"THERE IS A WAY--I MEAN TO TRY IT."
The bitter chagrin felt by the eldest Dacre boy and his companions at
this sudden and disastrous turn in their affairs may be better
pictured than written. Consternation was upon each face. The
professor was the first to recover his wits.
"What do you expect to gain by such conduct as this, you rascal?" he
cried at Captain Rangler and his men, who were grinning triumphantly
through the lens of the conning tower at their unlucky prisoners.
"I'll see that you go to jail for your misdeeds, if ever I get a
chance," shouted Jeff indignantly. As for Tom, he felt too heartsick
to say a word. In addition to their plight, they could now be pretty
certain that the inventor of the submarine was likewise a prisoner,
and that, moreover, they were no closer to knowing anything of the
fate of Jack and Sandy.
It is doubtful if Captain Rangler heard the remarks addressed to him;
but, at any rate, he guessed the purport of them. He grinned
mockingly in response, and shouted back:
"You'll never get the upper hand of us, Tom Dacre; try as you will."
His voice carried faintly, and Tom could not help feeling that his
words appeared to bear a semblance of truth.
Just then old Sam and Rosewater, who had heard the disturbance, came
running up from below.
"What's up? What's the matter?" demanded old Sam.
"Golly gracious, wha's happened now?" gasped Rosewater.
"More misfortunes," said Tom, with a quaver in his voice. "Those
rascals have trapped Mr. Ironsides on board their craft and have
imprisoned us on the submarine."
Old Sam whistled.
"Phew! We are in a fine fix, now. What do you suppose they mean to
do with us?"
"I have not the least idea. Maybe they hardly know themselves. I
guess all they wish to do is to keep us from informing the police of
their rascality."
"Humph! Much good it would do, if all police were like the Rockport
crowd," commented the professor. "What the scoundrels need after
them is a detachment of Secret Service men."
"I wish we could notify them somehow. But it doesn't look as if we
could do anything now but await the outcome of the rascals' plans,"
sighed Jeff.
"Dem fellers would look mighty hansum decoratin' some trees," put in
Rosewater indignantly.
"Well, I guess they have made up their minds what to do," said Tom
presently. "See, there goes Captain Rangler and those other two
rascals back on board the tug."
"I wonder where they have got Mr. Ironsides confined?" asked Sam
disconsolately.
"It must be up in the forecastle. I saw him go down there with one
of the sailors, and a short time later the fellow came up alone,"
volunteered Tom.
"Hullo! I guess they are going to take us in tow!" cried Jeff
presently.
The imprisoned party in the conning tower watched eagerly while
Rangler's men attached ropes to the bitts on the bow of the
submarine, and, this done, the tug steamed ahead.
Presently the ropes tightened, and the submarine began to move
through the water after the tug.
"Well! If this doesn't beat a three-ring circus!" exclaimed old Sam.
"Here we are, shut up like a lot of babies, while the _Huron_, the
fastest craft in America, is towed over the lake by an old tug."
The old man was boiling with indignation; so were they all, in fact.
It was ignominious, to say the least--the ease with which they had
been made captives.
"Where can they be going to take us?" asked Jeff.
"Canada, maybe," suggested Tom; "and then turn us loose in the wilds."
"I wouldn't be surprised if some such idea had entered their heads,"
agreed the professor, "but you must recollect that the Canadian coast
is well patroled, and if a strange vessel landed there she would
excite comment and investigation. If she hadn't papers, she would
get into trouble."
"That's so," chimed in old Sam. "I guess it won't be Canada this
trip. More likely to be one of their island hangouts."
"What will they do with us when they get us there?" inquired Jeff.
"I cannot guess any more than you," rejoined the professor. "Leave
us there, maybe, while they make off to safety. We are a menace to
them as long as we remain at large."
The others could not help but see it in this light. It was the
logical thing for the gang of ruffians to do to dispose of such
dangerous foes as Tom Dacre and his party had become. But how did
they mean to do it? That was the engrossing question.
As has been said, it was sundown when the tug hove in sight. Now it
grew dark with great rapidity.
"Well, we might as well put as bold a face as possible on our
predicament," said the professor. "Let's have some light, Sam."
"All right," rejoined the old man. "I'll go below and turn on the
dynamo."
In a few minutes a cheerful light flooded the submarine from stern to
bow. Its rays streamed out through the lenses of the conning tower,
and revealed an unwelcome sight. Two sailors from the tug, armed
with rifles, were seated on the deck, smoking and making themselves
as comfortable as possible. But they were unmistakably on the alert
in case any attempt at escape was made.
"If I only knew how Jack and Sandy were faring, I'd feel better,"
said Tom, soon after this discovery had been made.
"You feel bettah, sah, if you hab some suppah," said Rosewater,
thrusting his head into the conning tower from below. The faithful
black had vanished some time before, unnoticed, and had devoted his
time to preparing as good a meal as if nothing had happened to mar
the harmony of life on the diving boat.
Despite their disturbed feelings, they all did justice to the meal,
and actually felt a little better after it.
While they ate, the rushing of the water against the submarine's
sides told them that they were still being towed, and at a good rate
of speed, too. But of their destination they were, of course, as
much in the dark as ever.
It must have been about ten o'clock that night that the motion
ceased, and, peering out through the lenses, they could see lights
flashing about on the deck of the tug. Evidently they were coming to
an anchorage.
Looking in the other direction, they could now espy the dark, jagged
outlines of some sort of land, although, of where they were, they
had, of course, not the slightest idea. Old Sam inclined to the
opinion--which turned out to be correct--that they had passed through
the Straits of Mackinac and were in Lake Michigan.
Suddenly, from the shore, a bright blue light flashed out through the
darkness. It appeared and vanished three times. The signal was
answered from the tug. Soon afterward, although the prisoners on the
submarine did not, naturally, know this, a boat was lowered from the
side of the tug, and Captain Rangler, with a few of his worthies, was
rowed ashore.
"What are you thinking of, Tom?" asked the professor late that same
night.
The captives of the diving-boat had not retired to rest, but were
sitting up in the lighted cabin, anxiously awaiting some sign as to
what their fate was to be.
Tom had been silent for some time. He sat motionless, except when he
made a few sketches with a stub of pencil on the back of an old
envelope. It was clear to one who knew him that the boy was
revolving some plan.
"I've been thinking that if only we had Mr. Ironsides on board to
navigate the submarine, we might escape," said Tom.
"That's so," agreed Jeff; "if those rapscallions took after us, we
could dive under and easily elude them."
"I'd rather fight 'em," declared old Sam stoutly.
"Well, what is your plan, Tom?" inquired the professor.
"My plan is to get Mr. Ironsides back on board," announced Tom
quietly.
The sheer audaciousness of this proposal made even the staid
professor emit a whistle of astonishment.
"Im-possible," he declared, with finality.
"Not at all, if we could get out of the submarine," persisted Tom.
"But we can't. Even if we unbolted a plate or one of the lenses and
squeezed through, there are still two armed men on the deck. There
is no way."
"There _is_ a way, and I mean to try it," declared Tom. "Listen."