No more attempts at diving were made on the trip.  The horror of that last dive remained with all, safe as they now were.

All the way the “Pollard,” though well out from shore, ran within sight of the light-houses.

Shortly before two o’clock in the morning Captain Jack Benson, again at the deck wheel, steered in for the light at Cape Adamson.  He was going at slow speed as he rounded the point and headed in for the bay.

“Be careful how you go, captain, and be on the alert to obey signals,” cautioned Mr. Farnum.  “We’ve got to thread our way into a perfect hornet’s nest of war craft.  A dozen battle ships, several cruisers and a flotilla of torpedo boats are at anchor over yonder.”

It wasn’t long before the searchlight of one of the battleships picked up the “Pollard” with its broad ray.  Then, from the flagship the colored lights that blazed out and faded spelled the signal: 

“Who are you?”

“Pollard, submarine,” replied the little craft’s signal lights.

“Expected.  Come in close for orders,” came the signaled answer.

There was something sombre, grim, awesome about this great fleet of mighty fighting craft as the young captain stole his boat in among them.  These craft represented much of Uncle Sam’s fighting strength, a bulwark of safety, to our coasts and commerce.

Close up within megaphone-hailing distance Captain Jack ran his boat.  The watch officer of the “Columbia,” the battleship that served as flagship to the fleet, stood with megaphone ready.

“Ahoy, ’Pollard’!” he called.

“Ahoy, flagship!” Captain Jack answered through a megaphone.

“Fleet patrol boat will show you to your anchorage.  Are your owners aboard?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then, in the morning, they will hear from the admiral.”

“One moment, sir,” Captain Jack shouted back.  “We have aboard a maniac, a man who tried to destroy us on the trip down.  He has naval discharge papers.”

“His name?”

“William Henderson.”

“Henderson?  Wait a moment!” came back from the flagship’s rail.

Those on the “Pollard’s” deck saw a younger officer leave the watch officer and hurry away.  This younger officer soon returned with a paper which he handed to the watch officer.

“‘Pollard’ ahoy!” came from the latter.

“Flagship ahoy!”

“William Henderson was an inmate of a naval hospital, where he had been sent to be watched on a suspicion of lunacy.  A few days ago he escaped.  We’ll take him off your hands and see he is sent back where he belongs.”

“Thank you, flagship.”

The fleet patrol boat, which had been hovering near, a small cabin launch, now steamed in alongside the submarine.  An ensign and four men came aboard.  Captain Jack led them below, pointing out Henderson.  The four sailors lifted him, carrying him up and over the side to their own boat.