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[Illustration: "Great Scott!" ejaculated Frank, "It's a girl!"]

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                             The Boy Allies
                        On the North Sea Patrol

                                   OR

              Striking the First Blow at the German Fleet

                       By Ensign ROBERT L. DRAKE

                               AUTHOR OF

                    "The Boy Allies Under Two Flags"
              "The Boy Allies With the Terror of the Seas"
               "The Boy Allies With the Flying Squadron"

                           A. L. BURT COMPANY
                                NEW YORK

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                            Copyright, 1915
                         BY A. L. BURT COMPANY

                 THE BOY ALLIES ON THE NORTH SEA PATROL

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                 THE BOY ALLIES ON THE NORTH SEA PATROL




                               CHAPTER I.

                              SHANGHAIED.


"Help! Help!"

Frank Chadwick, strolling along the water-front in Naples, stopped
suddenly in his tracks and gazed in the direction from whence had come
the cry of distress.

"Help! Help!" came the cry again, in English.

Frank dashed forward toward a dirty-looking sailors' boarding house,
from the inside of which he could distinguish the sounds of a struggle.

As he sprang through the door, at the far end of the room he saw a
little man in a red sweater, unmistakably an American, apparently
battling for his life with two swarthy Italians, both armed with
gleaming knives.

Frank jumped forward with a cry, and as he did so, the Italians turned
and fled. The little American wiped his face on his sleeve, and then
turned to Frank with outstretched hand.

"You came just in time," he declared. "I thought it was all up with me."

"I'm glad I did," replied the lad, grasping the other's hand.

"Yes, sir," continued the little man. "If you hadn't-a-come, them <DW55>s
would-a-done for me sure."

He led the way to an adjoining room, Frank following him. He sat down at
a table and rapped loudly upon it.

"Let's have a drink," he said, as a greasy-looking Italian in an even
more greasy apron entered the room.

"Thanks," replied Frank; "but I don't drink."

"Oh, come on now," urged the other; "take something."

"No," said Frank with finality. "I must go," he continued, turning
toward the door. "I am glad to have been of some assistance to you."

But even as he turned the American in the red sweater stamped twice upon
the floor and a trap door fell away beneath Frank's feet. The lad caught
a glimpse of water below.

His elbow struck the floor as he went down, and he fell head-first into
a small rowboat. His head struck the bottom of the boat with sickening
force, stunning him.

It was almost an hour later when his wits began to return to him. He
took in the scene around him. He stood on the deck of a small schooner,
and a great hulk of a man with an evil face stood near him, arguing with
his friend of the red sweater.

"What is this thing you've brought me?" shouted the big man. "If we
don't look out we'll step on it and break it. It hadn't ought to be
around without its ma."

"Oh, he'll do all right, captain," replied the red sweater. "But I've
got to skip or I'll have the patrol boat after me. Do you sign or not?"

"Well, I'll tackle this one, but if he ain't up to snuff he'll come back
by freight, and don't you forget it."

The red sweater pocketed a note the captain handed him, went over the
side of the schooner and rowed off.

Frank gazed about the schooner. Several dirty sailors, fully as evil
looking as the captain, were working about the deck. Apparently they
were foreigners. The captain appeared to be an American.

The captain, Harwood by name, turned to Frank.

"Get forward," he commanded.

Frank drew himself up.

"What's the meaning of this?" he exclaimed. "I demand to be put ashore."

"Is that so," sneered the big captain; "and why do you suppose I went to
all this trouble to get you here, huh? Now you listen to me. I'm captain
of this here tub, and what I say goes. Get forward!"

Still Frank stood still.

"Look here," he began, "I----"

The captain knocked him down with a single blow of his great fist, and
kicked his prostrate form. Then he picked him up, caught him by the neck
and the slack of his coat and ran him forward to the hatchway, and flung
him below.

As Frank picked himself up there descended upon him a deluge of clothes,
followed by the captain's voice.

"There's your outfit, Willie, and it won't cost you a cent. You've got
two minutes to get into them, and I hope you won't force me to give you
any assistance."

Frank Chadwick was a lad of discretion. Therefore he made haste to
change, and in less than the allotted time he again emerged on deck.

Frank had just passed his sixteenth birthday. Always athletically
inclined, he was extremely large for his age; and his muscles, hardened
by much outdoor exercise, made him a match for many a man twice his age,
as he had proven more than once when forced to do so.

His father was a well-to-do physician in a small New England town. For a
lad of his years, Frank was an expert in the art of self-defense. Also
he could ride, shoot and fence.

While the lad was by no means an expert with sailing vessels, he
nevertheless had had some experience in that line. At home he had a
small sailboat and in the summer months spent many hours upon the water.
Consequently he was well versed in nautical terms.

This summer Frank and his father had been touring Europe. The war clouds
which had hovered over the continent for weeks had finally burst while
father and son were in Germany. In getting out of the country the