Part 7 (1/2)

”If you will come along with me, then, Mr. Benson,” suggested Major Woodruff, ”I will put you ash.o.r.e on the neck. On the way over I will give you your instructions.”

As the tug came alongside again Jack followed the major over the gang plank to the deck of the other craft.

”Good-bye, Captain Somers,” called Jack, laughingly. ”Give a fine account of yourself as an enemy of the United States!”

”Oh, you--” began Eph, flaring red, but wisely cutting his speech short.

On the way over to the strip of land known as the ”neck” Major Woodruff managed to make his instructions wholly clear to young Benson.

”Now, you know what to watch for, and what observations, to report to me,” finished the major of engineers, as the tug came to a stop. A small boat was lowered, and, in this, Captain Jack Benson was put on the desolate sh.o.r.e.

Then the tug went back over by the fort. Jack grew tired of waiting, for it was some two hours ere the tug finally left the ordinance wharf at Fort Craven.

It was warm out there, on the low, sandy cliffs, provided one got into a position sheltered from the ocean winds. So Jack, in the weariness of his waiting, threw himself down in a sheltered hollow.

Finding that the sun shone disagreeably in his eyes, the submarine boy pulled his cap forward over his face.

Then, in the course of a very few minutes, the inevitable happened. Jack Benson drifted off into sleep.

He awoke with a fearful start, for he had no idea how long he had slept.

Yanking out his watch and noting the time, the submarine boy concluded that he had not been asleep more than twenty or thirty minutes.

”But I might just as easily have slept for hours,” Benson reproached himself. ”Then what a hero I'd have felt. Asleep on post!”

At that moment Jack Benson heard a faraway whistle, across the bay.

Showing just the top of his head above a ridge of sand, Captain Jack saw the Army tug just pulling out from the dock across the bay.

But Jack saw something else, too, in that brief instant.

A slim, soldierly-looking man of perhaps thirty, tall and of naturally good carriage, was skulking along in front of the submarine boy, yet hidden from the bay by a sand ridge.

Under one arm the stranger carried a draughtsman's board and a book. A strap over one shoulder held a field-gla.s.s case.

”Where in blazes have I seen that chap before?” wondered Captain Jack Benson, staring hard. ”For I have seen him--somewhere. I'd declare that under oath.”

Figure, carnage and face all strangely haunted the submarine boy, who crouched lower, watching.

”By the great turret gun! He's skulking for a reason!” muttered Benson.

”Is he spying on the mine-planting? I wonder? Yes! That must be his work! Long-legs, I'll keep my eyes on you!”

The stranger hastened along for perhaps a quarter of a mile further.

Then he threw himself down on the sand, choosing a position in which he could lie flat, his head fairly well hidden behind a low ridge of sand.

Unslinging the field-gla.s.s, the stranger brought it to his eyes, closely watching the progress of the tug.

”Ha-ha!” muttered watchful Jack, who had followed, keeping behind another sand ridge. ”So, sir!”

The minutes pa.s.sed, though Jack Benson was so absorbed in watching this long stranger that the boy had but the vaguest notions of the flight of time.