CAPTAIN RANGLER RE-APPEARS.
Leaving Jeff at the wheel, with strict orders not to meddle with
anything, the inventor preceded Tom into the torpedo room. He
produced a bunch of keys and unlocked a metal closet, high up on one
wall of the place. From this he produced a globe, about ten inches
in diameter and a dull black in color.
From the top of it a small key projected. While Tom watched with
fascinated interest, the inventor went into the extreme forward part
of the torpedo room, which, of course, was right up in the bow of the
_Huron_.
A cylindrical tube--not unlike the breech of a rapid fire
gun--projected into the place, and the inventor rapidly adjusted
several small wheels and valves. Then he opened the rear of the tube
and motioned to Tom.
"We're about ready now," he said. "You might bring that torpedo from
the rack."
He indicated a cage-like basket, in which he had placed the metal
globe after taking it from the closet.
"The torpedo?" said Tom, looking about him.
Not unnaturally the boy was looking for one of the cylindrical,
cigar-shaped implements of war, which he had always associated with
the word "torpedo."
Mr. Ironsides smiled slightly.
"I mean that metal globe," he said.
"What! Is that a torpedo?" demanded Tom incredulously.
"Yes, and one twenty times more powerful than the Whitehead type in
use in our navy to-day."
"But it looks more like a bomb than a torpedo. Where is its driving
machinery? How does it go through the water?"
"You'll see all that in a minute. For many reasons, the ordinary
type of torpedo is not much used for submarine work. So I had to go
to work and think out a torpedo of novel design as well as a boat.
That globe is the result. Thank you," as Tom handed it to him, using
every precaution against dropping it, as you may be sure.
"Now, then," said Mr. Ironsides, drawing a brass tube out of the
breech of the firing cylinder, "you see, I put this globe in this
tube--this way."
As he spoke, he thrust the metal globe into the brass tube, which it
fitted snugly. The key-like projection remained sticking out of the
end of the tube, however.
"If the _Huron_ was used for surface work," went on Mr. Ironsides,
"she could, if her officers wished, handle and fire ordinary
torpedoes. But to overcome the pressure at this depth, terrific
driving force is necessary. To furnish this, I use compressed air
superheated, coupled with an explosive gas, generated in the muzzle
of the torpedo tube as the bomb passes through. Do you follow me?"
It is doubtful if Tom did. But, at all events, he grasped the main
idea of the inventor's discourse.
"Now, then," went on Mr. Ironsides, "I am going to start the
mechanism which combines the two elements contained in this globe
into a death-dealing combination."
He twisted the key, and a clicking sound resulted like that which
emanates from a mechanical toy when it is being wound up.
"We're all ready now," he declared finally. "The only thing left to
do is to 'ram home,' as they say in the navy."
So saying, the inventor thrust the brass tube, containing the
projectile, into the breech of the firing tube, in much the same
manner as the brass cartridge is thrust into the breech of a naval
gun.
Then he closed the breech and locked its mechanism with a sharp snap.
"Now, Tom Dacre, boy," he exclaimed, an exulting note in his voice,
"we are ready for our up-to-date act of justice on yonder sunken
wreck."
Tom caught the infection of his enthusiasm.
"In a few moments she will be blown to bits?" he questioned,
marveling even while he spoke.
"Yes. If all goes well, that schooner will have ceased to exist at
precisely," the inventor drew out his watch, "in precisely four
minutes. I'm going to the conning tower. The firing lever and
appliances are there. Do you wish to accompany me, or will you
remain here?"
"I guess I'll go with you," rejoined Tom.
"Then hurry. It would be awkward if those gases in the bomb became
uncontrollable before we had fired it from the _Huron's_ side."
They found Jeff at the wheel, slowly circling the water-logged wreck,
according to instructions. Tom glanced at the bulk of the
half-sunken schooner with a kind of pity. In his mind she was
dissolved into fragments already.
Mr. Ironsides, without a trace of haste in his manner, took the wheel
from the Trulliber lad. He so manipulated the submarine that, within
a few moments, she was at some distance from the sunken wreck,
hovering like a hawk that is about to strike. Tom hastily described
to the others his experiences in the torpedo room.
They listened with keen interest. Their discussion of what was to
come was broken in upon by the inventor's voice.
"I guess we are about ready now," he said.
Tom fixed his gaze on the man. He stood at the wheel motionless.
Without a very keen imagination it was easy to picture him as a kind
of fate about to hurtle a deadly thunderbolt.
"Now!"
The word came suddenly, and was followed by an almost imperceptible
movement of the inventor's hand to a polished quadrant. A lever
moved swiftly across the shining sector.
Almost instantly a shock made the submarine quiver. Tom knew that
the tremendous forces that were to drive the bomb through the water
had been released.
"Watch the wreck, please. If all goes well, you'll see something
worth watching."
It was Mr. Ironsides speaking again. The faces of the visitors to
the submarine were speedily glued against the observation lenses.
Tom saw a white streak cut through the water, leaving a train of
bubbles in its wake. Then came a jar, and he felt a queer sensation
on his ear drums, but that was all. All except that right ahead of
them the black bulk of the wreck seemed suddenly to dissolve into
nothingness. It had been and--was not!
Obadiah Ironsides' twentieth century revenge on the object that had
so nearly caused disaster to his wonderful diving craft was complete.
"It's like magic!" gasped Tom, hardly able to believe that the solid
timbers had been entirely obliterated before his very eyes.
"It is magic," breathed the professor.
"Now, I think we may as well arise and note the effects of our shot,"
said Mr. Ironsides, in his usual matter-of-fact voice. Now that the
shot had been fired, and had been successful, the slight flush of
anxiety on his pale face had vanished, leaving it as icicle-like as
ever.
Up they shot, at what seemed lightning speed.
They were on the surface almost before they realized it. The welcome
light shone in through the conning tower lenses, and the sunlight
sparkled on the dripping back of Mr. Ironsides' strange sea monster.
"Let us open the conning tower hatch and go out on deck," suggested
the inventor, after notifying old Sam in the engine room to switch
his power from the electrical motors to gasolene.
They were nothing loath to do so. Although the time had seemed
short, they had been below the surface for some hours, and the air
was beginning to feel stuffy.
Tom inhaled with delight the fresh atmosphere, and the cool breeze
that swept over the lake. He took it in by great lungfulls. The
others did the same.
A glance about at the surface of the water showed the terrible havoc
the bomb had wrought on the submerged wreck. The surface of the lake
in their vicinity was strewn with beams and bits of timber. The
wreck had literally been blown into a thousand pieces.
All at once, Tom's attention was caught by something close at hand.
At first he thought it was an ordinary bit of wreckage. He leaned
over the chain-rail the better to view it. Suddenly, however, he
recoiled with a cry of horror. The object, lazily bobbing on the
surface, had suddenly turned upward.
Then Tom saw that what had attracted his attention was the body of a
man, undoubtedly one of the unfortunates who had been caught below
decks when the schooner sank. And now the bomb had set him free from
his tomb.
Even as Tom's horrified gaze rested for an instant on the grisly
object, it vanished, leaving a widening circle of wavelets about it.
Instinctively, Tom bared his head.
"I am saying farewell to a brave man," he said, as the others
hastened to his side to inquire the reason of his sudden cry.
As there was no reason for lingering in the vicinity, the _Huron_,
soon after, was put under full speed, and under her powerful engines
she passed through the straits before sundown.
Supper was eaten, and Tom once more emerged on deck before the
after-glow had faded. He gazed about him abstractedly. The lad was
sorely troubled. Now that the excitement of the novel trip on the
submarine had worn off, thoughts of his brother's plight and of
Sandy's misfortune came back to him with redoubled force.
All at once--to the westward--a dark cloud appeared against the
glowing sky.
"Smoke!" decided Tom. "Some craft coming this way."
For half an hour or more he watched till the outlines of a tug
appeared from the direction in which he had first noticed the column
of vapor.
Tom watched her without especial interest for a time, and then the
blood began rushing through his pulses in leaps and bounds. He
bounded to his feet and rushed to the conning tower. Thrusting his
head over the hatchway, he gave a shout that electrified those below.
"Captain Rangler's tug is dead ahead and coming toward us!" he
announced.