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Submarine Boys on Duty

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<h2 id="id01269" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER XVIII</h2> <h5 id="id01270">THE LAST GASP OF DESPAIR</h5> "I can't realize it yet, or believe it. It can't be true," shuddered David Pollard. "We surely did," asserted Captain Jack. "Could you swear that you have seen the wrench since we sailed?" asked Jacob Farnum, white-faced but cool. "I—I can't quite say as to that," replied Benson, slowly. "But I will swear that I remember having seen it just a few minutes before we started." "A few minutes—only?" insisted the builder. "Yes, sir. I'm positive." "For that matter," continued the builder, "there has been no one on board to-day save those who belong aboard." "No; no one but ourselves has been on the boat to-day." "None of us would throw it overboard, knowing how precious a tool it is," declared Mr. Farnum, glancing about him bewildered. "It was hardly possible to mislay such a thing by accident. Where on earth can it be, then?" Again all hands started to hunt. Henderson was the first to sink to a seat as a sign that he gave up the search. The others barely glanced at him, so intent were all on the hunt that meant their only chance for life. Yet at last they all sat down, panting, perspiring. "Good heavens!" quivered the inventor. "We must soon begin to think of our very breath here. We can't exert ourselves as we have been doing. Whoever moves now, let him remember that he is using up the very life of others in the act of breathing!" All but devoid of hope, they all remained sitting. At first they studied the floor, gloomily. At last they looked up, to read each other's faces. No hope was to be seen in any countenance. "Thank heaven the electric light doesn't eat up air," shuddered Hal Hastings, at last. "It would be fearful to be alive—conscious—after it had become dark!" "Don't!" shivered David Pollard, convulsively. "Come, come, old chap," urged Farnum, laying a hand on his friend's arm, "you are not going to lose your courage?" "I feel as if I ought to bear the whole punishment," groaned the inventor, covering his eyes with his hands. "It was I who invented this wretched boat!" "But you didn't lose the wrench, or mislay it," broke in Eph Somers, with the intention of consoling. "Who did mislay it?" pondered Captain Jack aloud. "If we could only settle that point, it might start us on the right track to finding the thing yet. For, of course, it's on board." The certainty that the wrench must be somewhere on the boat brought all to their feet, though this time they rose slowly, almost painfully. After a few minutes the search became listless. At Hal's suggestion, made with a wan smile, each even searched through his own baggage. Pantry and galley were patiently ransacked. "I've heard of such things being lost before, in the simplest way, and defying all search for a long time," mused Hal, aloud. "It may be the same with that precious wrench. But the difference, this time, is that we shan't be here long to wait for it to turn up unexpectedly." Farnum dropped into a seat again, and that started the rest, until all had taken seats. From one to another, dumb, moody looks were passed. Each was wonderingly asking himself the same question that none would have thought of framing in words. How much longer could the air last in a pure enough condition to sustain six lives? Eph Somers chuckled, absently, then looked up, startled and ashamed. The others gazed at him, comprehendingly. Each knew that Eph was thinking how idiotic it was for six human beings to sit, in perfect health, waiting until the soiling of the air about them killed them all. It was a terrible thought; Eph's mirth was of the hysterical kind. Finally, after some minutes had passed, Jack Benson dragged himself to his feet. He was amazed, at first thought, to find out how every joint and muscle in his body ached. He felt as weary as though he had been without sleep for a month. Then he understood. The dreadful lassitude was caused by the withdrawing of the life-giving oxygen from the air. The oxygen was still there, but combined with the carbon from lungs and blood to form carbonic acid gas, which, in large quantities, is fatal to life. When Jack moved about now, feeling, dully, as though a cane on which to lean would be a great boon, the others got to their feet with evident effort and joined in one more despairing search. This hunt ended as the others had done, only more quickly. The only places into which they had been able to look for the missing wrench were the same places that had been vainly examined twice before. This time it seemed to cause pain even to sit down. How much longer could the torment last, ere death came mercifully to their relief? "It seems as though I ought to reach out my hand and lay it on the wrench," muttered Captain Jack Benson, to Henderson, next to whom he found himself sitting. The former boatswain's mate smiled a ghastly smile, his eyes glowing bright like coals. Jack turned, with a shiver, away from the strange glint in the big fellow's eyes. "Friends," said Mr. Farnum, presently, "we may as well realize the whole situation, and agree to face it like men. We can't find the wrench. Wherever it is, we are not going to find it. The little breathable air that is left us here is not going to last more than a few minutes. We will not waste any more of that air in getting up to make useless searches. Let us be as calm as possible. Perhaps each man had better look down at the floor, and so continue to look. At the end—the end!—let no one, I beg of you, raise his eyes to witness the final sufferings of any comrade." There was an awed pause. "Is that agreed to?" asked Farnum, huskily. "Yes," came in hoarse whispers. There was another long silence—long as time must now be measured, for a breath, now, was as long as an hour on the surface. It was big Bill Henderson who spoke next. "Gentlemen," he announced, "the lord of battles and of spring flowers and breezes is displeased with us. He is taking this method to punish us as we deserve. Yet in that punishment we shall find pardon, too. Though we suffer now, we shall know joy when this life is ended." Somehow, the speech stirred up resentment in the minds of the hearers. "Could any death be more glorious?" demanded the seaman. "We are blessed with the privilege of serving as our own sacrifices!" "The poor chap's mind is going first," whispered Mr. Farnum, pityingly, to Captain Jack. "I don't understand what he's talking about," whispered Benson. "Don't be surprised at that. Neither does he know," muttered Jacob Farnum. "Are you jesting or mocking," broke in Henderson, half-angrily, "at the very moment when you should be getting ready for the glory of giving the last gasp of despair?" "Give the last gasp, if you want to," retorted Eph, with savage irony, "and let us sit here in peace." "Can anyone think," suggested Jack, "of any possible place in which we have not yet looked for that wrench?" "I'm—too—tired to—think," drowsed Hal. His voice startled the others. Now, that they came to examine their own conditions a bit more keenly, they began to understand that they, too, were fast sinking into a drowsy state. Was the coming end, too, to be painless? "There's no use looking," replied Jacob Farnum, in answer to Jack's question. "There isn't a single place left to explore. We—" Whether Mr. Farnum thus broke off because he had lost his thought, or whether he dreaded to say the omitted words, none of the others even troubled to guess. Bill Henderson started in to sing. There were a few angry gasps of protest until the others slowly realized that the air sounded like that of some hymn. The words, however, were in a foreign tongue, picked up in the course of the seaman's wanderings over the world. Then their resentment softened. If Bill preferred to meet the end with a hymn on his lips, perhaps that was the best thing for all of them. It crept over them, now, that they felt choking sensations, with pain and buzzing in their ears. Then the end must be near. Unconsciousness, at any rate. That loss of the senses would be the end, so far as any of them could know. "Now, give thanks with your last real thoughts," cried Bill, hoarsely. "Gentlemen—this is—glorious! We're going fast! The last—croak—is upon us! Good—bye!" <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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