The Submarine Boys on Duty Part 19

"Go up slanting, or on an even keel?" called up Mr. Farnum.

"On the even keel," came the answer.

"All right, then; we'll know soon."

For this purpose the largest compressed air container of all was to be employed. It distributed great volumes of compressed air to all the water tanks, forcing open the valves and driving out the water.

"Any of you youngsters know where the proper wrench is?" inquired the builder, looking keenly at the boys.

There was an instant start, followed by widespread pallor.

"Oh, it's not right to keep you in torment," laughed the builder. "I have kept the wrench in my pocket, all along."

He drew it out, holding it up before their gaze. Though technically a wrench, it looked more like a very large key. It was of curious construction, intended to supply the greatest amount of force with the least amount of exertion.

"Watch me," commanded Jacob Farnum. "Any one of you may have to use this wrench at any time."

Little did any of them guess the tragedy that was destined to center around that life-saving wrench later on. Now, with the boys gathered about him, Mr. Farnum fitted the wrench with great care and deliberation.

"See how easily it's intended to turn?" asked the builder, giving it a slight turn.

All three of the boys nodded.

"Now, we'll give it more," continued Mr. Farnum. He swung the wrench well around in order to release compressed air with a rush and great force into the water tanks.

Then he stood there, waiting. There was no perceptible motion or other change that the boys could note about the boat.

"Wha--what makes it act so slowly?" asked Eph Somers, in a queer voice. "Or isn't it going to act?"

For some seconds more the four stood there looking at one another.

Andrews came to the doorway of the engine room, looking anxious.

"We've released a lot of compressed air," uttered Mr. Farnum. "More than half of the force in the receiver is gone."

A few seconds more pa.s.sed. Then restless Eph sprang to the stairway.

"Mr. Pollard," he cried, nervously, "when on earth--under the sea, I mean--are we going up? What's wrong?"

"Going up?" called down the inventor. "This isn't an airs.h.i.+p."

"When are we going to strike the surface?" Eph insisted.

"Why, we're awash already. Don't you notice I've just shut off the electric motor?"

That was true, although none of the quartette had yet realized that the propeller shafts were stilled.

"Awash, are we?" cried Eph, in an incredulous voice.

"If you can't believe it," replied David Pollard, calmly, "come up and see for yourself." Eph accepted that invitation with such alacrity that he tripped and barked his s.h.i.+ns against one of the iron steps, but recovered and darted up in no time.

"Glory!" he shouted, jubilantly. "It's true. I can see the stars."

At that moment the bell rang for turning on the gasoline motor. Within a few seconds the big engines were throbbing. Again the propeller shafts began to turn. Now, all hands could feel the motion as the "Pollard" skimmed lazily along over the ocean's surfaces.

As Eph came down, Jack Benson stepped up, with a light heart, now that the submarine had responded to the last and most important of its tasks. He stood beside the wheel, ready to take it whenever Mr.

Pollard should give it up.

Yes, indeed; there was the sky overhead. And, with this glimpse of heaven's arch Jack Benson found himself forever done with submarine fever in the matter of the ordinary risk and dreads.

As yet only the conning tower was out of water. The platform deck would not emerge until Mr. Farnum, below, employed much of the remaining compressed air for expelling the last gallons of sail water from the tanks.

"What's that off the starboard bow?" wondered Jack. "Stop, Mr. Pollard.

Reverse! I'm sure there's something over yonder worth stopping to look into."

David Pollard stopped the speed, then reversed sufficiently to correct the headway, although he replied:

"I don't see anything, Benson. You've been below so long that up here, in less light, you're a victim of shadows."

But Jack, who had s.n.a.t.c.hed the marine gla.s.ses from the rack, and was using them, retorted:

"The shadows I see, Mr. Pollard, are human shadows, clinging to something in the water, and that something must be an overturned craft of some sort."

"Let me have the gla.s.ses," requested Mr. Pollard.

After taking a long look the inventor replied, excitedly:

"Benson, you're right. There are some human beings in distress over yonder. Thank heaven, we didn't go by them."

For the first time that night David Pollard turned on the powerful searchlight, projecting abroad, brilliant ray off the starboard bow.

The bottom of a hull about forty feet long, presumably that of a sloop, was what David Pollard now saw. Clinging to it were two men. One of them appeared to be middle-aged, the other much younger. The overturned boat was some three hundred yards distant.

"What have you stopped for? What's up?" called up Mr. Farnum.

"Wreck, sir. Two men in distress," Jack answered.

"We'll go close and contrive to take them off," announced the inventor.

Turning on slow speed, he swung the "Pollard's" prow about, making for the wreck.

"You youngsters had better get out on deck, with lines to heave,"

suggested Mr. Pollard. So Jack called up Hal and Eph. After Benson had stepped out on the platform deck Hal pa.s.sed out three long, light lines.

Up to within a hundred feet of the wreck ran the submarine boat, then stopped, lying parallel with the capsized craft.

"Can you catch a line, if we throw it?" hailed Jack.

"Yes," came the answer. The voice was dull. There was no enthusiasm about it.

"They don't seem very glad to see us," muttered the submarine boy to the inventor, who had stepped out to the deck wheel. "I wonder if they're dazed and weak?"