“Right-o! But the _Redbird_ is a fine ship, and just as safe as a house.” “But she’s a sailing ship--and slow.” “Not so slow, if anybody should ask you,” returned Belding smiling. “A four-master?” “And square rigged. A real ship. No schooner-rig, or half-and-half. Captain Jim Lowder thinks she is the finest thing afloat. Of course, she is thirty years old; but she was built to last. Regular passenger sailing ship, with a round-the-world record that would make the British tea ships sit up and take notice. Her cabin finished in mahogany, staterooms in white enamel--simply fine!” “I didn’t know they had such sailing ships,” said Whistler in wonder. “Oh, there are a few left. The Huns haven’t sunk them all. Nor have the steam craft put such as the _Redbird_ out of commission. You couldn’t get Captain Jim Lowder to take out a steam vessel. He abominates the ‘iron pots,’ as he calls the steam freighters. “But sailing ships like the _Redbird_ are kept out of the European trade if possible. Even Captain Lowder must admit that a sailing ship is not in the game of fighting subs.” “That is the way I feel. Wish your folks and mine were going south on a steamer, George.” “No fear. They will be all right,” was Belding’s reassuring reply. “Just the same I’d feel a lot better if all the Hun subs and raiders were bottled up at their bases.” “By the way,” said Belding, “what do you think of this _Sea Pigeon_ we hear so much talk about? Think there is such a craft?” “Why not? We know that some kind of an enemy vessel slipped along south and evaded our patrol, leaving a trail of sunken and torpedoed ships behind her.” “But a huge submarine, with superstructure and all----” “_That_ is only a guess,” laughed Whistler. “Personally, I believe this _Sea Pigeon_ is a raider and no submarine at all. A submarine of the size reported would use up a lot of petrol.” “That’s all right,” said Belding quickly. “She could get supplies down along the Spanish coast. There are plenty of people that way friendly to the Germans.” At the moment they heard the sudden chatter of the radio instrument. Belding turned instantly to put his head into the little room. The operator smiled and nodded to him. “Something doing,” he muttered. “One of you chaps want to take this message to the com?” “Let’s have it,” said Whistler, quickly, holding out his hand. “I’d like to put on that harness myself,” said Belding. “We had a wireless on the roof of our house in New York before the war. Government made us wreck it.” “Jinks!” exclaimed Whistler, waiting for the operator to write out the message received and slip it into an envelope. “Do _you_ know how to work one of these things, George?” “I know something about it,” admitted Belding. “What’s it all about?” he asked the operator. “Orders for us,” said the man. “You’ll know soon enough. We’re due for new cruising grounds, boys. But keep your tongues still till the com eases the information to all hands.”