Tom Swift and His Submarine Boat - Howard R. Garis (classic novels for teens .TXT) 📗
- Author: Howard R. Garis
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Tom realized that this was the only thing to do. He ran forward and with a yank cut out all the electric wires. With a sigh of relief Mr. Sharp pulled his hands from the copper where he had been held fast as if by some powerful magnet, his muscles cramped by the current. Fortunately the electricity was of low voltage, and he was not burned. The body of Mr. Swift toppled backward from the dynamo, as Tom sprang to reach his father.
“He’s dead!” he cried, as he saw the pale face and the closed eyes.
“No, only badly shocked, I hope,” spoke Mr. Sharp. “But we must get him to the fresh air at once. Start the tank pumps. We’ll rise to the surface.”
The youth needed no second bidding. Once more turning on the electric current, he set the powerful pumps in motion and the submarine began to rise. Then, aided by Captain Weston and Mr. Damon, the young inventor carried his father to a couch in the main cabin. Mr. Sharp took charge of the machinery.
Restoratives were applied, and there was a flutter of the eyelids of the aged inventor.
“I think he’ll come around all right,” said the sailor kindly, as he saw Tom’s grief. “Fresh air will be the thing for him. We’ll be on the surface in a minute.”
Up shot the Advance, while Mr. Sharp stood ready to open the conning tower as soon as it should be out of water. Mr. Swift seemed to be rapidly reviving. With a bound the submarine, forced upward from the great depth, fairly shot out of the water. There was a clanking sound as the aeronaut opened the airtight door of the tower, and a breath of fresh air came in.
“Can you walk, dad, or shall we carry you?” asked Tom solicitously.
“Oh, I—I’m feeling better now,” was the inventor’s reply. “I’ll soon be all right when I get out on deck. My foot slipped as I was adjusting a wire that had gotten out of order, and I fell so that I received a large part of the current. I’m glad I was not burned. Was Mr. Sharp hurt? I saw him run to the switch, just before I lost consciousness.”
“No, I’m all right,” answered the balloonist. “But allow us to get you out to the fresh air. You’ll feel much better then.”
Mr. Swift managed to walk slowly to the ladder leading to the conning tower, and thence to the deck. The others followed him. As all emerged from the submarine they uttered a cry of astonishment.
There, not one hundred yards away, was a great warship, flying a flag which, in a moment. Tom recognized as that of Brazil. The cruiser was lying off a small island, and all about were small boats, filled with natives, who seemed to be bringing supplies from land to the ship. At the unexpected sight of the submarine, bobbing up from the bottom of the ocean, the natives uttered cries of fright. The attention of those on the warship was attracted, and the bridge and rails were lined with curious officers and men.
“It’s a good thing we didn’t come up under that ship,” observed Tom. “They would have thought we were trying to torpedo her. Do you feel better, dad?” he asked, his wonder over the sight of the big vessel temporarily eclipsed in his anxiety for his parent.
“Oh, yes, much better. I’m all right now. But I wish we hadn’t disclosed ourselves to these people. They may demand to know where we are going, and Brazil is too near Uruguay to make it safe to tell our errand. They may guess it, however, from having read of the wreck, and our departure.”
“Oh, I guess it will be all right,” replied Captain Weston. “We can tell them we are on a pleasure trip. That’s true enough. It would give us great pleasure to find that gold.”
“There’s a boat, with some officers in it, to judge by the amount of gold lace on them, putting off from the ship,” remarked Mr. Sharp.
“Ha! Yes! Evidently they intend to pay us a formal visit,” observed Mr. Damon. “Bless my gaiters, though. I’m not dressed to receive company. I think I’ll put on my dress suit.”
“It’s too late,” advised Tom. “They’ll be here in a minute.”
Urged on by the lusty arms of the Brazilian sailors, the boat, containing several officers, neared the floating submarine rapidly.
“Ahoy there!” called an officer in the bow, his accent betraying his unfamiliarity with the English language. “What craft are you?”
“Submarine, Advance, from New Jersey,” replied Tom. “Who are you?”
“Brazilian cruiser San Paulo,” was the reply. “Where are you bound?” went on the officer.
“On pleasure,” answered Captain Weston quickly. “But why do you ask? We are an American ship, sailing under American colors. Is this Brazilian territory?”
“This island is—yes,” came back the answer, and by this time the small boat was at the side of the submarine. Before the adventurers could have protested, had they a desire to do so, there were a number of officers and the crew of the San Paulo on the small deck.
With a flourish, the officer who had done the questioning drew his sword. Waving it in the air with a dramatic gesture, he exclaimed:
“You’re our prisoners! Resist and my men shall cut you down like dogs! Seize them, men!”
The sailors sprang forward, each one stationing himself at the side of one of our friends, and grasping an arm.
“What does this mean?” cried Captain Weston indignantly. “If this is a joke, you’re carrying it too far. If you’re in earnest, let me warn you against interfering with Americans!”
“We know what we are doing,” was the answer from the officer.
The sailor who had hold of Captain Weston endeavored to secure a tighter grip. The captain turned suddenly, and seizing the man about the waist, with an exercise of tremendous strength hurled him over his head and into the sea, the man making a great splash.
“That’s the way I’ll treat any one else who dares lay a hand on me!” shouted the captain, who was transformed from a mild-mannered individual into an angry, modern giant. There was a gasp of astonishment at his feat, as the ducked sailor crawled back into the small boat. And he did not again venture on the deck of the submarine.
“Seize them, men!” cried the gold-laced officer again, and this time he and his fellows, including the crew, crowded so closely around Tom and his friends that they could do nothing. Even Captain Weston found it impossible to offer any resistance, for three men grabbed hold of him but his spirit was still a fighting one, and he struggled desperately but uselessly.
“How dare you do this?” he cried.
“Yes,” added Tom, “what right have you to interfere with us?”
“Every right,” declared the gold-laced officer.
“You are in Brazilian territory, and I arrest you.”
“What for?” demanded Mr. Sharp.
“Because your ship is an American submarine, and we have received word that you intend to damage our shipping, and may try to torpedo our warships. I believe you tried to disable us a little while ago, but failed. We consider that an act of war and you will be treated accordingly. Take them on board the San Paulo,” the officer Went on, turning to his aides. “We’ll try them by court-marital here. Some of you remain and guard this submarine. We will teach these filibustering Americans a lesson.”
There was no room on the small deck of the submarine to make a stand against the officers and crew of the Brazilian warship. In fact, the capture of the gold-seekers had been effected so suddenly that their astonishment almost deprived them of the power to think clearly.
At another command from the officer, who was addressed as Admiral Fanchetti, several of the sailors began to lead Tom and his friends toward the small boat.
“Do you feel all right, father?” inquired the lad anxiously, as he looked at his parent. “These scoundrels have no right to treat us so.”
“Yes, Tom, I’m all right as far as the electric shock is concerned, but I don’t like to be handled in this fashion.”
“We ought not to submit!” burst out Mr. Damon. “Bless the stars and stripes! We ought to fight.”
“There’s no chance,” said Mr. Sharp. “We are right under the guns of the ship. They could sink us with one shot. I guess we’ll have to give in for the time being.”
“It is most unpleasant, if I may be allowed the expression,” commented Captain Weston mildly. He seemed to have lost his sudden anger, but there was a steely glint in his eyes, and a grim, set look around his month that showed his temper was kept under control only by an effort. It boded no good to the sailors who had hold of the doughty captain if he should once get loose, and it was noticed that they were on their guard.
As for Tom, he submitted quietly to the two Brazilians who had hold of either arm, and Mr. Swift was held by only one, for it was seen that he was feeble.
“Into the boat with them!” cried Admiral Fanchetti. “And guard them well, Lieutenant Drascalo, for I heard them plotting to escape,” and the admiral signaled to a younger officer, who was in charge of the men guarding the prisoners.
“Lieutenant Drascalo, eh?” murmured Mr. Damon. “I think they made a mistake naming him. It ought to be Rascalo. He looks like a rascal.”
“Silenceo!” exclaimed the lieutenant, scowling at the odd character’.
“Bless my spark plug! He’s a regular fire-eater!” went on Mr. Damon, who appeared to have fully recovered his spirits.
“Silenceo!” cried the lieutenant, scowling again, but Mr. Damon did not appear to mind.
Admiral Fanchetti and several others of the gold-laced officers remained aboard the submarine, while Tom and his friends were hustled into the small boat and rowed toward the warship.
“I hope they don’t damage our craft,” murmured the young inventor, as he saw the admiral enter the conning tower.
“If they do, we’ll complain to the United States consul and demand damages,” said Mr. Swift.
“I’m afraid we won’t have a chance to communicate with the consul,” remarked Captain Weston.
“What do you mean?” asked Mr. Damon. “Bless my shoelaces, but will these scoundrels—”
“Silenceo!” cried Lieutenant Drascalo quickly. “Dogs of Americans, do you wish to insult us?”
“Impossible; you wouldn’t appreciate a good, genuine United States insult,” murmured Tom under his breath.
“What I mean,” went on the captain, “is that these people may carry the proceedings off with a high hand. You heard the admiral speak of a court-martial.”
“Would they dare do that?” inquired Mr. Sharp.
“They would dare anything in this part of the world, I’m afraid,” resumed Captain Weston. “I think I see their plan, though. This admiral is newly in command; his uniform shows that He wants to make a name for himself, and he seizes on our submarine as an excuse. He can send word to his government that he destroyed a torpedo craft that sought to wreck his ship. Thus he will acquire a reputation.”
“But would his government support him in such a hostile act against the United States, a friendly nation?” asked Tom.
“Oh, he would not claim to have acted against the United States as a power. He would say that it was a private submarine, and, as a matter of fact, it
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