CHAPTER XXV.
MR. LOCKYER CAPTURES A PRIZE.
But a sharp voice rang out from the deck of the submarine.
“Stop where you are!”
“Well, what is it now, Mister Bluff?” shouted the bloated-faced man.
“You’ll find out how much of a bluff we are,” snapped the officer. “Strong, pass the word below to load the torpedo tube.”
Ned, carrying out what he guessed was a cleverly thought-up plan to rout the mutineers, sprang to the side of the conning-tower.
“Below there!” he hailed. Then he paused, as if listening for a reply. “Stand by to load the torpedo tube. Hold your fire till you get the word.”
“Aye, aye,” roared up Midshipman Stark, from his station at the wheel.
“Now then, sir,” cried Parry, hailing the old man, “you and the lady buckle on life preservers and jump overboard. We’ll pick you up.”
“W-w-w-what are you going to do, sir?” quavered the apostle of peace.
“Blow that vessel and those mutineers sky high!” exclaimed the young officer.
“Hurray!” cheered Ned, Herc and Tom, in ferocious voices.
The mutineers began to waver. The submarine folks could see the bloated-faced man trying to rally them, but he failed. A dozen of them rushed to the rail. Their faces shone ghastly white in the searchlight.
“For heaven’s sake, don’t fire, sir!” they begged.
“We’ll surrender!” shouted another, waving a white dish-rag.
“Then throw your arms overboard!”
A succession of splashes followed. The mutineers couldn’t seem to get rid of them fast enough.
“Stand by to catch a line,” then roared the officer; “we’re coming alongside.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” called back the cowed mutineers, as the submarine crept up to the yacht’s side. An instant later she was fast, and her officers and crew were on the yacht’s deck. Channing Lockyer at once made aft, followed by most of the officers. The latter were naturally anxious to ascertain the cause of the trouble. The inventor was drawn by a different motive—one we can guess.
In the meantime, the mutineers were driven forward and imprisoned in the forecastle. This done, Lieutenant Parry and the boys were making for the stern of the vessel, when Ned’s keen eyes noticed the canvas cover over one of the yacht’s boats shake and quiver as if something alive were under it.
Darting forward, he pulled it back and beheld, snuggled down among the thwarts of the boat, two human figures.
“Two more of them here, sir!” he cried.
The officer and Ned’s mates were at his side in an instant. In spite of the crouching fellows’ kicks and protests, they soon had them hauled out and on the decks. They tried to hide their faces, but they were remorselessly switched round and made to face the light.
“Tom Gradbarr!” exclaimed Ned, recognizing his captive.
“Zeb Anderson, by the big snapping turtle of the South Pole!” yelled Herc, as he made a similar discovery that his prisoner was not unknown to him.
As neither of the rascals would utter a word, Lieutenant Parry decided to go aft at once after they had been secured, and try to get an explanation of how they came to be in the yacht’s crew. As the party reached the after deck they found old Mr. Pangloss in the midst of a long explanation of how the trouble had come about. They had sailed from Narragansett the evening before. He meant to cruise down to Southern waters.
“But the mutiny, sir? What started it?” broke in Captain McGill impatiently, as the apostle of peace rambled along.
“Why, sir, I believe they must have been after my daughter’s jewelry. She has $150,000 worth on board.”
“Permit me to say, sir, then, that I think that you have used very little judgment in taking such valuables to sea with you.”
“Just what I told papa,” put in the girl, who had been standing by the rail with Channing Lockyer, and seemed to have lost all interest in mutinies, or anything else.
“B-b-b-but they were in a safe,” stuttered Mr. Pangloss, looking red and abashed.
“As if that would act as an obstacle, sir,” said Captain McGill impatiently; “but your captain, where was he during all this trouble?”
“Why, sir, he left me at Narragansett,” rejoined Mr. Pangloss. “He objected to my refusing to allow him to put two unruly members of the crew in irons. I decided to navigate the craft myself down to New York, where I would ship another skipper.”
“Had you no other officers?”
“Oh, yes, a first mate named Gradbarr, and a second officer named Anderson.”
Channing Lockyer started forward as he heard the names.
“Those rascals! Where are they? How did you get them on board?”
“Why, they applied for berths when we sailed from New York” rejoined Mr. Pangloss, “and—”
“They are both in irons forward,” Lieutenant Parry finished for him.
“Thank goodness, they are captured,” breathed Mr. Lockyer; “while they were at large I should never have drawn an easy breath. I always feared they would, in some way, harm the submarine.”
“Then they would be attacking the property of the United States Government, Lockyer,” laughed Captain McGill; “for I am going to recommend that eighteen similar craft to that little hooker alongside be built at once.”
The inventor’s face lit up. But the first person he turned to was Miss Pangloss. She met his gaze delightedly. As for the young lady’s father, he looked fairly staggered.
“I think you told me, Lockyer, that those submarines could be built for $200,000 apiece?”
“Yes, sir,” nodded the radiant inventor.
“That’s $2,160,000!” gasped the old man.
“Your figures are correct, sir,” said Captain McGill dryly; “and the nation owning such boats gets them cheap, in my opinion.”
“Lockyer!” cried the old man, approaching the inventor with outstretched hand, “I have been unjust to you in the past. Forgive and forget. For my part, after what I have seen, I am willing to admit that submarines, besides being needful in war, have occasions of usefulness in peace.”
“Their lawful occasions, eh?” quoted Lieutenant Parry, from the sea service.
“The Lockyer has proved that twice,” put in Mr. Stark.
“Parry, what’s the nearest harbor? It’s important that we should land those rascals and the Italians, and give them into the hands of the police,” said Captain McGill presently.
“We can make for Stonington, sir,” was the reply. “There’s Fisher Island light off our port-bow now.”
“Then put us in there. It will be daylight in a short time,” ordered Captain McGill. “Strong, you, Taylor and Marlin will remain on board as a prize crew. Mr. Lockyer,” this with a smile at the inventor and the girl, “you will also remain to take care of your own particular prize. Gentlemen, let us re-embark on board the latest addition to the United States Navy—the submarine wonder, the Lockyer.”
Well, as Tom Marlin would say, “the yarn is spun.” It may be set down here, however, that all concerned in the mutiny got their just deserts. Although an effort was made to ascertain from Gradbarr and Anderson something relating to the whereabouts of Ferriss and his rascally accomplice, Camberly, nothing could be got from them, except a vague statement that both men had gone to the Far East. The Atlas Works were seized by creditors, and the two submarines found there sold for junk.
As for Gradbarr and Anderson, they admitted their object in shipping on board Mr. Pangloss’s yacht was to evade the police who, they felt sure, must be hot on their trail after the abduction of Mr. Lockyer and Ned. Incidentally, they are probably the first criminals ever brought to justice through the instrumentality of a submarine boat.
In spick and span uniforms, our friends attended the wedding of Channing Lockyer and Miss Pangloss, and the speech the former apostle of peace made at the wedding breakfast astonished and shocked his old admirers; for it dealt with the necessity of being in constant preparation for trouble, so that if we did have to fight, we could fight to win. His resignation was immediately demanded by half-a-dozen peace societies, but he stuck to his guns, and the United States Navy now has no stauncher friend than Peregrine Pangloss.
On the festive day, too, it might have been noticed that Ned and Herc both wore small, glittering objects affixed to their uniforms during the ceremony.
These were tiny gold and diamond submarine boats. On the back of each was an inscription:
“From Channing Lockyer to the Dreadnought Boys, in partial recognition of the valued services they rendered him during a trying time.”
Though each had protested, the inventor also insisted on starting a good, fat bank-account for each boy, not forgetting Tom Marlin. So that, with what they already have in the Navy Savings Bank, Ned and Herc feel, to express it in their own words, “like bloated millionaires.”
But both lads would gladly give up all their bright prospects to-morrow if their retention of them depended on their leaving the service. They would rather be serving Uncle Sam on the seas than be millionaires twenty times over. In this Sim Phillips agrees with them. He is now superintendent of the busy Lockyer Submarine Boat Works, but he considers himself quite a part of the Navy, inasmuch as all the boats the Works turn out are for Uncle Sam.
But modern as the Lockyer is, she doubtless will be superseded by other and newer craft. Indeed, Mr. Lockyer is now working on various improvements, which are to be embodied in his latest invention. “The old order changes” more frequently in things naval and military than in almost any other branch of life. While some of the brightest minds in the country were working on submarine problems, others had been busy trying to solve the problems of the air.
How the United States Navy experimented with aerial craft and what part our Dreadnought Boys played in the interesting, exciting campaign of innovation, our readers may learn by perusing the next volume of this series—a description of thrilling aerial adventures and perils for the honor of Uncle Sam—The Dreadnought Boys on Aero Service.
The End.