“It certainly is,” agreed the lad. Then, with a smile he added: “It is nearly eight bells.”
“Ha!” exclaimed the captain, also smiling, but even his manner of saying “Ha!” was less demonstrative than that of most persons. “I believe I am getting hungry, if I may be allowed the remark,” and again he seemed asking Tom’s pardon for mentioning the fact.
“Perhaps you will come back to the cabin and have a little breakfast with me,” he went on. “I don’t know what sort of a galley or cook they have aboard the Beach Hotel, but it can’t be much worse than some I’ve tackled.”
“No, thank you,” answered the youth. “I’ve had my breakfast. But I’ll wait for you, and then I’d like to get back. Dad and Mr. Sharp are anxious to meet you.”
“And I am anxious to meet them, if you don’t mind me mentioning it,” was the reply, as the captain once more put the spyglass to his eye and took an observation. “Not many sails in sight this morning,” he added. “But the weather is fine, and we ought to get off in good shape to hunt for the treasure about which Mr. Sharp wrote me. I believe we are going after treasure,” he said; “that is, if you don’t mind talking about it.”
“Not in the least,” replied Tom quickly, thinking this a good opportunity for broaching a subject that was worrying him. “Did you meet a Mr. Berg here last night, Captain Weston?” he went on.
“Yes. Mr. Berg and I had quite a talk. He is a well-informed man.”
“Did he mention the sunken treasure?” asked the lad, eager to find out if his suspicions were true.
“Yes, he did, if you’ll excuse me putting it so plainly,” answered the seaman, as if Tom might be offended at so direct a reply. But the young inventor was soon to learn that this was only an odd habit with the seaman.
“Did he want to know where the wreck of the Boldero was located?” continued the lad. “That is, did he try to discover if you knew anything about it?”
“Yes,” said Mr. Weston, “he did. He pumped me, if you are acquainted with that term, and are not offended by it. You see, when I arrived here I made inquiries as to where your father’s place was located. Mr. Berg overheard me, and introduced himself as agent for a shipbuilding concern. He was very friendly, and when he said he knew you and your parent, I thought he was all right.”
Tom’s heart sank. His worst fears were to be realized, he thought.
“Yes, he and I talked considerable, if I may be permitted to say so,” went on the captain. “He seemed to know about the wreck of the Boldero, and that she had three hundred thousand dollars in gold aboard. The only thing he didn’t know was where the wreck was located. He knew it was off Uruguay somewhere, but just where he couldn’t say. So he asked me if I knew, since he must have concluded that I was going with you on the gold-hunting expedition.”
“And you do know, don’t you?” asked Tom eagerly.
“Well, I have it pretty accurately charted out, if you will allow me that expression,” was the calm answer. “I took pains to look it up at the request of Mr. Sharp.”
“And he wanted to worm that information out of you?” inquired the youth excitedly.
“Yes, I’m afraid he did.”
“Did you give him the location?”
“Well,” remarked the captain, as he took another observation before closing up the telescope, “you see, while we were talking, I happened to drop a copy of a map I’d made, showing the location of the wreck. Mr. Berg picked it up to hand to me, and he looked at it.”
“Oh!” cried Tom. “Then he knows just where the treasure is, and he may get to it ahead of us. It’s too bad.”
“Yes,” continued the seaman calmly, “Mr. Berg picked up that map, and he looked very closely at the latitude and longitude I had marked as the location of the wreck.”
“Then he won’t have any trouble finding it,” murmured our hero.
“Eh? What’s that?” asked the captain, “if I may be permitted to request you to repeat what you said.”
“I say he won’t have any trouble locating the sunken Boldero,” repeated Tom.
“Oh, but I think he will, if he depends on that map,” was the unexpected reply. “You see,” explained Mr. Weston, “I’m not so simple as I look. I sensed what Mr. Berg was after, the minute he began to talk to me. So I fixed up a little game on him. The map which I dropped on purpose, not accidentally, where he would see it, did have the location of the wreck marked. Only it didn’t happen to be the right location. It was about five hundred miles out of the way, and I rather guess if Mr. Berg and his friends go there for treasure they’ll find considerable depth of water and quite a lonesome spot. Oh, no, I’m not as easy as I look, if you don’t mind me mentioning that fact; and when a scoundrel sets out to get the best of me, I generally try to turn the tables on him. I’ve seen such men as Mr. Berg before. I’m afraid, I’m very much afraid, the sight he had of the fake map I made won’t do him much good. Well, I declare, it’s past four bells. Let’s go to breakfast, if you don’t mind me asking you,” and with that the captain started off up the beach, Tom following, his ideas all a whirl at the unlooked-for outcome of the interview.
CHAPTER TEN
TRIAL OF THE SUBMARINE
Tom felt such a relief at hearing of Captain Weston’s ruse that his appetite, sharpened by an early breakfast and the sea air, came to him with a rush, and he had a second morning meal with the odd sea captain, who chuckled heartily when he thought of how Mr Berg had been deceived.
“Yes,” resumed Captain Weston, over his bacon and eggs, “I sized him up for a slick article as soon as I laid eyes on him. But he evidently misjudged me, if I may be permitted that term. Oh, well, we may meet again, after we secure the treasure, and then I can show him the real map of the location of the wreck.”
“Then you have it?” inquired the lad eagerly.
Captain Weston nodded, before hiding his face behind a large cup of coffee; his third, by the way.
“Let me see it?” asked Tom quickly. The captain set down his cup. He looked carefully about the hotel dining-room. There were several guests, who, like himself, were having a late breakfast.
“It’s a good plan,” the sailor said slowly, “when you’re going into unknown waters, and don’t want to leave a wake for the other fellow to follow, to keep your charts locked up. If it’s all the same to you,” he added diffidently, “I’d rather wait until we get to where your father and Mr. Sharp are before displaying the real map. I’ve no objection to showing you the one Mr. Berg saw,” and again he chuckled.
The young inventor blushed at his indiscretion. He felt that the news of the search for the treasure had leaked out through him, though he was the one to get on the trail of it by seeing the article in the paper. Now he had nearly been guilty of another break. He realized that he must be more cautious. The captain saw his confusion, and said:
“I know how it is. You’re eager to get under way. I don’t blame you. I was the same myself when I was your age. But we’ll soon be at your place, and then I’ll tell you all I know. Sufficient now, to say that I believe I have located the wreck within a few miles. I got on the track of a sailor who had met one of the shipwrecked crew of the Boldero, and he gave me valuable information. Now tell me about the craft we are going in. A good deal depends on that.”
Tom hardly knew what to answer. He recalled what Mr. Sharp had said about not wanting to tell Captain Weston, until the last moment, that they were going in a submarine, for fear the old seaman (for he was old in point of service though not in years) might not care to risk an underwater trip. Therefore Tom hesitated. Seeing it, Captain Weston remarked quietly:
“I mean, what type is your submarine? Does it go by compressed air, or water power?”
“How do you know it’s a submarine?” asked the young inventor quickly, and in some confusion.
“Easy enough. When Mr. Berg thought he was pumping me, I was getting a lot of information from him. He told me about the submarine his firm was buildin
g, and, naturally, he mentioned yours. One thing led to another until I got a pretty good idea of your craft. What do you call it?”
“The Advance.”
“Good name. I like it, if you don’t mind speaking of it.”
“We were afraid you wouldn’t like it,” commented Tom.
“What, the name?”
“No, the idea of going in a submarine.”
“Oh,” and Captain Weston laughed. “Well, it takes more than that to frighten me, if you’ll excuse the expression. I’ve always had a hankering to go under the surface, after so many years spent on top. Once or twice I came near going under, whether I wanted to or not, in wrecks, but I think I prefer your way. Now, if you’re all done, and don’t mind me speaking of it, I think we’ll start for your place. We must hustle, for Berg may yet get on our trail, even if he has got the wrong route,” and he laughed again.
It was no small relief to Mr Swift and Mr. Sharp to learn that Captain Weston had no objections to a submarine, as they feared he might have. The captain, in his diffident manner, made friends at once with the treasure-hunters, and he and Mr. Damon struck up quite an acquaintance. Tom told of his meeting with the seaman, and the latter related, with much gusto, the story of how he had fooled Mr. Berg.
“Well, perhaps you’d like to come and take a look at the craft that is to be our home while we’re beneath the water,” suggested Mr. Swift and the sailor assenting, the aged inventor, with much pride, assisted by Tom, pointed out on the Advance the features of interest. Captain Weston gave hearty approval, making one or two minor suggestions, which were carried out.
“And so you launch her tomorrow,” he concluded, when he had completed the inspection “Well, I hope it’s a success, if I may be permitted to say so.”
There were busy times around the machine shop next day. So much secrecy had been maintained that none of the residents, or visitors to the coast resort, were aware that in their midst was such a wonderful craft as the submarine. The last touches were put on the underwater ship; the ways, leading from the shop to the creek, were well greased, and all was in readiness for the launching. The tide would soon be at flood, and then the boat would slide down the timbers (at least, that was the hope of all), and would float in the element meant to receive her. It was decided that no one should be aboard when the launching took place, as there was an element of risk attached, since it was not known just how buoyant the craft was. It was expected she would float, until the filled tanks took her to the bottom, but there was no telling.
“It will be flood tide now in ten minutes,” remarked Captain Weston quietly, looking at his watch. Then he took an observation through the telescope. “No hostile ships hanging in the offing,” he reported. “All is favorable, if you don’t mind me saying so,” and he seemed afraid lest his remark might give offense.
“Get ready,” ordered Mr. Swift. “Tom, see that the ropes are all clear,” for it had been decided to ease the Advance down into the water by means of strong cables and windlasses, as the creek was so narrow that the submarine, if launched in the usual way, would poke her nose into the opposite mud bank and stick there.
“All clear,” reported the young inventor.
“High tide!” exclaimed the captain a moment later, snapping shut his watch.
“Let go!” ordered Mr. Swift, and the various windlasses manned by the inventor, Tom and the others began to unwind their ropes. Slowly the ship slid along the greased ways. Slowly she approached the water. How anxiously they all watched her! Nearer and nearer her blunt nose, with the electric propulsion plate and the auxiliary propeller, came to the creek, the waters of which were quiet now, awaiting the turn of the tide.
Now little waves lapped the steel sides. It was the first contact of the Advance with her native element.
“Pay out the rope faster!” cried Mr. Swift.
The windlasses were turned more quickly Foot by foot the craft slid along until, with a final rush, the stern left the ways and the submarine was afloat. Now would come the test. Would she ride on an even keel, or sink out of sight, or turn turtle? They all ran to the water’s edge, Tom in the lead.
“Hurrah!” suddenly yelled the lad, trying to stand on his head. “She floats! She’s a success! Come on! Let’s get aboard!”
For, true enough, the Advance was riding like a duck on the water. She had been proportioned just right, and her lines were perfect. She rode as majestically as did any ship destined to sail on the surface, and not intended to do double duty.
“Come on, we must moor her to the pier,” directed Mr. Sharp. “The tide will turn in a few minutes and take her out to sea.”
He and Tom entered a small boat, and soon the submarine was tied to a small dock that had been built for the purpose.
“Now to try the engine,” suggested Mr. Swift, who was almost trembling with eagerness; for the completion of the ship meant much to him.
“One moment,” begged Captain Weston. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take an observation,” he went on, and he swept the horizon with his telescope. “All clear,” he reported. “I think we may go aboard and make a trial trip.”
Little time was lost in entering the cabin and engine-room, Garret Jackson accompanying the party to aid with the machinery. It did not take long to start the motors, dynamos and the big gasolene engine that was the vital part of the craft. A little water was admitted to the tanks for ballast, since the food and other supplies were not yet on board. The Advance now floated with the deck aft of the conning tower showing about two feet above the surface of the creek. Mr. Swift and Tom entered the pilot house.
“Start the engines,” ordered the aged inventor, “and we’ll try my new system of positive and negative electrical propulsion.”
There was a hum and whir in the body of the ship beneath the feet of Tom and his father. Captain Weston stood on the little deck near the conning tower.
“All ready?” asked the youth through the speaking tube to Mr. Sharp and Mr. Jackson in the engine-room.
“All ready,” came the answer.
Tom threw over the connecting lever, while his father grasped the steering wheel. The Advance shot forward, moving swiftly along, about half submerged.
“She goes! She goes!” cried Tom
“She certainly does, if I may be permitted to say so,” was the calm contribution of Captain Weston. “I congratulate you.”
Faster and faster went the new craft. Mr. Swift headed her toward the open sea, but stopped just before passing out of the creek, as he was not yet ready to venture into deep water.
“I want to test the auxiliary propellers,” he said. After a little longer trial of the electric propulsion plates, which were found to work satisfactorily, sending the submarine up and down the creek at a fast rate, the screws, such as are used on most submarines, were put into gear. They did well, but were not equal to the plates, nor was so much expected of them.
“I am perfectly satisfied,” announced Mr. Swift as he once more headed the boat to sea. “I think, Captain Weston, you had better go below now.”
“Why so?”
“Because I am going to completely submerge the craft. Tom, close the conning tower door. Perhaps you will come in here with us, Captain Weston, though it will be rather a tight fit.”
“Thank you, I will. I want to see how it feels to be in a pilot house under water.”
Tom closed the water-tight door of the conning tower. Word was sent through the tube to the engine-room that a more severe test of the ship was about to be made. The craft was now outside the line of breakers and in the open sea.
“Is everything ready, Tom?” asked his father in a quiet voice.
“Everything,” replied the lad nervously, for the anticipation of being about to sink below the surface was telling on them all, even on the calm, old sea captain.
“Then open the tanks and admit the water,” ordered Mr. Swift.
His son turned a valve and adjusted some levers. There was a hissing s
ound, and the Advance began sinking. She was about to dive beneath the surface of the ocean, and those aboard her were destined to go through a terrible experience before she rose again.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ON THE OCEAN BED
Lower and lower sank the submarine. There was a swirling and foaming of the water as she went down, caused by the air bubbles which the craft carried with her in her descent. Only the top of the conning tower was out of water now, the ocean having closed over the deck and the rounded back of the boat. Had any one been watching they would have imagined that an accident was taking place.
In the pilot house, with its thick glass windows, Tom, his father and Captain Weston looked over the surface of the ocean, which every minute was coming nearer and nearer to them.
“We’ll be all under in a few seconds,” spoke Tom in a solemn voice, as he listened to the water hissing into the tanks.
“Yes, and then we can see what sort of progress we will make,” added Mr. Swift. “Everything is going fine, though,” he went on cheerfully. “I believe I have a good boat.”
“There is no doubt of it in my mind,” remarked Captain Weston, and Tom felt a little disappointed that the sailor did not shout out some such expression as “Shiver my timbers!” or “Keel-haul the main braces, there, you lubber!” But Captain Weston was not that kind of a sailor, though his usually quiet demeanor could be quickly dropped on necessity, as Tom learned later.
A few minutes more and the waters closed over the top of the conning tower. The Advance was completely submerged. Through the thick glass windows of the pilot house the occupants looked out into the greenish water that swirled about them; but it could not enter. Then, as the boat went lower, the light from above gradually died out, and the semi-darkness gave place to gloom.
“Turn on the electrics and the searchlight, Tom,” directed his father.
There was the click of a switch, and the conning tower was flooded with light. But as this had the effect of preventing the three from peering out into the water, just as one in a lighted room cannot look out into the night, Tom shut them off and switched on the great searchlight. This projected its powerful beams straight ahead and there, under the ocean, was a pathway of illumination for the treasure-seekers.
The Tom Swift Megapack Page 44