The Submarine Boys and the Spies | Page 2

was also rumored, and nearly as often believed, that these three
sea-bred young Americans knew as much as anyone in the United
States on the special subject of submarine boat handling.
Be that all as it might, it was known to every man, woman and child at
Spruce Beach that the "Benson" was due to arrive on this December
day and the whole picnicking population was out to watch the
incoming from the sea of the strange craft.
More than that, the United States gunboat, "Waverly," had been for two
days at anchor in the little, somewhat rockbound harbor just north of
the beach. It was to be the pleasant duty of the naval officer
commanding the "Waverly" to extend official welcome to the "Benson"
as soon as that craft pointed its cigar-shaped nose into the harbor.

The first boat built by the submarine company had been named, after
the inventor, the "Pollard." The second had been named the "Farnum,"
in honor of the enterprising young shipbuilder who had financed this
big undertaking. And now Spruce Beach was awaiting the arrival of the
company's third boat, the "Benson," so-called in recognition of the hard
and brilliant work done by the young skipper himself.
That this was to be something of a social and gala occasion, even on
board the gunboat, was evident from the fact that on the naval vessel's
decks there now promenaded some two score of ladies and their escorts
from shore, and on the hurricane deck lounged musicians from hotel
orchestras on shore, these men of music having been combined to form
a band, in order to make the occasion more joyous.
"Look at that shore, black with people!" cried a woman to one of the
naval officers on the deck of the "Waverly."
"There must be at least ten thousand people in that crowd," laughed
Lieutenant Featherstone. "I wonder whether they're more interested in
the boat, or its boy officers?"
"Are Captain Benson and his comrades really as clever as some of the
newspapers have made them out to be?" asked the woman doubtfully.
"Judging by letters I've had from friends who are officers at the Naval
Academy," replied Lieutenant Featherstone, "the young men must be
very well versed, indeed, in all the arts of their peculiar profession."
A cheer went up from the principal throng over at the beach. Smoke
had been sighted off on the eastern horizon, and this must come from
the long expected craft.
From boat to boat the news passed, and so it traveled to the deck of the
"Waverly," where the sailors received it with broad smiles. The leader
of the impromptu band raised his baton, rapping for attention. But
Lieutenant Featherstone, below, caught the leader's eye in time and
held up his hand for a pause.

"If you play, leader," called the officer, in a low voice that carried,
nevertheless, "don't imagine that your music is to welcome the
'Benson.' Submarine boats don't travel under steam power. They can't."
So, too, on shore, the understanding was quickly reached that the
smoke did not indicate the whereabouts of the expected submarine.
Half and hour later it was found that the smoke came from the tug of a
fruit transporting company.
Where, then, was the "Benson?"
It was not in the least like young Captain Jack Benson to be behind
time when he had an appointment to get anywhere. Nor did that very
youthful companion expect to arrive late on this day of days.
Some miles away from Spruce Beach the submarine boat, as shown by
her submersion gauge, was running along at six miles an hour some
fifty-two feet under the surface of the ocean.
Young Eph Somers, auburn-haired and ofttimes impulsive, now looked
as sober as a judge as he sat perched up in the conning tower, beyond
which, at that depth, he could not see a thing. However, a shaded
incandescent light dropped its rays over the surface of the compass by
the aid of which Eph was steering with mathematical exactness.
Out in the engine room stood Hal Hastings, closely watching every
movement of even as trusted and capable a man as Williamson, one of
the machinists from the Farnum shipyards.
At the cabin table sat Captain Jack Benson himself, his head bent low
as he scanned a chart. His right hand held a pair of nickeled dividers.
Near his left lay a scale rule. A paper pad, half covered with figures,
also lay within reach.
On the opposite side of the table sat Jacob Farnum, owner of the
Farnum shipyard and president of the Pollard Submarine Boat
Company. Beside Mr. Farnum sat David Pollard, the inventor.

Readers of the preceding volumes in this series are familiar with all
these people, now decidedly famous in the submarine boat world. In