“Everything is as shipshape as if she had been afloat for a year.”
A minute inspection of the newly launched craft, not forgetting a nook
or corner, had just been completed. Once more they stood on the upper
deck. Immediately after the launching the Lockyer had been left afloat
with a crew of workmen, in charge of the boys on board her, while the
naval party went ashore.
“You have justified my belief in you,” was part of what Miss Pangloss
said to the happy inventor, as he stepped from the boat that brought
them back.
“I’ll believe in that boat when she does something worth while,” were
Mr. Pangloss’s words. How strangely this was to be brought about not
one of them dreamed, although Lockyer answered with a new confidence:
“She will, Mr. Pangloss, and when she does I’m going to ask you for
something.”
“I can guess what it is,” was the grim rejoinder; “but you are a young
man still, and do not come to me till you have ‘made good.’ But you
must not mind if I am rather savage to-day, Lockyer,” he went on more
kindly. “I’ve just had bad news. While we were down this way I visited
my summer residence at Sandbeach, ten miles from here. In the absence
of my caretaker it has been robbed by Sound pirates of every stick of
furniture.”
“You amaze me!” exclaimed Mr. Lockyer. The naval officers who had heard
this last also expressed their sympathy.
“Just when I am getting ready to start on a yachting trip, too,” went
on the old man; “most annoying, most annoying. Now Lockyer, if your
submarine could catch those pirates, I’d say she was worth while.”
“I sincerely wish that she could, sir,” was the rejoinder. And Lockyer
meant it, too. In fact, there was nobody on earth whom he more
ardently desired to please than the peppery, irritable old apostle of
peace.
Soon after, the old millionaire and his daughter left. But what a
change had come over Lockyer! All the doubt and uncertainty of the past
anxious months had left him. He could hardly keep his eyes off the
visualized realization of his dream. At the hotel where they had lunch
quite a crowd had gathered. Every one was eager to shake his hand and
tell the inventor how they had always believed in him,--even those who
had been most confident that the Lockyer would only take one dive, and
that would be to the bottom.
The first thing the shore party did was to don dry clothing, which, it
may be said, was also done by those on board the craft. The platform
deck would be awash in bad weather, and, as the Lockyer lay at anchor,
it was not more than two feet above the gently lapping waves. The warm
sun, however, soon dried off the plates.
As may be imagined, the party did not linger over their meal. It was
hastily dispatched and a return at once made to the submarine. Several
of the curious crowd still lingered. Among them were several persons
with field glasses. They eyed the queer-shaped floating thing with
avidity. As our party shoved off, another cheer was given, which Mr.
Lockyer and the officers replied to by waving their caps.
The hearts of all were light and felt as if a load had been lifted from
them. However, much stern work lay ahead before the Lockyer could be
called a complete success.
As soon as they set foot on board once more, Mr. Lockyer called the
workmen about him and thanked all heartily for their share in the
success that had crowned the day.
“Sure, we’d ’a’ done anything fer you, Mister Lockyer!” exclaimed one
burly fellow, stepping forward, cap in hand. “Boys, three cheers fer
Mr. Lockyer, and may he hev the success he deserves.”
The cheers were given with a will, but there was more serious work
ahead than cheering. The boat had to be completely cleaned up from
forepeak to the stern. Neither of the Dreadnought Boys or their
companion knew anything of the further plans of the inventor and the
officers. It was not till late afternoon, in fact, after a meal had
been cooked by Tom Marlin on the galley stove in the little room back
of the cabin, and eaten on the folding table, that future plans were
explained.
“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Lockyer, addressing the officers, when they were
all assembled in the cabin, “my part of the work is over. The verdict
lies in your hands. I take great pleasure in turning over to you the
Lockyer for any tests you may see fit to submit her to.”
Lieutenant Parry thanked him formally, and informally added:
“And I’m sure there isn’t a man here, Mr. Lockyer, whose respect you
have not won, and who doesn’t believe in you and in your craft. My
first duty, however, is to my government, and we are here to make a
full and impartial test. To-night, if everything is in readiness,
I would like to have you take the boat out toward the Red Rock
lighthouse and back. That will give us a chance to see what she can do.”
Mr. Lockyer nodded. Then he and Bowler hastened off to give his engines
a last overhauling, while the naval party busied themselves in various
ways.
To Ned and Herc it seemed as if the evening would never come. Seated
on deck with old Tom and young Sim,--the latter was to form one of
the crew,--they discussed the wonderful craft in every aspect. While
submarines were not new things to either of the Dreadnought Boys, a
craft of the complete nature of the Lockyer was a novelty. They were
deeply interested in the coming test.
Supper was cooked on board and eaten by the crew. The officers and Mr.
Lockyer ate ashore, the others taking their places afterward. Then
followed a restless period of waiting till it grew dark and there was
little chance of their being observed from the shore. Mr. Lockyer was
not anxious, nor were the naval officers, to have it bruited aboard
that they intended to put to sea that very night. Such news would
have been certain to bring out a swarm of small craft to watch the
start, and, accordingly, the workmen, when they went ashore, had been
instructed to say that the trial trip would not take place for some
time. A few trustworthy ones had been detained on board.
It was nine o’clock or later when Mr. Lockyer, turning to the
lieutenant, said:
“If you are ready, Mr. Parry, everything is in trim for a start.”
“Very well, then,” was the response. “We’ll lose no time in getting
under way.”
Some time before, the dynamo, which, like the engine, was driven by
compressed air, had been started, and a soft radiance from electric
lights, screened by ground glass shades, filled the little vessel. Not
a light showed outside her dark hull, however, with the exception of
her anchor light run up on the jack-staff aft.
“Strong and Taylor, your stations for to-night will be in the conning
tower,” said the lieutenant. “Mr. Lockyer, your crew, under Bowler,
will remain in the engine room. I don’t feel that we are quite
familiar enough with the machinery yet to run the risk of an accident.”
The boys hastened to the conning tower, while the others remained below
to watch the first revolutions of the engines. First, however, with a
rattle and subdued purring sound, an electric winch brought the anchor
home. The Lockyer instantly swung to the tide, floating free.
But it was only for an instant. As the word came from forward in old
Tom’s voice:
“Anchor home, sir!” the inventor shoved over a lever affixed to the
after bulkhead of the cabin space.
“Ready!” he said.
The lieutenant bounded into the conning tower, anxious to have the
honor of giving the first signal. Seizing the lever of the telegraph,
he signaled below to the anxious engine room force:
“Go ahead. Slow!”
Lockyer’s eyes burned, and his lips were so dry that he was compelled
to moisten them as he gave the lever a shove. Instantly a tremor shot
through the drifting little vessel. At the same moment a bright flash
of metal shone in the engine room, as the light gleamed on the first
revolution of the crank shaft.
“Head out of the harbor, Strong!” ordered the lieutenant, gripping
Ned’s shoulder, as he stood behind him. Ned spun the spokes over, and
the Lockyer obediently swung round. Then, with her engines purring as
sweetly as a dozing cat’s lullaby, the submarine slipped noiselessly
out of Grayport.
Coming forward into the cabin, the inventor turned a switch which
controlled the red and green lights on either side of the bow. It was
necessary to have these on, as big steamers, crowded with passengers
for Boston, run up the Sound at night. Besides, the waters are usually
pretty well dotted with sailing craft and small coasting steamers.
“Come ahead on your speed now,” whispered the inventor, slipping up the
steel stairway into the darkened conning-tower. Under the starlight the
broad Sound, gently heaving, lay before them. Ned’s hand slid to the
telegraph. In instant response to the signal, the triple screws of the
Lockyer began to churn the water faster.
“Fifteen knots!” exclaimed the inventor, gazing at the speed indicator,
which was illuminated by a hooded light, “and we haven’t begun to go
yet. Wait till that engine gets limbered up.”
“Keep her east and a little north,” ordered the officer, peering into
the binnacle, “we’ll pick up the light on that course.”
Forward forged the Lockyer with hardly a vibration. So easily did she
ride, in fact, that it was difficult to realize the speed at which they
were proceeding. Lockyer, his face aglow, kept running up and down the
ladder between the engine room and the conning-tower.
“We’ve cut off the gas now,” he said when he returned from one of these
errands; “we are now proceeding under compressed air alone.”
“And the speed hasn’t dropped a hundredth part of a knot!” exclaimed
the officer, glancing at the speed indicator. “Lockyer, she’s a
marvel.”
“Officially?” said the inventor with a happy laugh.
“Well-er no. It’s a bit early for that, you know,” rejoined the officer
cautiously. He knew that the Navy Department would require far more
rigid and extended tests before they would pay out money for a contract.
“There’s clear sea-way ahead. Not a light to be seen, sir,” said
Midshipman Stark presently.
“Right you are, Stark,” rejoined the lieutenant. “Strong, let’s have
a little more speed. That is, if it won’t strain the engines, Mr.
Lockyer. They’re new and stiff yet.”
“But capable of their best efforts almost,” cried the delighted Lockyer.
There was a slight click as Ned shoved the telegraph over once more.
They could fairly feel the impulse then. As her propellers bit into the
water the submarine gave a leap forward, almost like a pickerel after
a plump frog.
“Jumping Jobberwocks! feel her go,” muttered Herc to old Tom Marlin,
as the two stood down at the foot of the ladder, ready to transmit any
messages from the conning-tower above.
Andy Bowler, the foreman, poked out a grinning face from his engine
room. He was wiping his hands on a bit of waste and drawing his first
free breath.
“She’s a daisy,” he breathed, and the words, meaningless in themselves,
conveyed his deep feeling. Then he dodged back again.
“Douse her with oil, boys,” he ordered his crew; “remember she’s new
and her bearings are stiff.”
For some time they ran on thus, occasionally turning in wide circles
and cutting figure-eights to test her general handiness. All at once
the inventor turned an anxious face to the naval officers.
“Gentlemen,” he said, and his voice quavered strangely, “you have
seen what she can do on the surface. But we must not forget that the
Lockyer was built for diving.”
In the dim radiance shed by the binnacle they could see that Lockyer’s
face was furrowed and ghastly. Yet he did not shrink from the supreme
test.
“Is she ready to dive?” asked Lieutenant Parry, without a flicker of
the smallest facial muscle. He might have been asking the most ordinary
question.
“As ready as she’ll ever be,” was the rejoinder. “If you say the word,
we’ll submerge her. I--I must know.”
“Very well, then,” was the hearty reply; “we’ll soon find out what sort
of a fish the Lockyer is. Boys, get everything ready for diving. I’ll
take the wheel.”
Ned sped below, and he and his comrades at once set about getting
things in readiness for the great test. They had been well drilled in
this ashore, and knew exactly what to do. First, the sailing lights
were turned off. Then, in came the long, sky-pointing fingers of the
periscope and the air tube.
In the engine room the heaters of the compressed-air containers were
started up, and the gauges soon showed how the air was expanding under
the heat. At a touch of a button fans were set whirring so as to keep
the air pure as long as possible, and economise on their spare supply.
Every bolt and rivet of the conning-tower and torpedo tubes were seen
to. At last all was in readiness.
“All right below, sir!” hailed up Ned, when everything had been
attended to.
“S-w-i-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-h!”
A hissing sound filled the boat as the lieutenant, with a turn of his
wrist, set in motion the machinery which filled the submerged tanks.
Beneath their feet they could feel the little vessel begin to settle as
the weight grew heavier.
“Wow!” exclaimed Herc, “suppose she doesn’t come up again?”
“Jee-rus-a-hos-o-phat!” cried old Tom, “this goin’ down in a
new-fangled craft like this gives me the creeps alright.”
Ned said nothing, but his heart beat with unpleasantly strenuous
leaps. Slowly, deliberately, like a wounded water-thing, the submarine
settled. Now the waves were awash of her tower, and presently the water
was rising about the thick lenses.
A perceptible chill was manifest in the air, and always sounded in
their ears that ominous, swishing, rushing sound. At last, to Ned’s
intense relief, the tanks were filled. A glance at the submarine gauge,
on the wall of the cabin, showed that they were already twenty feet
down.
“Hang on, everybody,” came a hail from the conning-tower, “we’re going
to dive!”
“Good land!” gasped Herc, “it’s all off now. Wish I was back on the
farm.”
Standing wedged beside the officers in the narrow conning-tower,
Channing Lockyer breathed a silent prayer. The fruition or the blasting
of his hopes was at hand. The moment was more fraught with stress than
any he had ever known.
Suddenly, the swishing sound came again. A lever, shoved over on its
quadrant by the young naval officer, had set the compressed air at
work, driving the water out of the stern tanks. As they emptied, the
boat pitched by her head till she sloped at quite a steep angle.
“Hang on with your toe-nails,” yelled old Tom, “here she goes! Down to
the tie-ribs of the earth!”
As he spoke, the engines began their song once more. Down--down--driven
by the force of her triple screws, the Lockyer dived. Into the dark
profundities they shot, down amidst the hidden mysteries of the sea,
while their pulses beat wildly.