back to the base for them.
A German submarine was firing on barges off Nauset Beach
and setting them afire. People on shore watched the whole pro-ceeding,
unable to do anything about it. When the newly armed planes arrived,
they were still unable to do much about it because their guns refused to
function properly; one frustrated pilot, in desperation, threw a monkey
wrench at the submarine crew. Finally the German captain waved
goodbye to the planes, sub-merged his craft and disappeared.
On the pretense of going to Boston, my father and Eddie
Green snuck away and drove over to Nauset Beach to see what was
happening, but they arrived there too late.
After the submarine episode, sabotage was suspected among personnel
at the air base, and an investigation began into all phases
of the attack. Many rumors were rife — one that noc- turnal signals were
being flashed out to sea from the hill behind our
house. Night after night we looked for them but never
One night as we were sitting around by lamplight (we had no
electricity until the early thirties) there was a knock at the door.
My father let in two men who carried revolvers and announced
that they were from the secret service and that our house was surrounded
by armed guards, which, on looking out the window we found to be
true. The head man spread out some papers on the table and
said, "Here's my authority."
"And here is mine," said my father, taking his Weston police badge
from his pocket and laying it beside the documents. He
was a member of the auxiliary police force and always carried
his badge with him.