The Wreck of the Titan - Morgan Robertson (electronic reader txt) 📗

was the simplest proposition of all. The whole apparatus—prisms, periscope, lenses, and the fluorescing screen—are made of rock crystal, which is permeable to the ultraviolet light. But common glass, of which spectacles are made, is opaque to it. That is why near-sighted men escaped the blindness."

"Then, unless the Japs are near-sighted, I expect an easy time when I go out."

But the admiral did not need to go out and fight. Those nine big battle-ships that Japan had struggled for years to obtain, and the auxiliary fleet of supply and repair ships to keep them in life and health away from home, caught on a lee shore in a hurricane against which the mighty Delaware could not steam to sea, piled up one by one on the sands below Fort Point; and, each with a white flag replacing the reversed ensign, surrendered to the transport or collier sent out to take off the survivors.

IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW

There are few facilities for cooking aboard submarine torpedo-boats, and that is why Lieutenant Ross ran his little submarine up alongside the flag-ship at noon, and made fast to the boat-boom—the horizontal spar extending from warships, to which the boats ride when in the water. And, as familiarity breeds contempt, after the first, tentative, trial, he had been content to let her hang by one of the small, fixed painters depending from the boom; for his boat was small, and the tide weak, bringing little strain on painter or boom. Besides, this plan was good, for it kept the submarine from bumping the side of the ship—and paint below the water-line is as valuable to a warship as paint above.

Thus moored, the little craft, with only her deck and conning-tower showing, rode lightly at the end of her tether, while Ross and his men—all but one, to watch—climbed aboard and ate their dinner.

Ross finished quickly, and sought the deck; for, on going down to the wardroom, he had seen among the visitors from shore the one girl in the world to him—the girl he had met at Newport, Washington, and New York, whom he wanted as he wanted life, but whom he had not asked for yet, because he had felt so sure of her.

And now this surety was jolted out of his consciousness; for she was there escorted by a man she had often described, and whom Ross recognized from the description—a tall, dark, "captainish"-looking fellow, with a large mustache; but who, far from being a captain or other kind of superman, was merely a photographer—yet a wealthy and successful photographer, whose work was unusual and artistic.

Ross, though an efficient naval officer, was anything but "captainish"; he was simply a clean-shaven, clean-cut young fellow, with a face that mirrored every emotion of his soul. Knowing this infirmity—if such it is—he resolutely put down the jealous thoughts that surged through his brain; and when the visitors, guests of the captain, reached the deck, he met them, and was introduced to Mr. Foster with as pleasant a face as the girl had ever seen.

Then, with the captain's permission, he invited them down to inspect his submarine. A plank from the lower grating of the gangway to the deck of the smaller craft was all that was needed, and along this they went, the girl ahead, supported by Mr. Foster, and Ross following, with a messenger boy from the bridge following him.

At the hatch, the girl paused and shrank back, for the wide-open eyes of the caretaker were looking up at her. Ross surmised this, and called to the man to come up and get his dinner; then, as the man passed him and stepped onto the plank, the messenger got his attention. The officer of the deck desired to speak with him, he said.

Ross explained the manner of descent, admonished his guests to touch nothing until he returned, and followed the messenger back to the officer of the deck. It was nothing of importance, simply a matter pertaining to the afternoon drill; and, somewhat annoyed, Ross returned. But he paused at the end of the plank; a loud voice from below halted him, and he did not care to interrupt. Nor did he care to go back, leaving them alone in a submarine.

"I mean it," Foster was saying vehemently. "I hope this boat does go to the bottom."

"Why, Mr. Foster!" cried the girl. "What a sentiment!"

"I tell you I mean it. You have made life unbearable."

"I make your life unbearable?"

"Yes, you, Irene. You know I have loved you from the beginning. And you have coquetted with me, played with me—as a cat plays with a mouse. When I have endeavored to escape, you have drawn me back by smiles and favor, and given me hope. Then it is coldness and disdain. I am tired of it."

"I am sorry, Mr. Foster, if anything in my attitude has caused such an impression. I have given you no special smiles or favors, no special coldness or disdain."

"But I love you. I want you. I cannot live without you."

"You lived a long time without me, before we met."

"Yes, before we met. Before I fell under the spell of your personality. You have hypnotized me, made yourself necessary to me. I am heartsick all the time, thinking of you."

"Then you must get over it, Mr. Foster. I must think of myself."

"Then you do not care for me, at all?"

"I do, but only as an acquaintance."

"Not even as a friend?"

"I do not like to answer such pointed questions, sir; but, since you ask, I will tell you. I do not like you, even as a friend. You demand so much. You are very selfish, never considering my feelings at all, and you often annoy me with your moods. Frankly, I am happier away from you."

"My moods!" Foster repeated, bitterly. "You cause my moods. But I know what the real trouble is. I was all right until Ross came along."

"You have no right, Mr. Foster," said the girl, angrily, "to bring Lieutenant Ross' name into this discussion."

"Oh, I understand. Do you think he can marry you on his pay?"

"Mr. Ross' pay would not influence him, nor me."

"Well, I'll tell you this"—and Foster's voice became a snarl—"you two won't be married. I'll see to it. I want you; and if I can't have you, no one else shall."

"Whew!" whistled Ross, softly, while he smiled sweetly, and danced a mental jig in the air. Then he danced a few steps of a real jig, to apprise them of his coming. "Time to end this," he said; then called out, cheerily: "Look out below," and entered the hatch.

"Got a bad habit," he said, as he descended, "of coming down this ladder by the run. Must break myself, before I break my neck. Well, how are you making out? Been looking around?"

The girl's face, pale but for two red spots in her cheeks, was turned away from him as he stepped off the ladder, and she trembled visibly. Foster, though flushed and scowling, made a better effort at self-control.

"Why, no, lieutenant," he said, with a sickly smile. "It is all strange and new to us. We were waiting for you. But I have become slightly interested in this—" He indicated a circular window, fixed in the steel side of the boat. "Isn't it a new feature in submarines?"

"Yes, it is," answered Ross. "But it has long been known that glass will stand a stress equal to that of steel, so they've given us deadlights. See the side of the ship out there? We can see objects about twenty feet away near the surface. Deeper down it is darker."

"And I suppose you see some interesting sights under water," pursued Foster, now recovered in poise.

"Yes, very interesting—and some very harrowing. I saw a man drowning not long ago. We were powerless to help him."

"Heavens, what a sight!" exclaimed Foster. "The expression on his face must have been tragic."

"Pitiful—the most pitiful I ever looked at. He seemed to be calling to us. Such agony and despair; but it did not last long."

"But while it did last—did you have a camera? What a chance for a photographer! That is my line, you know. Did ever a photographer get a chance to photograph the expression on the face of a drowning man? What a picture it would be?"

"Don't," said the girl, with a shudder. "For mercy's sake, do not speak of such things."

"I beg your pardon, Miss Fleming," said Ross, gently. "It was very tactless in me."

"And I, Miss Fleming," said Foster, with a bow, "was led away by professional enthusiasm. Please accept my apology, too. Still, lieutenant, I must say that I would like the chance."

"Sorry, Mr. Foster," answered Ross, coldly. "We do all sorts of things to men in the navy, but we don't drown them for the sake of their pictures. Suppose I show you around, for at two bells the men will be back from their dinner. Now, aft here, is the gasoline engine, which we use to propel the boat on the surface. We can't use it submerged, however, on account of the exhaust; so, for under-water work, we use a strong storage battery to work a motor. You see the motor back there, and under this deck is the storage battery—large jars of sulphuric acid and lead. It is a bad combination if salt water floods it."

"How? What happens?" asked Foster.

"Battery gas, or, in chemical terms, chlorine gas is formed. It is one of the most poisonous and suffocating of all gases. That is the real danger in submarine boats—suffocation from chlorine. It will remain so until we get a better form of motive power, liquid or compressed air, perhaps. And here"—Ross led them to a valve wheel amidships—"as though to invite such disaster, they've given us a sea cock."

"What's it for?" asked Foster.

"To sink the boat in case of fire. It's an inheritance from steamboats—pure precedent—and useless, for a submarine cannot catch fire. Why, a few turns of that wheel when in the awash trim would admit enough water in two minutes to sink the boat. I've applied for permission to abolish it."

"Two minutes, you say. Does it turn easy? Would it be possible to accidentally turn it?"

"Very easy, and very possible. I caution my men every day."

"And in case you do sink, and do not immediately suffocate, how do you rise?"

"By pumping out the water. There's a strong pump connected with that motor aft there, that will force out water against the pressure of the sea at fifty fathoms down. That is ten atmospheres—pretty hard pressure. But, if the motor gets wet, it is useless to work the pump; so, we can be satisfied that, if we sink by means of the sea cock, we stay sunk. There is a hand pump, to use on the surface with dead batteries, but it is useless at any great depth."

"What do you mean by the awash trim, lieutenant?" asked Foster, who was now looking out through the deadlight.

"The diving trim—that is, submerged all but the conning-tower. I'll show you, so that you can say that you have really been under water."

Ross turned a number of valves similar to the sea cock, and the girl's face took on a look of doubt and sudden apprehension.

"You are not going to sink the boat, are you, Mr. Ross?" she asked.

"Oh, no, just filling the tanks. When full, we still have three hundred pounds reserve buoyancy, and would have to go ahead and steer down. But we won't go ahead. Come forward, and I'll show you the torpedo-tube."

Foster remained, moodily staring through the deadlight, while the other two went forward. Ross noticed his abstraction, and, ascribing it to weariness of technical detail, did not press him to follow, and continued his lecture to Miss Fleming in a lower tone and in