Somehow one is always prone to associate the idea of a launching of a
vessel of any kind with crowds, gaiety, and blaring brass bands. Except
for the fact, however, that a brand-new flag floated above the boatyard
on the day that the long-expected event was to take place, there was no
sign that anything unusual was going on.
All hands reported at the yard early, the workmen in their best
clothes, the naval contingent in uniforms. A few finishing touches
remained to be put upon the boat, and the slight damage done by
Anderson’s file to be adjusted. A little more than an hour sufficed for
this, however, and then all was ready.
“At last,” breathed Mr. Lockyer, as the foreman, with a formal touch of
his cap, said:
“We’re ready when you are, sir.”
Lieutenant Parry tried to look unconcerned, but under his naval mask
of indifference it could be seen that he was excited. As for the boys,
their faces shone with anticipation. Old Tom Marlin went about with a
broad grin on his face, clapping everybody on the shoulder and singing
snatches of musty sea chanties.
As might have been expected, word had spread that there was something
unusual going on at the yard. By the time all was in readiness quite
a crowd had gathered. Several persons tried to get in at the gate,
but they were ruthlessly informed that no one would be admitted. As
the next best thing, they made for points of vantage along the beach
outside the fence; for, by some species of wireless telegraphy, there
was now a well-defined rumor that “‘Lockyer’s Dream’ was to take to the
water that morning.”
“Wonder what we’re waiting for?” mused Ned, as ten o’clock struck and
still Mr. Lockyer paced nervously up and down, without giving the
signal to go aboard. Some workmen, hammers in hand, stood about ready
to knock out the remaining props as soon as the word should be given,
and send the grim diving torpedo boat sliding down the ways into the
sea.
“Tide’ll turn before long, sir,” ventured the foreman, stepping up to
Mr. Lockyer. The inventor gave a sigh and seemed to start out of a
reverie.
“Very well, then,” he said. “I guess you may as well give the order to
go ahead.”
But as he spoke, from outside the fence there came a sudden
interruption to the hush of suspense that had settled over the
occupants of the boatyard and the crowd outside.
The sharp “honk-honk” of an auto could be heard as it was urged
through the curious crowd clustered outside the gates. A sudden change
came over the inventor as he heard it. His gloom seemed to vanish
like magic, and he made for the gate in great bounds. Reaching it,
he flung it open himself, and a touring car, driven by a liveried
chauffeur and containing two passengers, was driven into the yard.
To the astonishment of the boys, one of the occupants of the car
was a singularly beautiful young woman, and the other a stout,
gray-whiskered man in a frock coat, white waistcoat and many other
outward and accepted trappings of wealth.
The inventor--an odd contrast to the daintily gowned girl and the
smartly tailored old man, in his greasy overalls which he had donned
for the launching--was at the side of the car in an instant, aiding the
young woman to alight. This done, he extended a hand to the old man,
but the latter spurned it.
“I can help myself, Lockyer,” he snapped out; “not too old for that
yet. So to-day is the day that you are going to launch that insane myth
of yours--the cruising submarine?”
“It is, Mr. Pangloss,” rejoined the inventor, “and I feel very much
flattered that you have decided to be present on the occasion.”
“Oh, you have to thank me for that,” flashed the young woman with
a radiant smile. “I told you we would not fail you, and you see we
haven’t.”
“Thank you,” breathed the inventor, in a low tone. “I felt sure you
would be here if it were possible. _You_, at least, have always
believed in me.”
“And so will dad when the Lockyer is afloat,” laughed the young woman
gaily. “James,” she went on, turning to the chauffeur, “get that
basket out of the tonneau. You see, Mr. Lockyer,” she smiled, “I have
not forgotten that I am to christen the boat, and we have brought the
baptismal font with us.”
“Hum,” remarked Lieutenant Parry, turning to Midshipman Stark, “there’s
Lockyer’s romance. It’s easy to see that.”
“Well, I hope he wins out,” was the rejoinder. “He’s a good fellow
and she is one of the most beautiful girls I have ever seen. But her
father--for I guess the old man is her father--doesn’t seem to approve.”
Indeed the old man had been stamping about the yard, poking at castings
and odd bits of machinery with his cane, and asking sharp questions
of the different workmen. Presently Mr. Lockyer introduced his guests
as Miss Vivian Pangloss and her father, Peregrine Pangloss. The
girl smiled gracefully through the introductions, but her father, on
the other hand, seemed anxious to assert his entire disbelief in the
submarine and all who had anything to do with it.
“It’s nonsense, gentlemen, nonsense!” he asserted emphatically. “Man’s
place in nature is on the earth or on the surface of the waters. He has
no business either to fly in the air or to dive under the ocean.”
“In that event you would naturally limit human progress,” put in
Lieutenant Parry.
“And what of it, sir? What of it?” puffed old Mr. Pangloss. “I have
lived for sixty years, sir, and all that time have managed to get along
without any such nonsensical things, and so did my ancestors before me.
It’s obvious, then, that there is no need of them. Mankind is better
off without them.”
“But in case of war, sir,” put in Midshipman Stark. “If the Lockyer
is as capable a submarine as we hope she will prove to be, the nation
possessing her will be years ahead of any other, at least, so far as
naval warfare is concerned.”
“Bah, sir! War ought to be abolished,” snapped the old man. “I’d like
to shoot or hang everybody who talks about war, or is connected with it
in any way.”
“Suppose we take a look over the boat before she is launched,”
suggested the inventor, tactfully changing the subject.
“Oh, that would be the very thing,” cried Miss Pangloss excitedly. “I
am sure it is a wonderful boat and will be a great success.”
“It will--it must be, if you wish it,” said the inventor, in so low a
tone, however, that the others did not catch it.
“I will look at the boat,” announced Mr. Pangloss bristlingly, “but
I want it distinctly understood that I do not endorse the principles
for which she stands. Warfare and bloodshed are distasteful to me,
odious--detestable!”
“Gee, he makes more disturbance about it than a whole battery of guns,”
whispered Herc to Ned, as the boys and Tom Marlin fell in the rear of
the party.
“Most of these peace agitators do,” was Ned’s rejoinder. “They forget
that the rivalry between nations is not a theory, but a condition. The
first nation to fall behind in her defenses will be the first to fall a
prey to the others.”
“Say,” whispered old Tom Marlin hoarsely, “I know that whiskered craft
Pangloss. I’ve seed his picters in ther papers. He’s a crank of peace.
He was speaking at one peace meeting where some one disagreed with him
and he busted a water pitcher over their heads.
“‘I will have peace,’ says he, ‘if we’ve got ter have war ter git it.’”
“He must be Irish,” laughed Ned. “Seriously, though, now you speak of
it, I do recall who he is.”
“A celebrity?” inquired Sim, who had been quite overawed by the fiery
manner of the apostle of peace.
“In a way, yes. He amassed a fortune manufacturing steel.”
“The material of which warships are built, eh?” chuckled Herc; “that’s
a good one. If it hadn’t been for the navy, where would he have been.”
“Not only that,” went on Ned, “but I understand that in his eagerness
to get contracts he did not hesitate to stump the country at one time,
advocating a bigger navy and more guns.”
“And now he has his fortune he’s blowing cold again,” put in Tom.
“Seems so. But just look how attentively Mr. Lockyer is bending over
the old man’s daughter. She’s looking up at him, too, as if she thought
a whole lot of him. Look at the old man glaring at them. I’ll bet he’s
mad.”
Ned guessed just right. Years before, when Lockyer was just out of
college, he had obtained employment as a chemist in the Pangloss Steel
Works at Pittsburg. As he accepted the position more for experience
than for the pay, which was small--his father allowing him an ample
allowance--he naturally had some good introductions. Among the homes
he visited had been that of his employer, where he met Miss Vivian.
She had been deeply interested in the young man’s work, and when the
submarine idea--upon which he was working at the time--was complete, he
made her his confidant.
Old Mr. Pangloss had, at first, been glad to welcome Lockyer to his
home. When the chemist’s father died, however, and did not leave as
large a fortune as had been anticipated, the old man looked upon the
growing friendship between his daughter and the inventor from another
viewpoint. He had, in fact, discouraged his visits. That morning was
the first time the inventor and the girl he had grown to love had met
in many months. Her arrival was in response to a promise made a long
time before, that she would be there to christen the Lockyer when it
took to the water. Much against her father’s wishes, therefore, they
had come. It was Lockyer’s belief that she would redeem that promise
that had kept him delaying the launching till the last moment.
The purpose of a small platform erected near the Lockyer’s bow now
became apparent. It was for the fair sponsor of the vessel to stand
upon while she shattered the bottle against the steel prow, according
to time-honored custom. As she took her place upon the little stand,
she gave Lockyer a look full of confidence and trust, and a bright
light shone in the inventor’s eyes as he followed the others to the
deck of the diving craft. There was new confidence in his step, his
head was thrown back, and he fairly radiated assurance.
“Better give the word as soon as possible,” whispered Lieutenant Parry
to the foreman, who stood beside him. “We don’t want to try Lockyer’s
nerves more than necessary.”
Now the ladder was kicked away from the steel side of the craft. It
had been used for the last time. In obedience to a nod from Lieutenant
Parry, Ned took his place at the deck wheel forward of the conning
tower. The entire front of the shed had been removed for the launching,
and they could see stretched before them the sparkling waters of the
Sound. In the distance was the dim blue outline of the Connecticut
shore.
“All ready!” hailed the foreman over the side.
A quiver of excitement ran through every man on that steel deck. In a
few minutes now they would know whether the initial trial of the craft
was to be a success or a failure.
Below, a terrific clattering of sledges started up. The workmen were
swinging their hammers against the wooden props, knocking out the
remaining retaining wedges. When the last one was knocked clear, the
submarine would begin to shoot down the greased ways.
“Right below!” shouted a workman from beneath. Those on the deck knew
that his words meant that only one wedge remained to be knocked loose.
Mr. Lockyer was gripping the rail, his face turned toward the platform
upon which stood Miss Pangloss and her father. His face was ghastly
pale, though his eyes shone brightly. His nervous grasp on the rail
whitened his knuckles as he gripped it.
The girl, a brave smile upon her lips, held the bottle ready poised.
The silken ribbons which fluttered from its neck moved slightly in the
light breeze sweeping in from the unruffled Sound. In that moment of
tension even old Mr. Pangloss looked interested. The naval officers
stood without blinking an eyelid or betraying any outward sign of
emotion--as their training required.
“All right!” the command came from Mr. Lockyer. His voice shook as he
uttered it. He caught his breath sharply.
The foreman echoed the word in stentorian tones.
“Let her go, boys!”
Boom!
The supreme moment had come.
The hammer fell upon that last wedge. A sharp quiver ran through the
steel structure of the diving boat. It was the first stirring of life
within her frame.
“She’s off!”
Old Tom Marlin, forgetful of discipline, had uttered the sharp cry. It
had been wrung from him by the tension of the moment as the submarine
began to move.
Crash!
The bottle smashed across the prow. Its contents gushed sparkling and
bubbling down her gray sides. Then, in a clear, girlish voice, came the
words so fraught with meaning to the inventor. There was not a quiver
in the girl’s voice, though her eyes were strangely bright as she
exclaimed:
“I name thee ‘Lockyer.’ May you always prove worthy of your flag, your
service, and your name!”
“Hurroo!”
Mr. Lockyer, coolest of all now, waved his cap confidently at the
dainty sponsor.
The wild cheer came from the workmen. It was caught up and echoed by
the excited men on the deck of the now moving boat, and went swelling
out on the still air till the crowd outside caught it up and gave it
back with a will.
Even Mr. Pangloss’s iron jaw relaxed as he watched the inspiring
sight of tons of steel shooting toward the sea at express speed. As
Ned clutched the steering wheel every nerve in his body throbbed. The
exciting thrill of motion ran through them all.
Down shot the submarine. As she neared the water, Lieutenant Parry
darted back to the stern staff. Seizing the halliards, he ran the
flag--rolled up in a ball as yet--to the truck.
Sp-l-a-s-h!
The white spray flew high. It descended in sparkling clouds, drenching
everybody on the deck as the Lockyer shot forward into the water.
Forward and outward she sped, straight and true as an arrow, her young
helmsman holding her right on her course.
“Hurray!”
The shout came volleying from the crowded beach.
The officer jerked the halliards. Out from the jack-staff burst the
splendor of the stars and stripes--Old Glory!
What a yell went up then. The crowd clustered on the beach shrieked and
danced with excitement till they were hoarse. The workmen in the yard
dragged out an old saluting cannon and blazed and blazed away. Even Mr.
Pangloss gave a discreet chirrup which he intended, he informed his
daughter apologetically later on, as a cheer. As Old Glory floated out,
all on board bared their heads, and, turning toward our flag, stiffly
saluted.
Losing her impetus, the Lockyer slackened speed, hesitated, and then
stopped. At the same instant, with a whirr and clatter, her anchor
roared down, entering the water with a splash. The latest, most novel
submarine was launched.
What did the future hold in store for her?