“Will your seamen cast loose from the moorings?” Somers asked.

“Yes, sir,” replied the midshipman.

“If there’s anything wrong, good luck to you,” sounded the cool voice of
Lieutenant Commander Mayhew, from the gunboat’s rail.

“Thank you, sir.”

No sooner had the moorings been cast loose from than Eph sounded the slow
speed ahead bell. Within sixty seconds the propellers of the “Farnum” were
doing a ten-knot stunt, which was soon increased to fourteen.

One of the seamen now stood by to swing the searchlight under Eph’s
orders.

By the time that the submarine reached the mouth of the bay the light
faintly picked up a spread of white sail, off to the East.

“That’s the knockabout,” cried Eph, excitedly. “Now, see here, keep that
ray right across the boat as soon as we get half a mile nearer.”

“It’ll show the boat that you’re chasing ’em, sir,” advised the
midshipman.

“I know it,” admitted Eph. “But it will also keep the rascals from dumping
my friends overboard without our catching ’em at it.”

“What do you think the men in charge of that boat are, sir—pirates?”