THE ESCAPE FROM THE “MARINA.”
Dick Merriwell was almost frantic when the day of the race dawned
without a sign of the return of Jim Phillips. He was convinced that some
harm had befallen the baseball captain, and not for a hundred boat races
would he have had that happen. He blamed himself bitterly for allowing
Jim to undertake the reckless adventure of staying aboard the _Marina_
to get further information as to the plans of the conspirators. Until
dark on Wednesday night, he had not been much alarmed, for it had been
long after midnight when he had last spoken to Jim. But when the whole
day passed with no sign of Jim, Dick was frantic.
Bill Brady tried to reassure him, although he was himself far from easy
in his mind.
“They wouldn’t dare do him any harm,” said Bill. “Those fellows know
that as long as they just try these crooked gambling games, the worst
that can happen to them is a year or two in jail. But murder, or hurting
a man seriously, is another matter, and they’re not at all likely to
take any such risks as that to put old Jim out of the way. I’m afraid
they may have got onto him and tied him up to keep him from getting to
us with whatever it is he’s learned. But, even if that’s so, they’ll
turn him loose when the race is over, and he’ll be none the worse. As to
your blaming yourself, that’s nonsense. It was Jim’s idea to stay in the
water, and to stay on board, too, when he could have dropped into the
launch.”
But Dick had spent a sleepless night, and the big catcher could do
little to make the universal coach feel better, try as he would.
Finally, on Thursday morning, Dick, taking Brady in the launch with him,
ran down to Red Top and told Neilson, the Harvard coach, the whole
story.
Neilson looked very serious as he heard what the Yale coach knew and
what he suspected.
“I’ll admit, of course,” he said, “that we thought the sudden slowing up
of the crew mighty peculiar—and we didn’t know then that you’d had the
same experience. Of course, there’s one thing settled. If there’s any
skulduggery about the race to-day, and it’s discovered, we’ll be
perfectly willing to call it no race and row it over, in case Yale lost
through one of those mysterious experiences we’ve both had. What are you
going to do about Phillips? I suppose that, as a Harvard man, I ought to
be glad to hear he’s lost, but I’m going to do my level best to help you
rescue him.”
Dick Merriwell gripped his rival’s hand hard.
“Thanks,” he said. “I knew you’d feel that way about it. I’m going down
to that cursed _Marina_ and see whether they mean to hold Jim. I think
I’ve got evidence enough to justify me in getting official aid, and I
know the captain of the revenue cutter _Claremont_. I think she’s in his
jurisdiction, now.”
Neilson went along, and, an hour later, armed with a warrant of search
from the United States court, and with a Federal marshal along, the
_Elihu Yale_ boarded the _Marina_.
Svenson, cursing, had to yield to the power of Uncle Sam, which even he
dared not refuse to honor. But he and Barrows both swore that they had
seen nothing of Jim Phillips, and that he was certainly not then on
board. They seemed willing, even eager, for a search to be made, and the
search was begun at once, with no ceremony.
But, as it went on, and Barrows and Svenson, with puzzled, but
triumphant looks, followed the Yale men and the officers around, it
became plain that it was bound to be fruitless. Svenson and Barrows, as
a matter of fact, had been over the whole ship, as they thought, for
themselves. They had searched everywhere on the _Marina_ that seemed to
offer a possible hiding place, and when the party finally came on deck
again, the searchers had to apologize to the captain and the offended
Barrows, who talked largely of suits for damages, until Brady stepped up
to him with a scowling face.
“That’ll be about all from you,” said Bill menacingly. “You may have
fooled us this time, but we know that Phillips was aboard this ship, and
we’re going to get him. When we do, you’d better look out for yourself.
And, if you’ve injured him, or done away with him, the earth won’t be
big enough to keep me from seeing that you’re punished, if it takes a
million dollars to find you.”
Slowly, angrily, the Yale men and Neilson, with the two deputy marshals,
who seemed to think that they had been brought on a fool’s errand, went
over the side and into the launch.
“Looks like checkmate,” said Neilson gloomily. “I hope those scoundrels
haven’t hurt Phillips. I say, Merriwell, suppose we postpone the race,
anyhow? I don’t feel like going through with it while things are in this
state.”
“That’s a last resort,” said Dick gravely. “There are an awful lot of
people here, Neilson, and some of them have come a long way just for
this day. It seems pretty rough on them. Let’s wait a little while,
anyhow.”
Suddenly there was a tremendous commotion on the deck of the _Marina_. A
man had run up to Svenson and told him something that sent the big
skipper, cursing wildly, in his native Norse tongue, rushing below, and,
at the same time, Dick, accustomed as he was to shipping, saw that
something was very seriously wrong with the schooner. She was settling
by the head.
“She’s sinking!” he cried.
Fascinated, they watched for a moment the scene of wild disorder on her
decks. There was no danger for any one on board, for she was going down
slowly, and there was plenty of time for all to leave her. But the
spectacle was remarkable. The crowded harbor was surely a strange
setting for such a wreck.
“They oughtn’t to let her sink out here,” cried Merriwell. “She’ll block
navigation.”
“Here’s a tug,” said Neilson, and a minute later two tugs were
struggling to pull the _Marina_ to the side of the channel, where, if
she sank, she would not obstruct the passage of other vessels. They were
just in time. She touched bottom some distance from the eastern shore,
and her masts stuck out of the water.
Neilson, Brady, and Merriwell looked at one another with one thought
uppermost in all their minds.
“Phillips?” said Neilson, faltering. “You don’t suppose he could be on
board her somewhere?”
And the next moment they all three jumped as if a ghost had appeared
before them. For, climbing into the launch from the water, safe and
unharmed, appeared Jim Phillips himself.
They started to ply him with questions, but Dick interrupted.
“The first thing to do is to get him to a place where he can get into
dry clothes,” he said. “We’ll drop these gentlemen”—he nodded to the two
marshals—“and then go up the river.”
“And get me some food, for Heaven’s sake!” cried Jim. “I haven’t had
anything to eat since yesterday morning!”
They wrapped him in overcoats and sweaters that were in the launch. A
five-minute stop served to put the marshals ashore and to provide hot
coffee and sandwiches for Jim, and then came the swift run to Red Top,
which was nearer than Gale’s Ferry. There Jim was dried and provided
with dry clothes, and, sitting in a comfortable chair, he told his
story.
“When I got into the hold there,” he said, “I thought I was pretty safe
from being discovered. And I counted on getting out when it was dark,
and swimming ashore. But they were too foxy for me. They didn’t know
where I was, but they figured I must be somewhere on board, and they
made it impossible for me to get away as I had planned. I was pretty
hungry, but I didn’t want to go out and give myself up. I don’t like to
quit when I once start something.
“Finally I realized that there was only one thing to do. I had my knife,
and I found an old mallet down there that some ship’s carpenter had
lost. So I started in to make a hole in her side. I knew she’d sink, but
I thought that I was justified, seeing the game they were up to.
Moreover, I knew there would be no danger for any of them, for, even
with a big hole in her, a boat of that sort sinks slowly, and I timed it
so they would be out of bed and on deck.
“I heard what I thought was your crowd going through her this morning,
but I was afraid of taking a chance, for fear that it might be Svenson
and his precious crowd again. So I didn’t call out, though, of course I
was tempted to do it. But I was pretty nearly ready to drop out of the
hole I had made then, though first I had to figure out some way of
preventing the suction from dragging me back. That was something fierce,
and I don’t believe any one could have swum out without rigging up the
sort of a shield I fixed up before I finally got out. But I managed
that, after a while, and then I just got away from her and struck out
under water, so that I wouldn’t come up too soon. I hung on to the
launch for a few minutes after I picked you up, resting and listening to
you.”
So far they had been too excited over Jim’s remarkable escape and the
pluck and resource he had shown to remember the reason for it all. But
Brady brought them back to that. He knew Jim.
“I suppose you got what you were after, Jim,” he said quietly.
“Great Scott!” cried Jim, “I’d forgotten! I should say I did!”
And he told them of the model shell he had found, with the cunningly
hidden metal in the groove above the keel.
“It looks to me,” he said, “as if they’d managed to get at those shells.
There’s a magnet coil in each of those motor boats they had.”
“Come and look at our shell,” cried Neilson.
Two minutes served to show that Jim’s suspicions had been correct. The
metal was there, under the boat, concealed by the keel.
“I don’t know how they expected to affect one shell and not the other,”
said Dick Merriwell, “but I suppose they had some means of doing that
worked out. I’m off to Gale’s Ferry to look at our shell. What will you
do, Neilson? I think we’ve got time to get old shells rigged for the
crew. It may mean a slow race, but it ought to be as good for one as for
the other.”
“Just exactly as good,” said Neilson. “There’s nothing else to do. We
can get them rigged and ready in time, by hard work. And I guess the
race will be just as good—and it will be rowed on its merits, too.”
“Could they have reached your shell?” Dick Merriwell asked Neilson.
“Easily,” replied the Harvard coach. “We never have kept any very
special watch on the shells. We’ve guarded them against fire, but we
never supposed that anything else was necessary.”
“That’s how it was with us,” said Dick. “It could have been done here,
or before we left New Haven. And it’s only sheer good fortune that
enabled us to find it out.”
“I’m no shark in physics,” said Neilson, “but I suppose that the iron in
the two shells may be magnetized in a different degree, so that one
current in the magnet would attract one shell and not the other.”
“That seems plausible, anyhow,” said Dick. “They could vary the magnet
by regulating the strength of the current.”
At Gale’s Ferry, conditions were the same as those that had been
discovered at Red Top. By dint of tremendous work by the riggers and the
coaches, the new shells, or, rather, the old ones, were adjusted to the
men who were to sit in them, and by two o’clock in the afternoon,
without the knowledge of the oarsmen, the change had been effected. The
first race, that between the varsity four-oared crews, was to be rowed
at three o’clock, upstream. The freshman race was to follow at once, and
then, at six o’clock, the great race of the day, between the varsity
eights, was scheduled.
Jim Phillips, gradually being restored to his full strength, and fearing
no bad effects from his fast and his immersion, stood on the float with
Brady, looking at the gay scene that was developing on the river. Scores
of small boats were about, and the spirit of carnival was in the air.
“Well, I guess you’ve done your share toward winning this boat race, if
we do win it,” said Bill. “The rest of it is up to the crew.”
“They’ll win, all right,” said Jim, with supreme confidence.
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