“What depth, Mr. Stark?”
Captain McGill, standing by the side of the young middy, asked the
question. They were still running under water, but the air, which had
just been changed, was as fresh as if they were on the surface. A heavy
vibration was noticeable though as the powerful engines forced the
cigar-shaped craft through the tremendous pressure of the lower waters.
“Hundred fathoms, sir,” was the rejoinder. The naval officer glanced at
his watch. Then his eyes fell on the distance recorder.
“We’ve run forty miles at that depth,” he said, “but keep her
submerged. This was to be a thorough test.”
“She’s having it, sir,” ventured the midshipman; “we must be out of the
Sound and under the Atlantic by this time.”
“Well, we left Block Island some miles to our stern quite a little
while ago,” was the reply. “It’s a queer thing to think that there may
be some big liner’s keel right above us at this moment.”
“It is, indeed, sir,” agreed Mr. Stark. Just then, Mr. Lockyer and
Lieutenant Parry, with other members of the testing party who had been
below examining the engines, entered the conning-tower. They reported
everything as working to the pitch of satisfaction.
“Well, Mr. Lockyer, I congratulate you, sir,” said Captain McGill
ponderously. “I think that your craft will prove a magnificent success.
There is only one thing now to test her at, and that is to ascertain
how she stands the vibrations set up by torpedo firing.”
“If we could run across a derelict----,” began Midshipman Stark.
“Good gracious, young man, I hope we do no such thing,” laughingly
exclaimed Captain McGill; “at this depth, and at ten miles an hour, we
would never reach the surface to tell the tale. However, that does not
prevent me from admitting that I’m exceedingly sleepy. Gentlemen, it is
almost eight bells. Suppose we turn in for a nap. We can be called if
anything occurs.”
“This traveling under water seems to affect one’s wakefulness,” yawned
one of the board. “I think your suggestion is an excellent one,
captain.”
Soon afterward, leaving orders to be summoned at once if anything out
of the way occurred, the officers composing the board retired to their
staterooms. Quarters were close on the Lockyer, but room had been found
for all. The two apparent castaways had gone to their stateroom some
time before.
“Ding-ding! Ding-ding! Ding-ding! Ding-ding!”
The ship’s bell clock sounded out eight bells. Ned and Herc, on watch
in the conning-tower, exchanged significant glances. Midshipman Stark
was at the wheel, but knowing nothing of the plans on foot, the chiming
of the hour meant nothing to him, but that the night was slipping by
extremely slowly.
As the last strokes of the bell died away, a hail of “all’s well” came
from the engine room.
It was echoed from the conning-tower, where the boys stood with beating
hearts. The hour that was to witness their ruse had struck. Presently
Lieutenant Parry’s foot sounded on the rounds of the steel ladder.
“Strong and Taylor, come below,” he ordered, in a sharp voice. His
tones were low, however.
Both boys instantly obeyed. Their hearts beat a little faster than
usual as they descended into the cabin. They were about to attempt
a somewhat risky bit of business. Both the supposed plotters were
desperate-looking men, and the conversation the lads had overheard did
not lead them to suppose that the additions to the Lockyer’s company
were any less bad than they looked.
“Now, I’ll go to the door,” said the officer, as the two young
blue-jackets faced him, “and give the alarm. Then you leave the rest to
me, but the instant the cabin is empty, you dive in there and examine
the box.”
The boys nodded.
“Aye, aye, sir!” they said, as if they had received a routine order of
some sort.
The officer crossed the cabin floor in a couple of strides. Going to
the door of the two Italians, he turned the handle. It was unlocked.
Fortune favored him then. He could arouse them without awakening anyone
else. But as he opened the door a strange thing happened. One of the
men sprang suddenly upright and, for an instant, seemed to be about to
spring at the officer’s throat. The next instant he subsided with a low
laugh.
“Pardon, sir; I----.”
“Yes, yes, I know,” burst out Lieutenant Parry, in an excited voice,
which was excellently assumed; “never mind that now. Get up! Quick! The
submarine is in peril!”
“In peril! Santa Maria!”
The fellow sprang from his bunk. It could then be seen that he was
fully dressed. His companion, also, must have been feigning sleep, for
he, too, was up in an instant. He, likewise, was fully dressed.
“Oh, sir, we are in danger?” he gasped.
“The greatest. Come quick!”
Lieutenant Parry seized both the men in an iron grasp and rushed them
out of the cabin. He was afraid if they lingered they might stop to
pick up the box.
“This way! This way! Quick! Pray heaven we are not too late!” he cried,
as he hustled them through the engine-room door, closing it behind them
with a loud clang.
“_Now!_” exclaimed Ned, “we’ve not a minute to lose.”
Followed by Herc, he darted forward like a hound that has just picked
up a hot scent.
Another instant and they were in the cabin lately occupied by the two
Italians. Ned thrust an arm under the lower bunk. As he had expected,
the box was there--a stout, black receptacle, bound at the corners with
brass.
It had a lock on, but drawing his marlin-spike knife, Ned had it burst
open in an instant. As he broke the lock there was a loud snap and a
queer sound like the ticking of a loud clock was heard.
Tick-tock! Tick-tock!
Ned threw back the lid, and as the contents of the box lay before him,
he gave a gasp. At first sight the interior of the thing looked not
unlike the works of a clock. It was this machinery that was ticking.
In one corner was a tiny hammer, raised above what seemed to be a
percussion cap. Below this cap was a thick, gelatinous-looking stuff.
As he saw this latter, Ned gave a cry, and thrusting his hand into the
box, tore the machinery out of it and hurled it clean across the cabin.
“An infernal machine!” he gasped.
“What!” almost screamed Herc.
“Don’t you see,” shouted Ned excitedly; “this yellow stuff is
nitro-glycerine. Enough to blow this boat to pieces. That clockwork,
when set going, would, in due time, bring the hammer down on the
percussion cap, touching off the diabolical affair, and----”
Before he could utter another word something sprang on him, encircling
his neck, ape-like, with long arms. Ned saw a bright thing flash above
him. Instinctively, he knew that it was a knife. Swiftly he threw up
one arm and caught the descending blade in the nick of time. At the
same instant, a scream of baffled rage rang out, as strong arms seized
Guiseppi, who had sprung upon him, and dragged him off the Dreadnought
Boy’s back.
In the doorway of the engine room Ignacio struggled, foaming and
blaspheming, in Engineer Bowler’s grip, but the husky ex-foreman held
him fast.
“Don’t squirm too lively, you bloomin’ dago,” he muttered, “or I might
get nervous and tap you on the head with a wrench.”
Held tightly by Lieutenant Parry and two members of the engine-room
crew, Guiseppi, who had made the murderous attempt on Ned, writhed and
flung himself about with equal vehemence.
“I had hardly gotten them into the engine room,” explained the young
officer, giving the recalcitrant Guiseppi’s arm a twist, “before they
discovered it was all a trick. I suppose they knew, in a flash, the
object of it, for before I could stop him, this ruffian here had darted
through the door and sprang upon your back.”
“You were just in time, sir,” said Ned; “I could hear that knife
whistle as he plunged it down. He fairly had me in chancery, too.”
“I fancy you were just in time, too, Ned,” said the young officer
warmly.
He shuddered as he spoke. But now stateroom doors began to fly open,
and heads were poked out. Presently, the entire naval board was hearing
the story, while Midshipman Stark, at the wheel, strained his ears
to hear what he could of it. For he had heard the disturbance, but,
of course, could not leave his post. It was his duty to stick at the
wheel, even if he had known that the submarine was about to be blown up.
“It seems to me,” said Captain McGill, when he had heard Lieutenant
Parry’s story, “that these two lads are entitled to a great deal of
credit for the part they played in this affair. They not only acted
bravely, but with discretion, which is better than mere courage. You,
too, Parry, did a clever thing. I think, gentlemen, that all three are
to be congratulated for securing a pair of precious scoundrels.”
The two Italians were then, at Captain McGill’s orders, triced up to
stanchions. Bound securely, they glowered at their captors furiously,
but for some time refused to speak. At last, Ignacio, in response to
Captain McGill’s questioning, confessed the whole plot.
They had been hired by Ferriss and Camberly--whose shipyard they had
formerly worked in--to carry out the daring plan to wreck the Lockyer.
Knowing that they could not get on board by any ordinary means, they
had chartered the catboat and purposely capsized her, so that they
would have to be taken on board. Their plan had then been to wait till
she was in port and then set the machine among her engines, wrecking
them hopelessly. Both men denied that they had intended to take any
lives. But, in view of the amount of nitro-glycerine contained in their
machine, it was practically certain that anyone who had the misfortune
to be on board at the time it exploded, would have been, if not killed,
seriously injured.
As soon as this confession had been extorted from the men it was set
down in writing, and they were compelled to sign it. The submarine was
then headed for the surface, and the nitro-glycerine gingerly carried
on deck and dumped overboard.
“I don’t care to be shipmates with the stuff in that form many minutes
longer than I have to be,” said Captain McGill, amid a general laugh,
in which, perhaps, there was a little of the trace of the nervous
strain which they had undergone.
At Mr. Lockyer’s request, the two Italians were questioned as to the
whereabouts of Ferriss and Camberly, but they professed ignorance of
where their employers were to be found. They were to have recovered
their money by mail, they declared, but as a considerable sum was
found on them, it was always supposed that they received some of their
pay for their rascally attempt in advance.
“Well, gentlemen,” announced Captain McGill, a short time later, “the
tests, both on the surface, semi-submerged, and submerged, have been
perfectly satisfactory. Let us now head about and give these rascals
over to justice. If their purpose was to ruin the Lockyer submarine and
prevent her sale to the Government, they have failed. I shall report
her at Washington as an unqualified success.”
“Thank you, sir!” said the inventor simply, and would have added more,
but at this instant there came a sudden sharp hail from Tom Marlin, who
had succeeded Midshipman Stark at the wheel.
“Something dead ahead, sir. I----”
Before he could complete the sentence there came a terrific shock. The
submarine quivered from stem to stern under the stress of the blow.
The party had to clutch at handrails and projections to avoid being
thrown flat.
“We’ve struck something!” shouted Mr. Lockyer. A terrible fear burned
in his eyes as a wild confusion of shouts and cries arose from below.
The submarine slewed round drunkenly, and a rasping sound rang from
her steel plates. The inventor, cool-headed despite his alarm for his
craft, sprang to the engine controls. Rapidly, he spun the telegraph
indicator.
“Back! Full speed astern!”
Again came that bumping, rasping sensation. It was as if the little
vessel had struck a reef or a submerged rock, although the chart showed
none in that part of the ocean.