CHAPTER IX
THE SUBMARINE MAKES ITS BOW TO OLD OCEAN
"Which way were you headed when you happened along?" inquired Jack
Benson.
"Dunhaven way," responded Eph Somers.
"Good enough. That's where we're going, too."
"It's me for the submarine launching today," Eph remarked, rather ungrammatically. "I wouldn't miss that for the world."
"Nor would we, either," added Hal. "Especially, as we've helped in the work on her. And, gracious, what time is it?"
"Just about eight o'clock," replied Somers, consulting his watch.
"And the launching is at ten o'clock. Come; we must hustle along. What will Mr. Farnum be thinking of us?"
"He probably believes we stole the money, and he must have officers out looking for us by this time," hinted Jack; with a wry face.
Jack thought, to be sure, of Josh Owen, back there in the woods, but clearly it would be out of place to ask Eph Somers to go back and attend to the ex-foreman. Besides, they could all soon be in Dunhaven, and then a constable or two could be sent out to search.
At first, Dan tried his old tactics of balking, but a few energetic, rough-and-ready punches from Eph caused the bully to change his mind. After that he went along in sullen silence. It was not long before the quartette turned down into the shore road that led up to the boatyard.
As they came near the big gate, still closed to the public, the boys beheld a crowd of several Hundred people. There were many vehicles and automobiles there, also.
"Here come those boys! Hey, young fellows, the officers are looking for you!" shouted someone.
"I guess so," admitted Jack, dryly. "However, they won't want us. Let us through this crowd, please. We want to find Mr. Farnum without delay."
The new watchman, at the gate, admitted them without question. Eph Somers, being of the party, got into the yard also, without any difficulty.
It being, now, less than two hours before the time set for the launching of the "Pollard," both the yard's owner and the inventor were with the gang of workmen that was busy removing the water end of the submarine craft's construction shed.
"Here come Benson and Hastings," called Grant Andrews, catching sight of the boys.
Jacob Farnum turned to look at them, then came on the run.
"I hear you have put officers out, after us, and I don't blame you," smiled Jack, rather grimly. "However, we didn't run away with your money, and we would have been back last night had that been possible."
"I could hardly bring myself to believe that you had absconded," cried Mr. Farnum, ruefully. "I sent officers out on the trail as much to learn what had happened to you as for any other reason. The horse came in with the buggy last night, and I knew something was wrong. But this fellow, Jaggers—"
"He and Owen tricked us and got us last night," explained Benson. "I don't, believe they knew anything about the money. They just wanted to beat us to their heart's content. But they found the money, and—but I'd better begin at the beginning."
This Jack did, soon putting Mr. Farnum in possession of the whole story.
"I'll send two men with Jaggers, to turn him over to the constable," remarked Mr. Farnum. "I'll also send the alarm out so that Josh Owen may be caught. Both these fellows must have their full deserts."
"Perhaps, first of all, you'll take this money," urged Jack, producing the roll of banknotes. "Count it over, will you please, sir?"
Mr. Farnum rapidly counted. "Just eight hundred," he nodded. "But, according to your story, it ought to be five dollars short, on account of what this rascal, Jaggers, took out to spend."
"We've made that good out of some of our own money that the pair took away from us, and which we got back with yours."
"You won't do anything of the sort," retorted Mr. Farnum, thrusting the money down in one of his pockets. "I owe you that five, besides your commission of forty dollars. And I'll settle with you just as soon as we get our rush off. But now—you haven't had any breakfast. Rush up to the hotel and get it at my expense. Then be sure to be back here before ten o'clock. And say, boys, you're the right kind of material—both of you. I hope to keep you with us."
Two men being dispatched to convey Dan Jaggers to the lock-up, Jack and Hal hurried away for some sort of a meal. Eph Somers, being inside the yard, and no one paying him any heed, that young man concluded that he might as well remain where he could see the most.
While the two submarine boys were at breakfast a constable and a deputy appeared at the hotel, to get precise directions as to where to find the drugged Joshua Owen. Then they departed in haste.
"There's the band playing over at the yard!" cried Hal, seated at the hotel dining table. "Great Scott! We'll be late."
"I hardly see how that can happen," replied Jack. "It isn't quite nine o'clock yet."
Nevertheless, the martial strains caused both boys to hurry through their breakfast. Then, full of eagerness, they all but ran down the short stretch of road to the yard.
"I wish we had a little better clothes," muttered Hal, regretfully, as they neared the gate.
"What's the odds?" replied young Benson. "We're workmen, anyway."
"But most folks will be dressed up mighty well to-day," objected Hal.
"Even Grant Andrews has his best suit on."
"Well, we haven't any other clothes," murmured Jack, like a young philosopher. "Folks won't be looking at us, anyway. They'll all have their eyes on the boat."
The watchman at the gate had been reinforced by another man, to hold the crowd back. When the would-be spectators found that only work men and invited guests would be admitted to the yard the disappointed ones made a scurry for the nearest portions of the shore outside the big fence.
Inside, the noise of hammers had stopped. The entire front of the submarine's shed had been removed, and much of the underpinning structure that held the "Pollard" in place. All that remained, to send the steel craft into the water, were the command and a few lusty sledgehammer strokes.
The band was playing again, a lively strain. Jacob Farnum was bustling about, although, as far as could be seen, his only impulse was sheer excitement.
David Pollard, silent and more anxious than anyone could know, stood apart with Grant Andrews, while Eph Somers stood solitary at a little distance.
Even the coming of the boys caused Pollard a bit of relief. They were to be of the crew at the launching, and their early arrival showed the inventor that there ought not, now, to be the faintest hitch.
"I thought there was going to be a naval officer here, Mr. Pollard," whispered Jack.
"Looking for a uniform, eh?" laughed the inventor. "There is a naval officer here—Lieutenant Jackson. There he is, over there, in the gray suit and straw bat."
"Does he go on the boat with us?"
"Oh, no. He's simply to watch the launching, and see how the craft sits on the water after she goes in. Some time in the near future there'll be a board of naval officers here, when we're ready to show them what the boat can do."
With everything in readiness, the nerves of all the interested persons present began to suffer from the suspense. Only the tireless band saved the day.
"Come along," said Jacob Farnum, at last. "It's a quarter of ten. We'll get up in our places."
Those who were going made a rush for the shed. The band leader, catching the enthusiasm, led his musicians, with a crash, into a triumphal march. Eph Somers slid, unobtrusively, into the shed. David Pollard turned to look at him keenly.
"I want to be on hand to help just a bit, if I can," murmured Eph, pleadingly, "and to wish the boat good luck as she strikes the water. My father used to work in this yard, and I worked here last summer."
"He's all right," nodded Mr. Farnum, so Eph got inside the shed.
The ladder rested against the hull; this was to be the last time that it would be used. David Pollard ascended, first, to the submarine's platform deck Farnum followed Then Grant Andrews went up. Last of all came Jack Benson and Hal Hastings. These were all who were scheduled to slide down the slippery ways with the "Pollard." But Eph was there, close at hand, consumed by an unquenchable desire to go, too. Nor was he wholly convinced that he wouldn't.
Outside, at one side of the shed, stood Lieutenant Jackson and the invited guests. On the other side were the members of the band.
On the platform deck, near the conning tower, were an outside steering wheel and the engine controls. Back of all were the funnels of the ventilators.
"Are you going to take the wheel, sir?" whispered Grant Andrews, to the inventor.
"I—I'm afraid I'm too nervous to," replied David Pollard, in an undertone. "You'd better take the wheel, Andrews."
So the foreman stationed himself there, for the craft might need guidance during the headway that the launching would give her.
Pollard turned to the yard's owner, to whisper imploringly:
"Better give the word and start things, Farnum. The suspense will floor me if it lasts much longer."
So Farnum gave tho first signal, and the workmen below began their last duties. In a twinkling it was known that something was wrong with one of the ways. Grant Andrews moved quickly away from the wheel to look below and give an order.
Jack Benson moved up to the wheel, that there might be someone there in case the "Pollard" made an unexpected leap into the water. In the confusion, just as one of the workmen below was about to remove the ladder, Eph Somers swiftly pushed it back against the hull, ascending almost on the run to the platform deck, where he stood pointing out to Andrews the cause of the trouble below. As he did so, Eph slyly but authoritatively signaled to the men to remove the ladder, which was done. Eph Somers had won his wish. He was aboard—safe unless someone discovered him at the last second and threw him over.
Now, with a fearful clattering, the last supports of the substructure were knocked away by lustily wielded sledge-hammers.
The leader of the band, accustomed to launchings, held his baton aloft.
At the downward stroke of that implement the band would crash out into
"See, the Conquering Hero Comes!"
In the midst of the clatter another gang of workmen, at a silent signal, began to push against the hull on either side.
Hats off, the men among the guests began to cheer, the women to wave handkerchiefs.
Farnum was the coolest of all, now. As the "Pollard" might sink to the bottom of the harbor, no woman was aboard to do the christening. Instead, the yard owner clutched the bottle, ready to smash it over the forward rail of the platform deck.
A creak, a yell, and the "Pollard" started. How the cheering redoubled and made the shed's rafters shake. Lieutenant Jackson, of the Navy, tried to look unconcerned, but he couldn't, wholly. A launching of any kind of important craft is a mighty exciting thing.
Jack's hands took firm clutch on the steering wheel. He was throbbing from head to foot.
Another creak! The "Pollard" began to move in good earnest. All on the platform deck felt the exhilarating thrill of motion.
Down came the baton, the band crashed out, its music almost drowned by the frantic cheers of the beholders. Down off the ways shot the submarine torpedo boat. Oh, the glory of it!
There was a gigantic splash. Everyone on the platform deck was,
drenched, yet holding on and happy. For many rods out over the waters,
Jack steering straight and true, the boat dashed, then slowly stopped.
The "Pollard" was launched—for what adventures, what fate?