Boy Scouts in the North Sea; Or, The Mystery of a Sub

"Good night!" exclaimed a lad of about eighteen peering from the window in a railway coach. "This train's running on a regular lake!"

"What's that, Jimmie?" asked a companion approaching the first speaker. "Are we on a ferry? I still feel the wheels hit the rail joints."

"Oh, yes, now and again we crawl along a rail's length or two," admitted the boy, "but it's mighty slow work! I'm getting tired!"

"What place is this, anyway?" inquired a third boy coming to the window. "It looks as if we're going out into the ocean!"

"We can't be headed for Holland at this rate!"

"We surely are!" assured the one addressed as Jimmie. "I'll bet I can tell you what that is! The Belgians cut their dikes and flooded the country to drive out the Germans. My dream book says that's it!"

A general laugh greeted this assertion. Moving about in the limits of the none too commodious compartment of a European railway carriage four boys dressed in the well-known khaki uniforms of the Boy Scouts of America endeavored to observe the scenery through the windows.

To those of our readers who have followed the adventures of this group of boys as related in the previous volumes of this series no introduction is necessary. However, for the benefit of those who have not been so fortunate, a word of explanation may not be out of place at this time. The lads had very recently been engaged in a man hunt that led through parts of France and Belgium. They had visited the trenches of both the French and German forces and had several times faced death.

Just now they were practically prisoners, having been accorded passage from the German lines to a neutral port in Holland, where they expected to take ship for their home town of New York.

Ned Nestor, a fine, manly lad, was the Leader of the Wolf Patrol of New York City, Boy Scouts of America. He had been often selected for difficult work by the Chief of the United States Secret Service because of his aptitude for the work. His coolness and sound judgment had carried himself and his companions through many difficulties. It was a mission of this character upon which the boys had recently engaged and from which they were now returning.

Jimmie McGraw, freckle-faced and red-headed, was a member of the Wolf Patrol of which Ned was leader. He was an ardent adherent of Ned's. Brought up a newsboy on the Bowery of New York the boy had come under the observation of the older lad, who had found him indeed worthy of all the care which had been bestowed.

Jack Bosworth, the son of a prominent corporation attorney, and Harry Stevens, whose father was a well-known automobile manufacturer, were the other members of the group. These latter two were members of the Black Bear Patrol of New York. All the lads appeared to be about eighteen years old. Their tidy uniforms, their well-knit frames and their alert attitudes bespoke the constant training of their leader.

As they looked from the windows of the car in which they now found themselves they discovered that the situation was even as Jimmie had stated. The country was flooded with water released from the dikes.

"Tell you what," declared Jack Bosworth, after a prolonged inspection of the landscape, if it may be so called, "this is some wet!"

"You win the argument," announced Jimmie, wrinkling his freckled nose at his companion. "I always said you were the wise little fox!"

Jack's answer to this pleasantry was an attempt to box the younger lad's ears. Jimmie's resentment of the procedure drew the others into a friendly scuffle that terminated only when the contestants paused for breath.

"I wish they'd hurry up and let us get onto dry land again!" said Jimmie, when he next found himself able to draw a long breath.

"You won't find much dry land when it rains like it's going to right now!" stated Harry, pointing out of the window. "Watch it come down!"

"I hope they don't get to the border while it rains like this," answered Ned, with an involuntary shiver. "I don't fancy standing out in such a drizzle as this appears to be. We'd be wet through in no time!"

"Why, do they make us get out?" queried Harry.

"Yes, I understand from what the officer said back there at the old castle that we'll be searched body, boots and baggage."

"And what if they find something they don't like?"

"Perhaps they'll put us in jail for a few months or until the war has ceased," replied Ned. "I'm sure I don't know what they'll do."

"Br-r-rh!" shivered Jimmie. "I wouldn't turn our old friend The Rat out into a rain like this! That would be cruelty to animals!"

"Small chance anyone'll have to turn him out now!" spoke up Jack. "That dynamite fixed him so he won't be turned out for some time!"

"Don't speak of it, boys," protested Ned. "I see him yet!"

"Let's change the subject," proposed Jimmie, out of consideration for his chum's feelings. "I think I see some land. Can we be coming to the border I wonder? I hope we are and that we can soon be starting home!"

"Train's slackening speed," announced Harry. "They're stopping!"

It was even as the boy had said. With many a bump and groan of grinding brakes the train crawled to a standstill beside a hut built upon a rise of ground. Here was stationed a force of soldiers detailed to the work of searching and examining all who attempted to pass from Belgium to Holland. Those who were not certified as refugees or in other ways vested with proper authority to pass were promptly rejected and turned back.

A guard came running along the foot board opening doors. He shouted instructions to the inmates of the carriages, who promptly began scrambling out of the uncomfortable cars. All baggage was placed along the track to facilitate examination. The train itself was searched.

Gesticulating and conversing rapidly two soldiers approached the little group of Boy Scouts. Apparently an argument of some sort was in progress, but the boys could not determine the nature of it.

One of the men pointed to the uniforms and to the medals upon the sleeves of the boys' jackets. Gradually his companion seemed to be convinced by the flow of words. At length he nodded his head, as if surrendering his last doubts. The two men fell to examining the luggage.

"Go as far as you like, Old Scout!" scorned Jimmie, as he observed the rough manner in which his belongings were being tossed about. "I'll bet I'd punch your dome a little, though, if you could talk English!"

"Ah, ha!" cried one of the soldiers, tapping his comrade on the shoulder, as if his argument had been conclusively supported. "Anglaise!"

A torrent of words from the other seemed to meet a receptive ear. The first speaker nodded energetically. His satisfaction was all too evident. From his appearance he was expecting nothing short of a medal.

"Judging from their motions," Jimmie remarked, "these two fellows are about to fight a duel. I'll bet on the shorter one!"

"Not much!" declared Harry. "They're merely telling one another what a nice day it was yesterday and how fine the weather'll be when it clears up. They are using the sign language, that's all!"

"Don't you kid yourself!" protested Jimmie, uneasily. "I smell Old Man Trouble coming around the corner right now!"

"Go on, Jimmie!" scorned Jack. "You're dreaming again!"

"I know I am!" replied the younger lad. "Last night I dreamed of eating salt mackerel and my dream book says that means trouble!"

"Here they come now!" cautioned Ned. "Hush a minute, boys!"

Addressing the boys in German the soldier was evidently asking some question which demanded an answer. Ned as spokesman shook his head. The other soldier spoke rapidly in the French language.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," Ned said, lifting a protesting hand, "we cannot understand the language you are using. We speak only English!"

"Ah, ha! Anglaise!" cried the soldier, gesticulating.

"There, you put your foot in it!" declared Jimmie. "Why didn't you say: 'Come across with some good old United States, Bo'?"

"They probably don't understand your slang, Jimmie!" replied Ned.

"So-o-o," exclaimed one of the men in poor English, "you speak English, do you? And from what part of England do you come?"

"We are not from England at all," explained Ned, "but from the United States. We are being sent home by the kindness of a German officer, who has been most considerate. See, here are our passports!"

"Bah!" scornfully protested the man. "Passports are most easily forged. And information may be carried still more easily!"

"But I assure you," continued Ned, "we are speaking the truth!"

"So say all spies!" replied the other. "We shall see for ourselves just what information you have in your possessions!"

"Go as far as you like," replied Ned, somewhat nettled at the soldier's insolence. "You won't find a thing that shouldn't be there!"

One of the men was already bending over the bags containing such articles as the boys had deemed necessary for their trip. Without regard for the owners' rights he was rapidly taking out every piece separately. After carefully examining it he threw the article on the ground. He was evidently annoyed at not finding something incriminating.

Submitting to the search with poorly concealed dislike of the man and his methods, the boys waited with what patience they could muster until the ordeal should be ended. Ned endeavored to distract their thoughts by commenting on the others, who were meeting similar treatment.

He was interrupted by an exclamation of delight from the searcher.

"Ah!" cried that worthy, standing upright. "Nothing contraband! Nothing to be concealed! No information! These are not spies!"

He held in his hand a flat packet wrapped in heavy oiled silk, tied with many wrappings of stout twine and sealed carefully with wax.

"Gather your possessions quickly and follow me!" commanded the soldier triumphantly, drawing a revolver. "We shall visit the commander!"

"What is that thing and where did it come from?" questioned Ned.

"Search me!" declared Jimmie, excitedly. "Maybe this gink had it up his little sleeve and dropped it in there at the right minute!"

"He looks equal to it!" stated Jack stoutly. "He's a villain!"

"Better be careful what you say!" cautioned Ned. "We are not out of the woods, and these fellows understand English pretty well!"

"I wish I had my automatic and about ten yards start!" stormed Jimmie, gathering up wearing apparel and jamming it into his kit. "I could beat that slow-footed camel in a straightaway without half trying!"

"Better wait and see it out," advised Ned, replacing his own belongings. "It's only a mistake and can surely be explained."

"Maybe we can be examined and go ahead on this same train," offered Jack consolingly. "Anyhow, we won't gain anything by arguing with these fellows. They have no sense of humor and don't want one!"

Following their two captors the lads trudged down the track toward the hut. Carefully they picked their way between groups of genuine refugees rearranging their meagre possessions in the coaches.

In a short time the boys were duly presented before a gray-haired officer seated at a table placed against the wall of the hut. It was darker in the room than out of doors. A single oil lamp served to dispel the gathering gloom of the early twilight.

Reporting volubly in German, with many gesticulations, the soldier presented the four boys. At the conclusion of his recital he laid the parcel upon the table. Drawing himself to his full height and assuming a tragic air he surveyed his captives with complacency.

"Look at that mark!" whispered Jimmie hoarsely. "What is it?"

"It says 'U-13' as plainly as the freckles on your nose," replied Harry, who stood nearest the table. "I don't know what it means!"

A challenge from the sentry at the door drew the attention of those within the hut. For a moment every eye turned toward the entrance.

Ever on the alert, Jimmie saw a hand thrust through the open window. It seized the package and noiselessly disappeared.

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