Why couldn't he get out of the Sarga.s.so seaweed tangle in the little sixteen-foot craft?

"At least, it is better than waiting here for a horrible death," he reasoned to himself.

After a hasty meal in the lonely galley, Bluewater Bill set to work to uncrate the little launch. Fortunately for his purpose the Eleanor Jones had been fitted, in common with many modern sailing vessels, with a "donkey engine" for tr.i.m.m.i.n.g the heavy sails and hoisting cargo, which was operated by a gasolene engine. Several cans of gasolene formed part of the engine's equipment. This solved the problem of fuel and for the rest--though Bill had never run a launch--the manufacturer's directions seemed explicit enough. These directions Bill discovered stored away in a locker of the tiny craft.

He spent the rest of the day reading them carefully and going over every part of the engine till he had familiarized himself with the function of each.

After a good night's rest, the next day he set about laying in a stock of provisions and filling several kegs with water from the ship's tanks. This done, and the little vessel's gasolene receptacle filled and her lubricating devices furnished from the supply intended for oiling the "donkey engine" of the Jones, Bill was ready to start.

Ready, that is, except for the fact that as yet he had not considered how he was going to get the launch over the side.

For a time this seemed an insurmountable problem, but Bill had all the ingenuity of a sailor. With a small "jack" he tilted first one end of the launch and then the other and pa.s.sed slings under it. Then he rigged a block and tackle to the mizzen-mast, and heaved on it till he had dragged the launch along the deck on rollers, made by sawing a spare spar into lengths, and hoisted it up on the p.o.o.p deck. Then, detaching his tackle from the mast, he swung the boom overside with his tackle attached to its outer end. The end of the tackle was once more made fast to the slings supporting the launch and Bill attached another rope to her which was then belayed around the mast, in order to prevent the little craft swinging out to the end of the boom as soon as he raised her a few feet from the deck. This done, he hauled away on his tackle till the tiny motor-boat swung free. Then he made fast his tackle on a belaying-pin and gently paid out the restraining rope he had fastened round the mast till the launch swung at the end of the boom suspended twenty feet in the air. It was then an easy task to lower her with the block and tackle till she floated on the water.

Bill swarmed out on the boom and cut loose the tackles, and soon had the launch snuggled alongside the Eleanor Jones. He then proceeded to stock her with food and water he had made ready, and in addition strapped round his waist the captain's revolver which he had found in the cabin. These preparations concluded he was ready to cast off. His eye had taken in, during the brief period he had been in the Sarga.s.so, that while it appeared to be at a casual glance simply a wide expanse of weed, in reality there were "water-lanes" in it which were clear of the entanglement. Bill resolved to follow these pa.s.sages wherever practicable.

"The longest way round may be the shortest way out," he told himself.

He soon had the small three-horse engine going, following to the letter the instructions set forth in the book of directions he had found.

It was with a light heart that he steered his tiny craft from the side of the imprisoned Eleanor Jones,

"Good-bye, old ship," he exclaimed, as he headed his craft toward the west--the direction in which the gallinazo had flown and in which he judged land must lie.

To his delight the patent wheel worked perfectly. Occasionally, it is true, Bill was compelled to stop the engine and, leaning over the stern, clear it of the few weeds that clung to it with a boat-hook he had brought for the purpose, but otherwise it answered every claim of its makers, that it could not be checked by even the densest tangle.

As the sun set and darkness closed in, Bill noticed, to his gratification, that the weed seemed to be thinning out and that the water-lanes grew more and more frequent.

He made a hasty meal off the provisions he had brought with him and, after a long period spent in trying to keep his eyes open, he was fain to lie down on the bottom of the launch and, with the engine shutoff, drift through the blackness till daylight. He awoke with a start. The launch was tossing about wildly and an occasional shower of spray flew over her side.

She had cleared the Sarga.s.so and was in the open sea at last.

Bill started up the engine as soon as he got the sleep out of his eyes, and tossing the spume from her bow the little craft fairly leaped through the tumbling waters. But Bill soon saw that if she was to handle in such a sea he would have to reduce speed or risk getting swamped. He therefore throttled down the engine and rigged a tarpaulin over the bow to keep out the wave crests, part of which came tumbling aboard.

"If it freshens I don't stand much of a chance to get out alive,"

mused the sailor, as he sat in the stern of his c.o.c.kle-sh.e.l.l, with only a frail bottom of half-inch planking between him and the floor of the sea.

The launch in fact, while a staunch little craft, was better adapted for lake or river navigation than as a sea-goer.

"However, I might as well keep on as stay still," mused the philosophical Bill, baling out the water that now came tumbling aboard in far too great quant.i.ties to render the situation a pleasant one. So the day pa.s.sed and it was not till the next morning, after an exhausting night of constant terror that the launch was about to sink, that Bill saw the smoke of a distant steamer as he rose on a wave crest.

Would her officers see him?

That was the question that agitated his mind as he waved frantically while she drew nearer and he saw that she was one of the crack liners of the Central American Trading Company. As she raced through the water a great "Bone" of white spray was sent out from each side of her keen cut.w.a.ter. A volume of thick black smoke rolled from her yellow funnels. She would have made a fine sight to any one less in fear of his life than Bluewater Bill.

Till she was within half-a-mile of him it seemed the big craft was going to pa.s.s him by, but suddenly, to his joy, Bill saw her change her course and bear down for him. As she drew nearer, rolling mightily in the high sea, a man on the bridge hailed him in stentorian tones through a megaphone.

"Ahoy! what lunatic are you?"

"Bluewater Bill of the Eleanor Jones of Bath,--castaway," yelled back the drifter in the launch, who had by this time shut off his engine.

"We'll stand by and lower a boat," was the next hail and soon Bill was on his way aboard the Yucatan--for that was the vessel's name--and the tiny launch, which had been the means of saving his life and almost of his losing it, was tossing far astern.

But Bill, perilous as his position was until he was actually in the Yucatan's lifeboat, had not lost his presence of mind. He realized in a flash that a castway with a pocket full of gold would be an object of suspicion and he had his own reasons for not wanting to tell how he had obtained it, so, before the ship's boat reached the launch the old mariner emptied his pockets of their golden freight and sent the coins tumbling into the sea. He retained only the one piece that he had loaned to Billy Barnes as an evidence of his good faith.

"And now, boys," concluded the old mariner, "what do you think of my story?"

"Why, it's the most marvelous thing I ever heard of!" exclaimed Frank.

"But do you think it is TRUE? You believe me?"

"We certainly do," chorused both the boys, much impressed by the old salt's narration.

"Well, the only problem is to get to the galleon," resumed Bill.

"That would be easy in the Golden Eagle," was Frank's quiet rejoinder.

"She could be fitted with aluminum pontoons, and, with a propeller device installed, we could start her upward from the water as easily as from the land."

"By the Lord High Admiral's slippers!--do you think you could, lads?"

exclaimed the old mariner in great excitement.

"I am certain of it," was the quiet rejoinder.

"Boys, there's enough gold there to make us all millionaires."

"Hardly enough for that, I should think," smiled Frank, "but at least it is worth trying for. What do you say, boys, shall we make a dash for the golden galleon?"

"Will we? Why, Frank, if you'll lead the way we'll follow all right,"

cried Billy, wild with excitement at the notion.

Hastily the eager group sketched out the rough details of the expedition and it was agreed that the boys should start on their treasure quest immediately after the cup race--provided they could obtain their father's permission.

"Hurray for the treasure of the Sarga.s.so!" shouted Billy, throwing up his hat and catching it again and almost upsetting the lamp in his enthusiasm.

But his excitement received a sudden check.

A man was racing by the house on a galloping horse and as he tore along he shouted the alarming cry of:

"Fire! fire! fire!"

CHAPTER VII.

A FIRE ALARM BY AEROPLANE.

They all raced out of the house and soon saw that the fire was some distance off. The glare of the flames spread redly on the sky and illuminated the low hanging clouds till they glowed like red-hot coals. It was evidently a fierce blaze.

"It's Farmer Goggins's place!" announced Bluewater Bill as he noted the direction of the glow.