by Roy J. Snell
CHAPTER XIII UNDER FIRE
It was another day, another golden link in the wondrous chain that islife. Both Ruth and Betty were some distance away from their island home,from cottage and big summer house. Fort Skammel, with its hauntingmysteries, and Witches Cove were far away in the dreamy distance and wellnigh forgotten in the charm of rocks, sky, sea and summer fragrance thatwas all about them. They had come on a little journey all their own,these two, and for a purpose. At the present moment Ruth was seated upona rocky ledge completely surrounded by wild sweet peas in full bloom andBetty was somewhere out to sea in a punt.
Green Island, the rugged bit of broken waste on which Ruth sat, is thehome of the seagulls. No one has ever lived on that island, but, asevening falls on Casco Bay, many a seagull, weary with his day's searchfor food, may be seen winging his way across the dark waters to this, hishaven of rest.
Of all the spots near Portland Harbor, the rugged shoals off Green Islandare best for lobster fishing. Don had set a number of traps here. Havingbeen called to Portland, he had asked Ruth to sail the _Foolemagin_ outto the island to lift the traps and bring in the catch.
She had asked Betty to go with her. Betty had brought clams and a codline. There is no better cod fishing to be had than on the shoals byGreen Island.
Betty had asked permission to fish over the shoals from Ruth's punt.Since the day was calm, Ruth had given consent. Such a thing is alwaysrisky, for a sudden fog or a squall may come up at any moment. Butperhaps Ruth still held in the back of her head the city boy'sdeclaration, "Life is a joke." At any rate, Betty had gone. The weatherhad continued calm and clear.
Looking out to sea, Ruth's eye caught the gleam of Betty's slender whitefigure standing up in her punt, fishing. For a time she thought of Bettyand almost envied her. She had seen so much of the world and of life.
"Well, some people are lucky," she told herself. "No use disliking themfor their luck."
At that, forgetting Betty, she sank back upon a bed of fragrant wildsweet peas, to stare dreamily at the drifting white clouds. Then, withoutreally intending to, she fell fast asleep.
She was startled from her sleep a half hour later by a resounding boomthat shook the rugged island to its base and set a thousand seagullssoaring and screaming as only seagulls can.
"Target practice," she told herself, in no great alarm. "Ten-mile guns.Oh, listen!"
Came a loud scream as a shell passed at terrific speed through the air,and again a deafening boom.
"Closer to the island than usual," she told herself. "Glad I've liftedthe lobster traps. Guess I'll get out."
She was standing now, looking down at her staunch little motor boat thatgently bumped the rocky shore of a sheltering cove.
A sudden thought struck her all of a heap. She came to earth with a jolt.
"Betty!" she thought. "Betty Bronson! She doesn't know about the guns.She can't. She'll be killed, blown to bits!"
Fort McKinley is ten miles from Green Island. At certain times of theyear a target is set on a raft and a schooner detailed to drag it about.When the target is in position near Green Island, a plane circling lowover the water warns fishing crafts away. Then the great guns of thefort, firing projectiles weighing a thousand pounds and more, break theirlong silence. Ten miles from the fort, close to the drifting target, thehuge projectile falls. It strikes the water with a loud report. Itbounces, rises once more in air and, singing its song of hate anddefiance, flies through the air to at last sink to the bottom a hundredfathoms below. Into this target practice Betty had blundered.
"I wish I could warn her," Ruth told herself now. "The man in theseaplane should do it. But he probably does not see her at all. Littledark boat against a broad expanse of dark sea. How could he? And besides,perhaps there is no danger after all. The firing for to-day may stop anyminute. The target ship may move off in some other direction."
The firing did not cease. The target ship did not move away.
"Ought to be getting back home." Ruth's gaze swept a hazy sky, then fellto her staunch little sloop. "Going to storm. Can't tell how bad. Hate tospend a night out here." But without Betty she could not go.
Turning, she made her way down the rocky slope to the spot where her boatwas moored.
Her hand was on the painter when again, closer, more terrifying, therecame a Zss-Spt-Boom.
Dropping the painter, she turned and walked hurriedly back up the hill.
With strained attention her eyes sought that small white figure. It wasnowhere to be seen.
"Gone!" Vast relief was expressed in her tone. "Thought she'd see howunsafe it was."
Just to make assurance doubly sure, she took up her field glasses andswept the black waters.
One moment of silent attention and she dropped the glasses as if theywere hot.
The sight that met her gaze as her eager eyes behind strong field glassessought out the lone fisherman, set her heart beating madly. A shell,striking some distance back of the little boat, then bouncing in airagain, appeared to pass over the city girl's head.
It was then, for the first time that Betty awoke to her peril. Thisawakening was like the sudden ending of a dream. The very abruptness ofit was her undoing. She had just succeeded in hooking a great fish.Perhaps it was a thirty-pound cod, a ray or a sunfish. She will neverknow, for, having brought it half way up from the depths, she was shakento the very core of her being by this terrific boom and nerve wrackingscream.
She threw herself backward, tangled with the cod line, set the boattilting, tried in vain to recover her balance and without knowing how ithad all happened, suddenly found herself free of the cod line butsubmerged in cold salt water and clinging frantically to the bottom ofher overturned punt.
Ruth, standing on the hill, saw all this. She saw more; that the girl wasstill within the danger zone and that the target schooner was moving in adirection that momentarily increased her peril.
"I must go to her," she told herself with a little gasp of fear. "Thereis no other way."
With one short word of prayer for strength, the fishergirl of the Mainecoast dashed down the slope, jumped into her sloop, threw over the wheel,then went pop-popping straight away toward the imperiled girl and heroverturned punt. Straight on into the path of the raging terror that wasintended for enemies in time of war she went, without one thought ofturning back.
"One thing," she thought more calmly, "is in my favor. My boat is white.The seaplane scout may see me. He can signal them to stop firing."
Boom! Zing! Boom! the terror sounded again.
Her heart skipped a beat. Perspiration stood out on her nose. She feltdeathly cold all over. Yet a firm and steady hand steered the motor boatstraight on its course.
Of a sudden from over her head there came the thunder of motors. For tenseconds it was deafening. Then, quite as suddenly as it had started, itceased.
Ruth's heart stood still. "What now?" she thought. The pop-popping of herown tiny motor seemed but the discharge of a toy pistol.
She was soon enough to know what was next. Glancing up, she dodged andbarely escaped leaping into the sea. The great seaplane seemed about tofall upon her.
The plane, of course, was not as close as it had seemed. It was so closethat, as the motor suddenly ceased its throbbing, she caught the singingof struts as the plane went zooming on through the air. She did not heardistinctly the words that were shouted down to her, but she did catch theimport of their meaning. It was a warning that she was in great dangerand must get out of those waters at once. As an answer she could onlyshout back that a girl in an overturned punt was in far greater dangerthan she. She pointed in the direction of Betty and the punt. Thispointing must have accomplished more than all her screams, for certainlyher last words were lost in the sudden thunder of motors.
The plane was up and off again. Had he understood? Would he flash asignal that meant, "Cease firing?" She dared hope so.
Ten seconds later she real
ized how brave the sea scout had been. Aglancing shell passed through the air at the very spot where, a fewseconds before, his plane had been.
"If there is another shot?" she thought. She dared not think further.
But now, once again her eyes were upon the punt and Betty. Already shewas alongside.
"Here! Give me your hand!" she said in words that came short and quick.Betty obeyed. She dropped with a thump in the bottom of the boat. Then,with all speed, they were away.
Not until they were safe on Green Island did they realize that the seascout had flashed a message and firing had ceased.
"Well," Ruth sighed as they dropped in the sun among the wild sweet peas,"we--we're safe."
"Are we?" Betty's face still showed signs of terror.
"Yes. They never shoot at the island. But you've got to get out of thoseclothes," Ruth added quickly.
In silence she helped Betty out of her sodden garments. After rubbing andchafing her limbs until the pink of health came to them, she wrapped herin her own storm coat and told her to lie there in the sun while shewrung her clothes out and spread them on the rocks to dry.
"You--your punt!" Betty said at last with a choke in her voice that camenear to a sob.
"They're firing again now," said Ruth. "We may be able to get it and towit in later. Can't now. But didn't you hear the guns?" she asked.
"The guns? Why, yes, I guess I did. Must have--as in a dream. They'realways booming away over at the fort. And I was having such wonderfulluck! Lots of cod, one ten-pounder. And a polluk long as I am. Justhooked one so big I couldn't land him when that terrible thing happened!But Ruth--do you truly think we can save your punt?"
"Might. I hope so. Current is strong. That will carry it away. Hope theystop soon."
"I hope so," said Betty dreamily. The shock, the bright sunshine, thedrug-like scent of wild sweet peas were getting the better of her. Soon,with head pillowed on her arm, she was fast asleep.
As she slept Ruth thought of many things, of the seagulls soaringoverhead, of her lost punt, of the booming, bursting shells, of the oldship _Black Gull_ and of the strange secret room in the depths of oldFort Skammel.
The firing ceased without her knowing it. Betty awoke and struggled intoher wind-blown, sundried garments. Still she sat staring dreamily at thesea.
Then a sudden burst of sound broke in upon her day dreams.
"The plane," she said, springing to her feet. "It's coming close."
"See!" said Betty. "He's not flying. He's scooting along on the surfaceof the water. He's towing something. Oh, good!" She leaped into the airto do a wild dance.
"It's your punt! It's not lost! He found it! He's bringing it in!"
This was all quite gloriously true. Very soon the seaplane came to a haltbefore the island. The aviator unbuckled himself; then walked back alongthe fusilage to drop into the punt and begin rowing shoreward.
As he came close Ruth saw that he was a young army officer with a clean,frank face.
"You're lucky," he said to Betty. "Lucky to have such a brave friend. Youmight have been killed."
Betty's arm stole round Ruth's waist. Ruth's face took on an unusual rosytint.
"I've brought back your punt," he said in apparent embarrassment. "It'srather a long swim back to my plane."
"I--I'll row you out," said Ruth, springing forward.
"I hoped you might."
As the young officer sat in the stern and Ruth rowed him out to sea henoted with apparent pleasure the play of the splendid muscles in herbrown arms.
"Some seaman," he complimented her.
Again Ruth flushed.
As they swung in beside the seaplane the girl's eyes took in every detailof the plane.
"Never saw one so close before," she said.
"Want to take a ride?"
"Not now."
"Sometime?"
"Perhaps."
"Do you know," she said as he stood up in the punt, "a friend of mine, mycousin, saw a plane pass Monhegan in the dead of night. Trans-Atlanticplane, wouldn't you say?"
"Yes. Only none have crossed for a long time. Say!" he said, sitting downagain. "What sort of a plane was it?"
"Large, sea-colored plane. No name. No insignia. No mark of any kind."
"That's queer. Listen!" He put a hand on her arm. "Keep that dark. Youmay have made an important discovery. Men are coming to this country thatwe don't want here. Things have happened. There's more than one way toget into America these days."
"Strange," he mused, "you can't make a great discovery, invent some newthing, do a daring deed, but those who are selfish, heartless, who wishto kill, destroy, tear down, take possession of it! But I must go. Hope Isee you again soon."
"Thanks for bringing back the punt," Ruth said.
"Don't mention it."
He sprang upon the fusilage. Ruth rowed away. Motors thundered. The planeglided away, rose, then speedily became a speck in the sky.
Ruth bumped the rocky shore with a crash that nearly overturned the punt.She was thinking of many things.
They did not go to old Fort Skammel that evening. It was late when theygot back to their island and Betty's nerves were pretty well shaken up bythe happenings of the day.
