OFF ON A LONG CHASE.
"Castle Rock Island!" echoed Tom, in an amazed voice,
"why--why--that's Mr. MacTavish's island where we were going camping."
"Aye, it used to belong to a man named MacTavish, a lumber capitalist
from Mackinac. It may belong to him yet for all I know, but no one's
lived on it for many years, and it's become a sort of roost for a
gang of rascals," replied old Sam Wrenchly.
"You are certain of this, Sam?" inquired Obadiah Ironsides.
"As certain as I'm standing here," rejoined the old man indignantly,
as if he didn't much like having his word questioned, "wasn't I
keeper of the old lighthouse that used to stand there, and didn't I
have trouble with this fellow Rangler at that time?"
"So there used to be a lighthouse on it?" asked Tom.
"Yes. I guess the ruins of it are there yet. But that channel isn't
used any more, and the lighthouse, if it's still there, must have
fallen into ruins. Yes, it was a queer sort of place was that
island."
"Queer? In what particular way?"
It was Obadiah Ironsides who put the question.
"Why, there were all sorts of tunnels and places in it. They say
they were made by Indians who formerly mined there for copper. Some
says as they're haunted by ghosts and such. But I place no stock in
such stuff. All I know is that the tunnels is there. I've seen them
with my own eyes. One of them was right close to the lighthouse.
Its mouth wasn't a hundred yards from it. The way I discovered it
was, my cow fell into it one day. Aye, and a fine job I had getting
her out, too," quoth the garrulous old man, "she was a
strawberry-colored cow, and as good a milker as ever----"
"Never mind that now, Sam," said Obadiah, in his gentle but decisive
way, "I think if you will put the finishing touches on that submarine
device for detecting the location of nearby craft, that it will be a
good thing. We may need it as soon as possible."
The old man looked surprised, but made no comment.
"I'll get to work on it right off, sir," he said, shuffling up the
steel ladder, "all it needs is the threads put on two bolts. Wonder
what's in the wind now," he added to himself, as he clambered
laboriously up to the deck and then sculled ashore by the boat with
which he had come off to the _Huron_.
At this juncture, the professor and Jeff emerged from their ablutions
and presently the whole party was ready for breakfast. Tom, despite
his worry, did ample justice to the meal. The novel surroundings
gave it an additional zest.
When breakfast was concluded, Tom was for going on deck at once, but
Obadiah checked him.
The inventor and promoter of the _Huron_-type of submarine had been
in deep thought throughout the repast. Tom, and the rest with him,
concluded that his mind was busied with some problem connected with
his work. But it now proved that it had been otherwise.
With the suddenness, and yet thoroughness characteristic of him,
Obadiah Ironsides had arrived at a decision which was to prove of
great moment to the Bungalow Boy and his friends.
"You wish to reach Castle Rock Island without delay, of course, and
discover if Rangler and his rascally crew have really made it their
destination?" he said without preliminaries.
"Why of course," rejoined Tom, rather puzzled as to what could be
coming next, "anything like a clew is worth investigating and--and
this seems to be a red hot one."
Obadiah Ironsides smiled slightly at the lad's impetuous way of
putting it.
"But how are you to get there till the _Sea Ranger_ is repaired?" he
asked.
"That's just it," muttered Tom disconsolately, "Two days of delay,
and who knows what may happen in that time? It's really mortifying.
But I suppose there's no help for it. That is, unless there is some
fast craft we could charter right here at Brownhaven."
"I think there is one," said Obadiah quietly.
"There is one?"
"Yes."
"Where is it? I'd like to----"
The inventor held up a hand. Tom had started to his feet.
"No need to look very far for that craft," said Obadiah smiling.
"I don't quite understand----"
"You are on board it."
"On board it?"
"Yes. Right now. The _Huron_ is at your disposal. I feel that I
was responsible for delaying you at a critical moment. All I can do
to repay you for the annoyance and anxiety is to place myself and the
_Huron_ at your command. No, don't thank me. I have a selfish
reason, too. Most of us have, I fancy, for our so-called good
actions. I like to see rascals punished. That's one reason for my
aiding you in your pursuit. I wish to thoroughly try out the _Huron_
on a long cruise, that's another reason----"
"And number three?" demanded Tom, whose eyes were dancing with
excitement and gratitude.
"Number three," quoth Obadiah heartily, "is that I like you. You're
the right type of boy. You know the old saying that 'Providence
helps those who help themselves.' Well, in this case, I'm going to
play Providence."
"You and your fine craft," broke in the professor. "Mr. Ironsides,
you are a man in a thousand. We can never be sufficiently grateful
to you."
"No sah! No sah! No sah! Dat we can't, sah!" struck in Rosewater.
Crash!
In his enthusiasm the negro dropped an armful of plates he had been
removing.
The accident, and the negro's comical expression of dismay, broke the
tension of the moment, which was becoming quite emotional. They all
broke into a hearty laugh.
"I guess you can show your gratitude best by not smashing the
inventor's plates, you black rascal," admonished Jeff, as Rosewater,
quite abashed, sought the seclusion of his galley.
"And now, come on deck," invited Mr. Ironsides, "and take a look at
the good craft _Huron_ in broad daylight."
They gladly obeyed the invitation. On gaining the deck, via the
steel stairway, an animated scene met their gaze. All about spread
the sparkling waters of the harbor--a tiny place--with the
tree-enclosed town nestling on a hillside at some little distance.
Close at hand lay the poor _Sea Ranger_, a big, jagged hole showing
in her bow. Ashore, almost opposite to them, was the smokestack and
high palings marking the site of Mr. Ironsides' experimental ship
yard, where he fondly hoped the future submarines of Uncle Sam's navy
would be constructed.
On the foredeck of the _Huron_ several men had just completed
straightening out the damage done to the diving torpedo boat when she
had her accidental encounter with the _Sea Ranger_.
The deck was of whaleback shape, formed of plates of the inventor's
secret metal. All round were iron uprights, supporting a rail made
of steel chain. Everything about the exterior of the craft was
painted a dull gray color--like that of the sea on a cloudy day. Mr.
Ironsides explained that this color made the craft almost invisible,
even when lying on the waves not more than a mile from another
vessel. Not a bit of bright work or brass was visible. Nothing, in
fact, to catch a betraying ray of light.
Aft of the helmet-shaped conning tower, with its two goggling eyes,
and its smaller "optic" for the projection of the rays of a powerful
searchlight, was a humpy-looking object, not unlike the half of a
giant gray watermelon. This, the inventor explained, was the
_Huron's_ "long boat." It provided an emergency means of leaving the
craft in case of accident.
It was bolted to the deck and hermetically fastened by means of
gaskets. It was designed to be entered from below by a trap door of
metal which could be instantly closed and sealed. A similar door was
in the boat. In case it was desired to arise to the surface it was a
simple matter to crawl up into the boat, close the door in the
_Huron's_ "skin," and then close a similar contrivance in the deck of
the singular long boat. This rendered it practically a water-tight
bottle of steel. To rise to the surface four bolts were loosened
when the "boat" would, of course, detach itself from the _Huron_ and
shoot to the surface. This accomplished, those within could unbolt
the round plate by which they had entered, and obtain air and a view
of the surroundings. To make this miniature submarine more complete,
a tiny gasolene motor of four horse power was fitted inside it,
enabling it to make about six miles an hour on the surface.
There were many other features of the _Huron_, to explain which, in
detail, would be wearisome. They may all be summed up by saying that
not a contrivance for safety or comfort appeared to have been
overlooked. It would have been hard to imagine a more completely
outfitted craft for the purposes for which she was designed.
Possibly we should mention that she also carried a "field wireless"
apparatus, with an adjustable telescopic steel pole to carry "the
aerials." This was stored below, but when needed could be brought on
deck and communication established within a radius of four hundred
miles. The generators were, of course, operated by the machinery in
the hull below.
By the time all this, and much more, had been explained by Mr.
Ironsides, a boat appeared from the shore, conveying old Sam
Wrenchly, who was to form one of the _Huron's_ crew, and his
belongings. The boys then took a trip to the _Sea Ranger_, and
selected what they wished to carry along. Necessarily, the outfits
were limited, so far as bulkiness was concerned.
Before the boat returned to the shore, Tom composed, and entrusted to
the workman who rowed the boat back, a long telegram to Mr. Dacre.
This informed him minutely but concisely of all that had occurred,
and told him the _Huron's_ destination. Tom took the liberty of
advising his uncle, should he decide to come north, to take train to
Brownhaven and proceed to Castle Rock Island with the _Sea Ranger_,
which by that time would be repaired. If all went well they would
await his coming there, the message concluded. Tom felt much
relieved when this had been done, and, with a lighter heart than he
had felt for some days, watched with interest while the electrical
winch hoisted the _Huron's_ anchor.
A few moments later, with Mr. Ironsides at the wheel, the submarine
nosed out of Brownhaven Harbor. She moved through the water rapidly
and with little vibration.
"Hurray! We're off!" exclaimed Tom, who, with the professor and
Jeff, was seated on the whaleback deck.
"Yes, off into the unknown," quoth the professor, who was at times
given to what he himself would have called "hyperbole," and Tom,
"high faluting" language.