with a yank cut out all the electric wires. With a sigh of relief Mr.
Sharp pulled his hands from the copper where he had been held fast as
if by some powerful magnet, his muscles cramped by the current.
Fortunately the electricity was of low voltage, and he was not burned.
The body of Mr. Swift toppled backward from the dynamo, as Tom sprang
to reach his father.
"He's dead!" he cried, as he saw the pale face and the closed eyes.
"No, only badly shocked, I hope," spoke Mr. Sharp. "But we must get him
to the fresh air at once. Start the tank pumps. We'll rise to the
surface."
The youth needed no second bidding. Once more turning on the electric
current, he set the powerful pumps in motion and the submarine began to
rise. Then, aided by Captain Weston and Mr. Damon, the young inventor
carried his father to a couch in the main cabin. Mr. Sharp took charge
of the machinery.
Restoratives were applied, and there was a flutter of the eyelids of
the aged inventor.
"I think he'll come around all right," said the sailor kindly, as he
saw Tom's grief. "Fresh air will be the thing for him. We'll be on the
surface in a minute."
Up shot the Advance, while Mr. Sharp stood ready to open the conning
tower as soon as it should be out of water. Mr. Swift seemed to be
rapidly reviving. With a bound the submarine, forced upward from the
great depth, fairly shot out of the water. There was a clanking sound
as the aeronaut opened the airtight door of the tower, and a breath of
fresh air came in.
"Can you walk, dad, or shall we carry you?" asked Tom solicitously.
"Oh, I--I'm feeling better now," was the inventor's reply. "I'll soon
be all right when I get out on deck. My foot slipped as I was adjusting
a wire that had gotten out of order, and I fell so that I received a
large part of the current. I'm glad I was not burned. Was Mr. Sharp
hurt? I saw him run to the switch, just before I lost consciousness."
"No, I'm all right," answered the balloonist. "But allow us to get you
out to the fresh air. You'll feel much better then."
Mr. Swift managed to walk slowly to the ladder leading to the conning
tower, and thence to the deck. The others followed him. As all emerged
from the submarine they uttered a cry of astonishment.
There, not one hundred yards away, was a great warship, flying a flag
which, in a moment, Tom recognized as that of Brazil. The cruiser was
lying off a small island, and all about were small boats, filled with
natives, who seemed to be bringing supplies from land to the ship. At
the unexpected sight of the submarine, bobbing up from the bottom of
the ocean, the natives uttered cries of fright. The attention of those
on the warship was attracted, and the bridge and rails were lined with
curious officers and men.
"It's a good thing we didn't come up under that ship," observed Tom.
"They would have thought we were trying to torpedo her. Do you feel
better, dad?" he asked, his wonder over the sight of the big vessel
temporarily eclipsed in his anxiety for his parent.
"Oh, yes, much better. I'm all right now. But I wish we hadn't
disclosed ourselves to these people. They may demand to know where we
are going, and Brazil is too near Uruguay to make it safe to tell our
errand. They may guess it, however, from having read of the wreck, and
our departure."
"Oh, I guess it will be all right," replied Captain Weston. "We can
tell them we are on a pleasure trip. That's true enough. It would give
us great pleasure to find that gold."
"There's a boat, with some officers in it, to judge by the amount of
gold lace on them, putting off from the ship," remarked Mr. Sharp.
"Ha! Yes! Evidently they intend to pay us a formal visit," observed Mr.
Damon. "Bless my gaiters, though. I'm not dressed to receive company. I
think I'll put on my dress suit."
"It's too late," advised Tom. "They'll be here in a minute."
Urged on by the lusty arms of the Brazilian sailors, the boat,
containing several officers, neared the floating submarine rapidly.
"Ahoy there!" called an officer in the bow, his accent betraying his
unfamiliarity with the English language. "What craft are you?"
"Submarine, Advance, from New Jersey," replied Tom. "Who are you?"
"Brazilian cruiser San Paulo," was the reply. "Where are you bound?"
went on the officer.
"On pleasure," answered Captain Weston quickly. "But why do you ask? We
are an American ship, sailing under American colors. Is this Brazilian
territory?"
"This island is--yes," came back the answer, and by this time the small
boat was at the side of the submarine. Before the adventurers could
have protested, had they a desire to do so, there were a number of
officers and the crew of the San Paulo on the small deck.
With a flourish, the officer who had done the questioning drew his
sword. Waving it in the air with a dramatic gesture, he exclaimed:
"You're our prisoners! Resist and my men shall cut you down like dogs!
Seize them, men!"
The sailors sprang forward, each one stationing himself at the side of
one of our friends, and grasping an arm.
"What does this mean?" cried Captain Weston indignantly. "If this is a
joke, you're carrying it too far. If you're in earnest, let me warn you
against interfering with Americans!"
"We know what we are doing," was the answer from the officer.
The sailor who had hold of Captain Weston endeavored to secure a
tighter grip. The captain turned suddenly, and seizing the man about
the waist, with an exercise of tremendous strength hurled him over his
head and into the sea, the man making a great splash.
"That's the way I'll treat any one else who dares lay a hand on me!"
shouted the captain, who was transformed from a mild-mannered
individual into an angry, modern giant. There was a gasp of
astonishment at his feat, as the ducked sailor crawled back into the
small boat. And he did not again venture on the deck of the submarine.
"Seize them, men!" cried the gold-laced officer again, and this time he
and his fellows, including the crew, crowded so closely around Tom and
his friends that they could do nothing. Even Captain Weston found it
impossible to offer any resistance, for three men grabbed hold of him
but his spirit was still a fighting one, and he struggled desperately
but uselessly.
"How dare you do this?" he cried.
"Yes," added Tom, "what right have you to interfere with us?"
"Every right," declared the gold-laced officer.
"You are in Brazilian territory, and I arrest you."
"What for?" demanded Mr. Sharp.
"Because your ship is an American submarine, and we have received word
that you intend to damage our shipping, and may try to torpedo our
warships. I believe you tried to disable us a little while ago, but
failed. We consider that an act of war and you will be treated
accordingly. Take them on board the San Paulo," the officer went on,
turning to his aides. "We'll try them by court-marital here. Some of
you remain and guard this submarine. We will teach these filibustering
Americans a lesson."
Chapter Twenty
Doomed to Death
There was no room on the small deck of the submarine to make a stand
against the officers and crew of the Brazilian warship. In fact, the
capture of the gold-seekers had been effected so suddenly that their
astonishment almost deprived them of the power to think clearly.
At another command from the officer, who was addressed as Admiral
Fanchetti, several of the sailors began to lead Tom and his friends
toward the small boat.
"Do you feel all right, father?" inquired the lad anxiously, as he
looked at his parent. "These scoundrels have no right to treat us so."
"Yes, Tom, I'm all right as far as the electric shock is concerned, but
I don't like to be handled in this fashion."
"We ought not to submit!" burst out Mr. Damon. "Bless the stars and
stripes! We ought to fight."
"There's no chance," said Mr. Sharp. "We are right under the guns of
the ship. They could sink us with one shot. I guess we'll have to give
in for the time being."
"It is most unpleasant, if I may be allowed the expression," commented
Captain Weston mildly. He seemed to have lost his sudden anger, but
there was a steely glint in his eyes, and a grim, set look around his
month that showed his temper was kept under control only by an effort.
It boded no good to the sailors who had hold of the doughty captain if
he should once get loose, and it was noticed that they were on their
guard.
As for Tom, he submitted quietly to the two Brazilians who had hold of
either arm, and Mr. Swift was held by only one, for it was seen that he
was feeble.
"Into the boat with them!" cried Admiral Fanchetti. "And guard them
well, Lieutenant Drascalo, for I heard them plotting to escape," and
the admiral signaled to a younger officer, who was in charge of the men
guarding the prisoners.
"Lieutenant Drascalo, eh?" murmured Mr. Damon. "I think they made a
mistake naming him. It ought to be Rascalo. He looks like a rascal."
"Silenceo!" exclaimed the lieutenant, scowling at the odd character.
"Bless my spark plug! He's a regular fire-eater!" went on Mr. Damon,
who appeared to have fully recovered his spirits.
"Silenceo!" cried the lieutenant, scowling again, but Mr. Damon did not
appear to mind.
Admiral Fanchetti and several others of the gold-laced officers
remained aboard the submarine, while Tom and his friends were hustled
into the small boat and rowed toward the warship.
"I hope they don't damage our craft," murmured the young inventor, as
he saw the admiral enter the conning tower.
"If they do, we'll complain to the United States consul and demand
damages," said Mr. Swift.
"I'm afraid we won't have a chance to communicate with the consul,"
remarked Captain Weston.
"What do you mean?" asked Mr. Damon. "Bless my shoelaces, but will
these scoundrels--"
"Silenceo!" cried Lieutenant Drascalo quickly. "Dogs of Americans, do
you wish to insult us?"
"Impossible; you wouldn't appreciate a good, genuine United States
insult," murmured Tom under his breath.
"What I mean," went on the captain, "is that these people may carry the
proceedings off with a high hand. You heard the admiral speak of a
court-martial."
"Would they dare do that?" inquired Mr. Sharp.
"They would dare anything in this part of the world, I'm afraid,"
resumed Captain Weston. "I think I see their plan, though. This admiral
is newly in command; his uniform shows that. He wants to make a name for
himself, and he seizes on our submarine as an excuse. He can send word
to his government that he destroyed a torpedo craft that sought to
wreck his ship. Thus he will acquire a reputation."
"But would his government support him in such a hostile act against the
United States, a friendly nation?" asked Tom.
"Oh, he would not claim to have acted against the United States as a
power. He would say that it was a private submarine, and, as a matter
of fact, it is. While we are under the protection of the stars and
stripes, our vessel is not a Government one," and Captain Weston spoke
the last in a low voice, so the scowling lieutenant could not hear.
"What will they do with us?" inquired Mr. Swift.
"Have some sort of a court-martial, perhaps," went on the captain, "and
confiscate our craft. Then they will send us back home, I expect for
they would not dare harm us."
"But take our submarine!" cried Tom. "The villains--"
"Silenceo!" shouted Lieutenant Drascalo and he drew his sword.
By this time the small boat was under the big guns of the San Paulo,
and the prisoners were ordered, in broken English, to mount a companion
ladder that hung over the side. In a short time they were on deck, amid
a crowd of sailors, and they could see the boat going back to bring off
the admiral, who signaled from the submarine. Tom and his friends were
taken below to a room that looked like a prison, and there, a little
later, they were visited by Admiral Fanchetti and several officers.
"You will be tried at once," said the admiral. "I have examined your
submarine and I find she carries two torpedo tubes. It is a wonder you
did not sink me at once."
"Those are not torpedo tubes!" cried Tom, unable to keep silent, though
Captain Weston motioned him to do so.
"I know torpedo tubes when I see them," declared the admiral. "I
consider I had a very narrow escape. Your country is fortunate that
mine does not declare war against it for this act. But I take it you
are acting privately, for you fly no flag, though you claim to be from
the United States."
"There's no place for a flag on the submarine," went on Tom. "What good
would it be under water?"
"Silenceo!" cried Lieutenant Drascalo, the admonition to silence
seeming to be the only command of which he was capable.
"I shall confiscate your craft for my government," went on the admiral,
"and shall punish you as the court-martial may direct. You will be
tried at once."
It was in vain for the prisoners to protest. Matters were carried with
a high hand. They were allowed a spokesman, and Captain Weston, who
understood Spanish, was selected, that language being used. But the
defense was a farce, for he was scarcely listened to. Several officers
testified before the admiral, who was judge, that they had seen the
submarine rise out of the water, almost under the prow of the San
Paulo. It was assumed that the Advance had tried to wreck the warship,
but had failed. It was in vain that Captain Weston and the others told
of the reason for their rapid ascent from the ocean depths--that Mr.
Swift had been shocked, and needed fresh air. Their story was not
believed.
"We have heard enough!" suddenly exclaimed the admiral. "The evidence
against you is over-whelming--er--what you Americans call conclusive,"
and he was speaking then in broken English. "I find you guilty, and the
sentence of this court-martial is that you be shot at sunrise, three
days hence!"
"Shot!" cried Captain Weston, staggering back at this unexpected
sentence. His companions turned white, and Mr. Swift leaned against his
son for support.
"Bless my stars! Of all the scoundrelly!" began Mr. Damon.
"Silenceo!" shouted the lieutenant, waving his sword.
"You will be shot," proceeded the admiral. "Is not that the verdict of
the honorable court?" he asked, looking at his fellow officers. They
all nodded gravely.
"But look here!" objected Captain Weston. "You don't dare do that! We
are citizens of the United States, and--"
"I consider you no better than pirates," interrupted the admiral. "You
have an armed submarine--a submarine with torpedo tubes. You invade our
harbor with it, and come up almost under my ship. You have forfeited
your right to the protection of your country, and I have no fear on
that score. You will be shot within three days. That is all. Remove
the prisoners."
Protests were in vain, and it was equally useless to struggle. The
prisoners were taken out on deck, for which they were thankful, for the
interior of the ship was close and hot, the weather being intensely
disagreeable. They were told to keep within a certain space on deck,
and a guard of sailors, all armed, was placed near them. From where
they were they could see their submarine floating on the surface of the
little bay, with several Brazilians on the small deck. The Advance had
been anchored, and was surrounded by a flotilla of the native boats,
the brown-skinned paddlers gazing curiously at the odd craft.
"Well, this is tough luck!" murmured Tom. "How do you feel, dad?"
"As well as can be expected under the circumstances," was the reply.
"What do you think about this, Captain Weston?"
"Not very much, if I may be allowed the expression," was the answer.
"Do you think they will dare carry out that threat?" asked Mr. Sharp.
The captain shrugged his shoulders. "I hope it is only a bluff," he
replied, "made to scare us so we will consent to giving up the
submarine, which they have no right to confiscate. But these fellows
look ugly enough for anything," he went on.
"Then if there's any chance of them attempting to carry it out," spoke
Tom, "we've got to do something."
"Bless my gizzard, of course!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "But what? That's
the question. To be shot! Why, that's a terrible threat! The villains--"
"Silenceo!" shouted Lieutenant Drascalo, coming up at that moment.
Chapter Twenty-One
The Escape
Events had happened so quickly that day that the gold-hunters could
scarcely comprehend them. It seemed only a short time since Mr. Swift
had been discovered lying disabled on the dynamo, and what had
transpired since seemed to have taken place in a few minutes, though it
was, in reality, several hours. This was made manifest by the feeling
of hunger on the part of Tom and his friends.
"I wonder if they're going to starve us, the scoundrels?" asked Mr.
Sharp, when the irate lieutenant was beyond hearing. "It's not fair to
make us go hungry and shoot us in the bargain."
"That's so, they ought to feed us," put in Tom. As yet neither he nor
the others fully realized the meaning of the sentence passed on them.
From where they were on deck they could look off to the little island.
From it boats manned by natives were constantly putting off, bringing
supplies to the ship. The place appeared to be a sort of calling
station for Brazilian warships, where they could get fresh water and
fruit and other food.
From the island the gaze of the adventurers wandered to the submarine,
which lay not far away. They were chagrined to see several of the
bolder natives clambering over the deck.
"I hope they keep out of the interior," commented Tom. "If they get to
pulling or hauling on the levers and wheels they may open the tanks and
sink her, with the Conning tower open."
"Better that, perhaps, than to have her fall into the hands of a
foreign power," commented Captain Weston. "Besides, I don't see that
it's going to matter much to us what becomes of her after we're--"
He did not finish, but every one knew what he meant, and a grim silence
fell upon the little group.
There came a welcome diversion, however, in the shape of three sailors,
bearing trays of food, which were placed on the deck in front of the
prisoners, who were sitting or lying in the shade of an awning, for the
sun was very hot.
"Ha! Bless my napkin-ring!" cried Mr. Damon with something of his
former gaiety. "Here's a meal, at all events. They don't intend to
starve us. Eat hearty, every one."
"Yes, we need to keep up our strength," observed Captain Weston.
"Why?" inquired Mr. Sharp.
"Because we're going to try to escape!" exclaimed Tom in a low voice,
when the sailors who had brought the food had gone. "Isn't that what
you mean, captain?"
"Exactly. We'll try to give these villains the slip, and we'll need all
our strength and wits to do it. We'll wait until night, and see what we
can do."
"But where will we escape to?" asked Mr. Swift. "The island will afford
no shelter, and--"
"No, but our submarine will," went on the sailor.
"It's in the possession of the Brazilians," objected Tom.
"Once I get aboard the Advance twenty of those brown-skinned villains
won't keep me prisoner," declared Captain Weston fiercely. "If we can
only slip away from here, get into the small boat, or even swim to the
submarine, I'll make those chaps on board her think a hurricane has
broken loose."
"Yes, and I'll help," said Mr. Damon.
"And I," added Tom and the balloonist.
"That's the way to talk," commented the captain. "Now let's eat, for I
see that rascally lieutenant coming this way, and we mustn't appear to
be plotting, or he'll be suspicious."
The day passed slowly, and though the prisoners seemed to be allowed
considerable liberty, they soon found that it was only apparent. Once
Tom walked some distance from that portion of the deck where he and the
others had been told to remain. A sailor with a gun at once ordered him
back. Nor could they approach the rails without being directed, harshly
enough at times, to move back amidships.
As night approached the gold-seekers were on the alert for any chance
that might offer to slip away, or even attack their guard, but the
number of Brazilians around them was doubled in the evening, and after
supper, which was served to them on deck by the light of swinging
lanterns, they were taken below and locked in a stuffy cabin. They
looked helplessly at each other.
"Don't give up," advised Captain Weston. "It's a long night. We may be
able to get out of here."
But this hope was in vain. Several times he and Tom, thinking the
guards outside the cabin were asleep, tried to force the lock of the
door with their pocket-knives, which had not been taken from them. But
one of the sailors was aroused each time by the noise, and looked in
through a barred window, so they had to give it up. Slowly the night
passed, and morning found the prisoners pale, tired and discouraged.
They were brought up on deck again, for which they were thankful, as in
that tropical climate it was stifling below.
During the day they saw Admiral Fanchetti and several of his officers
pay a visit to the submarine. They went below through the opened
conning tower, and were gone some time.
"I hope they don't disturb any of the machinery," remarked Mr. Swift.
"That could easily do great damage."
Admiral Fanchetti seemed much pleased with himself when he returned
from his visit to the submarine.
"You have a fine craft," he said to the prisoners. "Or, rather, you had
one. My government now owns it. It seems a pity to shoot such good boat
builders, but you are too dangerous to be allowed to go."
If there had been any doubt in the minds of Tom and his friends that
the sentence of the court-martial was only for effect, it was dispelled
that day. A firing squad was told off in plain view of them, and the
men were put through their evolutions by Lieutenant Drascalo, who had
them load, aim and fire blank cartridges at an imaginary line of
prisoners. Tom could not repress a shudder as he noted the leveled
rifles, and saw the fire and smoke spurt from the muzzles.
"Thus we shall do to you at sunrise to-morrow," said the lieutenant,
grinning, as he once more had his men practice their grim work.
It seemed hotter than ever that day. The sun was fairly broiling, and
there was a curious haziness and stillness to the air. It was noticed
that the sailors on the San Paulo were busy making fast all loose
articles on deck with extra lashings, and hatch coverings were doubly
secured.
"What do you suppose they are up to?" asked Tom of Captain Weston.
"I think it is coming on to blow," he replied, "and they don't want to
be caught napping. They have fearful storms down in this region at this
season of the year, and I think one is about due."
"I hope it doesn't wreck the submarine," spoke Mr. Swift. "They ought
to close the hatch of the conning tower, for it won't take much of a
sea to make her ship considerable water."
Admiral Fanchetti had thought of this, however, and as the afternoon
wore away and the storm signs multiplied, he sent word to close the
submarine. He left a few sailors aboard inside on guard.
"It's too hot to eat," observed Tom, when their supper had been brought
to them, and the others felt the same way about it. They managed to
drink some cocoanut milk, prepared in a palatable fashion by the
natives of the island, and then, much to their disgust, they were taken
below again and locked in the cabin.
"Whew! But it certainly is hot!" exclaimed Mr. Damon as he sat down on
a couch and fanned himself. "This is awful!"
"Yes, something is going to happen pretty soon," observed Captain
Weston. "The storm will break shortly, I think."
They sat languidly about the cabin. It was so oppressive that even the
thought of the doom that awaited them in the morning could hardly seem
worse than the terrible heat. They could hear movements going on about
the ship, movements which indicated that preparations were being made
for something unusual. There was a rattling of a chain through a hawse
hole, and Captain Weston remarked:
"They're putting down another anchor. Admiral Fanchetti had better get
away from the island, though, unless he wants to be wrecked. He'll be
blown ashore in less than no time. No cable or chain will hold in such
storms as they have here."
There came a period of silence, which was suddenly broken by a howl as
of some wild beast.
"What's that?" cried Tom, springing up from where he was stretched out
on the cabin floor.
"Only the wind," replied the captain. "The storm has arrived."
The howling kept up, and soon the ship began to rock. The wind
increased, and a little later there could be heard, through an opened
port in the prisoners' cabin, the dash of rain.