CHAPTER XXII--ADRIFT

Ruth Fielding did not close her eyes all that trying night. Morning found her as wakeful in her stateroom as when she had been nailed into it by Boldig, the leader of the German mutineers.

The situation of the _Admiral Pekhard_ was not difficult; and although she was without steerage-way she was in no danger. There was a heavy swell on from a storm that had passed somewhere to the northward; but the night remained quite calm, if dark.

The thumping of the pumps continued until dawn. Then the water was evidently cleared from the fireroom, and the men could go to work cleaning the grates and making ready to lay new fires in all but the damaged boiler.

There was much to do about the engine, however, to delay the putting of the ship under steam. The water, rising as high as it had, had seeped into the machinery and must be wiped out and the parts thoroughly oiled.

Thus far the signals by radio had not been answered by the approach of the submarine that Boldig had reason to expect. As Ruth had heard him boast, the big German submarine, No. 714, must be lurking near, awaiting news of the British steamship from Brest.

The Germans had taken a big chance. Of course, the ship and the submersible might not meet at all. Instead, a patrol boat might hail the _Admiral Pekhard_, or catch her wireless calls. The Germans would be in trouble then without doubt.

Of course they had the motor boat in which they had got away from the ship in the first place. They could pile into that and make for some port where they knew they had friends. There were such ports to the south, for Spain was not as successfully neutral as her government would have liked to be. German propaganda was active in that country.

Ruth was not in much fear at present as to her own treatment. The mutineers had their hands full. What would finally happen to her if the Germans carried their plans to fulfilment, was a question she dared not contemplate.

Dowd and Rollife she presumed would be removed to the submarine and taken back to Germany--if the submarine ever reached her base again. But there were no provisions on submarines, she very well knew, for women--prisoners or otherwise.

This uncertainty, although she tried to crowd the thought down, brought her to the verge of despair when she allowed the topic to get possession of her mind. And she despaired of Tom Cameron, as well. What had become of him--if he was the passenger the unfortunate Ralph Stillinger had taken up into the air with him on his last flight?

Had Tom really been killed? Had Helen learned his fate by this time? Ruth wished she was back in Paris with her chum that they might institute a search for Tom Cameron.

Nor was the girl of the Red Mill free from worry regarding those at home. Uncle Jabez's letter, which she had received before leaving the hospital, had filled her heart with forebodings. She had written at once to assure him and Aunt Alvirah that she was returning soon.

But now the time of that return seemed very doubtful indeed. If she was sent to Germany as a prisoner--or kept aboard this steamship which the Germans intended to make into a "mother ship" for U-boats--it might be long months, even years, before she reached home.

Tom had said the war would soon be over; but there was no surety of that. It was only a hope. Ruth might never again see the dear little old woman whose murmured complaint of, "Oh, my back! and oh, my bones!" had become the familiar quotation of Ruth and her young friends.

Aunt Alvirah was dear to Ruth. The girl desired more strongly than ever before in her life to be with the poor old woman again.

She could no longer hear the snapping of the radio, now that daylight had come. Either Krueger, the assistant and traitorous radio operator, had managed to communicate with the commander of the German U-boat 714, or further effort to this end was considered useless now. Another attempt might be made again when night came. Ruth knew it to be a fact that the German submersibles seldom rose to the surface of the sea and put up their radio masts except at night.

It was during the dark hours that those sharks of the sea received orders from Nauen, the great German radio station, and communicated with each other, as well as with such supply ships as might be working in conjunction with the submarines.

If these mutineers were successful in carrying out their plan, and made a junction with the U-boat that carried a crew to supplement those Germans already aboard the _Admiral Pekhard_, the enemy might succeed in putting into commission a craft that would greatly aid in the submarine warfare.

Thus far it had been so daringly conceived and well carried through that the conspiracy promised to rise to one of the very greatest German intrigues of the war. Its final success, however, rested on time and place. The submarine and the stolen steamer must come together soon, or the latter would surely run across one of the innumerable patrol ships with which the Allies were scouring this part of the Atlantic.

It was noon before the beat of the _Admiral Pekhard's_ propellers announced that she was again under control. The rolling motion that had finally become nauseating to even as good a sailor as Ruth, was now overcome. The ship plowed through the sea steadily, if slowly.

Occasionally the girl heard a footstep pass her stateroom window; but she kept the port nearly closed so that nobody could peer in. Some time after the screw had started a man came and knocked on the pane.

She smelled coffee and heard the rattle of dishes; so she opened the window.

The man thrust in to her a pot of coffee and a platter of ham and eggs--coarse fare, but welcome, for Ruth found she had a robust appetite. She placed a piece of silver in the man's palm and heard a muttered "Thank you!" in German.

She felt that it might be well to make a friend among the mutineers if she could do so.

It was not long after she was fed that another footstep halted at her open port. The voice of Boldig, the recreant officer of the ship came to her ear.

"Do you want anything, Miss Fielding?" he asked.

At first she would not speak; but when he repeated his question, adding:

"You know, I can draw those nails in your door as well as I could hammer them in," she hastened to reply:

"I want nothing."

He laughed most disagreeably. "You might as well be good natured about it, my dear," he said. "No knowing how long we shall be shipmates. I am quite sure the commander of the submersible will not take _you_ aboard his craft; so I fear you are apt to remain with us."

She said nothing. The threat was only what she had feared. What could she do or say? She was adrift on a sea of circumstances more terrifying than the ocean itself.

Boldig went away laughing; she threw herself upon her berth, trembling and weeping. All her spirit was broken now; she could not control the fears that possessed her.