The Boy Inventors' Diving Torpedo Boat

CHAPTER XXXII.
THE “WHITE SHARK” TO THE RESCUE.

Not to try our reader’s patience as sorely as Jameson tried that of his auditors, we will put his narrative in brief form. In exploring the abandoned passages of the mine workings, he one day came upon a flight of steps cut in the rock. He followed them up and found that they led from the summit of the cliff down into the interior of one of the big basalt caves. The mouth of the cave was large, for he could see the gleam of green water framed by the black rock, but the free space above the entrance was hardly large enough to admit a rowboat at high tide. Being naturally of a curious disposition, he made soundings and found that the water in the cave was very deep, as deep as it was outside, in fact.

“I’m no guessin’ what the old Spaniards used the cave for,” he concluded; “to drown slaves that had been cantankerous, maybe—I’ve heard o’ such things. But we can use it to a better purpose the night—to save human lives.”

“I confess I don’t quite understand,” said Mr. Chadwick.

“Hoot, mon, ye fash me. This bit boat is a divin’ boat, is she nae?”

“She surely is,” spoke up Jack.

“Weel, then, you run doon the coast to the barracks above Santiago, pack your soldier laddies in this cabin when you get to the cave mouth, and then dive into it.”

“Jove, Jameson man, I see your plan!” cried Mr. Chadwick excitedly. “You mean to get the soldiers inside the cave and then rush them into the stockade by means of the secret stairway.”

“Preecisely.”

“Then let’s start at once. Dancer, you think the plan is feasible?”

“If there is sufficient water,” was the reply.

“I’ll answer for thot,” Jameson promised him. “I made thorough soundings.”

“Let’s start right off, then. Every instant counts. Dancer, will you go below to the wheel?”

“Yes; I’ll take it. It will be a delicate task getting into that cave, but luckily, our searchlight observation tube will help us.”

“How long will it take us to run down the coast to the barracks, Jameson?” asked Mr. Chadwick.

“Not more than an hour. How fast can ye go?”

He was told.

“Then ye’ll do it in less time than that in the bonnie bit divin’ boat.”

The engines were started at once, and at top speed they set off for the barracks where the regular troops were quartered.

“I wish we had a dozen marines off the old Ohio,” grumbled old Silas as they sped along, “they’d lick all the rebels that ever breathed.”

“What, all of them, Silas?” asked Tom, winking at Jack.

“Well, they wouldn’t leave more than a corporal’s guard at any rate,” declared Silas confidently.

At last the light that marked the entrance of the harbor where the barracks were located came in sight. Mr. Jameson went below to help pilot the craft in. They came to anchor and summoned the attention of the sentry by three harsh toots of the whistle. A sharp challenge followed, which the superintendent answered in Spanish.

Jameson’s boat had been towed along, and it now came in handy to take Mr. Chadwick and the superintendent ashore. In less than fifteen minutes it was back, loaded down dangerously close to the bulwarks with Cuban soldiers under a very young and voluble officer. They were odd-looking chaps to the boys’ eyes, accustomed to associate the name soldier with smart uniforms and well-drilled figures. The Cubans were slouchy and badly drilled and disciplined, talking back to their officers freely. But they looked wiry and were no doubt well adapted for the type of fighting they were called on to do.

The boat made three trips ashore and back, and at the end of her last trip there was packed on board the submarine a complement of twenty men under three officers.

These were all that could be spared, for the garrison itself was in fear of an attack by the rebels, who had become heated by several recent victories. No time was lost in making a start back. The Cubans paled a little at the idea of making a trip in a submarine, but their officers reassured them that all was well.

Jameson bent over Mr. Dancer as they neared the spot where the entrance to the cave was located. At last they reached it. Word was given to close the sliding hatch and make everything fast.

Some of the Cubans who understood a little English turned green and shook visibly from fright as they heard these orders given. They knew that they were about to dive under the sea for some purpose, but for what they luckily didn’t guess, or they might have been even more frightened. Their officers reassured them with sharp words of command.

“Gee! what a seasick-looking lot of monkeys,” commented Silas Hardtack with disgust as he elbowed his way forward among their packed ranks.

“Every man to his trade, Silas,” admonished Mr. Chadwick, who had overheard.

“Ready for a dive!”

“Aye! aye!” boomed back from the engine room in response to the hail from the steering compartment.

“Stand by, everybody!” roared Silas in a voice that had weathered many a gale. “You monkeys better grab something,” he said to the Cubans, “or you’ll get something you don’t expect.”

The next instant came the motion with which all on board but the Cubans were now thoroughly familiar. Down shot the White Shark.

Down! Down! Down!

A wail of terror went up from the Cubans. Shouts to the saints and their friends rent the air.

“We are sinking, Jose!” yelled one.

“Well, you didn’t think you was going up in a balloon, did you?” grated out Silas.

“Muerto! I am killed!” cried another in agonized tones.

The officers stood firm amidst all the yells and lamentations, but their eyes blinked a little and they looked anything but comfortable. Nor can they be altogether blamed. Picture yourself, reader, routed out of a comfortable bed to go on a diving expedition in a boat that you had no means of knowing would ever reappear on the surface.

But at length the diving motion ceased and the White Shark came up on an even keel.

“Clang! Clang!”

“Stop her!” boomed out in the engine room.

“Back her!”

“Come ahead—slow!”

“Stop!”

“Thank gracious that’s over,” breathed Jack as he shut down the motors and wiped his hands on a bit of waste, “I expected every minute to feel us hit the side of the cave as we dived, and then—good night!”

“It reminded me of coming through that hole in the reef.”

“Almost as uncomfortable,” agreed Jack, “but hark! There’s Silas opening the hatch. We’re not needed here, let’s go on deck.”

They found the White Shark lying in an immense pool of water almost crystal clear. Above them rose the rocky dome of a huge cave. All this was illumined by a powerful light which Silas had been ordered to carry on deck.

The White Shark lay against a sort of platform of stone from which the stairs upon which Mr. Jameson had blundered appeared quite plainly leading up to regions above. “Well, we’ve been in some queer places,” declared Jack, “but this has it a little bit on all of them. Look at those stalactites hanging from the roof. They’re as big as telegraph poles.”

“Young telegraph poles,” reproved Tom, laughing at Jack’s exaggeration.

The soldiers were quickly disembarked and right glad they were to get their feet on dry land again, although some of them looked misgivingly about them at their odd surroundings. They chattered like so many monkeys till ordered to fall in by their officers.

“What’s he telling them to do?” asked Tom of Silas, who understood some Spanish.

“He’s telling ’em to fall in. On the old Ohio——”

“Fall in? Fall in where?” demanded Tom with a cherubic look of innocence.

“Into the pool,” supplemented Jack with a wink at Tom. But Silas had stalked off full of offended dignity.

As he went he muttered something about what was done to “fresh kids” on the old Ohio.

Under Mr. Jameson’s guidance the troops marched off up the old stairway which, as Jameson had hinted, the Spaniards had used for dark purposes. The rest followed behind. The two boys, half wild with excitement, brought up the rear, having been admonished by Mr. Chadwick to keep out of danger. As for Jupe, he lay under his bunk. The red lights, the soldiers and the mysterious cave had been too much for him.

As they emerged into the stockade, the haggard-faced defenders of the place looked at them as if they had been angels from heaven. One of the men stated that through a peephole in the stockade he had seen the rebels outside massing as if to make a charge.

“Then we are just in time, laddie,” said Mr. Jameson. “Some of you mount the machine gun and open fire, then the troops will follow up. Give a few cheers, just to show them outside that you’ve got plenty of heart left in you.”

The machine gun stood on a platform just inside the stockade. Only its muzzle projected, but as quite a big hole had been cut so as to give it plenty of “range,” the operator was protected by a steel “barbette.” As the cheer died down the gun began to bark. It roared and spat like a packet of fire crackers. Howls and yells told of the dismay of the rebels.

“Now!” roared Jameson, who had been looking through the peephole.

The gates were flung open and out dashed the troops, while white fire was burned to illumine the scene. But the sight of the troops was enough. Unable to understand how the regulars had got within the stockade, the superstitious rebels saw something supernatural in it. They broke and fled in all directions, while the regulars, with a great hullabaloo and show of ferocity, chased them.

And after all, nobody was killed. The machine had wounded a few of the rebels, but these had been carried off by their friends. In fact, the rebels had taken good care to keep out of the machine gun’s way. That was not their style of fighting.

It was the next day after the White Shark had been backed out of the cave successfully that the cruiser Dixie appeared, having steamed full speed from Santiago, where her officers had learned of the attack on the mine. Twenty marines were landed further down the coast and placed in defense of the workings till the revolution was over, which event was not far off.

With her mission accomplished and her every faculty tested, the White Shark shortly thereafter left Cuba for the United States. On board she carried a happy, contented crew who had gone through much excitement and some hardship. But not one was the worse for it. All enjoyed radiant health and spirits.

When Mr. Dancer returned home, it was to find that glorious news awaited him. It concerned the White Shark and her type of submarine, and from that day on the name of Daniel Dancer became one of the most famous in the history of his particular line of work. Moreover, he—but that is another story.

You may rest assured that our friends did not lose sight of each other at the conclusion of a voyage which as even Jupe declared had been “conlubrious fo’ all consarned in the contraption”; meaning probably “salubrious for all concerned in the transactions.”

And now the time has come to say good-bye once more to our Boy Inventors. But of their further activities and adventures you may read in a forthcoming volume which will deal with other experiments and inventions. For, not content with what they had already achieved, the cousins determined to convert their already famous automobile into a machine of triple power and purpose. Their success, and the utterly unexpected experiences incident to it, is recorded in “The Boy Inventors’ Flying Ship.”

THE END.