The Tom Swift Megapack

by Victor Appleton

It was the work of only a minute to adjust the valve. Then Tom and the engineer managed to get the cover back on.

  How they inserted the bolts and screwed the nuts in place they never could remember clearly afterward, but they managed it somehow, with shaking, trembling hands and eyes that grew more and more dim.

  “Now start the pumps!” cried Tom faintly. “The tanks will be emptied, and we can get to the surface.”

  Mr. Sharp was still unconscious, nor was Mr. Swift able to help. He lay with his eyes closed. Garret Jackson, however, managed to crawl to the engine-room, and soon the clank of machinery told Tom that the pumps were in motion. The lad staggered to the pilot house and threw the levers over. An instant later there was the hissing of water as it rushed from the ballast tanks. The submarine shivered, as though disliking to leave the bottom of the sea, and then slowly rose. As the pumps worked more rapidly, and the sea was sent from the tank in great volumes, the boat fairly shot to the surface. Tom was ready to open the conning tower and let in fresh air as soon as the top was above the surface.

  With a bound the Advance reached the top. Tom frantically worked the worm gear that opened the tower. In rushed the fresh, life-giving air, and the treasure-hunters filled their lungs with it.

  And it was only just in time, for Mr. Sharp was almost gone. He quickly revived, as did the others, when they could breathe as much as they wished of the glorious oxygen.

  “That was a close call,” commented Mr. Swift. “We’ll not go below again until I have provided for all emergencies. I should have seen to the air tanks and the expanding one before going below. We’ll sail home on the surface now.”

  The submarine was put about and headed for her dock. On the way she passed a small steamer, and the passengers looked down in wonder at the strange craft.

  When the Advance reached the secluded creek where she had been launched, her passengers had fully recovered from their terrible experience, though the nerves of Mr. Swift and Mr. Damon were not at ease for some days thereafter.

  “I should never have made a submerged test without making sure that we had a reserve supply of air,” remarked the aged inventor. “I will not be caught that way again. But I can’t understand how the pump valve got out of order.”

  “Maybe some one tampered with it,” suggested Mr. Damon. “Could Andy Foger, any of the Happy Harry gang, or the rival gold-seekers have done it?”

  “I hardly think so,” answered Tom. “The place has been too carefully guarded since Berg and Andy once sneaked in. I think it was just an accident, but I have thought of a plan whereby such accidents can be avoided in the future. It needs a simple device.”

  “Better patent it,” suggested Mr. Sharp with a smile.

  “Maybe I will,” replied the young inventor. “But not now. We haven’t time, if we intend to get fitted out for our trip.”

  “No; I should say the sooner we started the better,” remarked Captain Weston. “That is, if you don’t mind me speaking about it,” he added gently, and the others smiled, for his diffident comments were only a matter of habit.

  The first act of the adventurers, after tying the submarine at the dock, was to proceed with the loading of the food and supplies. Tom and Mr. Damon looked to this, while Mr. Swift and Mr. Sharp made some necessary changes to the machinery. The next day the young inventor attached his device to the pump valve, and the loading of the craft was continued.

  All was in readiness for the gold-seeking expedition a week later. Captain Weston had carefully charted the route they were to follow, and it was decided to move along on the surface for the first day, so as to get well out to sea before submerging the craft. Then it would sink below the surface, and run along under the water until the wreck was reached, rising at times, as needed, to renew the air supply.

  With sufficient stores and provisions aboard to last several months, if necessary, though they did not expect to be gone more than sixty days at most, the adventurers arose early one morning and went down to the dock. Mr. Jackson was not to accompany them. He did not care about a submarine trip, he said, and Mr. Swift desired him to remain at the seaside cottage and guard the shops, which contained much valuable machinery. The airship was also left there.

  “Well, are we all ready?” asked Mr. Swift of the little party of gold-seekers, as they were about to enter the conning tower hatchway of the submarine.

  “All ready, dad,” responded his son.

  “Then let’s get aboard,” proposed Captain Weston. “But first let me take an observation.”

  He swept the horizon with his telescope, and Tom noticed that the sailor kept it fixed on one particular spot for some time.

  “Did you see anything?” asked the lad.

  “Well, there is a boat lying off there,” was the answer. “And some one is observing us through a glass. But I don’t believe it matters. Probably they’re only trying to see what sort of an odd fish we are.”

  “All aboard, then,” ordered Mr. Swift, and they went into the submarine. Tom and his father, with Captain Weston, remained in the conning tower. The signal was given, the electricity flowed into the forward and aft plates, and the Advance shot ahead on the surface.

  The sailor raised his telescope once more and peered through a window in the tower. He uttered an exclamation.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Tom.

  “That other ship—a small steamer—is weighing anchor and seems to be heading this way,” was the reply.

  “Maybe it’s some one hired by Berg to follow us and trace our movements,” suggested Tom.

  “If it is we’ll fool them,” added his father. “Just keep an eye on them, captain, and I think we can show them a trick or two in a few minutes.”

  Faster shot the Advance through the water. She had started on her way to get the gold from the sunken wreck, but already enemies were on the trail of the adventurers, for the ship the sailor had noticed was steaming after them.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  IN THE DIVING SUITS

  There was no doubt that the steamer was coming after the submarine. Several observations Captain Weston made confirmed this, and he reported the fact to Mr. Swift.

  “Well, we’ll change our plans, then,” said the inventor. “Instead of sailing on the surface we’ll go below. But first let them get near so they may have the benefit of seeing what we do. Tom, go below, please, and tell Mr. Sharp to get every thing in readiness for a quick descent. We’ll slow up a bit now, and let them get nearer to us.”

  The speed of the submarine was reduced, and in a short time the strange steamer had overhauled her, coming to within hailing distance.

  Mr. Swift signaled for the machinery to stop and the submarine came to a halt on the surface, bobbing about like a half-submerged bottle. The inventor opened a bull’s-eye in the tower, and called to a man on the bridge of the steamer:

  “What are you following us for?”

  “Following you?” repeated the man, for the strange vessel had also come to a stop. “We’re not following you.”

  “It looks like it,” replied Mr. Swift. “You’d better give it up.”

  “I guess the waters are free,” was the quick retort. “We’ll follow you if we like.”

  “Will you? Then come on!” cried the inventor as he quickly closed the heavy glass window and pulled a lever. An instant later the submarine began to sink, and Mr. Swift could not help laughing as, just before the tower went under water, he had a glimpse of the astonished face of the man on the bridge. The latter had evidently not expected such a move as that.

  Lower and lower in the water went the craft, until it was about two hundred feet below the surface. Then Mr. Swift left the conning tower, descended to the main part of the ship, and asked Tom and Captain Weston to take charge of the pilot house.

  “Send her ahead, Tom,” his father said. “That fellow up above is rubbing his eyes yet, wondering where we are, I suppose.”

  Forward shot the Advance under water, the powerful electr
ical plates pulling and pushing her on the way to secure the sunken gold.

  All that morning a fairly moderate rate of speed was maintained, as it was thought best not to run the new machinery too fast.

  Dinner was eaten about a quarter of a mile below the surface, but no one inside the submarine would ever have known it. Electric lights made the place as brilliant as could be desired, and the food, which Tom and Mr. Damon prepared, was equal to any that could have been served on land. After the meal they opened the shutters over the windows in the sides of the craft, and looked at the myriads of fishes swimming past, as the creatures were disclosed in the glare of the searchlight.

  That night they were several hundred miles on their journey, for the craft was speedy, and leaving Tom and Captain Weston to take the first watch, the others went to bed.

  “Bless my soul, but it does seem odd, though, to go to bed under water, like a fish,” remarked Mr. Damon. “If my wife knew this she would worry to death. She thinks I’m off automobiling. But this isn’t half as dangerous as riding in a car that’s always getting out of order. A submarine for mine, every time.”

  “Wait until we get to the end of this trip,” advised Tom. “I guess you’ll find almost as many things can happen in a submarine as can in an auto,” and future events were to prove the young inventor to be right.

  Everything worked well that night, and the ship made good progress. They rose to the surface the next morning to make sure of their position, and to get fresh air, though they did not really need the latter, as the reserve supply had not been drawn on, and was sufficient for several days, now that the oxygen machine had been put in running order.

  On the second day the ship was sent to the bottom and halted there, as Mr. Swift wished to try the new diving suits. These were made of a new, light, but very strong metal to withstand the pressure of a great depth.

  Tom, Mr. Sharp and Captain Weston donned the suits, the others agreeing to wait until they saw how the first trial resulted. Then, too, it was necessary for some one acquainted with the machinery to remain in the ship to operate the door and water chamber through which the divers had to pass to get out.

  The usual plan, with some changes, was followed in letting the three out of the boat, and on to the bottom of the sea. They entered a chamber in the side of the submarine, water was gradually admitted until it equaled in pressure that outside, then an outer door was opened by means of levers, and they could step out

  It was a curious sensation to Tom and the others to feel that they were actually walking along the bed of the ocean. All around them was the water, and as they turned on the small electric lights in their helmets, which lights were fed by storage batteries fastened to the diving suits, they saw the fish, big and little, swarm up to them, doubtless astonished at the odd creatures which had entered their domain. On the sand of the bottom, and in and out among the shells and rocks, crawled great spider crabs, big eels and other odd creatures seldom seen on the surface of the water. The three divers found no difficulty in breathing, as there were air tanks fastened to their shoulders, and a constant supply of oxygen was fed through pipes into the helmets. The pressure of water did not bother them, and after the first sensation Tom began to enjoy the novelty of it. At first the inability to speak to his companions seemed odd, but he soon got so he could make signs and motions, and be understood.

  They walked about for some time, and once the lad came upon a part of a wrecked vessel buried deep in the sand. There was no telling what ship it was, nor how long it had been there, and after silently viewing it, they continued on

  “It was great!” were the first words Tom uttered when he and the others were once more inside the submarine and had removed the suits. “If we can only walk around the wreck of the Boldero that way, we’ll have all the gold out of her in no time. There are no life-lines nor air-hose to bother with in these diving suits.”

  “They certainly are a success,” conceded Mr. Sharp.

  “Bless my topknot!” cried Mr. Damon. “I’ll try it next time. I’ve always wanted to be a diver, and now I have the chance.”

  The trip was resumed after the diving chamber had been closed, and on the third day Captain Weston announced, after a look at his chart, that they were nearing the Bahama Islands.

  “We’ll have to be careful not to run into any of the small keys,” he said, that being the name for the many little points of land, hardly large enough to be dignified by the name of island. “We must keep a constant lookout.”

  Fortune favored them, though once, when Tom was steering, he narrowly avoided ramming a coral reef with the submarine. The searchlight showed it to him just in time, and he sheered off with a thumping in his heart.

  The course was changed from south to east, so as to get ready to swing out of the way of the big shoulder of South America where Brazil takes up so much room, and as they went farther and farther toward the equator, they noticed that the waters teemed more and more with fish, some beautiful, some ugly and fear-inspiring, and some such monsters that it made one shudder to look at them, even through the thick glass of the bulls-eye windows.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  AT THE TROPICAL ISLAND

  It was on the evening of the fourth day later that Captain Weston, who was steering the craft, suddenly called out:

  “Land ho!”

  “Where away?” inquired Tom quickly, for he had read that this was the proper response to make.

  “Dead ahead,” answered the sailor with a smile. “Shall we make for it, if I may be allowed the question?”

  “What land is it likely to be?” Mr. Swift wanted to know.

  “Oh, some small tropical island,” replied the seafaring man. “It isn’t down on the charts. Probably it’s too small to note. I should say it was a coral island, but we may be able to find a Spring of fresh water there, and some fruit.”

  “Then we’ll land there,” decided the inventor. “We can use some fresh water, though our distilling and ice apparatus does very well.”

  They made the island just at dusk, and anchored in a little lagoon, where there was a good depth of water.

  “Now for shore!” cried Tom, as the submarine swung around on the chain. “It looks like a fine place. I hope there are cocoanuts and oranges here. Shall I get out the electric launch, dad?”

  “Yes, you may, and we’ll all go ashore. It will do us good to stretch our legs a bit.”

  Carried in a sort of pocket on the deck of the submarine was a small electric boat, capable of holding six. It could be slid from the pocket, or depression, into the water without the use of davits, and, with Mr. Sharp to aid him, Tom soon had the little craft afloat. The batteries were already charged, and just as the sun was going down the gold-seekers entered the launch and were soon on shore.

  They found a good spring of water close at hand, and Tom’s wish regarding the cocoanuts was realized, though there were no oranges. The lad took several of the delicious nuts, and breaking them open poured the milk into a collapsible cup he carried, drinking it eagerly. The others followed his example, and pronounced it the best beverage they had tasted in a long time.

  The island was a typical tropical one, not very large, and it did not appear to have been often visited by man. There were no animals to be seen, but myriads of birds flew here and there amid the trees, the trailing vines and streamers of moss.

  “Let’s spend a day here tomorrow and explore it,” proposed Tom, and his father nodded an assent. They went back to the submarine as night was beginning to gather, and in the cabin, after supper, talked over the happenings of their trip so far.

  “Do you think we’ll have any trouble getting the gold out of the wrecked vessel?” asked Tom of Captain Weston, after a pause.

  “Well, it’s hard to say. I couldn’t learn just how the wreck lays, whether it’s on a sandy or a rocky bottom. If the latter, it won’t be so hard, but if the sand has worked in and partly covered it, we’ll have some difficulties, if I may be perm
itted to say so. However, don’t borrow trouble. We’re not there yet, though at the rate we’re traveling it won’t be long before we arrive.”

  No watch was set that night, as it was not considered necessary. Tom was the first to arise in the morning, and he went out on the deck for a breath of fresh air before breakfast.

  He looked off at the beautiful little island, and as his eye took in all of the little lagoon where the submarine was anchored he uttered a startled cry.

  And well he might, for, not a hundred yards away, and nearer to the island than was the Advance, floated another craft—another craft, almost similar in shape and size to the one built by the Swifts. Tom rubbed his eyes to make sure he was not seeing double. No, there could be no mistake about it. There was another submarine at the tropical island.

  As he looked, some one emerged from the conning tower of the second craft. The figure seemed strangely familiar. Tom knew in a moment who it was—Addison Berg. The agent saw the lad, too, and taking off his cap and making a mocking bow, he called out:

  “Good morning! Have you got the gold yet?”

  Tom did not know what to answer. Seeing the other submarine, at an island where he had supposed they would not be disturbed, was disconcerting enough, but to be greeted by Berg was altogether too much, Tom thought. His fears that the rival boat builders would follow had not been without foundation.

  “Rather surprised to see us, aren’t you?” went on Mr. Berg, smiling.

  “Rather,” admitted Tom, choking over the word.

  “Thought you’d be,” continued Berg. “We didn’t expect to meet you so soon, but we’re glad we did. I don’t altogether like hunting for sunken treasure, with such indefinite directions as I have.”

  “You—are going to—” stammered Tom, and then he concluded it would be best not to say anything. But his talk had been heard inside the submarine. His father came to the foot of the conning tower stairway.

  “To whom are you speaking, Tom?” he asked.

  “They’re here, dad,” was the youth’s answer.

  “Here? Who are here?”