SNATCHED FROM THE SEA
When he came back to consciousness, he found himself tightly bound and
gagged. His head swam, and objects danced giddily before him.
Gradually he accustomed himself to the light and looked about him. A
score of men stood leaning against the walls, while Namoto and Togi,
seated at the desk, were conversing in low tones. They spoke in
Japanese, but he had no doubt that they were deciding for him the issues
of life and death. He had no delusions as to what probably awaited him.
He had learned too much to be allowed to live.
But the conspirators seemed perplexed. To kill him, then and there,
would be awkward. There is nothing in the world harder to dispose of
than a dead body. Burial, burning, destruction by acids--all left
traces. And this was not Japanese but American soil. There might be a
hue and cry, a search, exposure, arrest. Still, he must vanish from the
land of the living.
At last, Togi seemed to have an inspiration. He bent over eagerly and
disclosed his idea. Namoto pondered and found it good. He beckoned to
an officer in a naval uniform, and gave him his instructions.
At a signal, four men advanced, and, taking Bert by the legs and
shoulders, carried him through a secret passage into the grounds. As
silently as so many ghosts, they followed a road that led through the
estate to the river's brink. There lay the swift sea-going yacht that
Togi had mentioned. Bert was carried on board, the vessel slipped its
moorings, and like a wraith passed down the Bay of Limon and out to sea.
It was with a sinking heart that Bert saw the lights of Colon grow more
and more indistinct, until they looked to be little more than a nebulous
haze rising above the water. His first thought had been that the
Japanese were taking him to Japan, for some reason of their own, and as
they steamed on mile after mile this idea gained strength.
After his capture he had expected nothing better than instant death, and
when he found that his captors had other plans he had a gleam of hope.
Perhaps, after all, he could make his escape in some way, or get a
message to the authorities. But when he was taken to the yacht hope died
within him, and he almost wished he had been killed at the moment of
capture. Knowing what he did, the possibility of his own life being
spared brought him but little comfort. Once fairly at sea, and he felt
that nothing could stop the awful catastrophe hanging over his country.
Filled with these melancholy reflections, he hardly noticed what was
going on around him, and only looked up when two sturdy Japanese seamen
approached him. They untied his bonds, removed the gag, and motioned him
to follow them. Bert, seeing no sense in useless resistance, did as
directed.
As he approached the port rail, he saw that a group of sailors gathered
there were lowering some object over the side. As he reached the rail
and looked down, he saw that it was a large, flat bottomed rowboat, with
nothing in it except a wooden bailer shaped like an ordinary shovel.
This boat was quickly lowered until it touched the water, and then Bert
saw what had previously escaped his notice--namely, that several holes,
each about as large as a five-cent piece, had been bored in the bottom of
the boat, and through these the water was rushing in a dozen little
fountains.
Then he realized what were the intentions of his captors, and his heart,
which at sight of the boat had begun to beat hopefully, seemed to turn to
lead. This, then, was to be his end! With fiendish ingenuity, the Japs
had prepared this death-trap for him, knowing that he would fight up to
the last moment from the instinct of self preservation. The enemy of
Japan should not die too easily. His agony must be prolonged. According
to their calculations, the water would continue coming in faster than
Bert could possibly bail it out, and eventually he would sink, and his
perilous knowledge with him.
Well, at any rate, he resolved to make his enemies sorry that they had
ever seen him. As the sailors came toward him with the evident intention
of forcing him into the boat, he grasped a camp chair that was standing
near the rail, and swinging it in a mighty circle about his head, brought
it crashing down on the head of the foremost seaman. The man dropped as
though struck by lightning, and for a second his comrades hesitated,
looking about them for weapons.
At a crisp command from an officer, who was standing a little to one
side, they came on again with a rush. Bert felled the first of his
antagonists with the stout chair, and then, as they were too close upon
him for further use of this weapon, dropped it and resorted to his fists.
He struck out right and left with all the strength of his powerful
muscles, and for a few seconds actually held his swarming assailants at
bay. Three men dropped before his hammer-like blows, before he was
finally forced over the railing by sheer force of numbers and hurled into
the rowboat.
As he struck it, the water spurted through the holes in the boat, and a
shrill cackling laugh came from the row of slant-eyed faces peering down
over the rail. The little craft was by now a quarter full of water, and
as the Japanese yacht took on speed and swung away on its course Bert
started bailing desperately. He realized that there was hardly one
chance in a thousand of his being picked up before, in spite of all he
could do, the little boat would fill with water and sink.
However, he resolved to keep afloat as long as he could on the bare
chance of some vessel passing in his neighborhood. Accordingly he set to
work with the wooden scoop, sending sheet after sheet over the side. He
worked desperately, and at first almost thought that he was gaining on
the incoming water. His exertions were excessive, and before long he was
forced to bail more slowly. He kept watching a deep scratch in the side
of the boat to see if the water was gaining. With a sinking heart he
realized that it was. In spite of all he could do, it crept up and up
until finally it was over the scratch and the boat was nearly half full.
Luckily for him, the sea was unusually calm, or he must soon have been
swamped.
At the thought of all that it would mean to his country if he drowned
with his secret, Bert fell to with the scoop with furious energy, but was
not able to hold his terrible pace long, and finally flung down the
bailer in despair.
"Perhaps I can plug up the holes," he thought, and ripped off his coat.
He tore great pieces from it and tried to stuff up the holes, but to no
effect. Such crude plugs as he could make were inadequate to stay the
inrush of water, and he would hardly have time to insert one in one
opening before that in another gave way.
So he was forced to give up this plan, and had recourse once more to the
bailer. His only hope now was to keep afloat until he might be seen and
picked up by a passing boat. He strained his eyes over the surrounding
sea, but there was no sign of help in sight.
Slowly but surely the water crept up the sides of the boat until it was
only a few inches from the gunwales. As the boat sank deeper, the water
rushed in with ever-increasing force, and finally the conviction was
forced in upon Bert that he had really come to the end of his resources.
Of course, even after the boat sank, he could swim a little while, but
after his fierce fight on the deck of the Japanese yacht and his terrific
exertions afterward, he knew he would have little strength left.
Nevertheless he stripped off his outer clothing and resolved to do the
best he could. Suddenly he was startled by a splashing, gurgling noise
behind him, and, looking around, was surprised and puzzled to see what
looked like the back of a huge whale floating within fifty feet of the
stern of his little craft. In a second he understood, and a great wave
of joy surged over him.
"It's a submarine," he thought, "and an American one at that," as he
recognized the design.
Even as he looked, a hatch was thrown open in the deck of the submarine,
and the head and shoulders of a man emerged from the aperture. Almost at
the same instant Bert's rowboat gave a gentle lurch and disappeared
beneath the surface. As he felt it sinking, Bert gave a great shout, and
the man on the submarine whirled around in his direction, surprise
written large on his countenance.
"By thunder!" he exclaimed, "what in the name of--" But here he dived
below and in a few seconds reappeared with a life preserver attached to a
long cord. This he cast toward Bert, who in the meantime had been
swimming steadily toward the submarine. Bert grasped the preserver and
was rapidly drawn on board by the first man who had appeared, and by two
others who by now had joined him. Bert was soon safe on the sloping
deck, and was besieged by a thousand questions.
The man who had first espied Bert was evidently an officer, and he soon
quitted the others and took the cross-examination in his own hands. It
was some time before Bert was able to answer, and probably at no time in
his strenuous career had he come nearer complete exhaustion.
Finally, however, his strength began to return, and he staggered to his
feet.
"For Heaven's sake!" he exclaimed, "take me to the captain and let me
give him a message I have for him. Never mind anything else just now--I
can tell you all about that after we get started."
The officer saw that he was in deadly earnest, and although he was rather
inclined to think this young fellow's experiences had unbalanced his
mind, he led him below without further loss of time.
They descended a steep ladder, and presently entered the room in which
were kept the machinery controls, gauges, and other apparatus relating to
the operation of the submarine. There was a solidly built table in the
center of this room, and at this, carefully examining a chart spread out
in front of him, sat a sturdy, thick-set man of perhaps fifty years of
age. As the officer entered, followed by Bert, the captain rose and
waited for the officer's report.
He gave Bert only one glance, but it was such a keen, searching one, that
our hero felt there was little in his appearance that the other had
overlooked. Then the captain turned his eyes back to the officer, and
returned the latter's salute.
"Well, Mr. Warren, what have you to report?" he asked.
"Why, sir," replied the officer, "I don't exactly know myself. When we
ascended to the surface and I went up on deck, the first thing I saw was
a foundering rowboat with this young man in it. A few seconds later it
sank, and he swam toward the ship. I threw him a life preserver, and we
hauled him aboard. He wouldn't answer any questions, though, and
insisted on speaking with you personally, so I thought it best to bring
him along."
"Very good," responded the captain, and turned slightly toward Bert.
"Now, young man," he said, "you wished to speak to me, and here I am.
What is it you wanted to tell me?"
Thereupon Bert poured out the whole story of the Japanese plot as fast as
he could speak, and the captain and his officer listened attentively,
once in a while asking a terse question. The commander's eyes were
riveted on Bert during his whole speech, and when he had finished he sat
a few moments immersed in deep thought.
Then he sprang to his feet and gave crisp orders to get the submarine
under way. "See that the lad is clothed and well taken care of, Mr.
Warren," he ordered, as his commands were being carried out. "He's
evidently had some rather strenuous experiences, during the last few
hours, and a little food and rest will do him a lot of good. We can wake
him up when we need him."
Lieut. Warren saluted, and motioned to Bert to follow him. He led him
through a long passage to the officers' dining room, and when a place
was set for him at the table Bert fell to with a good appetite. The
officers were naturally very much interested in his adventures, and he
told them as much of his recent experiences as he thought fit, of course
not mentioning details of the plot. Before very long they asked him his
name, and when they learned that he was actually the man who had won the
Marathon race at the last Olympic games, they would gladly have made him
a present of the ship had they been able.
It was with the greatest difficulty that he finally broke away and made
an attempt to get a little sleep. He was so excited that he found this
impossible, however, and soon returned to the company of the officers.
The electric motors driving the ship were humming at top speed, and the
registering apparatus indicated a rate of fifteen knots an hour. This
was good speed for a submarine, but Bert figured that, as the yacht on
which he had been carried out was unusually swift, it must have traveled
at least one hundred and fifty miles from the Colon harbor. At the rate
of fifteen knots an hour, then, it would take them a little over ten
hours to get back into the harbor, and he did not know how much longer to
get up the canal to the mined gate of the lock. There was always the
chance of accidents or delay, and he must reach the city before the
morrow dawned.