"I don't care; it is one."
"Look," cried Sam suddenly, "there's a light coming from it. It's—it's—by all that's wonderful, it's a submarine!"
The rays of the searchlight enveloped the figures on the beach. Suddenly the conning tower hatch shot open and Tom's figure emerged.
"Jack! Jack!" he hailed.
"It's Tom!" went up an incredulous shout.
Sam Hartley's amazement was no less than that of the boys. The submarine's boat was sent ashore for them, and before long they were all talking at once in the cabin of the good craft Huron. What slappings of the back, hand-shakings and mad antics ensued, I leave you to imagine.
Till dawn they hovered about the island, and then, as they found that the rascally band had really escaped, they set out for Brownhaven. But a short part of the distance had been covered, however, before some spars and a hull that looked familiar were espied. It was the Sea Ranger. She proved to have on board Mr. Chisholm Dacre and Mr. MacTavish. The gentlemen happened to be in Buffalo on business when Tom's message was relayed to them. In a special train they had made all speed for Brownhaven, where they had found the Sea Ranger repaired ahead of the expected time. With a hastily picked crew, they had set out at once for Castle Rock Island.
"Well, you boys display a faculty for getting in and out of trouble far in excess of any I have ever seen," laughed Mr. Dacre, after they had formed Obadiah Ironsides' acquaintance and made a full survey of the marvels of the submarine.
"Well, so long as they do get out of it, that's the main thing," said Mr. MacTavish. "Such experiences make real men of them, eh, Mr. Ironsides?"
"I think so," said the inventor.