Tom had been idly watching him and had seen him reach the submarine. He had seen Rawlins moving around the craft, evidently examining it, and he had lost sight of him as Rawlins had slipped around the blunt bow. But now Rawlins suddenly appeared, backing into view, waving his arms to maintain his balance and floundering. And he held something in one hand, something that he waved menacingly above his head, some object that glittered even in the dull, subdued, green light.
For the space of a second, Tom was puzzled and then he knew. It was Rawlins’ hatchet! Something or some one was attacking him and scarcely had this knowledge flashed through Tom’s mind when, from behind the submarine, the two figures appeared, clutching arms pawing at the water as if swimming, bodies bent far forward, their every attitude,
every motion betokening speed, speaking of straining efforts to come within reach of Rawlins, despite his threatening, keen-edged hatchet.
Wildly excited, filled with deadly fear, terrorized at Rawlins’ plight as was Tom, yet through his mind ran the thought, the subconscious feeling, that it was all unreal—a dream or a delusion. It was unspeakably and inexpressibly uncanny to see the three men evidently exerting every effort and yet moving so silently and slowly, seeming to float like weightless bodies in some semi-transparent, green medium. It reminded Tom of a slow motion picture—one of the films where a man or a horse, leaping a hurdle, appears to float lightly as a bit of thistledown through the air—and watching, the boy was fascinated. But only for the briefest moment.
Scarcely had the three come within Tom’s view when Rawlins stumbled over an upjutting stub of spiling, the hatchet flew from his hand and before he could half rise the others were upon him.
At this, the spell was broken. Tom screamed aloud and the next instant, like a voice
from another sphere, he heard Frank speaking.
“What is the matter, Tom? What’s wrong?” came in troubled, worried tones. “Why did you yell?”
Here then was help. They were still within reach of those ashore and in terse, excited, fear-wrung tones Tom answered.
“Help! Send for help!” he yelled, entirely forgetting that no one knew where he was or where to send help even if help could have reached them there under the river.