by Philip Roy
“Oh. You need to use the bathroom. I better make you a litter box. But for now you’ll just have to go on paper. Here. I’ll put some newspaper down in the stern. Go here, Hollie. Go here.”
But he just twisted his head in confusion and went back to the ladder and whined.
“I’m sorry, Hollie. If you want out, you’re going to have to learn to climb a ladder.”
I didn’t think he would ever try; he was so small. Seaweed had the advantage of a beak, which allowed him to hang on while he shifted his feet.
Once the net was ready and my belly was warmed with tea, I climbed out the portal and tossed the rope into the water with a weight to pull it down.
“Keep an eye on the sub, Hollie,” I said, then went over the side.
The water felt colder because I was growing tired. But I found the chest and managed to wrap the net partly around it before surfacing. At the top I took breaths and called to Hollie, just to let him know I wasn’t far away, then went back down. On the second dive I managed to close the net around the chest. It was hard work. I had to stick the flashlight under one arm and concentrate. At seventy-five feet it felt as if you were moving through mud. But coming up I was very excited. Somehow, I just knew this chest was filled with something better than sardines.
I climbed onto the sub and caught my breath.
“Hollie! I’m back!”
I looked down the portal and waited for the little face to show.
“Hollie! Where are you? I’m back!”
He never showed. That was strange.
“Hollie! Are you sleeping?”
Still there was no answer. I went down and searched everywhere. But he was gone.
Chapter Twenty-two
Hollie had jumped ship. I didn’t know what to do. The sub was sitting mid-harbour, surrounded by dense fog and secured by a rope to a chest on the bottom. If I moved the sub, the chest would drag along the bottom, no doubt catching the rope around the beams and pulling them along. Maybe the rope would snap. Maybe the chest would smash open and spill its contents all over the murky bottom.
On the other hand, Hollie was likely swimming around the fog in circles. He must have been out there for five or six minutes already. I had to find him quickly. If I tried to use the sub I wouldn’t be able to spot him anyway because I couldn’t steer from the hatch — I could only run in one direction, and that was too risky.
Turning on the hatch floodlights, I took off my diving belt and slipped into the water. Without the belt I floated easily and could swim faster. Calling Hollie’s name, I began to swim in widening circles around the sub, using the floodlights as a kind of lighthouse.
After ten minutes, there was no sign of him and I was worried. Unlike a seagull, a dog wouldn’t know which way was shore in a fog. Besides, Hollie was really only a puppy; there was no way he could swim that far.
After twelve minutes I was feeling very discouraged. When I had told him he would have to learn to climb the ladder I was only kidding. It never occurred to me he might really try.
After thirteen minutes I could barely see the light of the sub. It seemed so hopeless. I felt absolutely terrible. I had rescued a dog only to put him in a worse situation. I yelled one more time — my voice cracking with emotion. And then, I saw a tiny little head coming through the water towards me.
“Hollie! Oh! Come here!”
He reached me exhausted. I rolled onto my back and lifted him onto my belly. He collapsed onto his side but reached up and licked my chin.
“You crazy little dog! You are too smart for your own good!”
Finding Hollie — for the second time — meant more to me than finding any treasure chest. I carried him inside, dried him off and settled him on his blanket. Then, I explained how he mustn’t ever climb out on his own again, but I didn’t think he was listening. He just lay flat on his blanket and stared up at me as if to say, “I’m sure glad that’s over.”
With Hollie safe inside, I went back to the business of raising the chest. Standing behind the hatch, I leaned back and tugged on the rope. The first few pulls were surprisingly easy, but that was because I was only pulling the slack out of it. On the fourth pull I felt the real weight, not only of the chest, but the rope as well. By leaning completely backwards, so that I was hanging out over the water, and by pushing with my legs against the portal, I could just barely pull the rope. At seventy-five feet — raising it about two and a half feet each pull — I knew I had to make at least thirty pulls. That didn’t seem so bad, especially since I could rest in between. It was easier somehow to count the pulls out loud, knowing that with each one the number was becoming smaller.
At twenty pulls my arms were sore. At thirty they were aching but there was no sign of the chest. Then it occurred to me — my pulls were getting shorter. I decided to go inside and see how Hollie was doing. He was asleep — wrapped up in his blanket. As I opened a can of peaches and started eating, there were two beeps on the radar.
“Oh no! Not now!”
The vessels were coming from shore. They must have been a couple of fishing or motor boats. They weren’t coming directly towards us but were sweeping in two arcs, as if looking for something. I hurried outside and resumed pulling. Thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven pulls — suddenly the rope stopped. I looked over the side. There, lying nearly the length of the sub, was one of the wooden beams! I had to laugh. Running back inside, the radar revealed that the boats were closing in. I went out and unhooked the beam from the rope and watched it sink. The chest was still inside the net. Suddenly I saw two lights appear in the fog.
“Hey!” yelled a man. “A submarine! Hey! It’s that outlaw submarine!”
I heard other men yelling. They were very excited. “Hey! What are you doing?”
I didn’t answer. The thought of losing the chest to strangers did not appeal to me at all. But there was no time to try to bring it inside. Instead, I jumped down the portal and reached for the controls.
“Hey!” came the voices. “Wait! What’s going on here?”
I started the engine, raised the throttle to full speed and aimed for the open sea. Then I ran back up the portal and saw one man perched on the bow of his boat, getting ready to jump to the sub.
“Wait!” he cried. “Wait! What are you doing here? Wait a minute!”
Just as he was just about to jump, I shut off the sub’s floodlights, putting the sub in darkness. The small lights from the motor boats were aimed at us but were not enough for the man to jump safely. I looked down to see the rope and chest twist and turn as the sub plowed through the water. I just hoped it would stay intact long enough for us to get away.
They chased us for five miles. Evidently they weren’t outfitted with radar. I could tell because they just went straight out and didn’t follow us when we made a southward turn. All the same, I had to put more distance between us because the fog was lifting.
Four miles away, I brought the sub to a halt and climbed out. The chest was still dangling in the net. If I lost it now I would never find it again — the water was too deep. But I was too afraid to drag it any further; sooner or later it would either slip through the rope, or start breaking apart in the pounding waves.
Raising the chest alone was a lot easier than pulling the beam too. However, lifting it out of the water was much harder. Once I started, I couldn’t stop, not even to run below and check the radar. I just hoped they wouldn’t spot the sub. Unfortunately, they did. The chest was only halfway up the side when I saw them coming again — two motorboats. I secured the rope to the hatch, climbed inside and took off again. This time at least the chest was not getting hit by waves. But the pursuers got a very clear look at what I was doing.
With the sub pointed out to sea, I attached myself to the harness and climbed out and resumed pulling the chest. I knew they could see me still but I had no choice. I couldn’t dive until the chest was safely inside, or I would lose it.
It was such hard work but I raised the chest to the
top of the hatch. Then, unwinding the rope slowly, I lowered the chest inside the portal. Once it was on the floor, I untied the rope, climbed inside, shut the hatch, cut the engine and dove to a hundred feet. The radar showed the motorboats spinning in circles above. Eventually they stopped. I engaged the batteries, turned around 180 degrees and collapsed on the floor. I had to go back for Seaweed. Little did my pursuers suspect, I was following them back to their own harbour.
Water continued to leak out of the chest for quite a while — like an ice cube melting. Beneath rust and barnacles and crustaceans I saw the unmistakable blue fleur-de-lis, the French symbol that was all over Louisbourg. Around the edges were strips of metal, which had reflected the light. On the front was a lock, rusted beyond use. But the chest didn’t look difficult to open, especially as Ziegfried had outfitted the sub with an excellent store of tools.
First, I cut the lock with a hacksaw, although it mostly came apart in my hands. Then, I loosened the lid with a chisel around the inside of the edge. The hinges at the back — rusted shut — simply shattered when I raised the lid. Inside I saw rows of forks and knives and spoons — silver and gold. They were tarnished but elegant. I didn’t know if it was real gold and silver, but it sure looked like it. Rows of cutlery — that was the treasure. I sat back and stared. Well, if it were real gold and silver, then it really was valuable. Besides, it must have been worth something just for being so old. It wasn’t the most exciting treasure to find — forks and knives and spoons — but it was still treasure.
Then I noticed something else.
There was something about the chest that didn’t look right, but I couldn’t tell what it was. I stared for a long time, trying to figure it out. We were approaching Louisbourg harbour again so I left the chest and sat at the control panel. On the radar I watched the motorboats return to their dock. Rising to periscope level I saw the fog finally clearing in the harbour. It was time to get some sleep. Diving to seventy feet, I turned the lights low and crawled into bed. Hollie was sleeping soundly. From my bed I could see the chest. I stared at it, trying to figure out what was so peculiar about it, but sleep quickly overcame me.
Chapter Twenty-three
“The submarine outlaw has been spotted in Louisbourg harbour,” said the news announcer as I woke.
Wow! I thought, News travels fast!
“No one knows why he was in the harbour,” said the announcer, “but he may have been treasure-hunting, according to local boaters.”
“We chased him,” came the excited voice of a man. “We chased him clear out of the harbour and twenty miles out to sea. But he got away. He slipped beneath the water just like an eel and that was the last we saw of him. He’s probably on his way to Portugal by now.”
I had to smile at the twenty miles part. How surprised they would be to know we were still in their harbour. I turned my head to look at the chest and suddenly guessed its secret — the bottom on the inside was higher than the outside. It held a secret compartment!
I climbed out of bed and heated water for tea. Hollie jumped up with his tail wagging, as if to say, “What are we going to do today?”
“We’re going to pick up the rest of the crew and head for sea, that’s what we’re going to do. But first I’m going to examine the chest.”
There didn’t seem to be any way to open the hidden space, and nothing rattled when I shook it. I lightly tapped the edges with a hammer and chisel, hoping the bottom plate would pop out, but it wouldn’t. Hollie came over and stared into the chest.
“Can you open it?” I asked.
He looked at me in his nervous way, reached out a paw and touched the top of the chest. We both looked inside. Nope, nothing. He came around to the other side and stood up on two legs and leaned against it.
“I could cut it open, but that would make a mess, and I’d rather leave it as it is.”
Hollie picked up the chisel in his mouth, stood up on the chest and dropped it inside.
“I tried that already.”
But when the chisel landed, it loosened the floor beneath it just slightly. I picked it up and dropped it again. The floor loosened a little more. Suddenly, I could see that what looked like the floor of the chest was really just a thin wooden board, very tightly fitted into the sides. It couldn’t be pulled out, it had to be cut, but it was only a board — I didn’t mind cutting that.
With one edge of the chisel I began to cut a trench right down the middle. I worked delicately, so as not to damage whatever was beneath. Eventually I was able to pull the board out in two pieces. Underneath was yet another chest, very flat and tightly fitted into the bigger one. It had a lock built into it but was also rusted beyond use. The small chest was so tight I had a hard time freeing it. When I finally pulled it out I was too anxious to figure out how to open it properly and simply cut around the lid with a hacksaw. Lifting it, I saw gold coins neatly fitted into a bed of wood and held in place with straps. There were twenty of them.
“Hollie, I think maybe we’re rich.”
Hollie gave me his paw. He was very pleased.
The coins were larger than our coins, and a lot heavier. I didn’t know anything about old coins but I bet they were worth a lot. I couldn’t wait to tell Ziegfried. I planned to give him half. Now there would be lots of money for food and fuel and everything else.
In the early twilight I raised the periscope in the middle of harbour. There was no way to know if Seaweed had seen it or not. It was too risky to surface before dark. So I waited.
Coming up slowly, I kept an eye on the radar. Then, cautiously, I lifted the hatch. Sure enough, my faithful first mate was there.
“Tuna fish?” I said.
It was a good night for sailing. The waves were moderate, the wind mild and the sky clear. But the air was cold. I had to wear my jacket and hood whenever I stood in the portal. There wasn’t much traffic — a couple of beeps on the radar seven or eight miles out. Passing freighters, no doubt. I decided to look for a spot close to Canso, a town big enough to use a telephone without getting noticed, or so I hoped.
At first it was difficult to find a place secluded enough for the sub. Then, I spotted an old abandoned boathouse. The water was merely fifteen feet deep, but enough for the sub. Gliding in, I felt like an airplane landing on an aircraft carrier. Raising the hatch and seeing a roof overhead was really strange.
The boathouse was at the bottom of a hill. The field had been fallow for many years. To the right was a dirt road that looked as though it hadn’t been used in a long time. With Hollie under one arm, I climbed out, sealed the hatch and squeezed through a crack in the boathouse wall. Seaweed followed and took to the air. Hollie’s legs were spinning before I put him down, and he hit the ground running. He was so excited he ran all the way up the road and back. He ran into the field and around and around in circles. He ran like a windup toy that never stops. But when I reached the top of the hill and called him, he came immediately. Together we walked along the road into town. I pulled the collar of my jacket up and my hat down and hoped that if anyone saw us they would be distracted by Hollie and not notice me.
But we didn’t see anybody, only a car or two. We came into a corner of the town, found a phone booth and called Ziegfried. But there was no answer. That was strange. Ziegfried was always home, especially in the early morning. I waited for awhile and tried again. Hollie squeezed into the booth with me. I looked up to see if Seaweed was sitting on top. He wasn’t. After five more tries I still couldn’t reach Ziegfried. Something must have come up.
Across the street was a corner store, and there was no one around. The thought of returning to the sub with a bag of candy was too tempting to resist. Besides, if anyone did chase me I certainly wouldn’t lead them to the sub again. Coming up the steps to the store, I peeked inside. There was just one man sitting at the counter reading the paper. I opened the door and followed Hollie in.
“Good morning!” I said.
“’Morning!” said the man, without look
ing up.
He was too busy with the paper to care about us. I went to the cooler and picked out a large bottle of pop. Then I went to the candy shelf and chose a whole bunch of different things. It occurred to me that this would be the first year I would not receive anything for Halloween, except what I bought myself. On the way to the counter I grabbed two loaves of bread and a bag of dog biscuits. Hollie’s tail was wagging happily. I knew Seaweed wouldn’t turn his beak down at a dog biscuit either.
At the cash, the man counted our things without taking his eyes out of the paper. I wondered what was so interesting. Straining to read upside down, I made out the words, “ . . . submarine outlaw . . . Louisbourg . . .”
“Is it going to rain today?” I said quickly.
“Who knows?” he said. “That’ll be ten fifty.”
I handed over eleven dollars. He took the money. Suddenly he looked up and stared at me.
Oh, oh! I thought. Here it comes.
“Dogs aren’t allowed in the store.”
“Oh. Sorry. I’ll leave him outside next time.”
He handed me my change and dropped his eyes to the paper.
“Bye,” I said.
He never answered. Hollie and I left the store.
“Whew! That was easy.”
On the way back to the sub we had a great time eating candy and dog biscuits. Halfway, Seaweed dropped out of the sky. He saw Hollie eating something and immediately demanded his share. So, the three of us followed the road to the hill and down the dirt road to the boathouse. It was a fresh autumn morning and I thought how wonderful life could be.
The eastern shore of Nova Scotia grew more beautiful the further south we went. This was so because of the changing leaves and endless small islands. Passing islands at night was like drifting by sleeping sea monsters, with just a few lights for eyes. In the morning, with the rising sun, the islands burst into flaming red, orange and yellow colours that made us grin with excitement. Well, Hollie was always grinning. I stood in the portal while he balanced on my shoulder — his front legs on the hatch. Seaweed would hop onto the bow and the three of us face into the wind, watching the candy-coloured islands go by. There were few that we could land on because there were so few approachable coves, but occasionally we did find an uninhabited island on which to moor the sub and disembark. On some of those we brought out the tent, made a beach fire and slept on land, which was the strangest feeling after having grown so used to the sea. Hollie, in particular, seemed to enjoy the endless space and the freedom to roam.
