Hardly had he dozed off, when from the woods through which their guide had conducted them a short time before, Walstein and Dampier and two of the crew of the tug emerged. They had left Rangler in charge of the craft, with instructions to cruise in the vicinity and see if he could make out any trace of the fugitives. They themselves had made for the abandoned light-house to organize a thorough search of the island.
As they drew near to the light, the man who had entertained Jack and Sandy emerged from the door.
"Hullo, there, Bill Barkentin," hailed Walstein. "What's the news?"
"What's yours?" grumbled the man ungraciously, in much the same manner he had addressed the boys.
"The same old bear," laughed Dampier. "How is our prisoner getting along?"
"He's as obstinate as ever," was the grumbled reply. "Won't tell a thing about the government's plans in regard to us."
"You've still got him on close diet?" asked Walstein.
"Have I? Should say so. He's getting as thin as a rail; but he's just as obstinate as an old army mule. Won't tell nothing."
"Humph! Well, he'll talk after awhile. By the way, we'll have two other prisoners to join him before long."
"How's that?" grunted Bill Barkentin, without betraying any special interest.
"Why, two boys whom we were holding for ransom have escaped," rejoined Walstein. "They fled from the tug, and are now on this island some place. You know the island better than any one else. When we've had something to eat you had better guide us all over it on a thorough search."
"No need to search," grunted Bill Barkentin as imperturbably as if what he had just heard was not news to him.
"How's that, Bill?" asked Dampier, in a sort of mocking voice. It was plain that he despised this taciturn old keeper of the rascals' rendezvous.
"'Cos they're here now," announced Bill, replenishing his pipe, which had gone out.
"What!" exclaimed Dampier. "Do you mean to say, you old barnacle, that you've actually got those two lads in the tower?"
"Yep. They're tucked in their little bed at this very minute. I found 'em stuck in a marsh about four miles from here. As they had some money, I brought 'em here. I thought that after they got to sleep I'd get what coin they had and then turn them loose. But now I see things is different. They are your game, eh?"
"Never mind about the money, Bill," said Dampier, whose sallow face was beaming with ferocious delight; "the money they have is yours, Bill—all yours. Oh, what a stroke of luck, eh, Walstein?"
"I should say so," assented the leonine-headed ruffian. "Have you got them locked in, Bill?"
"We-el, you know Bill Barkentin," grinned the other, with a wink and placing one finger to the side of his flat nose, "I'll guarantee that they are safe for as long as we want to keep 'em penned up."
"Which will be till we hear from old Chisholm Dacre regarding how much he is willing to give up for his precious nephew and his chum," said Dampier.
Soon after this, the rascals, in whose power the unconscious boys were once more, entered the old light-house.
They made a hearty meal, with many jests and much laughter, in which the mysterious prisoner, who has been mentioned by them once or twice before, figured largely. To judge by their conversation, he was a man toward whom they cherished the utmost hatred and malice.
Evidently the peculiar color which the submarine craftHuronhad been painted answered its purpose of practical invisibility excellently. For the tug came right on, driving straight for the diving boat, without any of those on board apparently being aware of the proximity of the queer vessel.
Tom's excitement and suspense were painful as the tug drew closer. Were his brother and his chum on board? How big a crew did the tug carry? What would be the outcome of the plan, which had been determined upon after a consultation, and which was nothing more nor less than to hold up the tug and search her thoroughly.
Beside Tom in the conning tower stood Obadiah Ironsides, the professor and Jeff Trulliber. Rosewater had been pressed into service as an oiler in the engine room, while old Sam made some trifling adjustments of the machinery.
The party had retired to the conning tower, as they would be less conspicuous there than on deck, and those on the tug would not take alarm. It had been agreed upon, likewise, that Mr. Ironsides was to carry on the preliminary questioning of Rangler, or whoever was on board the tug, as in that case, the rascals would not take alarm and conceal Jack and Sandy, in the event that they were on board.
Closer and closer ranged the tug, a great white "bone" creaming at her bow. As she got within hailing distance, Mr. Ironsides emerged from the conning tower and took up a position on the submarine's deck.
"Ahoy! On board the tug!" he shouted, placing his hands funnel-wise to his mouth.
"Ahoy, yourself!" came back a rough voice from the pilot-house of the tug. "What sort of a sea-going peanut roaster is that?"
"The submarine boatHuron. I wish to speak to you."
"Have to wait till some other time, then. We're busy now," was the rejoinder, and the window of the pilot-house, which had been raised while Rangler thrust out his head, was slammed down once more.
"Hold on, there!" cried Mr. Ironsides. "I must speak to you, I tell you. It may have serious consequences for you if you don't stop."
This speech was greeted with a derisive laugh from the tug. But presently it slackened speed and the submarine crept up to it.
"Well, what do you want?" asked Rangler harshly, leaning out of his pilot-house and looking down on the gray whaleback of the submarine.
"Food and water," said Mr. Ironsides, with excusable prevarication. "We have run out of them."
"Serves you right for navigating the lakes in that fool contrivance. Well, I know the law. I suppose I'll have to give 'em to you. Make fast and come on board."
Tom, who could see all that was transpiring from the conning tower without danger of being seen, saw Mr. Ironsides spring lightly on board after he had made fast a rope that two of the crew of the tug threw to him.
"Wonder what he is going to do?" thought the boy to himself, as he saw the inventor leaping up the stairway leading to the pilot-house. He entered the structure and could be seen eagerly conversing with Captain Rangler.
As a matter of fact, the inventor had decided on a bold stroke. It was nothing more nor less than to state his mission to Captain Rangler in so many words, and represent himself as having been sent out by the police of Rockport.
"Captain Rangler," he began, "my name is Ironsides. I am connected in an unofficial capacity with the police of Rockport, from which place you are suspected of having kidnapped two boys. I demand that I be allowed to search your craft."
"What sort of talk is this?" blustered the captain. "Me—Captain Rangler—kidnap boys? You're mistaken, my friend. I'm not in any such business."
"In that case, you will allow me, of course, to search your craft?"
"Certainly; go as far as you like. But I'd have you know that it hurts my feelings to be accused of such rascality."
The crafty ruffian actually put on an injured air, as he said this, as if he had been a man of the highest integrity, righteously angered at a false accusation.
So cleverly did he act, that even Mr. Ironsides was dumfounded.
"I wonder if Tom Dacre wasn't mistaken?" he thought to himself. "This fellow appears to be honest enough."
Aloud, however, he said:
"Thank you, captain. I'll take advantage of your offer and search your craft. You understand, of course, that this is no aspersion on your character. My orders are to search every craft on the lake in search of the kidnapped lads."
"Oh, that's all right," said Captain Rangler easily. "Make yourself at home. Go over this here boat from stem to stern. I'll warrant you'll find nothing but what's legitimate."
Mr. Ironsides started from the cabin to begin his search. As he did so, Captain Rangler, who was leaning out of the pilot-house window once more, gave a perceptible start, and uttered an exclamation.
Tom had, incautiously, ventured too close to the lens of the conning tower, in his anxiety to see what was going forward. Captain Rangler, who, up till that moment, had really believed that Mr. Ironsides was a police investigator, instantly recognized the lad, and also guessed what was on foot.
"Jim," he called to a sailor, "I want you to conduct Mr. Ironsides all over this craft. Take him everywhere. Don't leave a spot uncovered—and Jim"—the sailor came closer, while Rangler sank his voice to a whisper—"don't let him come on deck again. You understand?"
The sailor nodded, and joining Mr. Ironsides, made a great show of conducting him over the tug. They started in at the cabin, and by turns visited every nook and corner of the craft. The last place visited was the forecastle, a stuffy little hole in the bow of the tug.
"Well," said Mr. Ironsides, "I really see no trace of any lads here. I guess there must be some mistake about it."
"I guess so, sir," said the sailor respectfully; "must have got the wrong craft, sir."
"So it would seem. However, my man, here's a dollar for your trouble." The sailor touched his forelock and stuffed the bill into his pocket. As he did so, he exclaimed suddenly:
"Beg pardon, sir. Somebody on deck is calling me. Back in a minute, sir."
With monkey-like rapidity, he sprang toward a ladder, and in a flash was on deck.
"I guess I might as well go, too," thought the inventor, and was preparing to follow when a startling thing happened.
The hatch by which they had entered was suddenly clapped to.
"Here! Here!" shouted the inventor, thinking a mistake had been made. "Let me out. I'm——"
"You'll get out when we're good and ready," came a harsh voice from the other side of the hatch. At the same time the rasping sound of a bolt being secured on the outside came to the crestfallen inventor's ears.
While this scene was transpiring on the tug, Captain Rangler and two of his men had slipped from the stern of their craft down upon the deck of the submarine. Tiptoeing forward, as softly as cats, they gained the conning tower.
A sharp, metallic clang was the first intimation that Tom and his companions had that Captain Rangler once more held the upper hand. The hatch of the conning tower had been slammed to by the ruffian, and the outside fastenings—used when the submarine was in port—had been locked.
Tom Dacre and the others were as effectually prisoners on their own craft as Mr. Ironsides, the inventor, was in the dark and malodorous forepeak of the tug.
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 theHuron, 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."
"Thereisa way, and I mean to try it," declared Tom. "Listen."
"You mean that there is a way of escaping from this craft?" demanded old Sam incredulously. "Well, lad, I know theHuronpretty well, from her keel plates up, but I can't figure one."
"How about the torpedo tube?" inquired Tom calmly.
"Wow!" cried the old man. "I begin to get your meaning, now. But could it be done?"
"It can be tried," said Tom. "As I understand it, when theHuronis floating on the surface her torpedo tube is submerged to a depth of about four feet."
"Ker-rect," declared old Sam.
"The outer end is so devised that it is closed and water-tight till a torpedo is fired and shoves it open. It is this which enables the projectile to be loaded without endangering the flooding of the boat."
"Ker-rect again, my lad; go on. We're all listening. But you're wrong in one point. The torpedo tube is not opened by the passage of the torpedo through it. It is opened by the operation of a lever in the conning tower."
"So much the better," said Tom. "Now, then, my plan is this: I will creep into the torpedo tube. When I am inside it, one of you will close the inside end. The outer end will then be opened by Sam, who will remain by the opening lever. As the water rushes in, I will dive outward and shoot up to the surface. We know pretty well where Mr. Ironsides is confined. I shall swim to the bow of the tug and see what chance there is of getting him out. If there is any, you can rest assured that he will be back here within an hour."
"Bravo!" cried Sam. "That's a bully plan, my lad."
"Preposterous!" spoke the professor. "I shall not permit you to risk your life in any such mad fashion."
"It won't be risking it," protested Tom; "at any rate, none of us can be worse off than we are here. As for the danger, it's no more dangerous than taking a dive off a springboard, only, in this case, the process is reversed. I shall go up, instead of down."
The upshot of it was that Tom had his way. He kicked off his shoes and all his garments but his underclothes. Thus attired, he was ready for his great attempt.
"But how on earth are you going to get back on board again?" exclaimed the professor, just as all was ready.
Oddly enough, none of them had thought of this, and, for a moment, the objection threw cold water on their hopes. But it seemed that Tom had figured this out, too. But he was not quite ready to announce it.
"Friends, will you trust me for getting in again, if only I can rescue Mr. Ironsides?" he said simply and without bravado.
"You bet we will, lad," quoth old Sam heartily. "A lad with a figure-head like you on his bows ought to be able to carry anything through."
Tom, the professor and Jeff then descended to the torpedo-room, while old Sam stood ready at the lever, which, at the signal from below, was to be so manipulated as to throw open the outer end of the tube.
"Good-by, and good luck," said the professor, with a warm clasp of the hand, as the inner end of the tube was opened and Tom crept into its narrow confines.
"It's so-long,—not good-by," laughed the lad lightly. "All ready, now, professor. Close the inner door and give the signal as soon as you like."
The metal fastenings closed behind Tom with a clash. He lay in total darkness within the tube, which was just large enough to permit him to lie outstretched at full length.
"I'm a human torpedo with a vengeance," thought the lad, as he awaited in the darkness the opening of the outer door of the tube. Thinly clad as he was, the metal chilled his skin. For the first time since he had embarked on the adventure Tom felt a slight nervous thrill run through him.
Suppose he should be caught in the mechanism at the mouth of the tube? In that case he would drown as miserably as a rat. These and a dozen other thoughts ran through his excited mind, as he lay there waiting, through what was really only a short period, but which seemed an eternity.
Suddenly a slight click could be heard. Tom braced himself; the outer door was about to open and the water would rush in on him. He drew a long breath, filling his lungs to the bursting point. The next instant the outer door of the tube was opened and in rushed the water. It seemed to Tom as if he had been struck by a steam-hammer, so great was its force in the confined place. But he kept his wits and struck out, and in a flash, as it seemed, he was on the surface of the water outside the submarine.
The first move of his daring game had been accomplished. Far more difficult, however, was what lay beyond.
Fortunately, it was pitchy dark. As he came to the surface, Tom noticed that the air smelled sulphurous and heavy. He decided that a thunderstorm was brewing. In fact, he presently became aware of livid, snake-like flashes afar off.
Tom trod the water for a time while he looked about him. He was quite close to the bow of the submarine, and, by stretching out his hand, could have touched her sides.
Suddenly, a sound that he recognized as snoring smote on his ear. It came from the guards who had been posted on the deck of the diving-boat.
"Good!" thought Tom. "So far, everything is fine. Now, if the luck will only hold, I'll have Mr. Ironsides on board in no time."
He struck out for the tug, which could be made out—a dark blot on the water—at no considerable distance. He speedily reached her side and snuggled in under the guard rail, where he was out of sight, till he could get the "lay of the land."
Two men were talking on deck. Tom listened intently.
"Well, Hick," came one voice, "it looks like a lonely watch for you and me."
"It does that, Joe. Here's the skipper ashore, and all the others gets a chance to stretch their legs but us. We've got to stay and guard that pesky submarine fellow in the forepeak."
"He won't take much guarding, I'm thinking," was the rejoinder; "that padlock's good and tight, and it's too warm down in there fer him to indulge in strenuous exercise."
"Tell you what," struck in the other man, "we're alone, and no one can report to the captain. Let's have a game of cards to while away the time. There's a deck of pasteboards in the skipper's cabin, and we can sit down there, snug and sociable."
"That's a good idea. I'd like to get them two chaps off the submarine to join us. I guess their watch is as lonely as ours."
"I'd like to get 'em, too. But the skipper's taken the only boat. The same one those two kids ran off with."
The voices died away, and the two guardians of the tug evidently had gone below to indulge in their game of cards.
Tom's heart beat high with hope. His plan was succeeding beyond even his expectations. He had confirmation of the fact that Mr. Ironsides was imprisoned in the forepeak, and then, too, the only men on the ship were safe astern engrossed in a game.
One other thing in their conversation had struck Tom sharply. "The boat those two kids ran off with."
That must mean that Jack and Sandy had escaped. No other interpretation could be put on it. But where were the two lads? Tom would have given a lot to know right then.
But it was no time for speculation. The necessity for action was immediate. At any moment, for all he knew, the men might come back from the shore, and then "good-by" to his hopes of freeing the inventor.
The lad crept along the side of the tug till he reached the bow. Then he clambered up the anchor-chain, and in a jiffy stood—a wet, half-clothed figure—on the fore deck.
"I must look like a ghost or something, in these white clothes," thought the lad to himself, as he felt about in the darkness for the forescuttle. Finally he found it, and softly tapped on it.
"Who's there?" came a voice from below, which he delightedly recognized as that of Mr. Ironsides.
"Hush! It's me—Tom Dacre!" whispered the boy. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, but I am weak from lack of food and the heat in this place."
"I'll soon have you out of there," comforted Tom. "Just trust in me."
"I will, my boy," came the rejoinder. "You inspire one with confidence."
Tom, as well as he could in the darkness, examined the padlock. It was a heavy one, but the hasp seemed to be more or less loose. Possibly Mr. Ironsides' efforts to escape had had that effect. At any rate, Tom thought that if only he could get the instrument with which to do it, he could pry up the hasp and free his friend.
But the question was, where to obtain that implement. While he was still casting about in his mind, a heavy footfall resounded, and, from round the corner of the pilot-house a figure emerged, making directly for the boy.
Tom's heart beat like a trip-hammer. Discovery and failure of his enterprise seemed almost inevitable. But he retained presence of mind enough to slip behind the big steam windlass while the man advanced.
The fellow was one of those left to guard the tug, and was more vigilant than Tom had supposed would be the case, judging by the conversation he had overheard. He had come forward to see that all was well.
Apparently he had not seen Tom, thanks to the darkness and the fact that he had just emerged from a lighted cabin. He walked up to the scuttle, however, and rapped on it with his knuckles in much the same way that Tom had done.
The boy's blood almost froze in his veins, as, in response to the man's rappings, he heard Mr. Ironsides' voice come from below.
"Hurry up, Tom. Get me out of here, quick! I can't stand it much longer."
"Gee whiz, the poor chap's gone crazy," muttered the man, to Tom's intense relief. "Well, I've no orders, except to keep him in there, crazy or not, so I'll just see that the fastenings are all right, and then go back to the game."
He drew a hatchet from his belt, and gave the nails that held the loose hasp a few blows with it. As he was doing this, clumsily enough in the darkness, he hit his thumb a hard blow. Tom heard an exclamation and a volley of strong language.
"Confound it," exclaimed the man, flinging the hatchet from him in a rage, "that's the second time in a week I pounded that thumb. Bad luck to it."
He strode off toward the stern once more, leaving Tom in a state of joy that may be imagined, for, in the flung hatchet, Tom had just the very tool he wanted to liberate Mr. Ironsides.
Guessing that the man would not be back for some time, now that he had, as he thought, made certain that all was secure, Tom lost no time in finding the hatchet and went to work on the hasp. As he had suspected, it didn't take very long to work it loose. Then, placing the blade of his implement under it, he gave it a good wrench. Out came the hasp, as easily as if it had been fastened in cheese instead of solid wood.
The next instant Mr. Ironsides was by Tom's side, and the two were shaking hands warmly by the side of the opened scuttle. It was no time for the interchange of words, but Tom told him swiftly just what had happened. The inventor's praise of the brave, resourceful lad was warmer than ever.
Mr. Ironsides, who had some changes of apparel on board his craft, rapidly divested himself of his clothes, as Tom had done.
"I'll leave them behind as souvenirs," he said, giving the pile of garments a shove with his foot.
This done, they both slipped silently over the bow, and dropped into the water. As they did so, a rumble of thunder was heard, and a vivid flash of forked lightning split the sky.
"We're in for a storm, all right," commented Tom.
"So much the better," said the inventor, as they swam side by side toward the submarine, "the worst storm can't hurt theHuron. All I have to do is to sink a few feet, and the waves can rage as they like. They don't bother her."
Excessive caution was necessary as they neared the submarine. The two sentinels might still be asleep, and then, again, the noise of the approaching storm might have awakened them. In any event, the two adventurers made no more noise than was unavoidable as they neared the side of the diving craft.
They swam round to the bow of theHuronand clambered cautiously out of the water. Tom wished that he had told Sam to turn out the lights when he left the craft, for the rays from the conning tower shone out brightly, illuminating the decks with a radiance almost like day.
But the light showed them one thing, at least. This was that the two sentries were still sound asleep, doubtless never imagining for a moment that there was the slightest chance of those on board the diving craft receiving help. Indeed, if it had not been for Tom's ingenuity and courage, this would have been the case.
Noiselessly, almost, the two adventurers made for the conning tower. They crept silently along over the deck in their bare feet and gained the helmet-like structure without a hitch occurring.
"Now to open up our prison," whispered Tom, as Mr. Ironsides examined the bolt by which Captain Rangler had imprisoned them.
It was furnished with a lock, but, luckily, Captain Rangler had had no key to fit it. The lock, in fact, was not needed, so long as the inmates of the submarine were within. But now Mr. Ironsides slid back the bolt without difficulty and opened the hatch.
He had just opened it, and was about to step within, when one of the sentries awakened. At the same instant came a flash of lightning. It showed the man two white-clad figures, hovering about the conning tower.
A sudden access of superstitious terror seized him. So far as he knew, there was no possible way of emerging from the conning tower. These two white figures, then, must be beings from another world.
With a wild yell he flung himself into the water, and began swimming with might and main for the tug. His shouts aroused his companion. He, however, was cast in another mold. He realized almost instantly that an escape had been effected in some manner. Raising his rifle, he began firing at the two figures.
Raising his rifle, he began firing at the two figures.Raising his rifle, he began firing at the two figures.
"Duck, Tom," ordered Mr. Ironsides, "those bullets can't pierce the metal."
Bang! bang! bang! bang! bang!
The weapon the sentry was using was an automatic. The bullets flew in a constant stream. Tom counted ten. He knew the type of weapon, and knew, too, that when his magazine was exhausted the sentry would have to refill it.
"Now, then," he cried to Mr. Ironsides. "Now is our chance to grab him."
The two darted forward across the deck, and, before the sentry could reload, they were upon him. Tom was in no mood to be merciful.
"Can you swim?" he demanded of the fellow, who gave in without a struggle.
"Y-y-y-y-yes!" responded the other, with chattering teeth.
"Then over you go!" cried Mr. Ironsides. One! Two! Three!
Overboard went that sentry with a resounding splash. The manner in which he struck out for the tug convinced Tom, rather to his relief, that the man was in no danger of drowning.
All this had occurred in such a short time that those below in the cabin had only arrived on deck in time to see the finale.
"Oh, Tom, is it really you?" cried Jeff, rushing forward and wringing Tom's hand warmly.
"Guess it is," laughed the boy; "and, best of all, here's Mr. Ironsides."
"You have succeeded beyond my wildest expectations," cried the professor. "It's wonderful, wonderful!"
But in the midst of the congratulations and joyous reunion, the bushes on shore suddenly began to spit fire. A volley also came from the tug. The first sentry had reached the vessel and reported what had occurred, and the two men left to guard Mr. Ironsides were not long in discovering that their bird had flown.
As for the fire from the shore, it came from Captain Rangler and the others in the tower, who had guessed instantly, when the sentry opened fire, that something had happened to free their prisoners.
Bullets spattered on the water about them, and pinged on the metal deck of theHuron.
"Wow! This is a regular bee-hive!" exclaimed Mr. Ironsides.
"We must cast off without delay," cried Tom. "They have taken the alarm with a vengeance."
Suddenly, from the shore, the brilliant light of a Bengal torch flooded the whole scene with a bright blue glare.
Tom darted forward and cast off the towing ropes, which still attached the submarine to the tug. In the meantime, Sam had the engines started once more.
The lad's post, while he was casting off the towline, was not a bed of roses. Although he crouched behind the metal bits, he could hear the rattle of lead all about him. Having cast off the ropes, there was nothing for him to do but to await his chance to regain the conning tower. The others had, by this time, sought its shelter as there was no use in risking death in that hailstorm of bullets. Mr. Ironsides' first act had been to lower the steel bullet-proof shades, specially designed for protecting the conning tower lenses in just such an emergency. These "shades" had slits pierced in them so that the steersman could see out without much danger of being hit, even in the hottest fire.
Suddenly the Bengal light died down. Darkness ensued for an instant while those on shore lighted another one. Under cover of the blackness, Tom darted for the conning tower. Mr. Ironsides was at the wheel, the engines were humming, everything was in readiness for an instant start. As Tom dashed into the conning tower, and the water-tight door was closed, another Bengal light was aflame. By its light the submarine became a hotter target than ever.
The bullets spattering against the metal skin of the craft sounded like hail on a tin roof. But, thanks to the secret alloy in the metal of which theHuronwas constructed, they were deflected from her, hardly leaving a scratch to show where they had struck.
"Ready?" yelled Mr. Ironsides down the speaking tube to Sam in the engine room.
"Ready, sir!" bellowed back the engineer of theHuron.
"Then brace yourselves for a dive," commanded the inventor.
A mighty, hissing sound ensued, as the tanks filled. TheHurondipped by the nose, and sank gradually, as the inventor, once below the surface, didn't wish to risk a collision with the bottom, and he did not know how much water they had off shore.
After the exciting scenes through which they had just passed, the depths seemed calm and peaceful and soothing to the nerves. Obadiah switched on the searchlight and raised the bullet-proof "shades," and they were able to look out once more at the glass-green vastness about them.
It was not till then that old Sam came up from below.
"Beg pardon, sir," said he to Mr. Ironsides, "but I know that there island, sir."
"So it was an island, eh?" said Mr. Ironsides. "What island was it, Sam?"
"Castle Rock Island!" burst out Tom.
"Yes, sir; that was it, for a fact," said old Sam. "I recognized it by the ruined tower, when the light flared up and showed it."
"Then that is the place where Captain Rangler and that outfit make their headquarters!" exclaimed the professor.
"Yes, and I'll bet a doughnut that that is where Jack and Sandy are confined!" burst out Tom, with blazing eyes.
"Mr. Ironsides, we cannot run off and leave them like this!" he continued in an impassioned way.
"I agree with you, Tom. But what are we to do?"
"Hang about till daylight, and then cruise round the island. We may see some signs of them. Judging from what I overheard on the tug, there is a bare chance they may have escaped."
"Tom Dacre, you are a brave lad," said the inventor, for the second time that night; "and, better still, you mix brains with your grit. That's a combination that's hard to beat in man or boy."
"Sandy!"
"Sandy!"
"SANDY!"
"Well, what is it?"
Sandy MacTavish sat up on the bed in the tower room to find Jack bending over him.
It was pitchy dark. So soundly had the exhausted lads slept that they had taken no account of the hours.
"Hoot mon!" exclaimed the Scotch lad, wide-awake in an instant, "it's nicht."
"Yes, it is night," rejoined Jack; "we must have slept for hours and hours."
"I hope that mon didnae call us to take that steamer."
"Sandy, I don't believe there is any steamer."
"What!"
"I mean what I say. This looks to me like a trap."
"What, another one?"
"Hush! Listen to me. Just before I dropped off to sleep, I've a kind of a shadowy recollection of hearing that door being locked."
"And you didna investigate?"
"I'm ashamed to say I didn't. Not that it would have done any good, anyhow. I was too sleepy, I guess. But when I woke up, just now, I went over to the door, and——"
"It is locked."
"You're right. And it's stout and firm, too."
"Let's shout. It may be an accident."
"Not much chance of that. I've worse news for you, Sandy. Something that shows that it was by no accident that door became locked."
"How's that?"
Sandy sat on the edge of the bed, peering into the darkness where Jack's form was dimly visible.
"Walstein and Dampier are in this place!"
"Here? In this tower?" gasped Sandy incredulously.
"Yes, I heard them whispering at the door when I woke up. I recognized their voices. That rascal who took us in here has robbed me, too."
"He has, eh, the gloomeroon!"
"Yes, he took every penny out of my pocket while we were sleeping."
"How did you discover this?"
"I overheard something while they were whispering at the door that made me suspicious. I heard Walstein tell the man that he had got his share of whatever ransom they made out of us, when he picked my pockets."
"And then you looked in them?"
"Of course."
"And they were empty?"
"Sandy, you almost make me laugh. Of course they were."
"A-well, I dinna see what good money would do us now," quoth Sandy philosophically. "So they are going to hold us for ransom?"
"So I judged. Moreover, I learned from what I heard that we are on an island. Guess what one?"
"I dinna ken; De'il's Island, perhaps."
"On Castle Rock Island."
"Ho! ho! ho!" chuckled Sandy, who as ever refused to be downcast, "prisoners on my dad's ain property. That's a good joke."
"I fail to see where the joke comes in, just at present," rejoined Jack. "These are desperate men. They won't stop at anything. Sandy, we've got to find some way to get out of this mess."
"Well, we canna' go by the door."
"No; and even if it were open, those two dogs are guarding it. I heard that man who brought us here tell them to 'watch.'"
"Aye! They're a vera nice pair o' dogs, that. That is, they'd be nice if they had nickel steel muzzles on."
"Say, I wish you'd cut out your joking for a while, Sandy. This is a serious matter. We don't wish our friends to have to pay big ransoms for us. I'd hate to think of those rascals winning out after all, and getting rich on their scoundrelly ways, too."
"So would I," agreed Sandy, suddenly serious. "I tell you what, Jack, did you notice that spiral stairway outside the tower?"
"Yes, I noticed it when we came in. Why?"
"Weel, I'm thinking that yon bit window must look out on that same stairway."
"Suppose it does? How are we to reach the window?"
"Pile up some of the furniture on the bed. I guess we could easily reach it that way. It's no vera big, but I'm thinking we could manage to squeeze through, if we reached it."
"By George, Sandy, it's worth trying, anyhow. Let's set about it at once. But be careful not to make any noise moving the furniture. They might guess what we are at."
"That's so. We must be careful."
Very cautiously the two lads dragged the bed to a position below the small window. Then they piled the rickety bureau on that, and on the top of the last-named bit of furniture they stood a chair.
Sandy was the first to clamber up. It was slow work, for the stack of furniture was rickety, and threatened to collapse with a crash at any instant.
But at last he gained the summit and wriggled his active body half through the window. It was too dark outside to see much, and the lad determined on a characteristically bold step. Squirming through the small casement, he let himself drop, holding by his hands to the window-ledge, while he felt about beneath him with his feet.
To his intense joy, he could feel his toe-tips encounter a projection from the wall of the tower, which he judged must be the outside stairway they had noticed.
"Come on!" he called softly to Jack, and then he gently dropped. As he had suspected, he found himself standing on the stairway, which seemed to be staunch and firm.
Sandy tested it by rocking back and forth with his face to the rough wall of the tower. There was no tremor from the stones beneath him.
"Noo, if all goes well, we'll be free again," he muttered to himself, as he awaited Jack's coming.
Presently, in spite of the darkness, he saw the other lad's head projected through the window above him.
"Is it all right?" asked Jack in a low whisper.
"As fine as silk," came back the rejoinder. "Just climb through and then drop down beside me. It's a bonnie staircase."
"Funny they haven't got it guarded," commented Jack, as he obeyed Sandy's instructions, and in another instant was by his chum's side.
"It does seem queer. But maybe they never figured on our escaping by this way."
"Maybe that's it," agreed Jack, little guessing the real reason that no sentry was posted on the stone stairway.
"Now we'd better hug the wall going down," observed Sandy. "We don't know how far out the steps extend, and if we step off it would be awkward."
"Awkward! We might be killed!" exclaimed Jack.
"That's so, too," agreed Sandy in his usual matter-of-fact tones.
He seemed quite calm and cool, while Jack's heart was beating wildly and his pulses throbbing painfully.
"Now then, easy does it!" observed Sandy, and he began to descend the stone stairway with due caution.
Jack followed, keeping as close to the walls as he could. He could not help feeling conscious of the black void that yawned on the outer end of the projecting steps.
"Hoots! There's going to be a storm before long!" exclaimed Sandy suddenly, as a vivid flash of lightning ripped the sky.
It was the same that Tom was observing at that instant as he embarked on his perilous mission.
The flash, short as it had been, had sufficed to show Jack the true peril of their path. The stairs were not more than eighteen inches wide. At one time there may have been a balustrade on the outer edge. But, if this had ever been the case, it had vanished now. Jack felt an odd sinking at the pit of his stomach, as he saw the ground beneath them illumined for that brief molecule of time. It looked fearfully far off. He could not help picturing in his imagination the fatal results of a misstep.
But Sandy had none of these qualms of fear. He went right ahead, exercising due caution, it is true. But his mind was more busy with the real peril of discovery than with the thought that a false step might plunge its maker down to death.
He was proceeding thus, step by step, when he halted abruptly. His outstretched foot had encountered vacancy.
"Hoots! What's this?" thought Sandy.
At that instant came another flash. What it revealed made even the stout-hearted Scotch lad quiver and sicken for an instant.
No steps lay beyond his foot.
Instead, there was a dark void where several of the stones had fallen out. One step more, and Sandy would have been dashed to the earth, he did not know how many feet below. Perspiration broke out in tiny pin-points all over him.
What were they going to do?
Suddenly came another flash. It showed the lad that the gap was not in reality more than a few feet wide. On the farther side the steps went on again, encircling the tower.
Sandy made up his mind instantly as to their course of action. They must jump. On the ground it would have been nothing to an active lad of almost any age. But the idea of leaping that gulf high up on the side of the old lighthouse was a repellent one.
Then, too, there was the chance that the stones beyond might not be firmly fixed in place. In that case, the force of any one alighting on them might send them crashing down through space, bearing the jumper with them.
"A-weel, the longer I think about it, the worse it gets," thought Sandy, "I must jump and have it over with."
Jack was pressing close behind him now.
"What's the matter, Sandy?" he asked. "Why don't you go on?"
"Jack, we've got a bit of jumping to do," responded Sandy bravely. He knew that Jack's nature was rather imaginative and high-strung, and he dreaded the task of persuading the lad to jump. Yet it must be done. They could not turn back now. It was either discovery or else progression.
"You see, Jack," he explained gently, "one or two steps are missing right here. But there's some bonnie ones on the other side. Now, all we've got to do is to jump across, do you understand?"
As he spoke, the Scotch lad could feel Jack Dacre quiver as he pressed against him.
Don't think for a minute that the lad was a coward. He had proven his mettle on many a hard-fought diamond and gridiron. But his imagination was lively. Already Jack was picturing the consequences if the jump was miscalculated. Sandy saw that it would only increase the other's fears if they lingered.
By the light of the flash that had revealed his peril to him, the lad had calculated the jump. And now, with a murmured prayer on his lips, he made it.
Out into space, he flew, and the next instant landed safe and sound across the gulf. Nerve and pluck will conquer many such gulfs and voids.
Out into space he flew, and the next instant landed safe and sound across the gulf.Out into space he flew, and the next instant landed safeand sound across the gulf.
But with Jack, it was different. Try as he would, he could not nerve himself for the leap into blackness. He felt he would almost rather be recaptured than face the jump.
"Come on!" cried Sandy encouragingly out of the darkness, "mon, it's too easy."
"I can't, Sandy! I can't!" came back Jack Dacre's voice.
Sandy noted that it held a quiver of real fear, and he didn't much blame his chum for it.
But Jack must be gotten across that chasm somehow. How was it to be done? Sandy tried to laugh off the perils.
"It isn't that," quavered Jack. "I'm not really afraid of it. I don't know what the feeling is. But Sandy, I can almost see myself lying at the foot of the tower with all my bones broken."
"Rubbish," laughed Sandy. "I'm not near as good at the broad jump as you, and yet I made it all right."
"I know. But—but—you go on, Sandy. Get help, if you can. I'm going back. I can't do it. I can't!"
Then Sandy had an inspiration.
"Coward!" he hissed, putting all the contempt he could into the words. "Coward!"
It was then that Jack Dacre found himself. Burning with anger and humiliation, he leaped forward into the night, to be caught by Sandy at the other side of the gulf.
"Good for you!" exclaimed Sandy, as the comrades clasped hands. "I knew you'd do it."
"Not if it hadn't been for you, Sandy," breathed Jack. "You saved me from recapture, and—and—something else."
"Well, that explains why the stairway wasn't guarded, all right," commented Sandy, as they continued their way.
They had reached the bottom, and were about to strike off across the flat beach, when a figure suddenly emerged from the door of the lighthouse.
At the same time, as bad luck would have it, a flash of lightning from the nearing storm revealed the lads' figures clearly. But it did more than that, it showed Sandy that the man approaching them was followed by two or three others.
The fellow gave a shout as he saw the boys, and started for them. They dodged, and were about to make off, when another man blocked their path.
"Inside the light-house!" gasped Sandy. "It's empty, I think!"
"Good!" exclaimed Jack. "If we can get in there and bolt the door, we are safe against a siege."
The two lads doubled like hares and darted into the open door of the light-house. As they slammed it to, and slid the bolts, they could hear a yell of rage from without.
As Sandy had surmised, the place was empty. For the time, at any rate, they were safe. Moreover, there was food on the table, and this was a welcome sight to them.
"Queer, isn't it?" asked Sandy, with his mouth full, "that after taking all that trouble to escape, we should come back into the light-house after all."
"It certainly is," agreed Jack, likewise eating hastily. "Hark!"
"Open that door at once, you young varmints!"
"I'll break every bone in your bodies when I get hold of you," roared Walstein.
"Let 'em rave," grinned Sandy; "that door will withstand a siege."
"If it's anything like that one upstairs, it will," laughed Jack.
The lad felt a strange exhilaration. The feeling was born of the sense of his wits and his chum's being pitted against those of the ruffians outside. So far, the lads had won out unmistakably.
Walstein began to shout and bellow and pound on the door, using all sorts of bad language.
"Don't swear," shouted Sandy. "It won't do you any good. We're in here, and here we'll stay."
"Oh, you will, will you?" struck in another voice. It was that of Barkentin. "We'll see about that."
He gave a peculiar whistle. It rang shrill and clear through the night. The two dogs, on watch in the upper part of the tower, heard it. One of them gave an answering bark.
"After 'em, Rex! Sic 'em, Cæsar!" came Barkentin's voice.
A deep baying howl of peculiar savagery followed.
The two lads paled. Here was a peril they had quite forgotten. The two dogs, as they well knew, were ferocious to a degree.
Sandy looked about him. The most dangerous weapon in sight was a blunt dinner knife. The baying of the dogs grew louder. The pattering of their feet could be heard on the inner stairs of the light-house.
"Shut the door!" cried Jack, thinking they could cut off the stairs in this way.
"There isn't one," cried Sandy.
"Seize 'em, boys! Tear 'em, boys!" came Barkentin's voice from without.
The next instant the dogs burst into the room with savage, gleaming eyes, bristling hackles and mouths gaping redly.
Some big game hunter has said that there is no more dangerous creature in existence than a ferocious dog, whether rendered so by training or disposition.
The two that rushed on the boys were Great Danes, crossed with some fiercer breed, powerful as panthers, and even more to be dreaded.
Sandy snatched up the nearest thing to him—a dinner-plate. He hurled it with full force at the first dog, as it leaped straight for his throat. Jack raised a chair and fought desperately with his antagonist. Outside came Barkentin's raucous voice:
"Tear 'em, boys! Seize 'em, boys!"
The dogs hesitated for only an instant, as the boys met their attack. Then, speedily rallying, they rushed on them once more, with fangs bared and dripping, and sharp, white teeth exposed.
But the brief interval had given Sandy's sharp eyes time to observe something. In one corner of the room was what appeared to be a trap-door. Calling to Jack, he made for it, and raised it by an iron ring affixed to its upper side. It swung back, and the two boys flung themselves through it and slammed it behind them, just as the teeth of the foremost of the dogs almost closed on Jack Dacre.
The place in which they now found themselves was pitchy dark. But Sandy had some matches in his pocket. He kindled one, and the light showed them that they were in an underground tunnel of some sort.
They set off down it at a good speed, not knowing where it would lead them, but with a wild desire to leave those two dogs as far behind as possible. As they sped along, they could hear the creatures searching and whining at the trap-door.
The two lads had progressed for some distance—with alarming results to Sandy's matches—when they came to a door which barred their further progress. It was fitted with a bolt, and after an instant's hesitation, they drew it.
As they did so, and the door swung open, a startling thing happened. A man rushed out like a thunderbolt and sprung straight for Sandy.
"Take that, you rascal!" he cried.
"Hoots mon, what ails ye!" yelled the Scotch lad, for the flicker of the match had enabled him to see that the man was gaunt, cadaverous, and apparently the victim of ill-treatment. They had little to fear from him.
"Great Scott!" exclaimed the man. "I know that voice. Isn't that a lad named Sandy MacTavish?"
"It is. But who the dickens are you? Here, wait till I get another match." So saying, the lad kindled another lucifer.
As its light fell on the features of the man who had sprung out on them, both lads gave an exclamation of dumfounded amazement:
"Sam Hartley!"
"Yes, it's me, all right!" rejoined the detective, with scant regard for grammar. "But what in the world brings Sandy MacTavish and Jack Dacre here?"
"The same agency which brought you, I guess," exclaimed Jack; "a band of rascals. But tell us what this place is, and how they ever entrapped you in it."
The Secret Service man who had aided the boys in the valley against the counterfeiters and again helped them when in peril from Chinese smugglers in the Great Northwest, soon told his story.
He had been sent out by the Department of Justice to round up the gang of miscreants that had been decoying vessels to their fate by false lights. As usual, he worked alone, and, disguised as a fisherman, collected much evidence against them. But in some way they came to suspect him, and one night they raided the hut in which he had taken up his abode, and made him prisoner. Ever since then they had kept him a captive, trying, without success, to get him to reveal how much evidence he had gathered.
"But why didn't the government search for you?" asked Jack.
"Why, they know I always work alone, and sometimes don't communicate with Washington for months. I suppose, in time, they'd have organized a hunt for me, but by that time, I guess, there wouldn't have been much of me left to find." He held up a skinny arm.
"I tell you, the board and lodging at this place is something fierce," he said, with an attempt to turn his misery into a joke, in his old cheerful fashion.
"Hark!" exclaimed Jack suddenly.
There was good reason for his exclamation. Even at the depth at which they were located, they could hear the sounds of firing, as the furious volleys, of which we know, were leveled at the submarine.
"Something's going on up above," decided Sam Hartley. "Wonder what can be up?"
"Maybe those rascals are quarreling among themselves," said Jack.
"Let's go back and enter the light-house through the trap-door," suggested Sandy.
But Sam Hartley shook his head.
"I know a better way than that," he said. "You notice that this cell, in which I have been confined, is merely a section of the tunnel closed in?"
The boys nodded.
"You opened the door by which my jailers brought me food when you slid that outside bolt," he said; "but at this other end there's a kind of a bulkhead. I succeeded in working it somewhat loose, but my failing strength would not permit my proceeding with the job. But through cracks in it I've smelled fresh air. I'm sure it opens out of doors. What do you say if we try to force it by our united efforts?"
The bulkhead referred to by Sam Hartley was an affair of boards and what seemed to be driftwood, held together by iron braces. As he had said, it was in a shaky condition.
Together they all three set to work on it, and after half an hour's work Sandy cried:
"Hooray! One more shove, and down she comes!"
The shove was given, and with a will. As the Scotch lad had prophesied, the partition fell with a crash, amid a cloud of dust. As it fell, a strong whiff of fresh air blew in their faces.
"It's as I thought," declared Sam Hartley, "this tunnel opens on the lake shore."
"Did that rascally gang dig it?" wondered Sandy.
"No," rejoined the detective, "I guess it's of Indian origin. There are drawings on the wall. In one case that I worked up, I had to study such things, so that I recognize them. I guess Indians dug this tunnel, and then the gang, when they found it, speedily took advantage of the fact that it was here to make a secret 'getaway' place."
As we know, from what old Sam on board the submarine had said, such was the case.
"Well, let's get to the air and find out what's going forward," said Jack impatiently.
The others were nothing loath. But they found their way barred by a strange assortment of encumbrances in the passage-way. Bales, barrels, boxes, kegs, all these cluttered it up, almost to its roof. It was hard work effecting a passage among them.
"Boys, do you realize what we've stumbled on?" said Sam Hartley, as they worked at the task of displacing them.
"I guess it's the stuff the gang removed from vessels they had wrecked," surmised Sandy.
"Correct," said Sam. "Look at the different names upon them. They are all of craft that I have read about as being mysteriously missing."
"Well, if you've got a path clear, let's get out," said Sandy dryly. "I've burned my last match."
They groped their way forward down the passage. Inwardly each was wondering why the gang did not pursue them. Had they but known it, each member of that precious organization was busied in getting aboard the tug, as it had been surmised by the rascals that the submarine would speedily bring the authorities to the island.
"Look! The stars!" cried Jack, as at last they emerged from the old Indian tunnel upon a sandy beach.
The storm had cleared off like magic, and the canopy of night sparkled with a thousand points of light.
"Hullo, what's that?" cried Sam suddenly.
Something black, and looking not unlike a whale, had suddenly emerged from the surface of the waters.
"A whale!" cried Sandy.
"Rubbish! What would a whale be doing in the Great Lakes?" scoffed Jack.
"I don't care; it is one."
"Look," cried Sam suddenly, "there's a light coming from it. It's—it's—by all that's wonderful, it's a submarine!"
The rays of the searchlight enveloped the figures on the beach. Suddenly the conning tower hatch shot open and Tom's figure emerged.
"Jack! Jack!" he hailed.
"It's Tom!" went up an incredulous shout.
Sam Hartley's amazement was no less than that of the boys. The submarine's boat was sent ashore for them, and before long they were all talking at once in the cabin of the good craftHuron. What slappings of the back, hand-shakings and mad antics ensued, I leave you to imagine.