Transcriber's Note:
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
Punctuation and possible typographical errors have been changed.
Archaic, variable and inconsistent spelling and hyphenation have been
preserved.
THE BRIGHTON BOYS SERIES
BY
LIEUTENANT JAMES R. DRISCOLL
THE BRIGHTON BOYS WITH THE FLYING CORPS
THE BRIGHTON BOYS IN THE TRENCHES
THE BRIGHTON BOYS WITH THE BATTLE FLEET
THE BRIGHTON BOYS IN THE RADIO SERVICE
THE BRIGHTON BOYS WITH THE SUBMARINE FLEET
THE BRIGHTON BOYS WITH THE ENGINEERS AT CANTIGNY
THE BRIGHTON BOYS AT CHATEAU-THIERRY
THE BRIGHTON BOYS AT ST. MIHIEL
THE BRIGHTON BOYS IN THE ARGONNE
THE BRIGHTON BOYS IN TRANSATLANTIC FLIGHT
THE BRIGHTON BOYS IN THE SUBMARINE TREASURE SHIP
[Illustration: THE TORPEDO HAD STRUCK SQUARELY ABAFT THE SHIP'S
MAGAZINE]
The BRIGHTON BOYS in the
Submarine Treasure Ship
BY
LIEUTENANT JAMES R. DRISCOLL
ILLUSTRATED
THE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY
PHILADELPHIA
Copyright, 1920, by
THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. NEW WORLDS TO CONQUER 9
II. "DOWN WITH THE REDS!" 20
III. SIGNED UP FOR SALVAGE 31
IV. ON THE GOLDEN TRAIL 42
V. A SUBMARINE PICKPOCKET 54
VI. JAY FIGHTS FOR HIS LIFE 66
VII. DIAMONDS ARE TRUMP 78
VIII. UNCLE SAM CALLS 90
IX. FOUND--ONE U-BOAT! 102
X. CAUGHT WITH THE GOODS 114
XI. THE SPY 125
XII. INTRODUCING THE "JULES VERNE" 137
XIII. DIVING DE LUXE 148
XIV. AN UNEXPECTED FIND 159
XV. TRAPPED IN THE DIVING BELL 170
XVI. AN EXPLOSION IMPENDS 179
XVII. A DOG TO THE RESCUE 191
XVIII. HONORS FOR HEROES 202
XIX. IN THE PIRATES' NEST 214
XX. THE TREASURE RECLAIMED 227
XXI. BACK TO BRIGHTON 239
The Brighton Boys in the Submarine Treasure Ship
CHAPTER I
NEW WORLDS TO CONQUER
"Look, Dick, what's that out there in the water right on the line of
that ventilator?"
Jay Thacker, ensign in the Navy of the United States, veteran of many
months' service in the grand fleet of the American Admiral Sims in
European waters, grabbed his old chum Dick Monaghan by the coat sleeve
and pointed a long lean finger out to the open expanse of sea.
The two bronzed boys, rugged and fit after their experiences of the
Great War, erect and sturdy looking in their natty uniforms, stood on
the aft deck of the giant _Leviathan_, United States army transport,
once the pride of the German merchant marine, now a carrier of men and
merchandise sailing under the Stars and Stripes.
Homeward bound were they after two years' service in the naval branch
of their country's armed forces. Once ordinary seamen Richard Monaghan
and Jay Thacker, back in the days when they had left Brighton Academy
on a balmy spring morning to enlist in the Navy, they were coming
back Ensigns Monaghan and Thacker, if you please! By virtue of their
splendid records while with the American fleet, they had won the
deserved promotions that had brought them to their present rank.
Through many weary months they had labored in the mine-sweeping section
of the fleet, alternating with the French and English in clearing the
North Sea of the deadly floating bombs set adrift by the scions of the
German eagle, who sought thus to destroy those riding battleships that
had awaited all in vain the coming out of the monster German fleet
from the safe retreat of the Kiel Canal. It had been hard, tedious,
dangerous work; work to sorely try the nerve and patience of men whose
great desire had been to meet the Hun in the open sea in a free-for-all
fight.
But better things had remained in store for these two valiant sons
of Brighton who had turned their backs on their dear old alma mater
to honor the call of their country. It had been allotted to them,
along with other chosen men of the American fleet, to lay the famous
mine barrier across the northern bottle of the North Sea--from the
craggy shores of Scotland to the embracing waters of the Scandinavian
countries. And it had been a great day when the marvelous task had
been completed, but there followed a greater day when the first
of the German raiders had run afoul of the mighty barrier and had
been "knocked for a goal" as Dick put it. What a rejoicing when the
President of the United States and the Secretary of the Navy had cabled
the thanks of a grateful nation to every last man in the fleet for this
splendid bit of service that had written a new chapter high in the
pages of Yankee naval history!
Now it was all over; the long days and nights of untiring vigils, of
tempestuous tussles with the elements, and hard, unrelenting toil.
Back home now to the country they had left in the long ago; to the old
friends and familiar places they had dreamed about in the monotony of
the long night hours at sea. Two years away from home and dear old
Brighton! The hours dragged slowly while the great ship _Leviathan_
ploughed the deep with her cargo of enlisted officers and men, now
mustered out of service and awaiting only the lowering of the
gangplank at Hoboken until they would be back again in "civvies" and
the comforts of life again.
"What do you mean? I don't see anything," replied Dick in answer to his
chum's startled exclamation.
"Don't you see it--something sticking up out of the water like a long
spar, or an old masthead of some sort?" continued Jay. He got behind
his chum now and pointed over his shoulder.
Dick peered more intently into the misty haze that hung low over the
horizon.
"Blamed if I can see anything, old pal, except the blue expanse of
water. Guess maybe you are dreaming, or perhaps old man Neptune, King
of the Deep, has thrust one of the prongs of his trident up through the
waves."
Monaghan guessed his old "bunkie" was "seeing things."
"Nothing of the sort," retorted Jay. "Now look again, old top, just
where I tell you to." Thacker was positive he beheld some odd object on
the crest of the sea probably two miles or more away.
As they looked together again their old friend Fismes, dancing at
their feet on the transport deck, manifested an interest in the
proceedings by setting up a raucous barking. Good old Fismes! Once a
mascot aboard a German cruiser, he had been flung to the embrace of
old ocean's gray and melancholy waste on a fateful day when one of
the dandy little American submarines, with a single sting from its
scorpion-like torpedo chamber, had blown the Hun warship off the map
of the world. Swimming in the water, all but exhausted, he had been
picked up by the American crew of which Thacker and Monaghan were
members. By right of their first aid measures he had been allotted to
the two Brighton boys by common consent, and he, too, was coming along
to America as the most treasured war trophy the two lads possessed.
Through all the long days Fismes had been a close companion. Sleek and
fat as a result of good care and plentiful food, he was a favorite
among all the retiring service men.
"Keep still, Fismes; no more subs, old boy," cautioned Jay, remembering
how the dog invariably had kicked up all kind of canine didoes every
time there had been a likelihood of "going into action," after he had
"joined up" with Uncle Sam.
"Do you see it now?" asked Jay with a show of impatience.
Dick was scanning the skyline intently.
"Sure, I get you, old man," he replied after closer scrutiny of the
water. "Now I see it, sure as guns. About two points off the starboard
quarter. What in the world is it?" he continued, shading his eyes with
cupped hands the better to focus on the object.
"Blamed if I know," answered Jay. "Wait a minute. I'll run down to
quarters and get the glasses."
Off he dashed with Fismes at his heels, leaving his chum standing at
the rail. In a moment he was back with a burnished pair of binoculars
which, once adjusted, he trained on the floating object in the sea.
"Just what I doped it to be," affirmed Jay after one long look. "A
masthead bobbing up and down in the water. Some old battered hulk of a
ship that has sailed its last long voyage, sure as you are born."
Dick reached for the glasses. "Let's have a look," he requested.
Jay extended the binoculars, and it took only one hurried glance on the
part of his chum to corroborate the former's surmise.
"Guess you're right, pal," confirmed Dick. "A derelict loose in the
pathway of ocean traffic. Some one of the vessels belonging to the
allied nations probably sunk by one of the German submarines during the
war. Gone to her last resting-place in the salty brine."
After studying the derelict for several minutes the two ensigns hurried
off to the executive officer of the _Leviathan_ to report their find.
They found him, too, with glasses examining the derelict.
"Beg pardon, sir, but we thought perhaps you hadn't seen it," said Jay
deferentially.
The officer nodded a smiling assent. He was busy taking the latitude
and longitude of the wreck to report to maritime quarters in New York
and London by wireless. No use stopping, for nothing could be done; the
derelict would float until some salvage crew came to blow it up or take
it in tow--a menace to all shipping traveling this way.
Back to the rail hurried the two young officers, intent on studying
the wreck as long as it remained within vision. Their discussion fell
naturally into the number of grand old ships that had gone down during
the war--the "wind-jammers" of earlier days, the sailing craft that had
been drafted for service in the transportation of supplies, and the
still more modern steam craft--all of them victims of the submarine's
merciless hunger for tonnage through four years of frenzied world war.
"Many gallant old ships down there under the waves," remarked Jay as
he peered thoughtfully over the rail into the swirling waters that
were churned into a mad rapids by the massive propeller blades of the
_Leviathan_.
Dick slung the glasses over his shoulder and fell into the speculative
mood of his old Brighton roommate.
"Right you are, Jay; good old ships of the line that have anchored for
the last time on the bottom of the sea. Imbedded in silt or wasting
away on their rocky beds. Gone but not forgotten."
Jay stirred from his revery.
"Not so sure about that 'gone but not forgotten' stuff," was his
observation. "Science will never let all those ships stay there for
keeps--not on your tin cup. Think of all the ships sunk! Think of the
billions of cargo that went down with them--billions of dollars' worth
of valuable stuff of all kinds."
"Yes, and most of it perishable like foodstuffs, grain and the like
that by this time has crumbled into decay deep down in Davy Jones'
locker," broke in Dick.
"Yes, I know," continued Jay, "but how about all the coal that could
be reclaimed? Think of the ores and the steel and the guns and shells
and stuff like that; they would still be good should they ever be
reclaimed. And oh, boy, think of all the gold bullion and the silver
and all the priceless stuff that's still as good as the day it first
saw the rays of the sun. Man alive!"
Jay's eyes sparkled at the thought of the treasure deep down in the
fathoms--ransoms big enough to buy whole countries of the earth!
"Yes, I know, but how you going to get it up?" interrogated Dick.
Conservative old Dick! He was figuratively from Missouri, and had to be
shown any proposition in cold facts and figures before he would dive
in--except when it was an order of duty. Then he was Johnny-on-the-spot
with all his heart and soul, wherever duty took him.
"Get wise to yourself," counseled Jay, throwing his arm affectionately
about his chum's shoulders. "You know as well as I do that it's
possible; that salvagers can wrest a big bunch of that good old mazuma
from 'Pop' Neptune.
"You ought to know; you've seen for yourself how it can be done," went
on Jay at a rapid rate.
Both boys had, indeed, had sufficient experience under the water to
acquaint them with the fundamentals of deep-sea salvage. While serving
with the Yankee fleets abroad, particularly in the laying of the North
Sea mine wall, they had taken many a dip in diving armor below the
surface of the sea. True, it had not been in the exploration of sunken
ships or the reclamation of submerged cargoes; but their long, hard
hours "down below" while adjusting mine screens and bombs had qualified
them as first class divers in the strictest sense of the word.
"Sure, I know; I was only kidding. I just wanted to see what you
would say," was Dick's rejoinder. But while he was convinced that
nonperishable cargoes could be reclaimed, he was inclined to be
skeptical about the raising of sunken ships.
"Well, you just wait, old pal, and see what Uncle Sam, Johnny Bull, and
the rest of them do," argued Jay. "They are raising the Hun warships in
Scapa Flow right now, and pretty soon you'll see them go after all the
cargo ships that lie in shallow water. I'll wager you an apple against
a swell feed at the Astor those Germans are out after them already."
"I reckon you are right," put in Dick after a moment's reflection.
"And as for me, I'd like nothing better than to ship with a salvage
crew this summer until Brighton opens in the fall." Jay said it with a
broad grin.
Dick surveyed his chum for a moment, looking full in his eyes.
"On the level?" he queried rather incredulously.
"Nothing would strike me better--action for mine," snapped Jay. "Holy
smoke! think of the chance to stock up on some big coin! If a fellow
got in right he could lay away enough to finish at Brighton and go on
to college. I'd go in a minute if the chance developed."
Like a flash the whole picture opened up to Dick--an opportunity to use
the experience they had gained in the Navy to rake in some good honest
"kale" during the summer recess.
"Dad burn it! Hanged if I wouldn't go in myself," came his convincing
reply as he thrust his arm into the arm of his chum and set off across
decks in answer to the evening mess call.
The chance to reclaim lost treasure measured in millions from the very
bottom of the sea--something that Jules Verne had only pictured.