ONE, two, three hours slid by, and, at last, Howard, his eyes fixed on
the gage of the accumulators, saw that the power was getting low, and
began to watch anxiously for some gleam of light that, striking down
through the water, might show a break in the mantle of weed overhead.
In vain! Everywhere blackness ruled. Several times he slowed down and
turned off the headlight, hoping that, with its effulgence removed,
he might see the longed-for gap. After each attempt he went back to
driving the Seashark along at her maximum eight miles an hour.
This could not last forever. Rapidly his anxiety grew. The Seashark had
been beneath the water for four hours, and his accumulators were nearly
bare. To try to break through the weed was dangerous, but not more so
than to remain below until all the power was gone. At all risks they
must reach the surface.
For a scant ten minutes longer Howard held on, now very close beneath
the mantle of weed, then stopped altogether, and waited for the reserve
buoyancy of the Seashark to carry her upward.
Slowly she rose again, and then into the weed. Howard could see its
slimy fronds through the thick glass of the conning-tower. Slowly and
more slowly it seemed to brush downward as the Seashark worked herself
upward. Slowly and more slowly until all motion ceased, leaving the
vessel still far below the surface.
With a shrug of his shoulders, Howard pulled a lever, and in quick
response came the throb of the pumps beneath him as with powerful
strokes they drove out the water-ballast and made the Seashark lighter.
Under this new impulse she rose once more, little by little, until at
last the pumps sucked dry and motion ceased once more. Howard, peering
upward, saw the light faintly gleaming through the interstices of the
weed. The surface could be scarcely a yard overhead.
“Only a yard.” Howard muttered the words bitterly. “Only a yard! Might
as well be a thousand!” Gently he started the propeller; half a dozen
revolutions he knew would hopelessly foul it; but little difference
that would make if the Seashark could work her way upward by its aid.
Now forward, now backward he drove it, with his heart in his mouth.
Not for long, for the drag on the shaft soon warned him that to go on
would shatter the machinery and, even if they reached the surface,
leave them helpless far within the bounds of the weedy sea. With a
sudden impulse he stopped the engine, and waited to see whether time
might not do what machinery had failed to accomplish.
Half an hour passed, and the same frond of weed that had lain across
his view at its beginning still held its place. The Seashark was
stationary.
One desperate recourse remained, and Howard prepared to take it. He
swung down into the cabin where sat the rest of the party forlornly
waiting. Long before they had realized that something was desperately
wrong; but none of them, except perhaps the missionary, were of the
weak-kneed type, and none had moved to question Howard, even during the
age-long interval when he had sat in silence.
Howard looked at them one by one, his eyes lingering fondly on
Dorothy’s flower-like face. “Friends all,” he said, quietly, “our
situation is most serious. I knew when we dived that in about four
hours we must come to the surface to run our gas-engine and recharge
our electric batteries. I hoped and believed that in four hours we
would come to a place where there were breaks in the weed, or where it
was so thin that we could rise through it. Neither has turned out to be
true. There are no breaks, and the weed is so thick that it holds us
down. I have expelled all the water-ballast, and the Seashark is now
very buoyant; yet it cannot rise to the surface. We are scarcely a foot
below it, but we can rise no higher.
“The explanation is evident. The Seashark is nearly fifty feet long.
Probably she intercepted a score of cables of weed as she rose. No
doubt there is now a whaleback of sargassum standing above the water
just over her. Its weight must be very great--too great for even our
increased buoyancy to lift farther; while the cables across us prevent
the weed from slipping off. The only way to get to the surface--that is
to say, the only way to save all our lives, is to cut away the cables
that hold us down.”
Howard ceased speaking, but no one moved. With the failing power, the
electric lights had grown perceptibly dimmer, and the _voyageurs_ could
barely see each other’s faces. Soon, it was evident, the lights would
go out altogether.
“Obviously,” Howard resumed, “we cannot cut the cables from inside the
ship. They can only be reached from the outside by some one who will
leave the boat.
“Fortunately, this last is not difficult. On the open sea it is even
easy. The Seashark is a torpedo boat, fitted to discharge torpedoes
under water. Time and again the crew of an injured submarine have
escaped--all but one--by getting into the torpedo tube and being fired
out by a moderate charge of compressed air. Here in the weed it will
be more difficult, of course, but not especially dangerous. So”--the
speaker paused and looked around him--“so if one of you will come and
touch me off, I’ll see what I can do toward cutting those confounded
cables.”
As Howard’s voice died away, the electric lights went suddenly out,
and a gasp of sheer horror ran through the tiny cabin. For a moment
no one spoke; then Dorothy groped her way through the blackness to
Howard’s side.
“Not you! not you, my husband!” she murmured. “Not you. Let me go.”
Howard laughed gently as he caressed the unseen face. “Not likely,
dear,” he answered.
The strident voice of the missionary broke through the gloom. “And
if you are drowned in the attempt, what will the rest of us do?” he
demanded.
“If I fail, another must try. But I won’t fail.”
“Even if that other succeed, what good will it do us? No one but you
can run this boat, and we would only exchange death down here for death
on the surface. No, Mr. Howard, you must not go. I will go.”
“You.”
“Yes! I.” If the missionary smiled bitterly, no one saw it in the
darkness. “Oh! I know you all think I am a coward, and perhaps I
am. Certainly, I did not dare to oppose Captain Forbes, nor to----
But never mind. I can swim like a fish almost. It is my one manly
accomplishment. I can get through the weed if any man can--and if I
fail, you will have lost nothing. Come! show me what to do.”
Howard groped his way to the missionary, and wrung his hand. “I beg
your pardon. Mr. Willoughby,” he said, simply, “I misunderstood you. I
accept your offer. Come.”
“Wait a moment.” Dorothy’s soft voice sounded. “I want to thank you,
Mr. Willoughby, and tell you that I never thought hard of you about
Captain Forbes. He was a terrible man. Can--can I do anything in--in
case you don’t come back?” Her voice trailed sobbingly off.
“Nothing. I haven’t a chick or a child in the world, and--God bless
you, my dear.” With a last pressure of her hand he turned away. “Come,
Mr. Howard,” he commanded.
In Cimmerian gloom the two men felt their way to the torpedo port.
“Better take off all your clothes,” counselled Howard. “The least thing
may serve to hold you in the weed. Strap this knife tightly to your arm
so you will be sure not to lose it. Carry this smaller one between your
teeth. Don’t lose your head; if you get entangled, keep cool and cut
yourself free. When you get to the surface look for the lump of weed
above us; it will be conspicuous enough. Cut first at one end of the
boat, and then at the other, so that we can rise on an even keel. Now,
if you are ready, climb in head-first.”
* * * * *
The ten minutes that elapsed after Howard had “fired off” the
missionary were the longest that any of the party had ever known.
Beneath the water, beneath the weed, in darkness so intense that it
positively weighed, each waited in silence the results of the venture
on which, in all human probability, depended his or her chance for
life. For if Mr. Willoughby, comparatively small, agile, and a good
swimmer, could not get through the interlacing weed, the chances were
that none of the others could do so.
Bearing Mr. Willoughby’s clothes, Howard had groped his way back to the
conning-tower, and to Dorothy’s side, and had found her on her knees.
“Oh! Frank! Frank!” she sobbed. “Let us pray for him. Frank! Frank!”
Howard sank beside her, and no more fervent petition than his was ever
wafted to the throne of grace.
Slowly the minutes ticked themselves away. Then, just as hope seemed
gone, the Seashark gave a sudden lurch, and a gasp of relief arose. It
required no expert to tell her passengers that something was happening
above the water--a something that could have but one cause.
Howard explained it: “Mr. Willoughby has cut one of the cables that are
holding us down--there goes another--and another.” A faint light showed
through the grass-filled peep-holes of the conning-tower; promise of
the glorious burst to come. “We are rising. We are tearing free.”
Rapidly the light grew, until a tiny beam from the westering sun shot
straight through a window, and danced gaily about as the Seashark
rocked to and fro on the smooth surface. At sight of it the women
sobbed aloud. What the men did in the darkness can only be guessed.
Rapidly Howard threw back the cover of the manhole, and let the blessed
air of heaven in. Instantly Mr. Willoughby’s head appeared. “Have you
got my clothes there?” he demanded in a stage whisper.
With a snicker of relief, Howard passed up the clothes and, when the
missionary was properly arrayed, called all the rest to come on deck.
The Seashark was floating in the familiar ocean of weed. No open water
was in sight; if any was near it was not visible from a point so low in
the water. Wreckage floated here and there; not a hundred yards away
was the hulk of a dismasted water-logged lumber schooner, and a little
farther off were the tangled spars of a huge ship.
Howard looked around him and shook his head. “It’s farther to clear
water than I had thought,” he told Dorothy. “Not that it matters. We’ll
be out to-morrow morning.” He turned to the rest. “Joyce! if you and
Jackson will cut away the weed from around our propeller, I’ll do the
rest. Mr. Willoughby will give you his knives. By the way, don’t lay
them down on the water, or they’ll be a mile or so deep when we want
them again.”
Joyce turned to Willoughby, who blushed. “I--I’m afraid that’s just
what I did do, Mr. Howard,” he explained, confusedly. “Anyway, I’ve
lost one of the two you gave me.”
“No matter, sir, I’ve got another,” interjected Joyce, as he and
Jackson turned to their allotted task.
Left to himself, Howard threw the screw-shaft out of connection, and
turned the full power of the gas-engine to recharging the electric
accumulators. When all was running smoothly, he turned to the rest.
“It will be several hours, at best, before we can start, and I think,
on the whole, we had better not do so until toward daylight, so as to
be sure of plenty of light when we come up again. If you girls will get
supper ready, we might as well dine.”
Dinner--or supper--began light-heartedly enough on the part of most
of the party. Civilization seemed very near, and the spirits of the
majority were high accordingly. Only Howard, to whom rescue meant
something very different from what it did to the others, and Dorothy,
who grieved in sympathy with him, were silent and distrait. Toward the
end of the meal, Jackson, who had been unwontedly talkative, suddenly
awoke to the realization that the time was rapidly approaching when he
must again become the jailer of the man who had saved his life and his
happiness. Under this incubus he suddenly shut up.
The other three did not understand Howard’s situation. For some reason
Forbes, it seemed, had not told his information (or suspicions), about
the naval officer, and his single reference to them, at the time of
the wedding, had passed over the heads of both the Joyces and of Mr.
Willoughby. So they chattered on light-heartedly enough, until the meal
was over, and Howard dismissed them to sleep.
A little later that night, when all the rest were sleeping, worn out
by the excitement and arduous labors of the day, Dorothy slipped up on
deck, where Howard was watching the dials of his accumulators as they
slowly crept toward the maximum.
There was no moon, but the phosphorescence of the weed filled the air
with a weird witch-light, in which the Seashark and floating wreckage
bulked black. So strong was the gleam that Howard could see the dark
circles under Dorothy’s eyes as she sank down by his side.
“There, there! sweetheart,” he whispered, gently. “You ought to be
getting your beauty sleep. We’ll probably be picked up to-morrow, and
you must look your best.”
But Dorothy refused to heed the badinage. “Oh! Frank, Frank,” she
murmured, miserably. “I don’t want to be picked up. Can’t--can’t we put
the rest ashore somewhere, and slip away--just you and I. When I think
of what will happen---- Oh, Frank, I can’t bear it!”
Howard drew her toward him, and tilted up her face until he could look
down into her troubled eyes. “Don’t be afraid, dear,” he murmured,
“everything is going to come out right. It will take a little time
perhaps, but it will all come right in the end. The Providence that has
watched over us and brought us through so much will not fail us now.”
“But--but--to have you in prison, even for a day! Oh, Frank, I can’t
bear it! You have saved Mr. Jackson’s life, rescued him, made him
rich--surely he will not be cruel enough to----”
“Hush! Hush! dear. Jackson must do his duty. I wouldn’t have him
fail in it on my account for the world. Besides, I must surrender
in order to prove my innocence. Before, I did not have the money to
send to Porto Rico for witnesses; now I have. There must be plenty of
people down there who have seen the real husband of that poor Dolores
Montoro. Money will bring them to New York. Once they see me they
will know that I am not he--even though they may have identified my
photograph. I ran away before only because I knew of no other way to
reach them. Now that I have another way, I must take it.”
Dorothy was thoughtful for a moment. Then she nodded slowly. “You are
right, Frank,” she murmured. “You always are. It will break my heart,
but--it is the only way. I see that. It isn’t only your liberty I want;
your honor must be cleared as well.”
“There’s my brave girl!”
Soon Dorothy spoke again. “Frank,” she said, “tell me! How did you
escape from prison? I don’t understand.”
Howard hesitated. Then: “I can’t tell you very much about it, dear. But
this I will say: An officer on my last ship--one, too, for whom I am
ashamed to say I had never cared much--stood my friend all through the
trial, and at the end aided me to get away. He----”
“It was Mr. Loving! I know it was Mr. Loving!”
“Hush! Even the sea-weed has ears. You must never say anything about
it, or it would get him into terrible trouble. Yes, it was Loving. Do
you know him?”
Dorothy twisted and untwisted her fingers. “Yes,” she murmured, “I know
him. It--it was on his account that I went to Porto Rico.”
“On his account?”
“Yes. He--he wanted to marry me, and father wanted me to accept
him, and I couldn’t. I couldn’t! I knew you must exist somewhere,
Frank--you--the only man in the world for me--and I ran away from New
York to avoid him. You are not angry, are you, Frank?”
“Angry! At what? But I’m afraid I’ve made a terrible botch of things;
saddled a convict husband on you, and robbed my best friend of his
bride.”
Dorothy raised her hand to his lips. “Hush! dear,” she said. “I
wouldn’t exchange my husband for any man in the wide world; and as for
Mr. Loving--well, he couldn’t be robbed of what he never had, and never
could have had.”
The note of the engines suddenly changed, and Howard, bending over,
glanced at the accumulator dial. “The battery is fully charged, dear,”
he said, as he shut off the engine. “And it is certainly time to rest.”