplished.

All this time the mysterious aerial visitant had been hovering aloft. But his task of keeping above the battleship was getting momentarily more and more difficult. The atmosphere was rapidly thickening. In white wraiths and billows the fog, which Ensign Bulkley had prophesied, came rolling in. Beads of moisture gathered on everything. From the deck the tops of the basket-like military masts grew every minute more difficult to espy. The aeroplane, circling in space, was a mere blur.

"All ready, sir," announced Ensign Bulkley before long. By this time the after-deck was crowded with officers. All were gazing upward into the steamy fog.

"Give him a signal, Bulkley," ordered the commander.

"He'll find it hard to see one, sir."

"Signal the bridge, then, to blow three blasts on the siren. He can hear that."

"Hoo-oo-o-o-o! Hoo-oo-o-o-o! Hoo-o-o-o-o!"

A few seconds later the uncanny voice of the siren cut the mist. Without hesitation, the dim object in the fog above them, began to come downward. It swung through the thick air rapidly. In a short time it was off the stern of the Manhattan, and ten minutes after the signal had sounded Ned Strong ran his aeroplane upon the landing platform so speedily erected.

But if the manner of his arrival had been sensational, the effect it created was even more so.

"It's Strong! The man we were wirelessed had decamped with part of Lieutenant De Frees' funds!" exclaimed Captain Dunham amazedly.

Ned half staggered from his seat and came toward him. The sailors stood to one side, in a half-awed fashion. Ned's face, after his long and trying strain, was ghastly. His eyes shone with an unnatural brightness.

"Well, my lad," said the commander briskly, "what is the meaning of all this?"

"I—I—can I speak——" began Ned.

But suddenly the decks and the eager faces about him seemed to join in a mad dance. He swayed weakly, and would have fallen, had not some jackies near at hand caught him.

"Send that man to the sick bay," ordered Commander Dunham. "There's something out of the ordinary in all this," he said in a lower tone to his officers.

Ned was half-carried, half-supported, to the ship's hospital. He soon recovered from his temporary weakness, and asked to see the doctor at once. When that dignitary responded to the summons, he drank in, with eager ears, Ned's astonishing story. The result was, that Commander Dunham was at once requested to visit the sick bay. A conference ensued, which lasted till almost dark. By that time Ned was fully recovered.

It was after dark that a torpedo-boat destroyer, with Ensign Bulkley in command, slipped away from the fleet and vanished in the fog. On the conning tower, beside the officer, was Ned Strong.

The powerful searchlight cut a bright path through the mist ahead. Somewhere in that smother lay the craft they were in search of, the anarchists' sloop, on board of which Herc was a prisoner. How eagerly Ned longed for the fog to lift, may be imagined. But they cruised all night without a sign of its lifting. By daylight they were some distance out at sea. When, at eight o'clock, the fog began to lift, the shore was revealed, before long, as a dim, blue streak in the distance.

But nobody had eyes for that when a sudden shout went up from the lookout forward.

The man had sighted a sail on the horizon. But as they drew closer to it, the craft was seen to be a schooner with a short, stumpy mizzen-mast.

"That's not our boat," said the ensign disappointedly.

"But what can have become of the sloop, sir?" wondered Ned. "Surely, she couldn't have vanished from sight during the night. She's not a fast enough sailer for that."

"True," said Bulkley. "By Jove!" he exclaimed suddenly, "you don't think those chaps have disguised her, do you?"

"They might have, sir. Don't you think it's worth while to board that schooner, anyhow?"

"I do, Strong," agreed the officer.

The destroyer was headed toward the schooner. The wind had dropped and the vessel was rolling idly on the oily sea.

"Aboard the schooner there!" cried the officer, as they came up close to the vessel with the peculiar-looking after-mast. "Stand by! We are going to board you."

A bearded man stood at the helm. He was the only person visible. Ned scrutinized his face eagerly, but could not recognize him. This individual only waved a hand in response to the officer's order. But, as the destroyer's way was checked, and she lay idly on the waves, he suddenly vanished into the cabin. The next instant a square port at the schooner's bow was swung open, and, without the slightest warning, a long, shining, cylindrical object was shot forth.

It struck the water with a swirl of spray, and then, with a line of white wake, in its swift course, headed straight for the destroyer.

"A torpedo!" exclaimed the officer, who, with Ned, was just about to clamber into one of the lowered boats.

The men on board set up a horrified shout. So short was the distance between the two craft that between the launching of the torpedo and the dreaded impact of its "war head" against the side of the destroyer seemed but an instant. It was a fearful instant, though, and lived long in the recollection of those who endured it.

The torpedo struck the side of the destroyer with a metallic clang. But no explosion followed. Instead, the implement floated harmlessly off.

"Phew!" exclaimed the officer, wiping his forehead. "What an escape! I thought we were all booked for Kingdom Come. Come, lads, man the oars quickly. We'll get those anarchistic rascals out of their rat-holes and make them suffer for this outrage. But what the dickens was the matter with that torpedo?" he muttered.

"I think I can explain, sir," rejoined Ned.

"By Jove, you can? Let's hear your explanation."

"You see, sir," said Ned, "while Herc and I were exploring that cabin, we found those torpedoes. Well, when an opportunity presented itself, I unscrewed the head of each, and withdrew the gun-cotton. But I was afraid that, after they marooned me, the anarchists might have examined them and found out what I'd done and reloaded them. But I'm confident now that they haven't."

"No, you've drawn their teeth with a vengeance. I tremble to think, though, what would have happened if they had had an opportunity to use one of the loaded ones. They're a sharp outfit of tricksters, too, with their disguised sloop."

"But not sharp enough to fool Uncle Sam," exclaimed Ned, as the boat was run alongside.

As it scraped the disguised sloop's side, a figure suddenly appeared on the deck. It was Herc. He made a flying leap for the boat, and landed in a heap in their midst.

"Row for your lives!" he yelled. "That maniac, Muller, is about to blow up the vessel. I got away by knocking a couple of the crew galley-west."

"Give way, men!" shouted the officer, and willing arms pulled the boat from the schooner's side. But the explosion did not come. Instead, two figures, recognized as those of Merritt and Chance, appeared on the deck. They signalled for the boat to come closer.

"We captured Muller, just as he was about to blow up the sloop," they shouted. "If we surrender, will you show us clemency?"

"I'll make no promises," was the grim reply of Ensign Bulkley.

Something like an hour later, the destroyer, with the disguised sloop in tow, re-entered Blackhaven Bay. On board her—a raving maniac—was Herr Muller. His long-smouldering insanity had at last broken into flame. He was confined on board the Manhattan for a time and then removed to an asylum, where he now is. He will never recover his reason, and unceasingly imagines that his mission is to destroy the United States navy. As for his followers, they received various terms in prison. Kennell, alone, escaped. It transpired that he had been sent ashore after supplies, and so was not on board the disguised sloop when the futile attempt to blow up the destroyer was made.

Of course, the suspicion which had been directed against Ned and Herc was speedily explained away, and they were rated higher than ever in the estimation of their officers. Part of the substantial monetary reward Ned received for his courage and resource in reaching the fleet, via aeroplane, was sent to Professor Luminetti, the King of the Air. The quartermaster at Dundertown received a severe reprimand for his over-zealousness, but nothing more was done to him, as, after all, he thought he was performing his duty.

Had we space, we would like to relate the further aerial adventures of Ned and Herc on Aero Service. But sufficient have been related here to convey some idea of the importance of such an adjunct to our navy. It will always be a proud boast of the Dreadnought Boys that they helped to establish the aeroplane as a valuable auxiliary of the modern battleship.

But the scenes shift rapidly on the stage of naval life. Fresh places and opportunities were shortly to be presented to the Dreadnought Boys.

Uncle Sam's navy was on the eve of its epoch-making, globe-circling voyage. If you care to follow further the careers of The Dreadnought Boys, and learn how they conducted themselves amidst novel surroundings and changing and exciting conditions, you will find it all set down in the next volume of this series, "The Dreadnought Boys' World Cruise."

THE END.