The engine stopped; and, climbing the steps to look forward, Denman saw
the bridge deserted, and the whole ten surrounding an equal number of
strong boxes, stamped and burned with official-looking letters and
numbers. Farther along were the provision; and a peep astern showed
Denman the drifting boats.
The big _Gigantia_ had disappeared in the haze that hid the whole
horizon; but up in the western sky was a portent--a black silhouette of
irregular out-line, that grew larger as he looked.
It was a monoplane--an advance scout of a scout boat--and Denman
recognized the government model. It seemed to have sighted the
destroyer, for it came straight on with a rush, circled overhead, and
turned back.
There was no signal made; and, as it dwindled away in the west, Denman's
attention was attracted to the men surrounding the boxes; only Munson
was still watching the receding monoplane. But the rest were busy. With
hammers and cold chisels from the engine room they were opening the
boxes of treasure.
"Did any one see that fellow before?" demanded Munson, pointing to the
spot in the sky.
A few looked, and the others answered with oaths and commands: "Forget
it! Open the boxes! Let's have a look at the stuff!"
But Munson spoke again. "Forsythe, how about the big fellow's wireless?
We didn't disable it. He has sent the news already. What do you think?"
"Oh, shut up!" answered Forsythe, irately. "I didn't think of it.
Neither did any one. What of it? Nothing afloat can catch us. Open the
box. Let's have a look, and we'll beat it for Africa."
"I tell you," vociferated Munson, "that you'd better start now--at full
speed, too. That's a scout, and the mother boat isn't far away."
"Will you shut up, or will I shut you up?" shouted Forsythe.
"You'll not shut me up," retorted Munson. "You're the biggest fool in
this bunch, in spite of your bluff. Why don't you go ahead and get out
o' this neighborhood?"
A box cover yielded at this juncture, and Forsythe did not immediately
answer. Instead, with Munson himself, and Billings the cook--insanely
emitting whoops and yelps as he danced around for a peep--he joined the
others in tearing out excelsior from the box. Then the bare contents
came to view.
"Lead!" howled Riley, as he stood erect, heaving a few men back with his
shoulders. "Lead it is, if I know wan metal from another."
"Open them all," roared Forsythe. "Get the axes--pinch bars--anything."
"Start your engine!" yelled Munson; but he was not listened to.
With every implement that they could lay their hands on they attacked
the remaining boxes; and, as each in turn disclosed its contents, there
went up howls of disappointment and rage. "Lead!" they shouted at last.
"All lead! Was this job put up for us?"
"No," yelled Munson, "not for us. Every steamer carrying bullion also
carries lead in the same kind of boxes. I've read of it many a time.
It's a safeguard against piracy. We've been fooled--that's all."
Forsythe answered profanely and as coherently as his rage and excitement
would permit.
Munson replied by holding his fist under Forsythe's nose.
"Get up on the bridge," he said. "And you, Riley, to your engines."
Riley obeyed the call of the exigency; but Forsythe resisted. He struck
Munson's fist away, but received it immediately full in the face.
Staggering back, he pulled his revolver; and, before Munson could meet
this new antagonism, he aimed and fired. Munson lurched headlong, and
lay still.
Then an uproar began. The others charged on Forsythe, who retreated,
with his weapon at arm's length. He held them off until, at his command,
all but one had placed his pistol back in the scabbard. The dilatory one
was old Kelly; and him Forsythe shot through the heart. Then the pistols
were redrawn, and the shooting became general.
How Forsythe, single-handed against the eight remaining men, won in that
gun fight can only be explained by the fact that the eight were too
wildly excited to aim, or leave each other free to attempt aiming; while
Forsythe, a single target, only needed to shoot at the compact body of
men to make a hit.
It ended soon with Hawkes, Davis, and Daniels writhing on the deck, and
Forsythe hiding, uninjured, behind the forward funnel; while Riley,
King, and Dwyer, the three engineers, were retreating into their engine
room.
"Now, if you've had enough," shouted Forsythe, "start the engine when I
give you the bells." Then he mounted to the bridge and took the wheel.
But, though the starting of the engines at full speed indicated that the
engineers had had enough, there was one man left who had not. It was
Billings, who danced around the dead and the wounded, shrieking and
laughing with the emotions of his disordered brain. But he did not fire
on Forsythe, and seemed to have forgotten the animus of the recent
friction.
He drifted aft, muttering to himself, until suddenly he stopped, and
fixed his eyes on Denman, who, with gritting teeth, had watched the
deadly fracas at the companion.
"I told you so. I told you so," rang out the crazed voice of Billings.
"A woman aboard ship--a woman aboard ship. Always makes trouble. There,
take it!"
He pulled his revolver and fired; and Denman, stupefied with the
unexpected horror of it all, did not know that Florrie had crept up
beside him in the companion until he heard her scream in conjunction
with the whiz of the bullet through her hair. Then Denman awoke.
After assuring himself of the girl's safety, and pushing her down the
companion, he drew his revolver; and, taking careful aim, executed
Billings with the cold calmness of a hangman.
A bullet, nearly coincident with the report of a pistol, came from the
bridge; and there was Forsythe, with one hand on the wheel, facing aft
and taking second aim at him.
Denman accepted the challenge, and stepped boldly out of the companion.
They emptied their revolvers, but neither did damage; and, as Forsythe
reloaded, Denman cast a momentary glance at a black spot in the southern
sky.
Hurriedly sweeping the upper horizon, he saw still another to the east;
while out of the haze in the northwest was emerging a scout cruiser; no
doubt the "mother" of the first monoplane. She was but two miles away,
and soon began spitting shot and shell, which plowed up the water
perilously near.
"You're caught, Forsythe," called out Denman, pointing to the south and
east. "Will you surrender before we're sunk or killed?"
Forsythe's answer was another shot.
"Florrie," called Denman down the companion, "hand me your gun and pass
up the tablecloth; then get down that hatch out of the way. We're being
fired at."
She obeyed him; and, with Forsythe's bullets whistling around his head,
he hoisted the flag of truce and surrender to the flagstaff. But just a
moment too late. A shell entered the boat amidships and exploded in her
vitals, sending up through the engine-room hatch a cloud of smoke and
white steam, while fragments of the shell punctured the deck from below.
But there were no cries of pain or calls for help from the three men in
the engine room.
Forsythe left the bridge. Breathing vengeance and raging like a madman,
he rushed aft.
"I'll see you go first!" he shrieked. He fired again and again as he
came; then, realizing that he had but one bullet left in his pistol, he
halted at the galley hatch, took careful aim, and pulled the trigger for
the last time.
There are tricks of the fighting trade taught to naval officers that are
not included in the curriculum at Annapolis. Denman, his loaded revolver
hanging in his right hand at his side, had waited for this final shot.
Like a duelist he watched, not his opponent's hand, but his eye; and,
the moment that eye gave him the unconcealable signal to the trigger
finger, he ducked his head, and the bullet sped above.
"Now, Forsythe," he said, as he covered the chagrined marksman, "you
should have aimed lower and to the right--but that's all past now. This
boat is practically captured, and I'm not going to kill you; for, even
though it would not be murder, there is no excuse in my conscience for
it. Whether the boat sinks or not, we will be taken off in time, for
that fellow over yonder is coming, and has ceased firing. But before you
are out of my hands I want to settle an old score with you--one dating
from our boyhood, which you'll perhaps remember. Toss that gun forward
and step aft a bit."
Forsythe, his face working convulsively, obeyed him.
"Florrie!" called Denman down the hatch. "Come up now. We're all right."
She came, white in the face, and stood beside him.
"Off with your coat, Forsythe, and stand up to me. We'll finish that old
fight. Here, girl, hold this gun."
Florrie took the pistol, and the two men discarded their jackets and
faced each other.
There is hardly need of describing in detail the fist fight that
followed. It was like all such, where one man is slightly the superior
of the other in skill, strength, and agility.
In this case that one was Denman; and, though again and again he felt
the weight of Forsythe's fist, and reeled to the deck occasionally, he
gradually tired out his heavier, though weaker, adversary; and at last,
with the whole weight of his body behind it, dealt a crashing blow on
Forsythe's chin.
Denman's old-time foe staggered backward and fell face upward. He rolled
his head to the right and to the left a few times, then sank into
unconsciousness.
Denman looked down on him, waiting for a movement, but none came.
Forsythe had been knocked out, and for the last time. Florrie's scream
aroused Denman.
"Is the boat sinking, Billie?"
He looked, and sprang for a life-buoy, which he slipped over Florrie's
head. The bow of the boat was flush with the water, which was lapping at
the now quiet bodies of the dead and wounded men forward. He secured
another life-buoy for himself; and, as he donned the cork ring, a hail
came from abeam.
"Jump!" it said. "Jump, or you'll be carried down with the wash."
The big scout ship was but a few lengths away, and a boat full of armed
men was approaching.
Hand in hand they leaped into the sea; and Denman, towing the girl by
the becket of her life-buoy, paid no attention to the sinking hull until
satisfied that they were safe from the suction.
When he looked, the bow was under water, the stern rising in the air,
higher and higher, until a third of the after body was exposed; then it
slid silently, but for the bursting of huge air bubbles, out of sight in
the depths.
* * * * *
About a year later, Lieutenant Denman received a letter with a Paris
postmark, which he opened in the presence of his wife. In it was a draft
on a Boston bank, made out to his order.
"Good!" he exclaimed, as he glanced down the letter. "Listen, Florrie,
here's something that pleases me as much as my exoneration by the Board
of Inquiry." Then he read to her the letter:
"DEAR SIR: Inasmuch as you threw two life-buoys over for us you may
be glad, even at this late period, to know that we got them. The
fight stopped when we hit the water, and since then Sampson and
myself have been chums. I saw both buoys thrown and held Sampson up
while I swam with him to the first; then, from the top of a sea, I
saw the other, and, getting it, returned to him. We were picked up
by a fisherman next day, but you will not mind, sir, if I do not
tell you where we landed, or how we got here, or where we'll be when
this letter reaches you. We will not be here, and never again in the
United States. Yet we want to thank you for giving us a chance for
our lives.
"We read in the Paris _Herald_ of your hearing before the Board of
Inquiry, and the story you told of the mess Forsythe made of things,
and the final sinking of the boat. Of course we were sorry for them,
for they were our mates; but they ought not to have gone back on
Casey, even though they saw fit to leave Sampson and me behind. And,
thinking this way, we are glad that you licked Forsythe, even at the
last minute.
"We inclose a draft for five hundred and fifty dollars, which we
would like you to cash, and pay the captain, whose name we do not
know, the money we took from his desk. We hope that what is left
will square up for the clothes and money we took from your room. You
see, as we did not give Casey but a little of the money, and it came
in mighty handy for us two when we got ashore, it seems that we are
obligated to return it. I will only say, to conclude, that we got it
honestly.
"Sampson joins with me in our best respects to Miss Fleming and
yourself.
"Truly yours,
"HERBERT JENKINS."
"Oh, I'm glad, Billie!" she exclaimed. "They are honest men, after all."
"Honest men?" repeated Denman, quizzically. "Yet they stole a fine
destroyer from Uncle Sam!"
"I don't care," she said, stoutly. "I'm glad they were saved. And,
Billie boy"--her hands were on his shoulders--"if they hadn't stolen
that fine destroyer, I wouldn't be here to-day looking into your eyes."
And Billie, gathering her into his arms, let it go at that.
BEYOND THE SPECTRUM
The long-expected crisis was at hand, and the country was on the verge
of war. Jingoism was rampant. Japanese laborers were mobbed on the
western slope, Japanese students were hazed out of colleges, and
Japanese children stoned away from playgrounds. Editorial pages sizzled
with burning words of patriotism; pulpits thundered with invocations to
the God of battles and prayers for the perishing of the way of the
ungodly. Schoolboy companies were formed and paraded with wooden guns;
amateur drum-corps beat time to the throbbing of the public pulse;
militia regiments, battalions, and separate companies of infantry and
artillery, drilled, practiced, and paraded; while the regular army was
rushed to the posts and garrisons of the Pacific Coast, and the navy, in
three divisions, guarded the Hawaiian Islands, the Philippines, and the
larger ports of western America. For Japan had a million trained men,
with transports to carry them, battle-ships to guard them; with the
choice of objective when she was ready to strike; and she was displaying
a national secrecy about her choice especially irritating to molders of
public opinion and lovers of fair play. War was not yet declared by
either side, though the Japanese minister at Washington had quietly
sailed for Europe on private business, and the American minister at
Tokio, with several consuls and clerks scattered around the ports of
Japan, had left their jobs hurriedly, for reasons connected with their
general health. This was the situation when the cabled news from Manila
told of the staggering into port of the scout cruiser _Salem_ with a
steward in command, a stoker at the wheel, the engines in charge of
firemen, and the captain, watch-officers, engineers, seamen gunners, and
the whole fighting force of the ship stricken with a form of partial
blindness which in some cases promised to become total.
The cruiser was temporarily out of commission and her stricken men in
the hospital; but by the time the specialists had diagnosed the trouble
as amblyopia, from some sudden shock to the optic nerve--followed in
cases by complete atrophy, resulting in amaurosis--another ship came
into Honolulu in the same predicament. Like the other craft four
thousand miles away, her deck force had been stricken suddenly and at
night. Still another, a battle-ship, followed into Honolulu, with fully
five hundred more or less blind men groping around her decks; and the
admiral on the station called in all the outriders by wireless. They
came as they could, some hitting sand-bars or shoals on the way, and
every one crippled and helpless to fight. The diagnosis was the
same--amblyopia, atrophy of the nerve, and incipient amaurosis; which in
plain language meant dimness of vision increasing to blindness.
Then came more news from Manila. Ship after ship came in, or was towed
in, with fighting force sightless, and the work being done by the "black
gang" or the idlers, and each with the same report--the gradual dimming
of lights and outlines as the night went on, resulting in partial or
total blindness by sunrise. And now it was remarked that those who
escaped were the lower-deck workers, those whose duties kept them off
the upper deck and away from gunports and deadlights. It was also
suggested that the cause was some deadly attribute of the night air in
these tropical regions, to which the Americans succumbed; for, so far,
the coast division had escaped.
In spite of the efforts of the Government, the Associated Press got the
facts, and the newspapers of the country changed the burden of their
pronouncements. Bombastic utterances gave way to bitter criticism of an
inefficient naval policy that left the ships short of fighters in a
crisis. The merging of the line and the staff, which had excited much
ridicule when inaugurated, now received more intelligent attention.
Former critics of the change not only condoned it, but even demanded the
wholesale granting of commissions to skippers and mates of the merchant
service; and insisted that surgeons, engineers, paymasters, and
chaplains, provided they could still see to box the compass, should be
given command of the torpedo craft and smaller scouts. All of which made
young Surgeon Metcalf, on waiting orders at San Francisco, smile sweetly
and darkly to himself: for his last appointment had been the command of
a hospital ship, in which position, though a seaman, navigator, and
graduate of Annapolis, he had been made the subject of newspaper
ridicule and official controversy, and had even been caricatured as
going into battle in a ship armored with court-plaster and armed with
hypodermic syringes.
Metcalf had resigned as ensign to take up the study and practice of
medicine, but at the beginning of the war scare had returned to his
first love, relinquishing a lucrative practice as eye-specialist to
tender his services to the Government. And the Government had responded
by ranking him with his class as junior lieutenant, and giving him the
aforesaid command, which he was glad to be released from. But his
classmates and brother officers had not responded so promptly with
their welcome, and Metcalf found himself combating a naval etiquette
that was nearly as intolerant of him as of other appointees from civil
life. It embittered him a little, but he pulled through; for he was a
likable young fellow, with a cheery face and pleasant voice, and even
the most hide-bound product of Annapolis could not long resist his
personality. So he was not entirely barred out of official gossip and
speculations, and soon had an opportunity to question some convalescents
sent home from Honolulu. All told the same story and described the same
symptoms, but one added an extra one. An itching and burning of the face
had accompanied the attack, such as is produced by sunburn.
"And where were you that night when it came?" asked Metcalf, eagerly.
"On the bridge with the captain and watch-officers. It was all hands
that night. We had made out a curious light to the north'ard, and were
trying to find out what it was."
"What kind of a light?"
"Well, it was rather faint, and seemed to be about a mile away.
Sometimes it looked red, then green, or yellow, or blue."
"And then it disappeared?"
"Yes, and though we steamed toward it with all the searchlights at work,
we never found where it came from."
"What form did it take--a beam or a glow?"
"It wasn't a glow--radiation--and it didn't seem to be a beam. It was an
occasional flash, and in this sense was like a radiation--that is, like
the spokes of a wheel, each spoke with its own color. But that was at
the beginning. In three hours none of us could have distinguished
colors."
Metcalf soon had an opportunity to question others. The first batch of
invalid officers arrived from Manila, and these, on being pressed,
admitted that they had seen colored lights at the beginning of the
night. These, Metcalf remarked, were watch-officers, whose business was
to look for strange lights and investigate them. But one of them added
this factor to the problem.
"And it was curious about Brainard, the most useless and utterly
incompetent man ever graduated. He was so near-sighted that he couldn't
see the end of his nose without glasses; but it was he that took the
ship in, with the rest of us eating with our fingers and asking our way
to the sick-bay."
"And Brainard wore his glasses that night?'" asked Metcalf.
"Yes; he couldn't see without them. It reminds me of Nydia, the blind
girl who piloted a bunch out of Pompeii because she was used to the
darkness. Still, Brainard is hardly a parallel."
"Were his glasses the ordinary kind, or pebbles?"
"Don't know. Which are the cheapest? That's the kind."
"The ordinary kind."
"Well, he had the ordinary kind--like himself. And he'll get special
promotion. Oh, Lord! He'll be jumped up a dozen numbers."
"Well," said Metcalf, mysteriously, "perhaps not. Just wait."
Metcalf kept his counsel, and in two weeks there came Japan's
declaration of war in a short curt note to the Powers at Washington.
Next day the papers burned with news, cabled _via_ St. Petersburg and
London, of the sailing of the Japanese fleet from its home station, but
for where was not given--in all probability either the Philippines or
the Hawaiian Islands. But when, next day, a torpedo-boat came into San
Francisco in command of the cook, with his mess-boy at the wheel,
conservatism went to the dogs, and bounties were offered for enlistment
at the various navy-yards, while commissions were made out as fast as
they could be signed, and given to any applicant who could even pretend
to a knowledge of yachts. And Surgeon George Metcalf, with the rank of
junior lieutenant, was ordered to the torpedo-boat above mentioned, and
with him as executive officer a young graduate of the academy, Ensign
Smith, who with the enthusiasm and courage of youth combined the
mediocrity of inexperience and the full share of the service prejudice
against civilians.
This prejudice remained in full force, unmodified by the desperate
situation of the country; and the unstricken young officers filling
subordinate positions on the big craft, while congratulating him, openly
denied his moral right to a command that others had earned a better
right to by remaining in the service; and the old jokes, jibes, and
satirical references to syringes and sticking-plaster whirled about his
head as he went to and fro, fitting out his boat and laying in supplies.
And when they learned--from young Mr. Smith--that among these supplies
was a large assortment of plain-glass spectacles, of no magnifying power
whatever, the ridicule was unanimous and heartfelt; even the newspapers
taking up the case from the old standpoint and admitting that the line
ought to be drawn at lunatics and foolish people. But Lieutenant Metcalf
smiled and went quietly ahead, asking for and receiving orders to scout.
He received them the more readily, as all the scouts in the squadron,
including the torpedo-flotilla and two battle-ships, had come in with
blinded crews. Their stories were the same--they had all seen the
mysterious colored lights, had gone blind, and a few had felt the
itching and tingling of sunburn. And the admiral gleaned one crew of
whole men from the fleet, and with it manned his best ship, the
_Delaware_.
Metcalf went to sea, and was no sooner outside the Golden Gate than he
opened his case of spectacles, and scandalized all hands, even his
executive officer, by stern and explicit orders to wear them night and
day, putting on a pair himself as an example.
A few of the men attested good eyesight; but this made no difference, he
explained. They were to wear them or take the consequences, and as the
first man to take the consequences was Mr. Smith, whom he sent to his
room for twenty-four hours for appearing on deck without them five
minutes afterward, the men concluded that he was in earnest and obeyed
the order, though with smiles and silent ridicule. Another explicit
command they received more readily: to watch out for curious-looking
craft, and for small objects such as floating casks, capsized tubs or
boats, et cetera. And this brought results the day after the penitent
Smith was released. They sighted a craft without spars steaming along on
the horizon and ran down to her. She was a sealer, the skipper
explained, when hailed, homeward bound under the auxiliary. She had been
on fire, but the cause of the fire was a mystery. A few days before a
strange-looking vessel had passed them, a mile away. She was a whaleback
sort of a hull, with sloping ends, without spars or funnels, only a slim
pole amidships, and near its base a projection that looked like a
liner's crow's-nest. While they watched, their foremast burst into
flames, and while they were rigging their hose the mainmast caught fire.
Before this latter was well under way they noticed a round hole burnt
deeply into the mast, of about four inches diameter. Next, the topsides
caught fire, and they had barely saved their craft, letting their masts
burn to do so.
"Was it a bright, sunshiny day?" asked Metcalf.
"Sure. Four days ago. He was heading about sou'west, and going slow."
"Anything happen to your eyesight?"
"Say--yes. One of my men's gone stone blind. Thinks he must have looked
squarely at the sun when he thought he was looking at the fire up
aloft."
"It wasn't the sun. Keep him in utter darkness for a week at least.
He'll get well. What was your position when you met that fellow?"
"About six hundred miles due nor'west from here."
"All right. Look out for Japanese craft. War is declared."
Metcalf plotted a new course, designed to intercept that of the
mysterious craft, and went on, so elated by the news he had heard that
he took his gossipy young executive into his confidence.
"Mr. Smith," he said, "that sealer described one of the new seagoing
submersibles of the Japanese, did he not?"
"Yes, sir, I think he did--a larger submarine, without any conning-tower
and the old-fashioned periscope. They have seven thousand miles'
cruising radius, enough to cross the Pacific."
By asking questions of various craft, and by diligent use of a
telescope, Metcalf found his quarry three days later--a log-like object
on the horizon, with the slim white pole amidships and the excrescence
near its base.
"Wait till I get his bearing by compass," said Metcalf to his chief
officer, "then we'll smoke up our specs and run down on him. Signal him
by the International Code to put out his light, and to heave to, or
we'll sink him."
Mr. Smith bowed to his superior, found the numbers of these commands in
the code book, and with a string of small flags at the signal-yard, and
every man aboard viewing the world darkly through a smoky film, the
torpedo-boat approached the stranger at thirty knots. But there was no
blinding glare of light in their eyes, and when they were within a
hundred yards of the submersible, Metcalf removed his glasses for a
moment's distinct vision. Head and shoulders out of a hatch near the
tube was a man waving a white handkerchief. He rang the stopping bells.
"He surrenders, Mr. Smith," he said, joyously, "and without firing a
torpedo!"
He examined the man through the telescope and laughed.
"I know him," he said. Then funneling his hands, he hailed:
"Do you surrender to the United States of America?"
"I surrender," answered the man. "I am helpless."
"Then come aboard without arms. I'll send a boat."
A small dinghy-like boat was dispatched, and it returned with the man, a
Japanese in lieutenant's uniform, whose beady eyes twinkled in alarm as
Metcalf greeted him.
"Well, Saiksi, you perfected it, didn't you?--my invisible searchlight,
that I hadn't money to go on with."
The Jap's eyes sought the deck, then resumed their Asiatic steadiness.
"Metcalf--this you," he said, "in command? I investigated and heard you
had resigned to become a doctor."
"But I came back to the service, Saiksi. Thanks to you and your
light--my light, rather--I am in command here in place of men you
blinded. Saiksi, you deserve no consideration from me, in spite of our
rooming together at Annapolis. You took--I don't say stole--my
invention, and turned it against the country that educated you. You, or
your _confrères_, did this before a declaration of war. You are a
pirate, and I could string you up to my signal-yard and escape
criticism."
"I was under orders from my superiors, Captain Metcalf."
"They shall answer to mine. You shall answer to me. How many boats have
you equipped with my light?"
"There are but three. It is very expensive."
"One for our Philippine squadron, one for the Hawaiian, and one for the
coast. You overdid things, Saiksi. If you hadn't set fire to that sealer
the other day, I might not have found you. It was a senseless piece of
work that did you no good. Oh, you are a sweet character! How do you get
your ultraviolet rays--by filtration or prismatic dispersion?"
"By filtration."
"Saiksi, you're a liar as well as a thief. The colored lights you use to
attract attention are the discarded rays of the spectrum. No wonder you
investigated me before you dared flash such a decoy! Well, I'm back in
the navy, and I've been investigating you. As soon as I heard of the
first symptom of sunburn, I knew it was caused by the ultraviolet rays,
the same as from the sun; and I knew that nothing but my light could
produce those rays at night time. And as a physician I knew what I did
not know as an inventor--the swift amblyopia that follows the impact of
this light on the retina. As a physician, too, I can inform you that
your country has not permanently blinded a single American seaman or
officer. The effects wear off."
The Jap gazed stolidly before him while Metcalf delivered himself of
this, but did not reply.
"Where is the Japanese fleet bound?" he asked, sternly.
"I do not know."
"And would not tell, whether you knew or not. But you said you were
helpless. What has happened to you? You can tell that."
"A simple thing, Captain Metcalf. My supply of oil leaked away, and my
engines must work slowly. Your signal was useless; I could not have
turned on the light."
"You have answered the first question. You are far from home without a
mother-ship, or she would have found you and furnished oil before this.
You have come thus far expecting the fleet to follow and strike a
helpless coast before your supplies ran out."
Again the Jap's eyes dropped in confusion, and Metcalf went on.
"I can refurnish your boat with oil, my engineer and my men can handle
her, and I can easily learn to manipulate your--or shall I say
_our_--invisible searchlight. Hail your craft in English and order all
hands on deck unarmed, ready for transshipment to this boat. I shall
join your fleet myself."
A man was lounging in the hatchway of the submersible, and this man
Saiksi hailed.
"Ae-hai, ae-hai, Matsu. We surrender. We are prisoner. Call up all men
onto the deck. Leave arms behind. We are prisoner."
They mustered eighteen in all, and in half an hour they were ironed in a
row along the stanchioned rail of the torpedo-boat.
"You, too, Saiksi," said Metcalf, coming toward him with a pair of
jingling handcuffs.
"Is it not customary, Captain Metcalf," said the Jap, "to parole a
surrendered commander?"
"Not the surrendered commander of a craft that uses new and deadly
weapons of war unknown to her adversary, and before the declaration of
war. Hold up your hands. You're going into irons with your men. All Japs
look alike to me, now."
So Lieutenant Saiksi, of the Japanese navy, was ironed beside his cook
and meekly sat down on the deck. With the difference of dress, they
really did look alike.
Metcalf had thirty men in his crew. With the assistance of his engineer,
a man of mechanics, he picked eighteen of this crew and took them and a
barrel of oil aboard the submersible. Then for three days the two craft
lay together, while the engineer and the men familiarized themselves
with her internal economy--the torpedo-tubes, gasoline-engines,
storage-batteries, and motors; and the vast system of pipes, valves, and
wires that gave life and action to the boat--and while Metcalf
experimented with the mysterious searchlight attached to the periscope
tube invented by himself, but perfected by others. Part of his
investigation extended into the night. Externally, the light resembled a
huge cup about two feet in diameter, with a thick disk fitted around it
in a vertical plane. This disk he removed; then, hailing Smith to rig
his fire-hose and get off the deck, he descended the hatchway and turned
on the light, viewing its effects through the periscope. This, be it
known, is merely a perpendicular, non-magnifying telescope that, by
means of a reflector at its upper end, gives a view of the seascape when
a submarine boat is submerged. And in the eyepiece at its base Metcalf
beheld a thin thread of light, of such dazzling brilliancy as to
momentarily blind him, stretch over the sea; but he put on his smoked
glasses and turned the apparatus, tube and all, until the thin pencil of
light touched the end of the torpedo-boat's signal-yard. He did not need
to bring the two-inch beam to a focus; it burst into flame and he
quickly shut off the light and shouted to Smith to put out the
fire--which Smith promptly did, with open comment to his handful of men
on this destruction of Government property.
"Good enough!" he said to Smith, when next they met. "Now if I'm any
good I'll give the Japs a taste of their own medicine."
"Take me along, captain," burst out Smith in sudden surrender. "I don't
understand all this, but I want to be in it."
"No, Mr. Smith. The chief might do your work, but I doubt that you could
do his. I need him; so you can take the prisoners home. You will
undoubtedly retain command."
"Very good, sir," answered the disappointed youngster, trying to conceal
his chagrin.
"I don't want you to feel badly about it. I know how you all felt toward
me. But I'm on a roving commission. I have no wireless apparatus and no
definite instructions. I've been lampooned and ridiculed in the papers,
and I'm going to give them my answer--that is, as I said, if I'm any
good. If I'm not I'll be sunk."
So when the engineer had announced his mastery of his part of the
problem, and that there was enough of gasoline to cruise for two weeks
longer, Smith departed with the torpedo-boat, and Metcalf began his
search for the expected fleet.
It was more by good luck than by any possible calculation that Metcalf
finally found the fleet. A steamer out of San Francisco reported that it
had not been heard from, and one bound in from Honolulu said that it was
not far behind--in fact had sent a shot or two. Metcalf shut off
gasoline, waited a day, and saw the smoke on the horizon. Then he
submerged to the awash condition, which in this boat just floated the
searchlight out of water; and thus balanced, neither floating nor
sinking nor rolling, but rising and falling with the long pulsing of the
ground-swell, he watched through the periscope the approach of the
enemy.
It was an impressive spectacle, and to a citizen of a threatened country
a disquieting one. Nine high-sided battle-ships of ten-gun type--nine
floating forts, each one, unopposed, able to reduce to smoking ruin a
city out of sight of its gunners; each one impregnable to the shell fire
of any fortification in the world, and to the impact of the heaviest
torpedo yet constructed--they came silently along in line-ahead
formation, like Indians on a trail. There were no compromises in this
fleet. Like the intermediate batteries of the ships themselves, cruisers
had been eliminated and it consisted of extremes, battle-ships, and
torpedo-boats, the latter far to the rear. But between the two were half
a dozen colliers, repair, and supply ships.
Night came down before they were near enough for operations, and Metcalf
turned on his invisible light, expanding the beam to embrace the fleet
in its light, and moved the boat to a position about a mile away from
its path. It was a weird picture now showing in the periscope: each gray
ship a bluish-green against a background of black marked here and there
by the green crest of a breaking sea. Within Metcalf's reach were the
levers, cranks, and worms that governed the action of the periscope and
the light; just before him were the vertical and horizontal
steering-wheels; under these a self-illuminating compass, and at his ear
a system of push-buttons, speaking-tubes, and telegraph-dials that put
him in communication with every man on the boat, each one of whom had
his part to play at the proper moment, but not one of whom could see or
know the result. The work to be done was in Metcalf's hands and brain,
and, considering its potentiality, it was a most undramatic performance.
He waited until the leading flag-ship was within half a mile of being
abreast; then, turning on a hanging electric bulb, he held it close to
the eyepiece of the periscope, knowing that the light would go up the
tube through the lenses and be visible to the fleet. And in a moment he
heard faintly through the steel walls the sound transmitted by the sea
of a bugle-call to quarters. He shut off the bulb, watched a wandering
shaft of light from the flag-ship seeking him, then contracted his own
invisible beam to a diameter of about three feet, to fall upon the
flag-ship, and played it back and forth, seeking gun ports and apertures
and groups of men, painting all with that blinding light that they could
not see, nor immediately sense. There was nothing to indicate that he
had succeeded; the faces of the different groups were still turned his
way, and the futile searchlight still wandered around, unable to bring
to their view the white tube with its cup-like base.
Still waving the wandering beam of white light, the flag-ship passed on,
bringing along the second in line, and again Metcalf turned on his bulb.
He heard her bugle-call, and saw, in varied shades of green, the
twinkling red and blue lights of her masthead signals, received from the
flag-ship and passed down the line. And again he played that green disk
of deadly light upon the faces of her crew. This ship, too, was seeking
him with her searchlight, and soon, from the whole nine, a moving
network of brilliant beams flashed and scintillated across the sky; but
not one settled upon the cause of their disquiet.
Ship after ship passed on, each with its bugle-call to quarters, each
with its muster of all hands to meet the unknown emergency--the menace
on a hostile coast of a faint white light on the port beam--but not one
firing a shot or shell; there was nothing to fire at. And with the
passing of the last of the nine Metcalf listened to a snapping and a
buzzing overhead that told of the burning out of the carbons in the
light.
"Good work for the expenditure," he murmured, wearily. "Let's see--two
carbons and about twenty amperes of current, against nine ships at ten
millions apiece. Well, we'll soon know whether or not it worked."
While an electrician rigged new carbons he rested his eyes and his
brain; for the mental and physical strain had been severe. Then he
played the light upon the colliers and supply ships as they charged by,
disposing of them in the same manner, and looked for other craft of
larger menace. But there were none, except the torpedo contingent, and
these he decided to leave alone. There were fifteen of them, each as
speedy and as easily handled as his own craft; and already, apprised by
the signaled instructions from ahead, they were spreading out into a
fan-like formation, and coming on, nearly abreast.
"The jig's up, chief," he called through a tube to the engineer. "We'll
get forty feet down until the mosquitoes get by. I'd like to take a
chance at them but there are too many. We'd get torpedoed, surely."
Down went the diving rudder, and, with a kick ahead of the engine, the
submersible shot under, heading on a course across the path of the
fleet, and in half an hour came to the surface. There was nothing in
sight, close by, either through the periscope or by direct vision, and
Metcalf decided to make for San Francisco and report.
It was a wise decision, for at daylight he was floundering in a heavy
sea and a howling gale from the northwest that soon forced him to
submerge again for comfort. Before doing so, however, he enjoyed one
good look at the Japanese fleet, far ahead and to port. The line of
formation was broken, staggered, and disordered; and, though the big
ships were making good weather of it, they were steering badly, and on
one of them, half-way to the signal-yard, was the appeal for help that
ships of all nations use and recognize--the ensign, upside-down. Under
the lee of each ship was snuggled a torpedo-boat, plunging, rolling, and
swamped by the breaking seas that even the mighty bulk to windward could
not protect them from. And even as Metcalf looked, one twisted in two,
her after funnels pointing to port, her forward to starboard, and in ten
seconds had disappeared.
Metcalf submerged and went on at lesser speed, but in comfort and
safety. Through the periscope he saw one after the other of the
torpedo-craft give up the fight they were not designed for, and ship
after ship hoist that silent prayer for help. They yawed badly, but in
some manner or other managed to follow the flag-ship, which, alone of
that armada, steered fairly well. She kept on the course for the Golden
Gate.
Even submerged Metcalf outran the fleet before noon, and at night had
dropped it, entering the Golden Gate before daylight, still submerged,
not only on account of the troublesome turmoil on the surface, but to
avoid the equally troublesome scrutiny of the forts, whose searchlights
might have caught him had he presented more to their view than a slim
tube painted white. Avoiding the mines, he picked his way carefully up
to the man-of-war anchorage, and arose to the surface, alongside the
_Delaware_, now the flag-ship, as the light of day crept upward in the
eastern sky.
"We knew they were on the coast," said the admiral, a little later, when
Metcalf had made his report on the quarter-deck of the _Delaware_. "But
about this light? Are you sure of all this? Why, if it's so, the
President will rank you over us all. Mr. Smith came in with the
prisoners, but he said nothing of an invisible light--only of a strong
searchlight with which you set fire to the signal-yard."
"I did not tell him all, admiral," answered Metcalf, a little hurt at
the persistence of the feeling. "But I'm satisfied now. That fleet is
coming on with incompetents on the bridge."
"Well, we'll soon know. I've only one ship, but it's my business to get
out and defend the United States against invaders, and as soon as I can
steam against this gale and sea I'll go. And I'll want you, too. I'm
short-handed."
"Thank you, sir. I shall be glad to be with you. But wouldn't you like
to examine the light?"
"Most certainly," said the admiral; and, accompanied by his staff, he
followed Metcalf aboard the submersible.
"It is very simple," explained Metcalf, showing a rough diagram he had
sketched. "You see he has used my system of reflectors about as I
designed it. The focus of one curve coincides with the focus of the
next, and the result is a thin beam containing nearly all the radiations
of the arc."
"Very simple," remarked the admiral, dryly. "Very simple indeed. But,
admitting this strong beam of light that, as you say, could set fire to
that sealer, and be invisible in sunshine, how about the beam that is
invisible by night? That is what I am wondering about."
"Here, sir," removing the thick disk from around the light. "This
contains the prisms, which refract the beam entirely around the lamp;
and disperse it into the seven colors of the spectrum. All the visible
light is cut out, leaving only the ultraviolet rays, and these travel
as fast and as far, and return by reflection, as though accompanied by
the visible rays."
"But how can you see it?" asked an officer. "How is the ship it is
directed at made visible?"
"By fluorescence," answered Metcalf. "The observer is the periscope
itself. Any of the various fluorescing substances placed in the focus of
the object-glass, or at the optical image in front of the eyepiece, will
show the picture in the color peculiar to the fluorescing material. The
color does not matter."
"More simple still," laughed the admiral. "But how about the colored
lights they saw?"
"Simply the discarded light of the spectrum. By removing this cover on
the disk, the different colored rays shoot up. That was to attract
attention. I used only white light through the periscope."
"And it was this invisible light that blinded so many men, which in your
hands blinded the crews of the Japanese?" asked the admiral.
"Yes, sir. The ultraviolet rays are beneficial as a germicide, but are
deadly if too strong."
"Lieutenant Metcalf," said the admiral, seriously, "your future in the
service is secure. I apologize for laughing at you; but now that it's
over and you've won, tell us about the spectacles."
"Why, admiral," responded Metcalf, "that was the simplest proposition of
all. The whole apparatus--prisms, periscope, lenses, and the fluorescing
screen--are made of rock crystal, which is permeable to the ultraviolet
light. But common glass, of which spectacles are made, is opaque to it.
That is why near-sighted men escaped the blindness."
"Then, unless the Japs are near-sighted, I expect an easy time when I go
out."
But the admiral did not need to go out and fight. Those nine big
battle-ships that Japan had struggled for years to obtain, and the
auxiliary fleet of supply and repair ships to keep them in life and
health away from home, caught on a lee shore in a hurricane against
which the mighty _Delaware_ could not steam to sea, piled up one by one
on the sands below Fort Point; and, each with a white flag replacing the
reversed ensign, surrendered to the transport or collier sent out to
take off the survivors.
IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW
There are few facilities for cooking aboard submarine torpedo-boats, and
that is why Lieutenant Ross ran his little submarine up alongside the
flag-ship at noon, and made fast to the boat-boom--the horizontal spar
extending from warships, to which the boats ride when in the water. And,
as familiarity breeds contempt, after the first, tentative, trial, he
had been content to let her hang by one of the small, fixed painters
depending from the boom; for his boat was small, and the tide weak,
bringing little strain on painter or boom. Besides, this plan was good,
for it kept the submarine from bumping the side of the ship--and paint
below the water-line is as valuable to a warship as paint above.
Thus moored, the little craft, with only her deck and conning-tower
showing, rode lightly at the end of her tether, while Ross and his
men--all but one, to watch--climbed aboard and ate their dinner.
Ross finished quickly, and sought the deck; for, on going down to the
wardroom, he had seen among the visitors from shore the one girl in the
world to him--the girl he had met at Newport, Washington, and New York,
whom he wanted as he wanted life, but whom he had not asked for yet,
because he had felt so sure of her.
And now this surety was jolted out of his consciousness; for she was
there escorted by a man she had often described, and whom Ross
recognized from the description--a tall, dark, "captainish"-looking
fellow, with a large mustache; but who, far from being a captain or
other kind of superman, was merely a photographer--yet a wealthy and
successful photographer, whose work was unusual and artistic.
Ross, though an efficient naval officer, was anything but "captainish";
he was simply a clean-shaven, clean-cut young fellow, with a face that
mirrored every emotion of his soul. Knowing this infirmity--if such it
is--he resolutely put down the jealous thoughts that surged through his
brain; and when the visitors, guests of the captain, reached the deck,
he met them, and was introduced to Mr. Foster with as pleasant a face as
the girl had ever seen.
Then, with the captain's permission, he invited them down to inspect his
submarine. A plank from the lower grating of the gangway to the deck of
the smaller craft was all that was needed, and along this they went, the
girl ahead, supported by Mr. Foster, and Ross following, with a
messenger boy from the bridge following him.
At the hatch, the girl paused and shrank back, for the wide-open eyes of
the caretaker were looking up at her. Ross surmised this, and called to
the man to come up and get his dinner; then, as the man passed him and
stepped onto the plank, the messenger got his attention. The officer of
the deck desired to speak with him, he said.
Ross explained the manner of descent, admonished his guests to touch
nothing until he returned, and followed the messenger back to the
officer of the deck. It was nothing of importance, simply a matter
pertaining to the afternoon drill; and, somewhat annoyed, Ross returned.
But he paused at the end of the plank; a loud voice from below halted
him, and he did not care to interrupt. Nor did he care to go back,
leaving them alone in a submarine.
"I mean it," Foster was saying vehemently. "I hope this boat does go to
the bottom."
"Why, Mr. Foster!" cried the girl. "What a sentiment!"
"I tell you I mean it. You have made life unbearable."
"I make your life unbearable?"
"Yes, you, Irene. You know I have loved you from the beginning. And you
have coquetted with me, played with me--as a cat plays with a mouse.
When I have endeavored to escape, you have drawn me back by smiles and
favor, and given me hope. Then it is coldness and disdain. I am tired of
it."
"I am sorry, Mr. Foster, if anything in my attitude has caused such an
impression. I have given you no special smiles or favors, no special
coldness or disdain."
"But I love you. I want you. I cannot live without you."
"You lived a long time without me, before we met."
"Yes, before we met. Before I fell under the spell of your personality.
You have hypnotized me, made yourself necessary to me. I am heartsick
all the time, thinking of you."
"Then you must get over it, Mr. Foster. I must think of myself."
"Then you do not care for me, at all?"
"I do, but only as an acquaintance."
"Not even as a friend?"
"I do not like to answer such pointed questions, sir; but, since you
ask, I will tell you. I do not like you, even as a friend. You demand so
much. You are very selfish, never considering my feelings at all, and
you often annoy me with your moods. Frankly, I am happier away from
you."
"My moods!" Foster repeated, bitterly. "You cause my moods. But I know
what the real trouble is. I was all right until Ross came along."
"You have no right, Mr. Foster," said the girl, angrily, "to bring
Lieutenant Ross' name into this discussion."
"Oh, I understand. Do you think he can marry you on his pay?"
"Mr. Ross' pay would not influence him, nor me."
"Well, I'll tell you this"--and Foster's voice became a snarl--"you two
won't be married. I'll see to it. I want you; and if I can't have you,
no one else shall."
"Whew!" whistled Ross, softly, while he smiled sweetly, and danced a
mental jig in the air. Then he danced a few steps of a real jig, to
apprise them of his coming. "Time to end this," he said; then called
out, cheerily: "Look out below," and entered the hatch.
"Got a bad habit," he said, as he descended, "of coming down this ladder
by the run. Must break myself, before I break my neck. Well, how are you
making out? Been looking around?"
The girl's face, pale but for two red spots in her cheeks, was turned
away from him as he stepped off the ladder, and she trembled visibly.
Foster, though flushed and scowling, made a better effort at
self-control.
"Why, no, lieutenant," he said, with a sickly smile. "It is all strange
and new to us. We were waiting for you. But I have become slightly
interested in this--" He indicated a circular window, fixed in the steel
side of the boat. "Isn't it a new feature in submarines?"
"Yes, it is," answered Ross. "But it has long been known that glass will
stand a stress equal to that of steel, so they've given us deadlights.
See the side of the ship out there? We can see objects about twenty feet
away near the surface. Deeper down it is darker."
"And I suppose you see some interesting sights under water," pursued
Foster, now recovered in poise.
"Yes, very interesting--and some very harrowing. I saw a man drowning
not long ago. We were powerless to help him."
"Heavens, what a sight!" exclaimed Foster. "The expression on his face
must have been tragic."
"Pitiful--the most pitiful I ever looked at. He seemed to be calling to
us. Such agony and despair; but it did not last long."
"But while it _did_ last--did you have a camera? What a chance for a
photographer! That is my line, you know. Did ever a photographer get a
chance to photograph the expression on the face of a drowning man? What
a picture it would be?"
"Don't," said the girl, with a shudder. "For mercy's sake, do not speak
of such things."
"I beg your pardon, Miss Fleming," said Ross, gently. "It was very
tactless in me."
"And I, Miss Fleming," said Foster, with a bow, "was led away by
professional enthusiasm. Please accept _my_ apology, too. Still,
lieutenant, I must say that I would like the chance."
"Sorry, Mr. Foster," answered Ross, coldly. "We do all sorts of things
to men in the navy, but we don't drown them for the sake of their
pictures. Suppose I show you around, for at two bells the men will be
back from their dinner. Now, aft here, is the gasoline engine, which we
use to propel the boat on the surface. We can't use it submerged,
however, on account of the exhaust; so, for under-water work, we use a
strong storage battery to work a motor. You see the motor back there,
and under this deck is the storage battery--large jars of sulphuric acid
and lead. It is a bad combination if salt water floods it."
"How? What happens?" asked Foster.
"Battery gas, or, in chemical terms, chlorine gas is formed. It is one
of the most poisonous and suffocating of all gases. That is the real
danger in submarine boats--suffocation from chlorine. It will remain so
until we get a better form of motive power, liquid or compressed air,
perhaps. And here"--Ross led them to a valve wheel amidships--"as though
to invite such disaster, they've given us a sea cock."
"What's it for?" asked Foster.
"To sink the boat in case of fire. It's an inheritance from
steamboats--pure precedent--and useless, for a submarine cannot catch
fire. Why, a few turns of that wheel when in the awash trim would admit
enough water in two minutes to sink the boat. I've applied for
permission to abolish it."
"Two minutes, you say. Does it turn easy? Would it be possible to
accidentally turn it?"
"Very easy, and very possible. I caution my men every day."
"And in case you do sink, and do not immediately suffocate, how do you
rise?"
"By pumping out the water. There's a strong pump connected with that
motor aft there, that will force out water against the pressure of the
sea at fifty fathoms down. That is ten atmospheres--pretty hard
pressure. But, if the motor gets wet, it is useless to work the pump;
so, we can be satisfied that, if we sink by means of the sea cock, we
stay sunk. There is a hand pump, to use on the surface with dead
batteries, but it is useless at any great depth."
"What do you mean by the awash trim, lieutenant?" asked Foster, who was
now looking out through the deadlight.
"The diving trim--that is, submerged all but the conning-tower. I'll
show you, so that you can say that you have really been under water."
Ross turned a number of valves similar to the sea cock, and the girl's
face took on a look of doubt and sudden apprehension.
"You are not going to sink the boat, are you, Mr. Ross?" she asked.
"Oh, no, just filling the tanks. When full, we still have three hundred
pounds reserve buoyancy, and would have to go ahead and steer down. But
we won't go ahead. Come forward, and I'll show you the torpedo-tube."
Foster remained, moodily staring through the deadlight, while the other
two went forward. Ross noticed his abstraction, and, ascribing it to
weariness of technical detail, did not press him to follow, and
continued his lecture to Miss Fleming in a lower tone and in evident
embarrassment.
"Now, here is the tube," he said. "See this rear door. It is
water-tight. When a torpedo is in the tube, as it is now, we admit
water, as well; and, to expel the torpedo, we only have to open the
forward door, apply compressed air, and out it goes. Then it propels and
steers itself. We have a theory--no, not a theory now, for it has been
proved--that, in case of accident, a submarine's crew can all be ejected
through the tube except the last man. He must remain to die, for he
cannot eject himself. That man"--Ross smiled and bowed low to the
girl--"must be the commander."
"How terrible!" she answered, interested, but looking back abstractedly
at Foster. "Why do you remain at this work? Your life is always in
danger."
"And on that account promotion is more probable. I want promotion, and
more pay"--he lowered his voice and took her hand--"so that I may ask
for the love and the life companionship of the dearest and best girl in
the world."
She took her gaze off Foster, cast one fleeting glance into the young
lieutenant's pleading face, then dropped her eyes to the deck, while her
face flushed rosily. But she did not withdraw her hand.
"Must you wait for promotion?" she said, at length.
"No, Irene, no," exclaimed Ross, excitedly, squeezing the small hand in
his own. "Not if you say so; but I have nothing but my pay."
"I have always been poor," she said, looking him frankly in the face.
"But, John, that is not it. I am afraid. He--Mr. Foster, threatened
us--vowed we would never-- Oh, and he turned something back there after
you started. He did it so quickly--I just barely saw him as I turned to
follow you. I do not know what it was. I did not understand what you
were describing."
"He turned something! What?"
"It was a wheel of some kind."
Ross looked at Foster. He was now on the conning-tower ladder, half-way
up, looking at his opened watch, with a lurid, malevolent twist to his
features.
"Say your prayers!" yelled Foster, insanely. "You two are going to die,
I say. Die, both of you."
He sprang up the ladder, and Ross bounded aft, somewhat bewildered by
the sudden turn of events. He was temporarily at his wits' end. But when
Foster floundered down to the deck in a deluge of water from above, and
the conning-tower hatch closed with a ringing clang, he understood. One
look at the depth indicator was enough. The boat was sinking. He sprang
to the sea-cock valve. It was wide open.
"Blast your wretched, black heart and soul," he growled, as he hove the
wheel around. "Did you open this valve? Hey, answer me. You did, didn't
you? And thought to escape yourself--you coward!"
"Oh, God!" cried Foster, running about distractedly. "We're sinking, and
I can't get out."
Ross tightened the valve, and sprang toward him, the murder impulse
strong in his soul. In imagination, he felt his fingers on the throat of
the other, and every strong muscle of his arms closing more tightly his
grip. Then their plight dominated his thoughts; he merely struck out
silently, and knocked the photographer down.
"Get up," he commanded, as the prostrate man rolled heavily over on his
hands and knees. "Get up, I may need you."
Foster arose, and seated himself on a torpedo amidships, where he sank
his head in his hands. With a glance at him, and a reassuring look at
the girl, who still remained forward, Ross went aft to connect up the
pump. But as he went, he noticed that the deck inclined more and more
with each passing moment.
He found the depressed engine room full of water, and the motor flooded.
It was useless to start it; it would short-circuit at the first contact;
and he halted, wondering at the boat's being down by the stern so much,
until a snapping sound from forward apprised him of the reason.
The painter at the boom had held her nose up until the weight was too
much for it, and, with its parting, the little craft assumed nearly an
even keel, while the water rushed forward among the battery jars beneath
the deck. Then a strong, astringent odor arose through the seams in the
deck, and Ross became alive.
"Battery gas!" he exclaimed, as he ran amidships, tumbling Foster off
the torpedo with a kick--for he was in his way. He reached up and
turned valve after valve, admitting compressed air from the flasks to
the filled tanks, to blow out the water. This done, he looked at the
depth indicator; it registered seventy feet; but, before he could
determine the speed of descent, there came a shock that permeated the
whole boat. They were on the bottom.
"And Lord only knows," groaned Ross, "how much we've taken in! But it's
only three atmospheres, thank God. Here, you," he commanded to the
nerveless Foster, who had again found a seat. "Lend a hand on this pump.
I'll deal with your case when we get up."
"What must I do?" asked Foster, plaintively, as he turned his face, an
ashy green now, toward Ross.
"Pump," yelled Ross, in his ear. "Pump till you break your back if
necessary. Ship that brake."
He handed Foster his pump-brake, and they shipped them in the hand-pump.
But, heave as they might, they could not move it, except in jerks of
about an inch. With an old-fashioned force-pump, rusty from disuse, a
three-inch outlet, and three atmospheres of pressure, pumping was
useless, and they gave it up, even though the girl added her little
weight and strength to the task.
Ross had plenty of compressed air in the numerous air flasks scattered
about, and, as he could blow out no more tanks, he expended a jet into
the choking atmosphere of the boat. It sweetened the air a little, but
there was enough of the powerful, poisonous gas generated to keep them
all coughing continually. However, he seated the girl close to the air
jet, so that she need not suffer more than was necessary.
"Are we in danger, John?" she asked. "Real danger, I mean?"
"Yes, dear, we are," he answered, tenderly. "And it is best that you
should know. I have driven out all the water possible, and we cannot
pump at this depth. Higher up we could. But I can eject the torpedo
from the tube, and perhaps the others. That will lighten us a good
deal."
He went forward, driving Foster before him--for he did not care to leave
him too close to the girl--and pushed him bodily into the cramped space
between the tube and the trimming tanks.
"Stay there," he said, incisively, "until I want you."
"What can I do?" whimpered the photographer, a brave bully before the
girl, when safe; a stricken poltroon now. "I'll do anything you say, to
get to the surface."
"You'll get to the surface in time," answered Ross, significantly. "How
much do you weigh?"
"Two hundred pounds."
"Two hundred more than we want. However, I'll get rid of this torpedo."
Ross drove the water out of the tube, opened the breech-door; and,
reaching in with a long, heavy wire, lifted the starting lever and water
tripper that gave motion to the torpedo's engine. The exhaust of air
into the tube was driven out into the boat by the rapidly moving screws,
and in a few moments the engine ran down.
Then Ross closed the door, flooded the tube, opened the forward door, or
port, and sent out the torpedo, confident that, with a dead engine, it
would float harmlessly to the surface, and perhaps locate their position
to the fleet; for there could be little doubt that the harbor above was
dotted with boats, dragging for the sunken submarine.
As the torpedo went out, Ross noticed that the nose of the boat lifted a
little, then settled as the tube filled with water. This was
encouraging, and he expelled the water. The nose again lifted, but the
stern still held to the bottom. There were two other torpedoes, one
each side, amidships, and though the dragging to the tube of these heavy
weights was a job for all hands, Ross essayed it.
They were mounted on trucks, and with what mechanical aids and purchases
he could bring to bear, he and the subdued Foster labored at the task,
and in an hour had the starboard torpedo in the tube.
As he was expending weights, he did not take into the 'midship tank an
equal weight of water, as was usual to keep the boat in trim, and when
the torpedo, robbed of motive power and detonator, went out, the bow
lifted still higher, though the stern held, as was evidenced by the
grating sound from aft. The tide was drifting the boat along the bottom.
Another hour of hard, perspiring work rid them of the other torpedo, and
the boat now inclined at an angle of thirty degrees, down by the stern
because of the water in the engine room, but not yet at the critical
angle that caused the flooding of the after battery jars as the boat
sank.
Ross looked at the depth indicator, but found small comfort. It read off
a depth of about sixty feet, but this only meant the lift of the bow.
However, the propeller guard only occasionally struck the bottom now,
proving to Ross that, could he expend a very little more weight, the
boat would rise to the surface, where, even though he might not pump,
his periscope and conning-tower could be seen. He panted after his
labors until he had regained breath, then said to Foster:
"You next."
"I next? What do you mean?"
"You want to get to the surface, don't you?" said Ross, grimly. "You
expressed yourself as willing to do anything I might say, in order to
get to the surface. Well, strip off your coat, vest, and shoes, and
crawl into that tube."
"What? To drown? No, I will not."
"Yes, you will. Can you swim?"
"I can swim, but not when I am shot out of a gun."
"Then you'll drown. Peel off."
"I cannot. I cannot. Would you kill me?"
"Don't care much," answered Ross, quietly, "if I do. Only I don't want
your dead body in the boat. Come, now," he added, his voice rising. "I'm
giving you a chance for your life. I can swim, too, and would not
hesitate at going out that tube, if I were sure that the boat, deprived
of my weight, would rise. But I am not sure, so I send you, not only
because you are heavier than I, but because, as Miss Fleming must
remain, I prefer to remain, too, to live or die with her. Understand?"
"But, Miss Fleming," cackled Foster. "She can swim. I've heard her say
so."
"You cowardly scoundrel," said Ross, his eyes ablaze with scorn and
rage. He had already shed his coat and vest. Now he rolled up his
shirt-sleeves. "Will you go into that tube of your own volition,
conscious, so that you may take a long breath before I flood the tube,
or unconscious, and pushed in like a bag of meal, to drown before you
know what ails you--which?"
"No," shrieked Foster, as the menacing face and fists of Ross drew close
to him. "I will not. Do something else. You are a sailor. You know what
to do. Do something else."
Ross' reply was a crashing blow in the face, that sent Foster reeling
toward the tube. But he arose, and returned, the animal fear in him
changed to courage. He was a powerfully built man, taller, broader, and
heavier than Ross, and what he lacked in skill with his fists, he
possessed in the momentum of his lunges, and his utter indifference to
pain.
Ross was a trained boxer, strong, and agile, and where he struck the
larger man he left his mark; but in the contracted floor space of the
submarine he was at a disadvantage. But he fought on, striking, ducking,
and dodging--striving not only for his own life, but that of the girl
whom he loved, who, seated on the 'midship trimming tank, was watching
the fight with pale face and wide-open, frightened eyes.
Once, Ross managed to trip him as he lunged, and Foster fell headlong;
but before Ross could secure a weapon or implement to aid him in the
unequal combat, he was up and coming back, with nose bleeding and
swollen, eyes blackened and half closed, and contusions plentifully
sprinkled over his whole face.
He growled incoherently; he was reduced by fear and pain to the level of
a beast, and, beast-like, he fought for his life--with hands and feet,
only the possession of the prehensile thumb, perhaps, preventing him
from using his teeth; for Ross, unable to avoid his next blind lunge,
went down, with the whole two hundred pounds of Foster on top of him,
and felt the stricture of his clutch on his throat.
A man being choked quickly loses power of volition, entirely distinct
from the inhibition coming of suppressed breathing; after a few moments,
his movements are involuntary.
Ross, with flashes of light before his eyes, soon took his hands from
the iron fingers at his throat, and, with the darkening of his
faculties, his arms and legs went through flail-like motions, rising and
falling, thumping the deck with rhythmic regularity.
Something in this exhibition must have affected the girl at the air jet;
for Ross soon began to breathe convulsively, then to see more or less
distinctly--while his limbs ceased their flapping--and the first thing
he saw was the girl standing over him, her face white as the whites of
her distended eyes, her lips pressed tightly together, and poised aloft
in her hands one of the pump-brakes, ready for another descent upon the
head of Foster, who, still and inert, lay by the side of Ross.
As Ross moved and endeavored to rise, she dropped the club, and sank
down, crying his name and kissing him. Then she incontinently fainted.
Ross struggled to his feet, and, though still weak and nerveless, found
some spun yarn in a locker, with which he tied the unconscious victim's
hands behind his back, and lashed his ankles together. Thus secured, he
was harmless when he came to his senses, which happened before Ross had
revived the girl. But there were no growling threats coming from him
now; conquered and bound, his courage changed to fear again, and he
complained and prayed for release.
"Not much," said Ross, busy with the girl. "When I get my wind, I'm
going to jam you into that tube, like a dead man. I'll release you
inside."
When Miss Fleming was again seated on the tank, breathing fresh air from
the jet, Ross went to work with the practical methods of a sailor. He
first, by a mighty exercise of all his strength, loaded the frightened
Foster on to one of the torpedo trucks, face downward; then he wheeled
him to the tube, so that his uplifted face could look squarely into it;
then he passed a strap of rope around under his shoulders, to which he
applied the big end of a ship's handspike, that happened to be aboard;
and to the other end of this, as it lay along the back of Foster, he
secured the single block of a small tackle--one of the purchases he had
used in handling the torpedoes--and when he had secured the double block
to an eyebolt in the bow, he steadied the handspike between his knees,
hauled on the fall, with no word to the screaming wretch, and launched
him, head and shoulders, into the tube.
As his hands, tied behind him, went in, Ross carefully cut one turn of
the spun yarn, hauled away, and as his feet disappeared, he cut the
bonds on his ankles; then he advised him to shake his hands and feet
clear, pulled out the handspike, slammed the breech-door to, and waited.
The protest from within had never ceased; but at last Ross got from the
information, interlarded with pleadings for life, that his hands and
feet were free.
"All right. Take a good breath, and I'll flood you," called Ross. "When
you're outside, swim up." The voice from within ceased.
Ross threw over the lever that admitted water to the tube, opened the
forward door, and applied the compressed air. There was a slight jump to
the boat's nose, but with the inrush of water as Foster went out, it
sank.
However, when Ross closed the forward door, and had expelled this water,
it rose again, and he anxiously inspected the depth indicator.
At first, he hardly dared believe it, but in a few moments he was sure.
The indicator was moving, hardly faster than the minute hand of a clock.
The boat, released of the last few pounds necessary, was seeking the
surface.
"Irene," he shouted, joyously, "we're rising. We'll be afloat before
long, and they'll rescue us. Even though we can't pump, they'll see our
periscope, and tow us somewhere where they can lift the hatch out of
water. It's all over, girl--all over but the shouting. Stand up, and
look at the indicator. Only fifty-five feet now."
She stood beside him, supported by his arm, and together they watched
the slowly moving indicator. Then Ross casually glanced at the
deadlight, and violently forced the girl to her seat.
"Sit still," he commanded, almost harshly. "Sit still, and rest."
For, looking in through the deadlight, was the white face of Foster,
washed clean of blood, but filled with the terror and agony of the
dying. His hands clutched weakly at the glass, his eyes closed, his
mouth opened, and he drifted out of sight.
Transcriber's Note:
Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. Dialect
spellings have been retained.