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Submarine Boys on Duty

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<h2 id="id00874" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER XII</h2> <h5 id="id00875">THE DISCOVERY FROM THE CONNING TOWER</h5> "Go up slanting, or on an even keel?" called up Mr. Farnum. "On the even keel," came the answer. "All right, then; we'll know soon." For this purpose the largest compressed air container of all was to be employed. It distributed great volumes of compressed air to all the water tanks, forcing open the valves and driving out the water. "Any of you youngsters know where the proper wrench is?" inquired the builder, looking keenly at the boys. There was an instant start, followed by widespread pallor. "Oh, it's not right to keep you in torment," laughed the builder. "I have kept the wrench in my pocket, all along." He drew it out, holding it up before their gaze. Though technically a wrench, it looked more like a very large key. It was of curious construction, intended to supply the greatest amount of force with the least amount of exertion. "Watch me," commanded Jacob Farnum. "Any one of you may have to use this wrench at any time." Little did any of them guess the tragedy that was destined to center around that life-saving wrench later on. Now, with the boys gathered about him, Mr. Farnum fitted the wrench with great care and deliberation. "See how easily it's intended to turn?" asked the builder, giving it a slight turn. All three of the boys nodded. "Now, we'll give it more," continued Mr. Farnum. He swung the wrench well around in order to release compressed air with a rush and great force into the water tanks. Then he stood there, waiting. There was no perceptible motion or other change that the boys could note about the boat. "Wha—what makes it act so slowly?" asked Eph Somers, in a queer voice. "Or isn't it going to act?" For some seconds more the four stood there looking at one another. Andrews came to the doorway of the engine room, looking anxious. "We've released a lot of compressed air," uttered Mr. Farnum. "More than half of the force in the receiver is gone." A few seconds more passed. Then restless Eph sprang to the stairway. "Mr. Pollard," he cried, nervously, "when on earth—under the sea, I mean—are we going up? What's wrong?" "Going up?" called down the inventor. "This isn't an airship." "When are we going to strike the surface?" Eph insisted. "Why, we're awash already. Don't you notice I've just shut off the electric motor?" That was true, although none of the quartette had yet realized that the propeller shafts were stilled. "Awash, are we?" cried Eph, in an incredulous voice. "If you can't believe it," replied David Pollard, calmly, "come up and see for yourself." Eph accepted that invitation with such alacrity that he tripped and barked his shins against one of the iron steps, but recovered and darted up in no time. "Glory!" he shouted, jubilantly. "It's true. I can see the stars." At that moment the bell rang for turning on the gasoline motor. Within a few seconds the big engines were throbbing. Again the propeller shafts began to turn. Now, all hands could feel the motion as the "Pollard" skimmed lazily along over the ocean's surfaces. As Eph came down, Jack Benson stepped up, with a light heart, now that the submarine had responded to the last and most important of its tasks. He stood beside the wheel, ready to take it whenever Mr. Pollard should give it up. Yes, indeed; there was the sky overhead. And, with this glimpse of heaven's arch Jack Benson found himself forever done with submarine fever in the matter of the ordinary risk and dreads. As yet only the conning tower was out of water. The platform deck would not emerge until Mr. Farnum, below, employed much of the remaining compressed air for expelling the last gallons of sail water from the tanks. "What's that off the starboard bow?" wondered Jack. "Stop, Mr. Pollard. Reverse! I'm sure there's something over yonder worth stopping to look into." David Pollard stopped the speed, then reversed sufficiently to correct the headway, although he replied: "I don't see anything, Benson. You've been below so long that up here, in less light, you're a victim of shadows." But Jack, who had snatched the marine glasses from the rack, and was using them, retorted: "The shadows I see, Mr. Pollard, are human shadows, clinging to something in the water, and that something must be an overturned craft of some sort." "Let me have the glasses," requested Mr. Pollard. After taking a long look the inventor replied, excitedly: "Benson, you're right. There are some human beings in distress over yonder. Thank heaven, we didn't go by them." For the first time that night David Pollard turned on the powerful searchlight, projecting abroad, brilliant ray off the starboard bow. The bottom of a hull about forty feet long, presumably that of a sloop, was what David Pollard now saw. Clinging to it were two men. One of them appeared to be middle-aged, the other much younger. The overturned boat was some three hundred yards distant. "What have you stopped for? What's up?" called up Mr. Farnum. "Wreck, sir. Two men in distress," Jack answered. "We'll go close and contrive to take them off," announced the inventor. Turning on slow speed, he swung the "Pollard's" prow about, making for the wreck. "You youngsters had better get out on deck, with lines to heave," suggested Mr. Pollard. So Jack called up Hal and Eph. After Benson had stepped out on the platform deck Hal passed out three long, light lines. Up to within a hundred feet of the wreck ran the submarine boat, then stopped, lying parallel with the capsized craft. "Can you catch a line, if we throw it?" hailed Jack. "Yes," came the answer. The voice was dull. There was no enthusiasm about it. "They don't seem very glad to see us," muttered the submarine boy to the inventor, who had stepped out to the deck wheel. "I wonder if they're dazed and weak?" Then to the wrecked ones Jack called: "How long since you capsized?" "Since just after sundown," replied the younger of the pair clinging to the hull. Again his voice was sulky. "There's something queer about this," whispered Benson to Mr. Pollard. "They don't seem a bit glad to be pulled off that hull. Besides, they must have been the worst sort of lubbers to capsize a boat in any breeze that has been blowing this day. I don't see how they managed it." "Throw them a line," directed Mr. Farnum, who had just come out on deck. Jack made the cast, doing it cleverly. The long, light rope lay across the overturned hull. But the younger man of the wet pair, in reaching for the line, pushed it off into the water. "Clumsy!" muttered Jack, under his breath. "And look there! They have life preservers on. It must have been a leisurely capsizing to give them time for that." "It does look queer," agreed Jacob Farnum. Having rapidly hauled in the line, Jack made another cast. "Try to get that," he shouted. Yet once more, in some unaccountable way, the younger man on the capsized boat managed to bungle so with the line that it went overboard into the water. "I can put a stop to that," muttered Jack Benson, pulling off cap and coat and dropping them down through the manhole. "I'm going to swim over there. When I get there, Hal, throw me a line." With that the young submarine boy stepped over the rail, poised his hands at the side and dived. An excellent swimmer, it was not long before he touched the overturned hull. Neither of those whom he sought to rescue offered him a hand. But Jack climbed up out of the water, seated himself on the keel between the strange pair, and stared hard at them, each in turn. The older man appeared to be about fifty years of age. He wore a closely-cropped beard that had in it a sprinkling of gray. The younger man, who appeared to be about twenty-five years of age, was smooth-faced and sulky-looking. Both were dressed well, and looked like people of means. Jack guessed that they must be father and son. "Well, have you got through looking at us?" demanded the younger man. "I guess so," nodded Benson. "I was thinking that your boat must have taken several minutes in doing the capsizing trick. You both had time to adjust life-preservers nicely, and you, sir," turning to the older man, "must have found time to pack the satchel that you're holding so carefully." The older man's jaw dropped. He looked haggard. But the younger one demanded, fiercely: "Is all this any of your business?" "Not a bit," admitted Jack Benson. "All I'm here to do is to rescue you, or help in it." "Humph!" grunted the younger man. "Heave a line, Hal!" shouted the submarine boy, signaling with one hand. "Drive it straight. I'll get it." Swish! Whirr—rr! It was a splendid cast. As Jack leaped to his feet the slender rope fell over one shoulder. Benson caught it with both hands. "I'll help you," called the younger stranger with startling suddenness, reaching forward. He grabbed at the submarine boy. The next instant Jack Benson lost his footing on that wet, slippery sloop bottom. He pitched, threw up his hands in an effort to regain his balance, then toppled, disappearing beneath the waves. "They're trying to drown Jack!" rang Hal Hastings's excited voice. "That was a deliberate trick!" <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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