CHAPTER XII.
MR. IRONSIDES' SUBMARINE—HURON.
"Who are you, anyhow?" shouted the professor, peering forward into the darkness that lay about them. There was no light ahead or in any other direction to indicate the location of the craft that had hit them.
"Ya-as, sah, dawggone yo' alls!" bellowed Rosewater aggressively, "who am you? Das wha' we wan' ter be infummed upon."
"Hope I haven't injured you," came a pleasant voice once more, "I'm awfully sorry. But as I was coming up—
"Coming up?" exclaimed Tom, who had by this time rejoined the party on the bridge, having stopped the engine, "coming up? What do you mean?"
"Why, what I say. As I was coming up from the bottom of the lake I——"
"Say, have we collided with a floating lunatic asylum?" howled Jeff.
"Well," came back the amused voice, "folks have said I was crazy, but I guess my trial trip will show that there was some method in my madness. The submarine Huron is as complete a success as I could wish. And——"
"A submarine!" yelled Jeff. "Howling mud-turtles! We've hit a submarine!"
"I'm afraid it was I who hit you," came back the voice out of the darkness. "I find one of my top plates is dented, and——"
"Fo! de lub ob goodness! De cabin am full ob water!"
Rosewater, who had been making an investigation, came flying to the bridge.
"Good gracious, that means we are leaking badly," cried Tom, "what will happen next on this unlucky cruise! Jeff, wait here. I'm off to see."
Tom found, as Rosewater had said, that there was indeed water in the cabin,—about a foot of it. It seemed to be gaining fast. But, after a rapid survey of the situation, Tom became convinced that the leak was in the bow, and that the water was running aft because of the lower situation of that part of his craft.
This conclusion reached, he hastened on deck. By this time he found that the mysterious submarine, of which they had not yet had a view, was alongside. Her skipper, who had explained that his name was Obadiah Ironsides, was shouting something up to Jeff just as Tom appeared on the scene.
"There's a big, jagged hole in your bow."
Tom peered over and speedily saw that this was so.
"Get canvas and place over the hole," shouted up Obadiah Ironsides, who seemed to know just what to do. "I can fix it in position from down here. My ventilating pipes must have ripped that hole. Yes, I see now they are bent."
His voice held a note of genuine regret, which every one on board the Sea Ranger was by far too busy to notice, however. Under Tom's leadership, some spare sails, for use on the craft's auxiliary masts, were hastily thrown over the side. The suction of the water drew them into the hole, stopping it temporarily. But the Sea Ranger was low in the water, and it was plain that she could not proceed on her voyage without repairs being made. These might prove to be a lengthy operation.
Tom was almost in despair.
"For this accident to happen at this time above all others!" he cried bitterly.
"I don't mind telling you," came Obadiah's voice out of the darkness overside, "that if you had kept on your course you'd have been wrecked anyhow. A big ridge of rocks lies about a mile ahead of you. How did you come to be way off here out of the course of ships going through the Straits?"
"We didn't know we were off our course," explained Tom. "We were in pursuit of a band of rascals. Night overtook us, but we risked keeping on, for it was urgent that we should not get too far behind them."
"What's this? What's this?" came Obadiah's voice. "My dear young man, I'm sorry indeed that I was the cause of stopping you, although, as I said, disaster must have overtaken you if you had kept on."
"I suppose nothing is so bad that it mightn't be worse," muttered Jeff.
"Tell you what," came Obadiah's voice suddenly, "the town of Brownhaven, where I hail from, isn't far from here. You are not too damaged to proceed under your own power, are you?"
"I don't think so," rejoined Tom.
"Then this is my plan: I'll go ahead—on the surface, of course—showing a light to guide you. You can follow along and before two hours are over you'll be at a shipyard in Brownhaven, where I can promise you quick repairs. I'm safe in saying this, because I own the yard. In fact, I erected it to build my submarines, of which I hope to sell several to the government."
"It's a private yard, then?" said Tom.
"Yes; but, as the accident was my fault in a way, I feel that it is only fair for me to do your repairing free of charge."
"Good fo' yo', Mister Obadiah!" hailed the voice of Rosewater, "and git us asho' as quick as poss'bul, please, fo' ah is dyin' fo' a sight ob dat dar terrier firma."
A few minutes later, with a light showing from the submarine ahead, the crippled Sea Ranger began to crawl slowly along. It was a pitiful travesty of her former brisk pace, and Tom could almost have wept. However, there was really no one to blame, he felt, and this Obadiah Ironsides, whoever he was, appeared to be doing all he could to repair the mischief he had unwittingly done.
In spite of the submarine man's promise, it was considerably more than two hours before a row of scattered lights, which Tom presumed marked Brownhaven, came into view. The channel, too, was intricate, and altogether it was well past midnight when the Sea Ranger was anchored off a dry-dock, which Obadiah had fitted up in his boat yard.
"Now," said he, coming alongside in his craft, "if you fellows will come on board I'll take you ashore. I'll promise you that repair work will be begun the first thing in the morning. From what I could see of the injury it ought not to take more than a few hours."
The ship's company of the unfortunate Sea Ranger descended, by means of a sea ladder, to the submarine, whose outlines could only be seen dimly. As Tom's feet struck the deck plates of the strange craft, they gave out a hollow, metallic ring.
"Steel, with an aluminum alloy, which is my secret," said the inventor.
"But come below, gentlemen; come below. If this is your first visit to a submarine you may find much to interest you."
He led the way to a sort of helmet-shaped projection, pierced with eye-holes and screened with very thick glass, which stood amidships. He leaned down as he reached this, and pulled a lever. Instantly a door slid back with a clanging sound, and a stream of soft light poured up from below. As it fell on Obadiah Ironsides' face, Tom gave a cry of astonishment. He had not had a good view of the inventor before—the light by which they had followed the submarine not revealing his features fully.
Tom's exclamation, not in accord with true politeness, was called forth by the fact that Obadiah Ironsides, whose name and whose manner both would have led one to suppose him an aged man, was a mere youth. In fact, he didn't look much older than Tom. He wore a suit of some sort of black leather, like an automobilist's. His hair curled crisply above a high, white forehead, and his features, which were regular, although strong and rugged, were lit up by a pair of dancing blue eyes.
They danced more merrily than ever as he gazed at Tom's astonished face and the amazed looks of the rest of the "castaway crew."
"Thought Obadiah Ironsides was a regular old fogy, eh?" he laughed, "Well, he's not. Not a bit of it. But come below and see what you think of my little craft."
So saying, he plunged into the opening in the helmet-shaped conning tower, and was followed by the others. Inside the helmet was a steel stairway by which they descended into surroundings stranger than any of them had ever encountered.