The Boy Inventors' Diving Torpedo Boat

It was not long after the start, that word was sent on deck by means of the speaking tube located near the panel, that it was time to come below. The flag was lowered and one by one those who had lingered on the whale-like back of the diving boat descended.

Mr. Chadwick was the last to enter the craft. As he did so, he pressed the controlling button and the panel slid into place with a metallic clang. The interior of the White Shark was filled with the buzz and hum of machinery, her lights glowed brightly and the air was as sweet and fresh as that of the outside world.

Considering the power of her engines and the amount of machinery within the metal hull, there was wonderfully little vibration. The craft glided along almost as smoothly as a limited express. But before long, as they left the quiet waters of the little bay, the diving craft began to pitch and roll to the motion of the Atlantic swell.

Mr. Chadwick was standing beside the inventor at the steering device, Jack and Tom, of course, were in the engine room, while Silas and Jupe were occupied in putting everything to rights in the cook’s galley, this and the storeroom forming Jupe’s department.

“Well, the time has come for the White Shark to make her first dive,” announced Mr. Dancer at length.

The inventor was keeping rigid control over himself; but, despite his efforts to force a firm voice his lips quavered as he pronounced his decision.

“Very well. I think we are all ready, Dancer,” responded Mr. Chadwick, who appeared as cool as an icicle. In one hand he held his watch, for it was the intention of the heads of this unique experience to record in minute detail all that occurred on the White Shark’s first voyage.

“I’m going to give the signal now, Chadwick.”

“Whenever you see fit,” was the response.

The inventor’s lean, nervous fingers flew to the engine-room signaling appliance.

“Dive!”

That was the word that flashed up before the boys’ eager, waiting eyes.

“It’s come at last,” murmured Jack.

As for Tom, he could say nothing. But his heart seemed to be beating till it shook his frame. His face was pale under its wholesome tan. As Jack’s hands sought the levers, Tom clutched his comrade’s shoulder with a grip that almost made Jack flinch.

“Steady, Tom, old boy,” warned Jack, noting his comrade’s agitation.

“I-I’m all right, Jack, b-b-b-but it is kind of creepy, you know, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t had time to think,” Jack began, when he broke off with a cry.

“Tom—Tom, old boy, give us your hand! She’s—she’s——”

“Going down!”

The words broke from Tom’s lips with a sort of sigh.

Then came a shout from Jack.

“Hold fast, all!”

It was well that he gave the cry. That is, it was well for Silas and Jupe. As for the rest, they knew what to expect and had gripped fast to some handhold.

Jack glanced at the engine room indicator.

The White Shark was being driven toward the bottom of the sea at an angle of thirty-five degrees. When it is considered that a grade of twenty-five degrees is called steep, one can form some appreciation of the position of things on board.

From the galley came suddenly a yell of anguish and a sound as of smashing crockery. In the cabins, loose articles could be heard tumbling about, while a deep voice boomed out:

“Shiver my timbers, but this beats heavy weather on the old Ohio!”

Jupe’s voice rang out in anguish:

“Gollyumption, dere goes dat buf’ly soup I had fo’ suppah! Good land alive, de butter’s done got mixed up wid de onions! Dar goes anudder plate! Say, lemme off’n dis cantamperous contraption ob a floating oil-stove!”

“Jupe’s in trouble,” grinned Jack, “how do you like it, Tom?”

“Um—um, well, I suppose it’s all right, Jack.”

“Well, we’re going down, aren’t we?”

“Yes, but how about coming up? Hullo, Mr. Dancer’s put her on an even keel. How deep are we?”

Jack glanced at the depth indicator on the metal wall above him.

“Seventy fathoms.”

“Gracious, four hundred and twenty feet!”

“That’s right, but the White Shark is constructed to bear at least ten times the amount of pressure we are withstanding.”

“But if we ever went too deep?”

“We’d be crushed flat as a pancake.”

“Humph!” was Tom’s sole remark.

In the face of what Jack had just said, he could think of nothing more suitable to reply than this unsatisfactory exclamation!