CHAPTER XXIII.
BRAINS AND GRIT—A COMBINATION HARD TO BEAT.
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 the Huron. 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 the Huron and 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.
"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 the Huron.
"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 the Huron was 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 the Huron.
"Then brace yourselves for a dive," commanded the inventor.
A mighty, hissing sound ensued, as the tanks filled. The Huron dipped 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.”