CHAPTER XXI.
"THERE IS A WAY—I MEAN TO TRY IT."
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 the Huron, 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."
"There is a way, and I mean to try it," declared Tom. "Listen.”