CHAPTER XIII.
THE STRANGEST VESSEL ON THE LAKES.
The newcomers found themselves in a cylindrical-shaped chamber, possibly twenty feet long by twelve feet or so at its widest part. The rivet-studded walls showed that the structure was of metal, but comfortable leather-covered divans were placed along each side, inviting to rest and meditation. Obadiah Ironsides invited his guests to sit on these while he explained his craft.
After he had explained how it was driven by gasoline engines on the surface, and by electrical motors when under water, he conducted them into the engine room. Except for the electrical driving machinery it did not differ radically from that of the luckless Sea Ranger. A striking feature of the machinery, though, was the huge pumps for exhausting the "sinking tanks" of water when the operator of the craft wished to rise, and the appliances for supplying fresh air in quantities when submerged, by the expedient of sucking out the exhausted atmosphere.
"How long could you keep submerged?" inquired Tom.
"For two days, if necessary. I have accomplished that already. Possibly, at a pinch, that time might be lengthened considerably," was the response.
A visit to the forward compartment then followed. This was the space devoted to the torpedo discharging machinery, for, as Obadiah had explained, the primary purpose of the Huron was for warfare. And a formidable craft for that purpose she appeared to be. The interior of the conning tower was next inspected. It was a place of mysterious levers, and wheels of glittering brass and steel. Like the rest of the craft it was lighted by electricity.
On the walls were gauges to show submergence, speed, air-pressure and several others, which were far too technical in their purposes to explain here. A comfortable seat was provided for the steersman, who could control the unique steering apparatus by one hand by means of a lever, or, in case of necessity, by pedals—like those of an automobile. This left his hands free to attend to torpedo discharging and so on.
"In designing this craft," said Obadiah Ironsides, "it has been my aim to provide a craft that was of positively 'one-man control.' It was to try out how far this was feasible that I took my lone trip under the lake to-night."
"And did you find your craft handled all right?" inquired Tom.
"I did till I bumped your vessel on rising," said Obadiah Ironsides, with a whimsical grimace.
"Is it not possible to provide some sort of apparatus which will give you warning of the vicinity of other craft?" asked the professor, who had listened and observed with the deepest attention while this singular hermit of the underwater talked.
"It is," rejoined Mr. Ironsides; "in fact, I have been experimenting with one which is in readiness to be affixed to the Huron. It is similar in its workings to those used by Atlantic liners in feeling their way through a fog."
"Then your submarine is complete?" asked Tom.
"Yes. In two weeks' time I am going on a trip through the great lakes with her, and then I shall have her shipped to attend the government tests at Newport News."
"One question more," put in the professor, "you have chosen a very out-of-the-way place to conduct your experiments."
"For a very obvious reason," said Obadiah Ironsides, with one of his pleasant laughs, "you must know that every navy in the world is experimenting with submarines. They are, in conjunction with torpedo destroyers, the war vessel of the future. The Russo-Japanese war proved that. Now, then, the competition is naturally keen among inventors to produce the best type of submarine. Inventors, as a class, are a splendid, upright set of men; but, I regret to say, that all are not so. Some of them are unscrupulous to a degree. It was to escape the surveillance of spies of a rival submarine concern that I buried myself up here. And there you have it," he concluded with a laugh, "unless, indeed, you wish to know whence I get my funds?"
Tom and the professor held up their hands in protest.
"My dear sir," said the professor.
"Not at all," laughed Obadiah. "My father was the well-known maker of iridium steel. He amassed a fortune in its manufacture. I learned my business in his foundry. When he died he left me his large fortune, which I devoted to experimental work. My dear mother soon followed him to the grave, and then, having only my work left to live for, I plunged into it with a vengeance. Possibly my ample funds have helped me to go further than some inventors with more ability but less capital," he concluded modestly. "So," he broke off with a laugh, "there you have the autobiography of Obadiah Ironsides, at your service. And now, as it is late, and I'm sure you are tired, we will retire."
"Have you a boat to get ashore?" asked Tom, wondering when the resources of this wonderful craft would be exhausted.
"I have one. A water-tight craft bolted to the deck. She is reached by a trap in the ceiling of this cabin. But unless you insist upon going ashore I'll show you that feature of the Huron some other time. But to my mind, the order of the day—or, rather, night—is bed."
"Beds?" inquired Tom, looking about him as if he rather expected to see some spring from the floor of this wonderful craft.
The professor merely tried to look unamazed, as became his dignity, while Jeff and Rosewater were both frankly overcome and speechless by the wonders they had beheld.
"I haven't advanced quite as far as that yet," laughed Obadiah, noting Tom's glance at the floor, and reading it aright; "but those divans can be converted into very comfortable Pullman couches, and opposite the galley, which you recollect is between the engine room and this apartment, is a bathroom and shower, and all the fittings just as you would find it in a hotel."
"Say, is there anything left out on this wonderful craft?" gasped Tom in amazement.
"Yes, one thing," laughed Obadiah, "a contract with Uncle Sam!"
Levers and springs controlled the couches, which were reversible. On the underside, as they turned over, were discovered comfortable mattresses, snowy sheets and neat counterpanes. They lost no time in turning in, Tom having an indistinct recollection of hearing Rosewater murmur, as he sank off to sleep:
"Ef dis yar tea kittle sinks in de night ah don' cahr. Ah'se gwine ter sleep till dat Gabriel blows his horn."
It was broad daylight when Tom awoke. This fact was evidenced by the sunlight streaming cheerily through the open hatchway leading to the deck. An appetizing aroma of frizzling ham and eggs, and the added savor of hot coffee, filled the air. It proceeded from the galley where Obadiah had already set Rosewater to work.
Tom leaped up and made for the bathroom. He reveled in the shower, and, having aroused the professor and Jeff, he fell to his dressing with a feeling of renewed vigor. In daylight, even inside this steel shell, things looked much brighter than they had during the gloom and uncertainty of the night. He had hardly completed his dressing when Obadiah himself appeared, accompanied by an elderly man of benign appearance.
"This is Sam Wrenchly, my foreman," he explained. "He has looked over the damage to the Sea Ranger and informs me that it will take two days to repair her."
"Two days!"
Tom could not repress a groan. He sank down on the edge of the bunk and buried his head in his hands. What might not happen to his brother and his chum in two days? It was a crushing blow, and Tom could not be blamed for feeling "knocked out" for an instant.
Obadiah placed a hand kindly on the lad's shoulders.
"Come, cheer up, Tom," he said softly, "I have news for you. Sam here knows something of this Captain Rangler and his haunts."
Tom looked up, alert in an instant. The old man nodded his head sagely, and smiled under his gray beard.
"Yes, Rangler and I met many years ago," he said; "but I have occasionally heard of him since."
"And you think you know where he has taken my brother Jack and my chum Sandy?" asked Tom.
"I think so," said the old man calmly. "Did you ever hear tell of Castle Rock Island?”