Off for the Treasure
Suddenly Tom, after a moment’s
pause, seized a wrench and began loosening some nuts.
“What are you doing?”
asked his father faintly, for he was being weakened
by the vitiated atmosphere.
“I’m going to take this
valve apart,” replied his son. “We
haven’t looked there for the trouble. Maybe
it’s out of order.”
He attacked the valve with energy,
but his hands soon lagged. The lack of oxygen
was telling on him. He could no longer work quickly.
“I’ll help,” murmured
Mr. Sharp thickly. He took a wrench, but no sooner
had he loosened one nut than he toppled over.
“I’m all in,” he murmured feebly.
“Is he dead?” cried Mr. Damon, himself
gasping.
“No, only fainted. But
he soon will be dead, and so will all of us, if we
don’t get fresh air,” remarked Captain
Weston. “Lie down on the floor, every one.
There is a little fairly good air there. It’s
heavier than the air we’ve breathed, and we
can exist on it for a little longer. Poor Sharp
was so used to breathing the rarified air of high
altitudes that he can’t stand this heavy atmosphere.”
Mr. Damon was gasping worse than ever,
and so was Mr. Swift. The balloonist lay an inert
heap on the floor, with Captain Weston trying to force
a few drops of stimulant down his throat.
With a fierce determination in his
heart, but with fingers that almost refused to do
his bidding, Tom once more sought to open the big
valve. He felt sure the trouble was located there,
as they had tried to locate it in every other place
without avail.
“I’ll help,” said
Mr. Jackson in a whisper. He, too, was hardly
able to move.
More and more devoid of oxygen grew
the air. It gave Tom a sense as if his head was
filled, and ready to burst with every breath he drew.
Still he struggled to loosen the nuts. There
were but four more now, and he took off three while
Mr. Jackson removed one. The young inventor lifted
off the valve cover, though it felt like a ton weight
to him. He gave a glance inside.
“Here’s the trouble!”
he murmured. “The valve’s clogged.
No wonder it wouldn’t work. The pumps couldn’t
force the water out.”
It was the work of only a minute to
adjust the valve. Then Tom and the engineer managed
to get the cover back on.
How they inserted the bolts and screwed
the nuts in place they never could remember clearly
afterward, but they managed it somehow, with shaking,
trembling hands and eyes that grew more and more dim.
“Now start the pumps!”
cried Tom faintly. “The tanks will be emptied,
and we can get to the surface.”
Mr. Sharp was still unconscious, nor
was Mr. Swift able to help. He lay with his eyes
closed. Garret Jackson, however, managed to crawl
to the engine-room, and soon the clank of machinery
told Tom that the pumps were in motion. The lad
staggered to the pilot house and threw the levers over.
An instant later there was the hissing of water as
it rushed from the ballast tanks. The submarine
shivered, as though disliking to leave the bottom
of the sea, and then slowly rose. As the pumps
worked more rapidly, and the sea was sent from the
tank in great volumes, the boat fairly shot to the
surface. Tom was ready to open the conning tower
and let in fresh air as soon as the top was above
the surface.
With a bound the Advance reached the
top. Tom frantically worked the worm gear that
opened the tower. In rushed the fresh, life-giving
air, and the treasure-hunters filled their lungs with
it.
And it was only just in time, for
Mr. Sharp was almost gone. He quickly revived,
as did the others, when they could breathe as much
as they wished of the glorious oxygen.
“That was a close call,”
commented Mr. Swift. “We’ll not go
below again until I have provided for all emergencies.
I should have seen to the air tanks and the expanding
one before going below. We’ll sail home
on the surface now.”
The submarine was put about and headed
for her dock. On the way she passed a small steamer,
and the passengers looked down in wonder at the strange
craft.
When the Advance reached the secluded
creek where she had been launched, her passengers
had fully recovered from their terrible experience,
though the nerves of Mr. Swift and Mr. Damon were
not at ease for some days thereafter.
“I should never have made a
submerged test without making sure that we had a reserve
supply of air,” remarked the aged inventor.
“I will not be caught that way again. But
I can’t understand how the pump valve got out
of order.”
“Maybe some one tampered with
it,” suggested Mr. Damon. “Could
Andy Foger, any of the Happy Harry gang, or the rival
gold-seekers have done it?”
“I hardly think so,” answered
Tom. “The place has been too carefully
guarded since Berg and Andy once sneaked in. I
think it was just an accident, but I have thought of
a plan whereby such accidents can be avoided in the
future. It needs a simple device.”
“Better patent it,” suggested
Mr. Sharp with a smile.
“Maybe I will,” replied
the young inventor. “But not now.
We haven’t time, if we intend to get fitted out
for our trip.”
“No; I should say the sooner
we started the better,” remarked Captain Weston.
“That is, if you don’t mind me speaking
about it,” he added gently, and the others smiled,
for his diffident comments were only a matter of habit.
The first act of the adventurers,
after tying the submarine at the dock, was to proceed
with the loading of the food and supplies. Tom
and Mr. Damon looked to this, while Mr. Swift and
Mr. Sharp made some necessary changes to the machinery.
The next day the young inventor attached his device
to the pump valve, and the loading of the craft was
continued.
All was in readiness for the gold-seeking
expedition a week later. Captain Weston had carefully
charted the route they were to follow, and it was
decided to move along on the surface for the first
day, so as to get well out to sea before submerging
the craft. Then it would sink below the surface,
and run along under the water until the wreck was
reached, rising at times, as needed, to renew the air
supply.
With sufficient stores and provisions
aboard to last several months, if necessary, though
they did not expect to be gone more than sixty days
at most, the adventurers arose early one morning and
went down to the dock. Mr. Jackson was not to
accompany them. He did not care about a submarine
trip, he said, and Mr. Swift desired him to remain
at the seaside cottage and guard the shops, which
contained much valuable machinery. The airship
was also left there.
“Well, are we all ready?”
asked Mr. Swift of the little party of gold-seekers,
as they were about to enter the conning tower hatchway
of the submarine.
“All ready, dad,” responded his son.
“Then let’s get aboard,”
proposed Captain Weston. “But first let
me take an observation.”
He swept the horizon with his telescope,
and Tom noticed that the sailor kept it fixed on one
particular spot for some time.
“Did you see anything?” asked the lad.
“Well, there is a boat lying
off there,” was the answer. “And
some one is observing us through a glass. But
I don’t believe it matters. Probably they’re
only trying to see what sort of an odd fish we are.”
“All aboard, then,” ordered
Mr. Swift, and they went into the submarine.
Tom and his father, with Captain Weston, remained
in the conning tower. The signal was given, the
electricity flowed into the forward and aft plates,
and the Advance shot ahead on the surface.
The sailor raised his telescope once
more and peered through a window in the tower.
He uttered an exclamation.
“What’s the matter?” asked Tom.
“That other ship—a
small steamer—is weighing anchor and seems
to be heading this way,” was the reply.
“Maybe it’s some one hired
by Berg to follow us and trace our movements,”
suggested Tom.
“If it is we’ll fool them,”
added his father. “Just keep an eye on
them, captain, and I think we can show them a trick
or two in a few minutes.”
Faster shot the Advance through the
water. She had started on her way to get the
gold from the sunken wreck, but already enemies were
on the trail of the adventurers, for the ship the
sailor had noticed was steaming after them.