CHAPTER III.

THWARTING A GANG OF VILLAINS.

Barney and Pomp and Frank Reade, Jr., sat opposite.

They were much interested.

They could see now that Williams, though a sailor, was a handsome and well-bred man.

He told his story in a succinct and interesting way.

“I belong in St. Johns,” he said, explanatively. “I live with my uncle, Peter Davison, a very wealthy man. There are three cousins of us--myself, Pete Clifford and Jim Mason.

“Now my uncle don’t like Peter nor Jim very well. But he supports them on account of the relationship.

“In some way Pete and Jim learned that Uncle Peter had made a will and left the most of his property to me. This made my cousins very angry.

“They became determined that I should not have the money. So they planned to get me out with them upon my uncle’s yacht, the Desdemona. Then they set upon me and threw me overboard. This is how I happen to be here just now!”

Frank Reade, Jr., listened to this thrilling narrative with the deepest interest.

“Then they meant to murder you?” he said.

“Certainly they did!”

“That is past belief!”

“But it is true nevertheless!”

“Your cousins are scoundrels!”

“That is what they are!”

“They will probably tell your uncle that you accidentally fell overboard.”

“Just so! But, by hookey, I’m yet alive and I’ll make things hot for them, or my name ain’t Matt Williams!”

“Well,” said Frank, heartily, “I hope you will, and I’ll certainly help you all in my power.”

“Will you?” cried Williams, eagerly.

“Yes.”

“I’ll never forget your kindness.”

“Oh, that is all right!”

Williams looked about him and then rubbed his eyes.

“I feel as if I was in a dream,” he cried. “All this looks very unreal to me. A submarine boat! It is a wonderful thing, truly.”

Then he accompanied Frank about the Explorer on a tour of inspection.

He was highly delighted with what he saw.

“I’ll tell you what, Mr. Reade,” he cried. “I’ll let uncle’s money go to the dogs if you will only let me accompany you on your wonderful trip to the Arctic.”

Frank laughed pleasantly.

“That would not be profitable for either of us,” he said. “I advise you to go right home and face those who have wronged you. Do not spare them.”

“But how am I to get home?”

“I will take you there.”

“You will?”

“Yes. We are not far from St. Johns now, are we?”

“Not so very; perhaps fifty miles.”

“Well, I will have you there before morning.”

Frank now joined Barney and Pomp and the treasure rescued from the Spanish vessel was brought aboard.

Then Frank touched the spring which connected with the pumps.

The water began to rush from the air chambers, and the Explorer began to rise to the surface.

Once upon the surface Frank consulted the chart and set the course for St. Johns.

“I’ll tell you what, Williams,” he said. “We will overtake the yacht and you can be on hand to meet your cousins when they land.”

“Good enough!” cried the Newfoundlander, excitedly.

Away through the water at a tremendously rapid pace flew the Explorer.

The rate of speed attained was something terrific.

Williams was delighted.

He spent the most of his time out upon the deck watching the sea line ahead.

Many vessels were met and passed. But the Desdemona was not seen until the shores of Newfoundland came into view.

Then Williams suddenly pointed to the north and cried:

“There she is! I know her rig!”

Sure enough, in the far distance could be seen the sails of a fine yacht sailing to the westward.

It was the Desdemona and she was making a fast course.

But the Explorer passed her far to the south and she was soon left a great distance behind.

Williams was overjoyed.

“Won’t I turn the tables on the rascals when we reach St. Johns!” he cried, excitedly. “This is too good for anything.”

Nearer drew the coast line.

Now the harbor was entered and the town could be seen.

At this point Frank went up to Williams and said:

“Suppose we put you ashore upon that point of land. You can find your way home all right enough, can’t you?”

“Certainly!” replied Williams; “but won’t you stop in the town for awhile?”

“I think not.”

“I would like to have you meet my uncle. He would be glad to entertain my dear friend.”

“I thank you!” replied Frank, sincerely, “but I have no doubt you will see wherein it would be inadvisable for me to stop. I have a long voyage to make; my stores are limited and so is my time.”

“Enough!” cried Williams; “then I will thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

“That is all right!”

“I only wish there was some other way in which I could express my gratitude.”

“That is nothing.”

The Explorer was run for the point of land.

Then Frank put overboard a small boat and Barney and Pomp set their passenger ashore.

Returning to the Explorer all waved Williams a farewell.

Then Frank raised the lever and set the Explorer under speed once more.

What was the result of all this they never knew.

It was fair to assume, however, that Williams confronted his rascally cousins in St. Johns, and consigned them to the punishment of the law.

This little episode had sufficed in a great measure to break the monotony of the trip.

Once more the Explorer was northward bound.

During the voyage Barney and Pomp had been in high feather.

It was needless to say that their spirits were of the kind that are seldom depressed.

One day Barney, feeling particularly mischievous, planned a clever practical joke upon Pomp.

The two faithful followers, while mutually the best of friends, were ever playing jokes upon each other.

Barney played the violin and Pomp the banjo.

The Celt had a rich baritone voice and sang with quaint melody many Irish ballads.

The darky had a repertoire of plantation acts that were unsurpassed.

They were far to the northward and the Explorer was keeping a steady course, when one day Pomp, as he was sitting in the pilot-house, picked up his banjo and began to vamp upon it:

“Way down upon de Swanee ribber, Far, far away----”

“Howld on wid yer racket!” yelled Barney, putting his head in at the door. “Pwhat are yez afther givin’ us, anyway?”

“Jes’ yo’ go on an’ min’ yo’ own bizness, I’ish,” retorted Pomp.

“Bejabers, I will, av yez will quit throwin’ chestnuts at us.”

“Huh! don’ yo’ talk!”

“Begorra, av yez are goin’ to sing give us something new loike this:

“Och, Pathrick, have yez heard The tale that’s goin’ round? The shamrock is forbid by law To grow on Irish ground. Shure, ‘tis the most dejected counthry That I have ever seen, For they’re hangin’ men and women for The wearin’ of the green. Oh, the wearin’ of ther green; Shure, they’re hangin’----”

The ballad came to a sudden and untimely end.

Pomp picked up a waste rag covered with oil.

It struck Barney flat between the eyes and nearly floored him. The Celt picked himself up to hear Pomp singing with great eclat:

“Ches’nuts, ches’nuts, nice an’ hot, Jumpin’ in de roastin’ pot. Hit him hard an’----”

Barney let out a roar that drowned the concluding stanza and tumbled down into the cabin.

But he had not left the field yet.

Not much.

That genial son of Erin’s Isle was not to be beaten so easily.

A daring plan had come into his head and he proceeded to execute it.

He had noticed that Pomp sat in an iron chair in the pilot-house.

This was with his back to the staircase which led down into the dynamo room.

Barney very quietly sneaked down the back stairs and into the dynamo room.

He procured a long coil of wire and connected it with one of the huge batteries.

Donning insulating gloves he carried the wire stealthily up the stairs until he crouched behind Pomp.

The darky was vamping and singing away in boisterous fashion.

The Celt had the wire ready and quickly gave it a twist around one of the iron legs of the chair.

The result was tremendous.

Pomp let out a yell that could have been heard a mile away.

He grabbed the chair and that sealed his fate.

He could not let go.

Yells burst from his lips and he indulged in the wildest of contortions.

For a full minute he gave way to these sensations while the current lasted.

“Help! help! I’se done killed. Jes’ sabe dis chile! De good Lor’ hab massy on me!”

Like a veritable contortionist was the paralyzed darky.

But his agony could not last forever.

His mad efforts to release himself caused the chair to break free from the wire.

Pomp was upon his feet and recovered himself to hear the mad peals of laughter from Barney below stairs.

To the Celt it was the funniest trick he had yet played on the darky.

“Begorra, I got square wid yez that toime, naygur!” he roared.

Pomp was angry, but far too crestfallen to recover himself.

It had simply been a case of turn about for hitting Barney with the swab.

“I gits squar wid dat I’ishman if I has to try a yeah!” he muttered.

But he did not try it then, for he saw Frank Reade, Jr., coming across the deck.