“It appears to me there’s one point you’ve overlooked,” remarked Mr. Pauling as he glanced about. “I thought your main idea in using this submarine was that if sighted by any of those we are after they would recognize it and their suspicions would not be aroused. With this disguise they would never know the boat.”
Rawlins laughed. “Oh, I’ve kept that in mind,” he responded. “This is just a camouflaged camouflage.”
Then, before Mr. Pauling could ask for an explanation, he turned to the members of his crew, gave an order and, to the amazement of Mr. Pauling and his party, the men commenced to strip a layer of painted canvas from the submarine.
“By Jove!” exclaimed Mr. Henderson, “that’s cleverly done. I never realized it was not painted upon the vessel herself. You’re some artist, Rawlins.”
As soon as the canvas disguise had been removed, preparations were made to get under way and all entered the hatch in the superstructure.
“How about the destroyer?” inquired Mr. Pauling. “Did you arrange with Disbrow to be near in case of need?”
“Yes,” replied Rawlins. “We simply have to give him our position and he’ll be within an hour’s run.”
“Didn’t I understand you had a surprise in store for us?” asked Mr. Henderson. “What was it, that canvas camouflage?”
“Not a bit of it!” declared Rawlins. “It’s down below. Come along and have a look at it.”
Descending into the submarine, Rawlins led the way through the narrow passage past the engine room and stopped before a small iron door. “Be prepared for a jolt!” he warned them and as he spoke threw the door open.
As the two men glanced within they fairly jumped and both uttered involuntary cries of utter amazement. Seated upon a bunk in the small steel walled room was a man and no second glance was needed to recognize him. It was Smernoff!
But what a changed Smernoff! No longer did the small piglike eyes glare defiance and hatred at the Americans. His head was bowed upon his chest, his mouth, once so hard and cruel, drooped at the corners, his face was lined and seamed and his eyes held a far-away, wistful look.
“Where did he come from?” exclaimed Mr. Henderson, when he recovered from his surprise at this totally unexpected and almost miraculous reappearance of the Russian.
“And what on earth’s happened to him?” added Mr. Pauling. “Why, the fellow looks absolutely tamed and cowed—in fact broken. Whathaveyou done to him?”
“He’s tame all right,” replied Rawlins. “But we haven’t done a thing to him—except keep him locked up until we had orders from you. He’s no longer either an enemy or a ‘red,’ Mr. Pauling.”
“Well, you’re a most surprising man—I don’t wonder your darky caretakers believe you are in league with the devil—and you speak in riddles. Come, what’s the story? Why is this fellow so changed and what on earth do you mean when you say he’s no longer a ‘red’ or an enemy?”
But before Rawlins could reply a deep voice came from the room and with a start Mr. Pauling whirled about to find that Smernoff was speaking; and in English.
“Excuse, please,” he said in slow hesitating words. “Me, I no mek trouble, no. Me, I theenk maybe can help. Me, I want keel all Bolshevik fellow. Ah! heem, I dreenk he blood!”
“By Jove, he speaks English!” cried Mr. Henderson.
“I’ll say he does!” agreed Rawlins with a grin. “Always has, just been bluffing all along, but he’s through with that now. I’ll tell you the story in a few words. Two days out we sighted a disabled powerboat and running alongside found Smernoff just about all in lying in the bottom. You can just bet I was about knocked clean over when I saw him. Last I’d seen of him he was under lock and key in jail and here he was bobbing up in a little power boat in the middle of the Atlantic. Of course none of the men knew him so I said nothing—told them he was a bit looney and we’d have to keep him locked up.
“The next day he spoke to me in English and nearly bowled me over again by doing so. Then he told me he’d escaped and all about it. Said he’d got away by the aid of some ‘red’ sympathizers in the prison and had hidden with friends on the East Side somewhere down in Allen Street. While he was lying low he got word from Russia that his whole family—kids and all—had been murdered by the Bolshevists and he went clean off his head at that. It was one thing to be a ‘red’ and kill others and a different matter to have the ‘reds’ killing your folks.
“Well, the upshot of it was that he swung clean around and only had one thought and that was to get even. He started in by doing up all the ‘reds’ he knew around his hang-out and then hit it for the docks with the idea of clearing out—stowing away—in some ship that would get him to Europe. But he couldn’t make it. Too many cops about and so he grabbed a powerboat, paddled away from the docks at night and started for the open sea.
“He wasn’t nutty enough to expect to cross in the craft, but he had an idea he could get well off the land and sight some outward bound ship and get picked up. Only trouble was he hadn’t figured on a northwest gale which drove him off the steamships’ courses and left him disabled and without grub or water. Drifted three days and nights before we hove in sight. He thinks it’s a direct act of God and I don’t know but he’s right. At any rate, he’s keen on being with us and if he is in earnest—and I reckon he wouldn’t have taken the chance he did if he wasn’t—he’ll be a help to us all right.”
“It’s one of those miraculous coincidences that are far stranger than fiction,” commented Mr. Pauling. “But I am skeptical about his story. How do we know it is not a tissue of lies? He may have merely tried to escape the police in the launch and invented this yarn to hoodwink us. I guess we’d better keep him locked up.”
“Well he’s got the letter telling about his folks being killed,” said Rawlins.
“H-m-m, and his faceischanged—I’m inclined to believe him,” declared Mr. Henderson. “You know, Pauling,” he continued, “there are no more vindictive enemies of the ‘reds’ than one of their company who suffers at their hands. You must remember that Ivan was as fanatical a Soviet as ever lived until his parents were butchered.”
“Yes, you’re right, Henderson,” admitted Mr. Pauling. “We’ll have a long talk with Smernoff and get at the truth. But for the present we’ll leave him. Plenty of time after we’re under way.”
Rawlins grinned, “We’re under way now,” he remarked. “Have been for the past fifteen minutes. Didn’t you hear the engines?”
“Jove, you don’t say so!” exclaimed Mr. Henderson.
“Gosh, I can’t believe it!” cried Tom.
“Why, I thought that noise was just the dynamos!” put in Frank. “Say, are we under water?”
“Surest thing you know!” replied Rawlins. “She’s under her electric motors now and runs smooth as a watch. Come on, boys, and have a squint through the periscope.”
“We’ll stay behind a bit and talk to Smernoff,” said Mr. Pauling. “No use in keeping him locked up if he’s in earnest.”
Reaching the observation room Rawlins led the boys to the eye-piece of the periscope and as Tom squinted into it he gave a delighted cry.
“Gosh, Frank, weareunder water! Say, I can see the island back there pretty near two miles away. Isn’t it great! Think of being in a real submarine under the sea!”
Frank was as delighted and interested as Tom when his turn came to have a look. Then, a few minutes later, the louder rumble of the Diesel motors throbbed through the undersea craft and Rawlins announced that they were on the surface.
“No use running submerged except when in sight of land or a vessel,” he said, “she doesn’t make half her speed underwater and it’s a strain on her and we might bump into a reef. I’m not any too familiar with the channels that will accommodate her submerged.”
Hurrying up the steel ladder the boys and Rawlins reached the deck and gazed about, delighted at the speed the craft was making and the novel sensation of traveling on a submarine. But there was really little to be seen and the vessel might have been an ordinary ship as far as appearances or sensations were concerned. Noticing the aerial overhead, the boys’ minds at once turned to radio.
“Are our things all right?” Tom asked Rawlins. “I guess we might as well get busy and set them up. We may need them at any time.”
“Sure they’re all right,” replied the diver. “But say, I’ve been wondering how you’ll work this thing. Won’t the steel hull interfere with the waves?”
“I don’t know,” admitted Tom, “but we’ll soon find out. At any rate if the others sent and received messages in this craft we can.”
“Well if they could and they did why did they need this gadget overhead?” asked Rawlins.
“Maybe that was just for sending when on the surface,” suggested Frank. “You know those sets of ours would only send a short distance under water and we used mighty short wave lengths. If they wanted to send and receive ordinary messages they’d need this aerial, I expect.”
“Hadn’t thought of that,” said Rawlins. “I never can get onto this radio stuff. By the way, how about showing me how a fellow can hear a fly jazzing and all that?”
“Gosh!” exclaimed Tom, “I’d almost forgotten those crystals. Say, I’ll bet that’s how they received under water. Come on, let’s try some experiments.”
Descending the ladder, they made their way to the radio room and Rawlins hauled out the cases in which the boys’ undersea radio sets were packed. The naval operator who was in charge of the room looked rather contemptuously at the “kids” as he considered them, but his attitude underwent a tremendous change when he learned that the “kids” were in control of the radio aboard and that he was subject to their orders.
“Let’s try those crystals first,” suggested Frank. “I’m crazy to see if they’ll really do all that article said they would.”
As the boys got out the big crystals the regular operator’s eyes gleamed. “By Jupiter!” he exclaimed, “That’s the first time I’ve seen those since the war. We used ’em in submarine detectors you know—could hear a sub’s screw whirring three miles off.”
“Hurrah, then you know about them!” cried Tom. “I’m awfully glad you do. We only read about them and Mr. Rawlins wouldn’t believe the things we told him, so we’re going to show him.”
“Well, I don’t know such an all-fired lot either,” admitted the naval man. “But I know they worked wonders as we used ’em.”
“Let’s see,” said Tom as he examined the crystal in its metal support. “We have to connect it with our amplifier. There, that may not be right, but it’s the way I understand it. Then we connect another crystal to the amplifier. Now let’s see. They say that if this is done right and the first crystal is scratched or rubbed on something, the second one will reproduce the noise, only thousands of times louder.”
As he spoke, he gingerly touched the crystal, but nothing happened. With a puzzled look he rubbed his finger across it and still no result. Then, opening his pocket knife he scratched the crystal deeply, but still nothing occurred.
Rawlins began to laugh. “Nothing doing!” he exclaimed. “I’ll bet they’re only good for medicine.”
“I expect we haven’t got it connected properly,” said Frank. “Let’s try a different combination.”
While he spoke the two boys were busy disconnecting and rearranging the wires while Rawlins chuckled and kidded them good-naturedly.
Finally the boys had the wires connected and as Tom turned on the filament to the amplifier tubes in preparation for another trial Rawlins, who had been casually examining a bit of crystal tossed it onto the table. Instantly there was a shivering crash.
“Struck a reef!” cried Rawlins, and with frightened eyes all stood motionless, silently staring at one another and expecting each moment to feel the craft reeling or to hear excited shouts from the engine room. Was she injured? Was their cruise to end so soon? Was the submarine sinking? Such thoughts sped through the boys’ minds and each wondered how long they would stand there waiting for the order to desert their craft. But the steady throb of the engines continued. No sounds of excitement came from the engine crew. No signal from the navigator.
“Well I’ll be jiggered!” ejaculated Rawlins. “Must have just scraped bottom. Close shave though. Well, I guess you’re satisfied those salt rocks aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.”
As he ended Rawlins contemptuously flipped his finger nail against a crystal and almost bumped his head against the low ceiling as he leaped aside, for at the touch of his finger nail a high-pitched shriek seemed to issue from the crystals.
“Hurrah!” shouted Tom. “Hurrah! Now do you say they don’t work!”
“Oh, oh!” cried Frank between peals of laughter. “Oh, oh! Thatisone on you, Mr. Rawlins. That ‘struck a reef!’ Say, that wasn’t a reef, that was just the crystal you tossed on the table!”
Rawlins stood staring with gaping mouth and incredulous eyes.
“Sure it was!” repeated Frank. “See here!” Picking up the fragment of crystal he dropped it on the table top and again the rattling crash resounded through the room.
“Well!” cried Rawlins. “That beats anything I ever saw or heard by twenty miles.”
Half fearfully he reached forward and moved the crystal and a dull grating noise resulted. He tapped gently on the table and the blows resounded through the room like strokes of a sledge hammer.
“Beats the Dutch, don’t it!” exclaimed the operator. Then, taking out his watch he placed it on the table near the crystals and instantly steady beats like a hammer ringing on an anvil came from the crystals.
“Oh, here you are!” exclaimed Mr. Pauling who now entered the room. “What are you up to? Oh, I see—trying to show our Missouri friend! Well, how does it work?”
“I’ll say I’m shown!” declared Rawlins. “Darndest thing I ever saw! Just look here, Mr. Pauling. Drop something on the table there.”
Rather curiously, Tom’s father drew a coin from his pocket and dropped it on the table as suggested and at the resounding bang that followed he uttered an exclamation of amazement and involuntarily jumped back.
“You don’t mean to say that was the sound of a dime dropping?” he cried. “Why, it’s simply marvelous—absolutely uncanny.”
“Now don’t you believe you could hear a fly walk?” demanded Tom of Rawlins.
“You bet, and a mosquito sneeze!” replied the diver. “I’ll wager you could hear a man write his own name.”
Drawing a pencil from his pocket he wrote his name upon the paper covering the table, and all gasped in wonder as each stroke of the pencil came to their ears in grating, reverberating howls.
“Ah ha!” ejaculated Mr. Henderson who had approached unseen. “So you’ve found the magic in the crystals! But I’d wager you haven’t found all the wonders they contain yet. I suppose you haven’t a phonograph on board?”
“One of the men has,” replied the naval operator. “Shall I fetch it, sir?”
“Yes, if you will,” said Mr. Henderson. “I’ll show you a singing crystal in a moment, and there’s another thing. These crystals possess another remarkable property—they generate electricity.”
“Generate electricity!” cried Tom in puzzled tones. “How can they do that?”
“I’ll try to show you when we have tried the phonograph test,” replied Mr. Henderson. “Ah, here’s the machine.”
Shutting off the current to the tubes, Mr. Henderson removed the sound box from the phonograph, fastened a needle to the crystal with a bit of thread and sealing wax, fastened the whole to the arm of the machine and adjusting the needle so it rested on a record set the phonograph in motion.
“Now turn on your filament rheostats,” he said, and as Tom did so, the second crystal suddenly burst into a rollicking song.
“Absolutely amazing!” declared Mr. Pauling as the record stopped.
“Here’s another!” laughed Mr. Henderson, as he again started the record moving. Then, lifting the second crystal, he placed it in his pocket with the result that he seemed to be singing himself.
The boys roared with merriment.
“Why,” cried Tom. “With one of those any one could be a ventriloquist. All you’d have to do would be to have wires leading out of sight and keep the crystal in your pocket. Wouldn’t it be rich!”
Mr. Henderson now took the singing crystal from his pocket and placed it on a bare spot of wood and to every one’s amazement it jumped and leaped about as if endowed with life.
“Dances while it sings,” remarked Mr. Henderson. “That shows how strong the vibrations are. Now let’s try the test for electricity I mentioned.”
Selecting a large crystal Mr. Henderson placed it in one of the metal frames whose use the boys could not fathom and after fastening wires to it asked if they had a voltmeter.
The operator brought one and attaching the wires from the crystal to the instrument Mr. Henderson told them to watch the needle. Then, turning the knob on the frame and thus twisting it slightly, he brought a strain upon the crystal and instantly the needle of the voltmeter soared upward to 500.
“Jehoshaphat!” cried Frank. “That beats all yet!”
“I’ll say it does!” agreed Rawlins.
“But, why have you never told us about them before?” asked Tom.
“Simply forgot them,” replied Mr. Henderson. “I never made use of them and had merely seen their wonders demonstrated out at the Bell laboratories when I was inspector there. Thought them remarkable but of no practical value at the time, although I knew later they were used as submarine detectors and for deep-seas sounding. I can see now, however, how useful they will prove. What are you boys intending to do with them?”
“Well, we hadn’t exactly decided yet,” replied Tom, “but we thought the fellows that had this sub probably used them in receiving undersea radio and we were going to rig up something of the same sort.”
“I expect they did use them,” agreed Mr. Henderson, “and you should be able to arrange a set with them. Does Bancroft here know how those submarine detectors were arranged?”
“Well, not exactly, Sir,” replied the operator, “but I think I can manage after a bit of experimenting, Sir. That is, with the young gentlemen’s help.”
“Very well, go to it,” replied Mr. Henderson, “but you’ll find they’re doing it with your help if you don’t watch out. I’ll wager they can teach you a lot about radio.”
But both Bancroft and the boys found it a far more difficult matter to rig up a detector than they had imagined.
“The trouble is we can’t tell when it’s right,” said Tom, “and we don’t know yet whether or not we can hear even without the crystals. I vote we get Rawlins to stop the submarine and go down and test the thing out.”
This seemed a good plan, but they were now well away from land and both Rawlins and Mr. Pauling told the impatient boys that they would have to wait until the next day when Rawlins said they would be near one of the cays and could run into shoal water and test the instruments.
In the meantime Smernoff had been put through a severe grilling and at last, Mr. Pauling and Mr. Henderson being convinced that the Russian was cured of Bolshevism forever and really wanted to do anything in his power to aid in stamping out the gang of which he had been a member, he was freed, but cautioned to remain within certain bounds and was turned over to the chief engineer.
“He’s a machinist and engineer,” Mr. Henderson explained, “but he’s also a desperate character, or at least was, and has escaped from prison twice. For reasons which I need not mention we are inclined to think he’s reformed and may be of help. Let him work, but keep an eye on him constantly and if you see anything suspicious or any attempt to disable the machinery or to do anything that savors of treachery have him put in irons if you have to tap him over the head with a spanner to do it.”
The engineer squinted at Mr. Henderson with a quizzical expression. Then, wiping his big hairy hands on a piece of cotton waste he pushed back his greasy cap exposing a shock of flaming hair.
“Verra weel, Sir,” he replied. “I ken his breed an’ ye can trust me ta see nowt happens as shouldna’. But I ne’er used spanner on lad yet, Sir, an ne’er expect to hae to. Naw, naw, Meester Henderson, Sir; ’tis a braw laddie I canna make see the light o’ reason wi’ me ain han’s.”
Mr. Henderson chuckled. “Yes, I guess you’re right there, McPherson,” he replied. “I remember the story about your holding the reverse when the lever broke on theBaxter. Personally, I think I’d prefer the spanner to your fists if I were the culprit.”
Early the next morning Long Island was sighted and, passing Whale Point with the submarine submerged, Rawlins headed for Rum Cay. Here, under Sam’s guidance, the sub-sea boat was brought safely into a sheltered cove and preparations were made for tests of the radio. Rawlins donned his suit and slipped out through the air-lock, for the first test was to see if he could hear what was sent from the submarine. When, after the stipulated time, he returned, he reported that he had heard clearly, but not as loudly as in New York. Satisfied that their sending apparatus would work just as well from within the submarine as from shore Tom also donned a diving suit for the purpose of sending to Frank who was left in charge of the receiving set with Bancroft to help him.
Despite the fact that Tom had been down so often in the north it was a totally new and strange sensation to descend here in the Bahamas and from a submarine. He entered the air-lock with Rawlins, saw the water-tight steel doors closed behind him, saw Rawlins moving a wheel and slowly the water rose about him. Then Rawlins stepped to a lever, a round steel door slowly opened in the floor and following Rawlins Tom slipped through and half floated to the bottom of the sea. For a moment he could scarcely believe he was under water. He had expected everything to be indistinct, shadowy and green as it had been in the north. Instead, he seemed standing in air suffused with a soft blue light. Before him, plain and distinct, was the bulk of the submarine, each seam and rivet clearly visible. Under his feet was a smooth, white, sandy floor. Here and there great purple sea-fans, swaying black sea-rods and masses of gaudy coral broke the broad expanse of sand while, over and about him, brilliant scarlet, purple, blue, gold and multicolored fishes swam lazily, paying not the least attention to the intruders. Looking up, Tom could see only a marvelously blue void like a summer’s sky and on every side he could see for what seemed an interminable distance. It was all very wonderful and very beautiful and he would have liked to stop and admire it, but Rawlins held his arm and was guiding him along the sea bottom away from the submarine.
“Gosh, it’s great!” exclaimed Tom, suddenly remembering that he could converse with his companion.
“Didn’t I tell you ’twas!” replied Rawlins, his voice coming to Tom so distinctly that the boy started. “Not much like that dirty old river.”
“Hello, hello!” came Frank’s voice plainly, but rather faintly. “Were you speaking, Tom?”
“Yes, can you hear?” cried Tom.
“What is it you say?” queried Frank’s voice. “I can’t make out a word. Just a sort of crackling like static.”
Tom spoke still louder and at last shouted, but still Frank kept asking what he was saying and declaring he could not make it out.
“Well, something’s wrong,” Tom announced at last. “Might as well go back. They can’t hear.”
Ascending through the open door to the air-lock Tom waited while Rawlins manipulated the machinery which forced the water from the tiny chamber and let in the air and a moment later they were again in the radio room.
“I knew you were talking,” said Frank, “but I couldn’t make out a single word, just buzzes and clicks. What do you suppose is wrong?”
“It’s the way we have it connected up,” declared Tom, “but it gets me. I can’t understand why, if we get sounds through our suits with those little grid antennae you shouldn’t get them here with that bigger antenna. Did you try the regular aerial connection too?”
“Yes I tried both—or rather Mr. Bancroft tried one and I tried the other—and he didn’t get anything.”
“Well, if the fellow who had this sub before used those crystals then they had ’em hooked up differently or something. I wonder if their sets in their suits would work better.”
Acting on this idea Rawlins donned one of the suits they had taken from their captives in New York and again went down, but the results were no better. As Frank had said, there were sounds—buzzing noises which were intermittent and indicated that Rawlins was speaking, but nothing that in the least resembled human voice or words.
“We’ll have to think this out,” declared Tom. “We get the noises, but not the words so it must be we pick up the waves and it’s a question of modulation. Let’s see. Those crystals magnify sounds when they’re touched or vibrated or when there’s a vibration or jar to the thing they’re resting on. Gosh! I believe I know our trouble.”
“Well, what is it?” demanded Frank.
“Why, we’ve got this rigged up for a detector—the way they did for submarines—and wedoget the noises which was what they wanted when locating a sub, but we don’t get the words. The trouble is we’ve got the cart before the horse. We’ve hooked this up so the crystals come before the phones. What we need is to transfer the sound waves in the phones to the crystals and let ’em amplify them. As ’tis now we’re amplifying electric waves not sound waves.”
“I guess you’re right,” agreed Frank. “Let’s try it the other way.”
It took some time to rearrange the set, but with Mr. Henderson to advise and Bancroft to help, it was done at last and once more Rawlins entered the air-lock.
Hardly had he had time to reach bottom the boys thought when, to their inexpressable delight, his voice came to their ears clearly.
“Hello!” he said. “Do you get me?”
“Hurrah it works!” cried Tom and instantly Rawlins’s voice responded:
“Bully for you!”
“Walk farther off and see if we can get you,” suggested Tom over the phone.
“All right,” responded Rawlins.
Five minutes passed and then, rather faint, but still easily understandable, Rawlins’ voice again came to them.
“All right,” cried Tom. “How far away are you?”
“About five hundred yards,” replied the diver. “I can just hear you.”
“Well that’s about the limit, I guess,” remarked Tom, as Rawlins told him he was returning to the submarine. “Say, isn’t it just immense?”
“Wonderful!” agreed his father. “But let me ask a question. Suppose we overhear some one talking. How will you know where they are or whether they are under water or on land. It seems to me that’s a very important matter.”
“Golly, that’s so!” exclaimed Tom. “I hadn’t thought of that. Our loop aerials won’t work in here, I suppose.”
“Might,” commented Frank, and then, “What about that resonance coil? That might do.”
“Let’s try!” agreed Tom, and calling to Rawlins to wait where he was they hurriedly disconnected their instruments and connected the odd resonance coil in position.
“Now, say something, Mr. Rawlins,” called Tom.
Anxiously the boys waited but no response came although the boys could hear a very faint buzzing sound.
“Well, that evidently is a failure,” said Tom, “but just the same these fellows wouldn’t have had it aboard unless there was some use for it.”
“I’ll tell you what I think,” said Bancroft. “My idea is they used that in the air, when they were running on the surface or just awash. You might get the words from under water then, or perhaps it wasn’t used for undersea work.”
“We’ll have to try that—when Mr. Rawlins gets here,” replied Tom.
Presently Rawlins appeared and the boys told him of their new plans. In a few minutes the submarine had risen to the surface and the boys prepared to test the resonance coil.
“First we’ll try it in the air,” announced Tom. “Walk over on the island there, Mr. Rawlins, and see if we can get you.”
Accordingly, the diver slipped into the sea and a few moments later his head appeared near shore and for the first time the boys experienced the strange sensation of seeing a man walk ashore from beneath the water. That they could receive messages with the resonance coil through the air was soon proved to their satisfaction, and telling Rawlins to go under water and walk about in different directions the two boys and their companions, who were fully as much interested, prepared for the final test. But this was a dismal failure and chagrined and disappointed the boys gave up at last.
“If we hear any one under water we’ll have to find them some other way,” Tom announced. “We just get that funny buzz we used to hear in New York. And I’ll bet anything that was the men talking under water. But if we hear anyone talking in the air we can locate them all right.”
As Tom had been speaking he had turned half around and his resonance coil was swung towards the southeast. The next moment, Frank’s excited voice called up from below where he had been seated at the receivers.
“Jehoshaphat!” he yelled. “They’re talking! Those Russians! I hear them plainly!”
At Frank’s words Mr. Pauling and Mr. Henderson leaped to their feet and Tom almost dropped the coil in his surprise. “By glory!” exclaimed Rawlins, who had just appeared.
“Are you sure?” demanded Mr. Pauling. “Of course I’m sure,” replied Frank. “I heard them just as plain as in New York.”
Scrambling down the ladder all gathered about the instruments, but despite every effort no sounds came to their ears.
“Well, it did before,” insisted Frank. “I hadn’t been hearing anything and then, suddenly, I heard the voices.”
Tom sprang up and rushed towards the ladder. “Keep listening,” he yelled. “I’ll bet I know how ’twas.”
Hurrying up the ladder, he gained the deck and seizing the resonance coil moved it slowly about as if pointing with a stick. Then, just as it pointed to the southeast he heard Rawlins’ voice.
“They’ve got it again,” he shouted up the ladder. “Come down and hear it.”
“If I do you’ll lose it,” Tom shouted back. “It’s this resonance coil. You only get the voices when it points to the southeast. Tell them to listen and you yell up when they lose it and get it.”
Again Tom swung the coil about and before it had moved two feet Rawlins called up that the sounds had faded away. Once more Tom swung the coil back to its former position and once again Rawlins notified him that the voices could be heard.
But Tom was wild to be down below and hastily hanging the coil to the rail by knotting his handkerchief he hurried down.
“I knew that was it,” he declared excitedly. “The coil works and they’re southeast of here. Do you know what they’re saying?”
“No, it’s Russian or German,” replied Mr. Henderson. “Wish Ivan were here.”
“What’s the matter with Smernoff?” suggested Rawlins.
“Of course!” exclaimed Mr. Henderson. “By Jove, what fools we are! Get him, Rawlins.”
Rawlins dashed from the room and returned a few seconds later dragging the big Russian with him.
“Here, Smernoff!” ordered Mr. Henderson. “Tell us what they’re saying. And no lying, either!”
Clapping the receivers over the Russian’s ears Mr. Henderson shoved him into the chair. For a moment the slow-witted fellow seemed dazed and uncomprehending and then, as the words came to him and he realized what was wanted, a strange look of mingled cunning and ferocity crossed his features and his chest heaved with the intensity of his efforts to catch every syllable.
Impatiently the others waited. To ask him to translate as the conversation went on they knew would merely result in failure; his English was too limited and his brain too slow for that.
“Might let him talk back,” suggested Rawlins in a whisper. “He could put up a yarn about escaping and find out where they are.”
Mr. Pauling shook his head. “You don’t know the men you’re dealing with,” he said. “They probably know all about his escape and his acts in New York and a word from him would simply forewarn them. I had the sending set cut off the moment I came in—I’m not risking any chance of being heard.”
A moment later, Smernoff slowly swung his big body around and with a savage glint in his eyes took the receivers from his ears and rose.
“They been done,” he announced. “No more talk. Me, I hear heem say he been try keel me, me, Alexis Smernoff. Ha! Heem teenk he get me, eh? Me, I make keel heem mos’ likely. Heem say me, I what you say—geef double cross—Ah! heem Bolsheviki keel mine boy, mine girl, mine wife. Ah! me, I help the gentlemen.”
“Yes, yes, we know all that, Smernoff!” cried Mr. Henderson impatiently, “but what else did they say? Where are they?”
The Russian spread his palms and shrugged his shoulders expressively.
“Heem no say notting more,” he declared. “Me, I no know where heem be. Heem make to talk from boat, heem talk from how you call it—boat same like thees fellow.”
“From a submarine?” cried Mr. Pauling.
“Sure, that eet,” replied Smernoff. “Sutmavine you call heem? Ah, he same like thees only more beeg.”
“Then they have got another sub!” exclaimed Rawlins. “I knew it! Darn it all, why didn’t we get him here first thing? We might have got wise to where they are.”
“Possibly,” agreed Mr. Pauling, “but I doubt it. They would not be likely to give away any secrets.”
“Now see here, Smernoff!” cried Mr. Henderson sharply. “You want to be free—you want to go to Russia. Well, you tell us where we’ll find this crowd and I’ll get you a pardon, see? Now out with it! Where does the crowd hang out—where do they stay? Not the chief—I don’t believe you know that—but where do they keep that submarine and where did you live?”
Smernoff listened, a perplexed frown on his low forehead.
“Me, I no know,” he replied. “Leetle islan’; Me, I no know hees name. He near one beeg place, one place me, I hear heem say call what you call heem Sam Dora—San Dom—me, I forget heem.”
“Santo Domingo!” shouted Rawlins. “Was that it, Smernoff?”
The Russian’s eyes lit up. “Sure!” he replied “That eet. Me I hear those fellow say beeg islan’ San Dom—San Dom’go.”
“I’ll say that’s a tip!” cried Rawlins, his face fairly beaming. “Hitches right onto the schooner left at the Caicos too. They’re almost due north of Santo Domingo and I’ll bet it’s one of those cays. Come on, let’s beat it.”
Ten minutes later the cay was a rapidly fading patch of green behind them and at her top speed the submarine tore through the smooth sea with her bow pointed for the Caicos Islands.
But before they reached their goal their hopes were dashed, for through the air from an invisible destroyer lurking below the horizon came a long cypher message from Disbrow which, when decoded, informed those upon the submarine that the deserted schooner had disappeared—vanished as mysteriously and completely as had her crew, and that a careful search of the islands had failed to reveal a sign of her or of the missing men.
“Well, that’s that,” said Rawlins, when Mr. Pauling told him of the message, “but there’s a bunch of cays and islands down there. I’ll bet Commander Disbrow didn’t hunt every one. I’m for getting down in there anyway. Maybe we can get their talk again.”
There seemed no better plan and so, giving Disbrow their position and course, they continued on their way, passing the Caicos low down on the horizon and making for the remote, uninhabited, outlying cays. In the hopes of again picking up the Russian conversation the resonance coil had been fixed on the superstructure and a man was detailed to slowly swing it back and forth through a wide arc, while below, one of the boys was constantly at the receivers with Bancroft at the regular equipment listening for messages from the destroyer or any other source.
Land was in sight ahead—low-lying, surf-beaten cays on the fringe of the Bahamas—when once more Tom heard the rough gutturals in his ears. Instantly he summoned Smernoff and with the signal bell, which had been arranged, notified the man at the resonance coil to hold it steady. Mr. Pauling, Mr. Henderson and Rawlins appeared at the same instant as the Russian and all waited breathlessly as the big fellow seated himself at the instruments. But only a few words came to him in the tongue of his native land and they were meaningless to him. Mere numbers, but which, after he had repeated them several times and his hearers were convinced he had made no mistake, caused the others to glance at one another and to retire behind closed doors the moment the Russian was out of sight. In the meantime Rawlins had hurried on deck and had asked the man at the coil for the direction in which it had pointed when the bell had sounded.
“Southeast by south one-quarter south, Sir,” he replied.
“Well, they’re not on those cays!” Rawlins announced as he joined the others. “The coil was pointing southeast by south one-quarter south and the cays are just about due south by east. What did you make of those numbers?”
“Latitude and longitude, I should say,” replied Mr. Pauling. “If so, where would they bring it?”
Rawlins left and returned a moment later with a chart. Spreading it on the table he ran his parallel ruler over it.
“If they are latitude and longitude they’re not anywhere within five hundred miles,” he declared, “and,” he continued, “I don’t believe they were latitude and longitude. One was X 3568 and the other 46 B 15. Whichever way you take it that would be way outside of the West Indies and I’ll bet my best hat to a stale doughnut that they’re some cypher numbers. By the jumping Jupiter! I have it! That’s the way the Hun planes used to signal their gunners to direct their fire! Those fellows on that sub are directing some one to somewhere. Yes, sir, and I’ll make another guess and that is they’re onto us and are breaking for headquarters as fast as they can beat it. Likely as not those numbers refer to us. I’ll say that’s it! We never heard a peep from them till we began testing that radio under water. Shouldn’t wonder if they were lying low not far off and heard us.”
“You may be right,” agreed Mr. Pauling. “But it’s all guesswork. Of course we did not hear them before as we had not set up the instruments and had not used the resonance coil. But tell me, Henderson, how is it we get them on that and don’t get them on the regular instruments?”
“Too weak for the latter,” replied the other, “you forget the boys are using three stages of amplification and those crystals. But if that detector is right we should be able to hear that other sub if she’s near. Are there any cays southeast by south one-quarter south, Rawlins?”
“Not this side of Haiti or Santo Domingo, but Smernoff said they were talking from a sub so that don’t count.”
“H-m-m,” muttered Mr. Henderson. “Rather like searching for a needle in a haystack. For all we know they may not be headed for their hiding place.”
“No, they may not,” admitted Mr. Pauling, “but I think Rawlins is right in that part of his surmise. If the submarine picked up the schooner’s crew as we assume, then they would naturally go direct to headquarters to report. If they continue to talk there is no reason why we should not trail them and eventually run them down.”
“Well I’m going to pump that Smernoff,” declared Rawlins. “I’ll bet he can tell us something. Not that I think he’s lying, but he’s just naturally thick as mud and he doesn’t get all we say to him. He must be able to tell something about the island if he lived there, and if he does I may be able to recognize it from his description.”
“Well, good luck, Rawlins,” laughed Mr. Henderson as the diver hurried aft. “Sorry you can’t talk Russian.”
But when, an hour later, Rawlins reappeared the others knew instantly by the expression on his face that he had learned something of value.
“I’ll say he knew something!” cried Rawlins gleefully. “Had the deuce of a job getting at it—couldn’t seem to make him understand, but got it little by little. He says the island was about a mile long and half a mile wide, that it was high and rocky in the middle, that one of the landmarks was a big turtle-shaped rock standing out of water just off a point and that the men lived in rooms or barracks which were cut in the solid rock.”
“That’s all very interesting—if true,” said Mr. Pauling, “but how does it help? There are probably a thousand islands of that size with similar high rocky centers and turtle-shaped, undercut rocks off their points. Why, the description might do just as well for New Providence.”
“Yes, except for one thing,” replied Rawlins, “and that of course was the last thing I got out of the old duck. Probably thought it wasn’t worth mentioning.”
“Well, out with it! What was it?” demanded Mr. Henderson.
“Rather I should have said two things,” Rawlins answered. “The first was the fact that there were rooms cut out of the rock and stairways cut from the rock leading up to an old fort or wall also cut from the solid rock. The second was that the place was inhabited by a sort of giant rat and that the men caught and ate them.”
“Might have been China!” laughed Mr. Pauling.
“Yes,” agreed Rawlins, “but it’s not. I know the place as well as I do my own island back in the Bahamas. There’s only one island in the West Indies that it could be. There aren’t many with ruins of forts cut from solid rock. I don’t know of another that has them and a turtle-shaped rock off the point, and I can swear there’s not another that has both those and the big rats as he calls them—the Jutias—and that’s a little island off Santo Domingo known as Trade Wind Cay.”
“Jove!” exclaimed Mr. Henderson. “Are you sure of that?”
“I’ll stake my life on it,” replied Rawlins soberly. “I’ll bet, if we head for Trade Wind Cay, we’ll find their hang-out. And here’s another bet—or hunch, or whatever you want to call it. Smernoff says it never took over a day for the sub to go to the chief’s place and return. Now there’s no blamed bit of land within half a day’s run of that cay except Santo Domingo and it’s dollars to brass tacks the old High-Muck-a-Muck hangs out there. Mighty good place too—lot of it wild and uninhabited, plenty of caves, fine hidden harbors and bush everywhere.”
“Rawlins you should be in the Service!” declared Mr. Pauling enthusiastically. “You’ve the imagination, the perseverance, the energy and the logic. I believe you’re right. I’m with you for Trade Wind Cay.”
“Well I had a sort of an idea I was in the Service, just at present,” laughed Rawlins, “and if the old sub don’t bust or run aground or shake herself to pieces we’ll be within sight of that cay inside of three days.”
No further messages were heard that day and all through the night they kept steadily on. The last bit of land had dropped from sight and far off on the southern horizon a faint misty cloud hung which Rawlins and Sam both insisted was the higher mountain tops of Haiti or Santo Domingo. Then, just before noon, the man in the conning tower called down the speaking tube to those below.
“Sail ahead!” he announced. “Looks like a schooner and about three points off our port bow.”
Ordinarily the sighting of a schooner would have caused no interest or excitement and would merely have called for submergence until out of sight, but with the knowledge that the mysterious submarine was somewhere in the surrounding waters and remembering the strange disappearance of the schooner reported by Disbrow, those on board the submarine hurried on deck to have a look.
“It’s a schooner all right,” declared Rawlins, after studying it through his glasses, “and it fits the description of the one that Disbrow lost to a ‘T.’ Shall we run over and have a look at her?”
“I suppose it would be wise,” agreed Mr. Pauling, “but how about being seen? I think we had better submerge and watch her through the periscope. If it’s another schooner we can get away without being seen—I doubt if these West Indians would notice a periscope—and if itisthe schooner we want, we can either run alongside and board her or else keep watch at a safe distance and perhaps secure valuable information as to her objective.”
A few moments later only the submarine’s periscope was visible above the sea, and below, Rawlins, Mr. Pauling and the navigating officer kept their eyes glued to the eye-pieces. Now the schooner was plainly visible, even from the low elevation of the periscope, and as they drew ever nearer Rawlins noticed something peculiar about her. Although she had all lower sails spread they were drawing but little in the light wind and yet she was moving at a fairly good speed.
“I’ll be hanged!” Rawlins suddenly exclaimed. “She’s being towed!”
“Being towed?” repeated Mr. Pauling. “There’s nothing towing her.”
“Nothing!” almost shouted the diver. “Nothing! By all that’s holy she’s being towed by a submarine!”
“Yes, Sir; that’s what she is, Sir,” responded the navigator in matter-of-fact tones. “Shall we put a shot across her bows, Sir?”
Mr. Pauling burst out laughing despite the excitement and surprise of their discovery. “This is not wartime,” he replied. “We’d get into no end of trouble by such methods. That schooner is flying the British flag and for all we know to the contrary is an honest vessel in distress being towed by one of our own submarines.”
“What the deuce is up now!” interrupted Rawlins. “Look there! She’s stopped! Say, yes, darned if she isn’t. Jumping jiminy, the sub’s cut loose!”
“She’s no longer moving,” admitted Mr. Henderson. “Perhaps they’re waiting for us.”
“No, the sub’s gone!” declared Rawlins. “Don’t you think so, Quartermaster?”
The quartermaster, a grizzled but husky old sea dog, gazed silently for a minute.
“Yes, Sir,” he replied, “she seems to has, Sir. Sorry we couldn’t have bumped her, Sir.”
By now the schooner was close at hand and Rawlins was on the point of suggesting that they should run alongside and board her when Frank shouted that there was a queer noise in the receivers.
“It sounds like a hard wind or an electric fan,” he cried. “Come on and listen. What do you suppose it is?”
“The sub’s screw!” replied Rawlins. “I’ll bet she’s hustling. Shall we board that schooner?”
“Better,” replied Mr. Pauling, and orders were at once given to emerge. As the submarine, her decks awash, approached the schooner, those upon the under-sea boat’s superstructure gazed curiously at the craft they had overhauled. That she was the missing schooner they had sought all were sure, for she fitted the descriptions perfectly and the fact that she had been towed by a submarine was still further evidence. They were now within a few hundred yards and yet not a soul had appeared upon the schooner’s decks.
“Darned if she isn’t deserted again!” exclaimed Rawlins. “I’ll——”
At that instant the schooner’s masts seemed to spring into the air; a burst of flames and smoke shot from her decks, there was a terrific detonation and as the submarine rolled, pitched and rocked to the force of the explosion those upon her clutched wildly for support while all about fell bits of torn and shattered rigging, spars and canvas. Scared and white-faced those upon the submarine stared at one another, steadying themselves with their grasp of the handrails, soaked to the waist by the great waves that had washed over the half-submerged craft and speechless with the surprise and shock of the explosion. Only bits of wreckage marked the schooner. She had been blown to atoms.
Rawlins was the first to recover from the shock. “I’ll say that was a close shave!” he cried. “The dirty skunks! Missed us though and a miss is as good as a mile.”
Then, before any one had time to speak, he sprang towards the open hatchway. “Quick!” he shouted, as he leaped down the ladder. “Down below! Everybody! Hurry!”
Without stopping to question and only realizing that he must have good reasons for his orders, the others rushed after him and scarcely was the last one at the foot of the stairs when the hatch slid into place, men sprang to levers and wheels and the submarine was diving.
“Jiminy!” exclaimed Tom. “What on earth’s the matter? What do you mean by saying they missed us and then hustling us down below?”
“Don’t you understand?” snapped Rawlins. “It’s clear as glass. They tried to get us—knew we or the destroyer were trailing them and towed that schooner along as bait. Had it loaded with explosives and figured on touching them off when we or the destroyer sighted her and ran alongside. But they failed by about a minute. Probably timed the blamed infernal machine for the destroyer and didn’t allow for our speed—darned lucky for us! I don’t wonder they cleared out as fast as they could leg it.”
“Then if we’d been nearer we’d have been sunk!” cried Frank.
“Sunk!” exclaimed Rawlins. “Sunk! Why we’d have been blown to bits! But by crickey we’ll fool ’em and give 'em the jolt of their lives! Get busy with that detector, boys, and see if we can hear her screw again.”
The two boys sprang to their instruments and clapped the receivers to their ears.
“But what do you mean about surprising them?” asked Tom, still confused and puzzled.
“Why they’re down at the bottom now waiting, but they’ll be up having a look around to see if they made a good job of us,” explained Rawlins, “and while they’re squinting at the water and patting themselves on the back for their cleverness we’ll just bob up alongside.”
“But they may run into us,” objected Frank. “If they’re moving around down here, and they’ll heat our screws too.”
“Don’t you worry, son,” replied Rawlins. “We’re on hard bottom ten fathoms deep and quiet as a mouse and they’ll be on the surface looking for oil or wreckage. And by glory I’ll bump ’em, as the quarter-master says—that is, if I may, Mr. Pauling.”
“H-m-m,” muttered Mr. Pauling. “I don’t think they’re worthy of any consideration. They evidently tried to destroy us and are no better than pirates. I guess we’ll be perfectly safe in firing on them if necessary. But don’t sink them first thing, Rawlins. Put a shot over them—close enough to let them know we mean business. They can give us valuable information if we capture them, but dead men don’t talk.”
“You bet I’ll show ’em we mean business!” declared Rawlins. “I handled a gun and crew during the war and I bet my bottom dollar I can slam a shell so close to ’em it will take their hats off without rumpling their hair.”
“Oh, I hear that whirring again!” cried Frank excitedly.
“Me too!” added Tom.
Bancroft grabbed the receivers and put them on. For an instant he listened attentively and to his ears came the steady unmistakable swishing whir of a vessel’s screw, the sound Frank had so aptly compared to a heavy wind.
“She’s a-coming!” announced the operator. “Not far off, either!”
Rawlins sprang to the periscope and glued his eye to it, swinging it around throughout the entire arc of its movement.
“Now they’re closer!” cried Bancroft. Then a moment later: “Going off again! Sounds as if they’re circling!”
“I see ’em!” shouted Rawlins. “At least, I see their shadow. Yep—they’re circling. All ready! Stand by! Did you squirt that oil, Quartermaster?”
“Aye, aye, Sir,” replied the sailor. “Ready to emerge, Sir?”
“Gosh!” exclaimed Tom, to whom a new thought had just occurred. “Perhaps they’ll drop a depth bomb!”
“Thunderation!” cried Rawlins, “I hadn’t thought of that! Don’t believe they’ve got one though and it would be too risky to themselves. We’re going up now. All ready for the surprise party!”
Then followed quick, sharp orders, men scurried about, levers were pulled and control wheels whirled while Rawlins stood with his eyes at the periscope and the quartermaster gazed fixedly at the dial of the depth indicator.
“Two fathoms, Sir!” he announced calmly.
“Periscope’s up!” cried Rawlins. “I see her—off to starboard! All ready? Come on!”
At his last word he had bounded to the ladder with his men at his heels, the hatch slid open and onto the deck they poured with the two boys, Mr. Pauling and Mr. Henderson bringing up the rear.
A few hundred yards away a large submarine was floating, her upper works high above the smooth sea with a number of men gazing intently at the water from her decks.
The next instant they caught sight of the craft they had thought sunk and were as surprised, dumbfounded and amazed as if they had seen a ghost. Loud shouts and cries came clearly across the water from them, they ran hither and thither, confused, getting in one another’s way and utterly at a loss to know what to do.
Before they could make a move, Rawlins and his crew had reached the gun, a shell was slipped into the breech, Rawlins spun the controls, the wicked-looking black barrel swung towards the enemy craft. The next instant there was a blinding flash, a puff of smoke, a deafening report and the wireless mast of the other submarine and the rails of the conning tower vanished as if by magic, while a few yards beyond her a great column of water leaped high in air.
“I’ll say I bumped ’em!” fairly screamed Rawlins, as he spun open the breech of his gun and a second shell was slipped in.
At this totally unexpected turn of events the men upon the enemy submarine became panic-stricken. Some flung themselves flat upon the decks, others plunged headlong down the hatch, and still others huddled behind the rails and super-structure.
“Surrender or we’ll sink you!” shouted Mr. Henderson who had grabbed up a megaphone.
As if in reply, there was a puff of smoke from the conning tower of the other vessel, a shrill whistle in the air and a bullet spatted spitefully against the steel plates within six inches of Mr. Henderson’s head.
Rawlins waited for no further orders. Again came the flash and roar of his gun and in a burst of flame the entire top of the other’s conning tower disappeared.
“Hurrah!” shouted the boys fairly dancing about, so excited and thrilled that they did not realize their danger. “Hurrah! That’ll teach ’em!”
At this instant, Frank caught sight of a strange thing—a slender line of white moving swiftly through the blue water from the injured submarine and headed directly towards where he stood.
“Jimmy!” he yelled. “What’s that? Look, coming right towards us! Looks like a big fish!”
The others glanced towards the spot indicated. “It’s a torpedo!” cried Mr. Pauling. “Back her! Full speed astern! Quick or we’ll all be killed!”
But it was too late. The engines had been stopped, the crew were on deck and long before they could start the motors and get under way the awful death dealing torpedo would be upon them and all would be over. It was traveling at a terrific speed and the white, foaming trail of its wake was plainly visible. Barely 500 feet lay between those on the submarine and instant death.
They were helpless, numbed, frozen with horror. Utterly unable to move, powerless to escape they stood there, the boys clinging to Mr. Pauling, the men with set faces, gritted teeth and grim eyes watching the oncoming, inevitable death.
But Rawlins had spied the torpedo as soon as Frank. With feverish haste he had loaded his gun; like a madman he swung it and depressed the barrel all unnoticed by those who were watching the oncoming torpedo and were hoping against hope, praying with heart and soul that by some miracle, some chance, it might miss, might fail to explode.
And as they prayed the miracle happened. A flash, a roar and where, an instant before, the torpedo had been, a huge column of water and foam sprung like a gigantic geyser high in air. There was terrific detonation, a concussion that threw the boys flat upon the deck, a shower of spray and as the submarine rocked, reeled and plunged to the waves the white-faced boys rose trembling and shaken to their feet. They were saved! Rawlins’ skill had won, his well-aimed shot had been the answer to their prayers!
But Rawlins seemed suddenly to have gone mad. He was leaping, dancing and shouting.
“Darn their hides!” he screamed. “They got away! They’ve submerged! By glory if I’d only had another shot at ’em!”
It was true. Where the other submarine had been the water stretched unbroken, unruffled even by a periscope.
“Get down below!” ordered Rawlins racing towards the group upon the deck. “They may fire another torpedo or ram us! It’s risky up here!”
Pellmell after him the others pushed down the ladder and an instant later the submarine was once more under the sea while Rawlins swung the periscope about and Bancroft listened at the detector.
“I’m getting them,” he announced presently, “but pretty well off. Yes, getting fainter all the time. Expect they’re only too glad to get away.”
“Oh, hang the luck!” cried Rawlins flinging down his cap. “Why didn’t I shoot a bit lower and disable ’em!”
“Why, man, you saved us!” cried Mr. Pauling, grasping Rawlins’ hand and patting him on the shoulder. “You made a wonderful hit! Absolutely marvelous! Aren’t you satisfied with that?”
“We owe you our lives,” put in Mr. Henderson. “It was the finest thing I’ve ever seen—wonderful marksmanship, Rawlins.”
Rawlins flushed. “Oh, shucks!” he exclaimed. “Didn’t I save my own hide too? More luck than anything else. A fellow has to depend a heap on luck in my business, you know.”
“Well all the luck in the world without a clear head, quick mind, steady hands and a true eye wouldn’t have helped in that case,” declared Mr. Pauling. “I certainly thank Heaven for our escape—whether through luck or expert gunnery, my boy.”
“Yes, but we might have got those dirty Huns at the same time,” lamented Rawlins. “If I hadn’t been so all-fired afraid of sinking them and had shot a mite lower.”
“Don’t you suppose you did sink them?” asked Mr. Henderson. “I shouldn’t think they could maneuver with their superstructure and conning tower smashed.”
“No, they got away all right,” replied Rawlins. “Didn’t we just hear them—and they’re beating us even with a shell through their upper works, As long as the hatches and bulkheads weren’t hit they’d be all right, of course they’re running blind, my shot carried away their periscope—that is, unless they’ve got another one—but as long as it’s open sea and they know their course that’s safe enough. Of course they’ll come up pretty soon—as soon as they’re well out of range of our gun; but I’ll bet we don’t sight them again. Guess we might as well go up to the top. No use ambling along down here. We’d better hike it to Trade Wind Cay.”
As Rawlins had foreseen, they did not catch a glimpse of the other submarine and very soon the faint whir of her screws was lost. It was evident that even in her partly disabled condition she was a much faster craft than their own and Rawlins declared that he believed her one of the very latest types that were launched just before the close of the war and very few of which actually left German harbors.
“Funny she didn’t carry a gun,” commented Mr. Henderson, “and lucky she didn’t for us.”
“She did,” replied Rawlins. “Disappearing gun, but they were either too rattled or too surprised to use it. Probably thought it easier and safer to sneak that torpedo at us. I’ll say they were some surprised when it didn’t hit!”
“Begging your pardon, Sir, they never knowed it didn’t hit, Sir,” remarked the quartermaster. “They was all below when they fired it, Sir, and were just awash when you exploded it. I was a-noticin’ of that, Sir.”
Rawlins slapped his thigh and let out an exultant shout. “By crickey, then we may get ’em yet!” he exclaimed. “If they think the torpedo got us they’ll make straight for their hang-out and think we’re done for. I was afraid they’d keep off and not show up.”
Throughout that day nothing occurred. A message was sent to Disbrow giving him their course and the position of the Cay and the submarine kept steadily on her way. Early on the second morning a faint blur showed upon the horizon ahead and after studying it through his glasses Rawlins announced that it was Trade Wind Cay.
“Guess we’d better submerge,” he said. “If they’re there they’ll spot us mighty quick and when we get closer we’ll even get our periscope down. No use of taking any chances. Smernoff says they used to sink to the bottom off the coast and let the men walk ashore, so we can play that same game—only in a different place. But we’ll have to keep the men on board ready to come up the minute we need ’em. If there’s a big bunch on the Cay there’s no use in tackling them single-handed.”
“Yes, that’s the best plan,” agreed Mr. Pauling, “but there’s one matter we must bear in mind. Whoever goes ashore to scout must be able to communicate with those aboard here. If we use radio the others will also hear it and be suspicious—we have every reason to think they already know we are, or rather were, following them and we must not count too much on their thinking they sunk us. How can we arrange that? Have you any suggestion, Henderson?”
“Have to arrange some sort of signal, I suppose,” replied Mr. Henderson. “Possibly by means of these submarine detectors. I imagine that a bell could be fixed to ring under water so we could hear it.”
“I’ve a better scheme than that,” declared Tom. “Wired wireless.”
“Wired wireless?” exclaimed his father. “How can you wire wireless and what’s the idea?”
“Why, you just run a copper wire under water and attach the radio sets at the ends,” explained Tom, “Then you can talk back and forth and no one else can hear you.”
Mr. Pauling laughed. “Don’t you know that the electricity will run off in the water, Son?” he asked. “Water’s a conductor of electricity and even the cables have to be heavily insulated in order to carry the current.”
“Well, this is different,” insisted Tom. “The electricity doesn’t run through the water, it’s just the radio or electromagnetic waves and they follow the wire and don’t get lost.”
“Who put all that nonsense into your head?” demanded Mr. Pauling. “Radio is a wonderful science, I’ll admit, but that’s a little too fishy.”
“Well, General Squiers did it—across the Potomac and used it during the war,” declared Tom, “so it must be so. It was in that same article that told about the resonance coils.”
“It’s quite true, Pauling,” Mr. Henderson assured him. “Itdoessound ridiculous, I’ll admit, but radio and the modern theory of electrons is upsetting all our old-fashioned ideas and Squiers proved conclusively that radio waveswillfollow a bare copper wire under water. They’ll even go around corners or turns with it—not only under water, but under ground. It was one of those lucky discoveries that helped win the war, too. If General Squiers hadn’t discovered it we would have been in a pretty fix. There was not one-thousandth enough insulated wire on hand and we needed hundreds of times more than all the factories together could supply. There was plenty of wire, but not enough machines for insulating it. We were right up against it when Squiers got his hunch and found it worked. And just as Tom says, no one except those with the instruments at the ends of the line can pick up the messages—a big advantage over wireless or ordinary telegraph or telephone messages.”
“All right,” laughed Mr. Pauling, “I give in. Another miracle added to the long list of radio magic. I’ll believe almost anything now. Go ahead, Tom, you’re the radio boss, you know. Get your wired wireless ready and we’ll soon see how it works.”
The submarine was now submerged, but with the periscope out, and each minute the Cay was becoming plainer and plainer.
“If those chaps are there, won’t they hear our screws and clear out?” Mr. Henderson asked. “I suppose they’ll have a detector on their boat or ashore.”
“I don’t see how we can avoid that,” declared Mr. Pauling. “It’s one of the chances we’ll have to take. I wish——”
“No, they won’t hear!” interrupted Rawlins. “I’d been worrying over that myself, but luck’s with us again to-day. There’s a tramp steamer over yonder—heading the same way we are and with her screw thrashing the water like a dying whale. These laddies we’re after ’ll never be able to pick up the sound of our little wheel. I’m going to edge over towards the tramp a bit so as to make it still safer.”
“Jove, that is luck!” exclaimed Mr. Henderson. “I only hope our luck holds and we find our friends at home.”
It was soon evident that the tramp steamer would pass close to the island and that the submarine could hold her course and yet be within half a mile of the tramp as she slipped by the Cay which both were rapidly approaching.
“Better let Smernoff have a look and see if he knows the place,” suggested Mr. Henderson. “Perhaps he can even pick out the location of the houses and where the men land.”
“All right, have him come right up then,” said Rawlins. “I’ll have to drop down and get the periscope under water in a minute; we’re getting too close to the island and that tramp to risk being seen.”
Presently the Russian arrived and bending his huge shoulders peered into the eye-piece of the periscope.
“Sure, that heem,” he announced in broken English, and then pointed out a row of coconut palms on the western end of the Cay which he said was the spot where the men landed, and indicated a hill just to the left which he declared was where the men had dwelt in the old stone rooms.