Part 13 (1/2)
As they crouched there, Frank's voice was taking on a frightened tone and Tom could now hear it much more plainly. But Tom's mind was filled with the danger of being discovered and he scarcely dared reply, for somehow, although there was no foundation for his fears, he was filled with a terrible dread of these under-sea workers, these unknown mysterious divers who had lifted the ominous-looking metal cylinder through the trapdoor in the disused sewer. That, even if they heard him and his friends, they could not trail them or locate them under water never occurred to him. In fact, he had quite forgotten that he and Rawlins were under water or were as invisible to others a few yards away as other objects were to them. He felt as though he could be as easily seen as if on land, and that, if he spoke, his words would at once betray his whereabouts. But he also realized that Frank's voice could be heard by others as well as by himself and so, steeling himself to the effort, he called back, ”It's all right. Don't worry. Stop talking and listen.”
Instantly, Frank's voice ceased and Tom drew a breath of relief and then he gulped and pressed close to Rawlins, for before him in the water, as if attracted by the sounds of his voice, the two dim forms of the strange divers once more appeared. For a s.p.a.ce they remained motionless as though listening and perspiration broke out on Tom's forehead and chills ran up and down his spine as he heard distinctly the sounds of low-toned words in the same guttural tongue, and he was certain, positive, that his voice had been heard, that the others were striving to locate him, and that at any moment Frank or Henry might become curious or impatient and speak. In his terrified mind he could picture those big, sickly green, distorted beings creeping towards him, their wide-flung arms waving uncertainly like the tentacles of a huge octopus as they lurched forward; he could imagine the fixed, expressionless stare of those great goggle-eyed gla.s.ses in the squat neckless helmets and, as the current caused light and shadow to waver and change, the figures seemed actually moving towards his hiding place.
It was terrible; he no longer thought of them as fellow men, no longer looked upon them as human beings; his fears had transformed them to submarine monsters, weird, uncanny, intelligent but bloodthirsty creatures, and so great was the tension, so fearful the vision conjured up by his overwrought imagination that he would have screamed had his mouth not been parched and dry and incapable of uttering a sound. It was like a nightmare, a dream in which one is powerless to move or to cry out; where one cannot compel muscles or mind to function; where one feels that it cannot be real, cannot be possible and yet is filled with sweating, blood-curdling terror that it is. And then, after what seemed hours of torture, but was barely ten seconds from the time the men had emerged from the sewer, their voices ceased and to Tom's inexpressible relief they appeared to fade into the murky green water. They were moving away, soundlessly, mysteriously, without visible effort, and Tom noticed with his fright-filled eyes that above them was poised an indistinct, cigar-shaped object, the same torpedolike affair he had seen lifted from the sewer, and he realized that somehow, by some means, the men were dragging this along with them into the dim, green distance.
He was aroused by Rawlins' whisper and a touch on his arm.
”I'm going to follow,” were the barely audible words. ”No danger. Must see where they go. Come on.”
Recovering from his fright, now that the divers were retreating, and rather rea.s.sured by the sound of his companion's voice and words Tom moved forward from the wall but still grasping Rawlins' hand.
They could not see the figures before them, for the muck stirred up by the others' pa.s.sage concealed them as effectually as a smoke screen, but it also served to betray their whereabouts and to conceal Tom and Rawlins as well. For some distance-several hundred yards Tom thought-they moved along, following close to the wall that bounded the sh.o.r.e and ever with the slowly drifting column of muddy water to guide them.
Once or twice the murk seemed to drift away, and each time Rawlins instantly halted, waiting to see if those they were trailing had come to a stop, but each time the mud again rose before them and they resumed their way.
Tom had no idea of the distance or direction they had traveled. The effort he made to walk was his only guide and he knew that the same effort, the same number of steps on land, would have carried him a long way, but he also knew that under water his progress was snail-like, that a step might carry one a few inches or several feet or not at all, depending upon the current, and he wondered vaguely if Rawlins knew his way, if he could find his way back, or if he intended to bob to the surface to get his bearings when he finally decided to return to the dock. And Tom smiled to himself as he pictured the looks of surprise, the screams of fright which would greet their unexpected and sudden appearance if Rawlins did this and they should bob up beside some crowded recreation pier or ferry s.h.i.+p. But Rawlins had halted again.
Before them now the mud was thinning out, the water was being swept clear of silt and Rawlins drew Tom beside him behind a huge block of stone which had been dumped at the base of the wall. Slowly and gradually the water cleared. It was evident that those they were following were no longer stirring up the mud and so must have come to a stop and, as the sediment drifted off and the dim green light filtered through the water, Tom peered into the vast illimitable void. It was like looking through thick green gla.s.s or like gla.s.s made half-opaque by one's breath upon it and for a time Tom could see nothing. Then, as the water became still clearer, he saw the faint outlines of timbers and spiles and a dark object looming ominously, like a cloud, which he recognized as the bottom of some vessel. Against the lighter water over his head, a shadow pa.s.sed and the greenness quivered and wavered and he knew a small boat was being rowed above them; but no sign could he see of those they had been following.
Then Tom noticed something else, something that rose above the dark bottom of the river as a darker ma.s.s, something that resembled a great bank of mud or a reef of rock. Irregular in outline, dark green as seen through the water, unlike anything he had ever seen, yet somehow it had a vaguely familiar look; it did not seem quite like mud or rock of any natural formation, but rather like some sort of boat. Yes, that was it-like the hull of a boat-it reminded him of a picture of a sunken wreck. Perhaps it was. Yes, now that the thought had entered his head, he could see that it was a wreck; he could make out the stump of a mast, the remains of deck houses, something like portions of rails. But what was it doing here? Why should a sunken hulk be lying in the East River?
Of course it was out of the channel, it was lying partly beneath a dock or pier and Tom noticed that the spiles of the pier sagged and that several were broken off under water. Evidently the pier was an old one, perhaps disused, and maybe the old hulk had been sunk during some fire which had destroyed the pier at the same time.
All these thoughts flashed through Tom's mind as he peered into the dim greenness and then all were wiped from his brain as he caught a glimpse of the two divers moving from among the spiles. Tom was as much at sea as ever as to the distances under water. He could not tell whether the wreck was fifty or five hundred feet away. He was not at all sure that, if he reached out, he could not touch the old hulk or even the moving forms. The next moment the two had reached the side of the wreck and then, to Tom's amazement, they seemed to disappear within it, to step through the sides as though it were only a shadow in the water.
”Gosh,” he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed unconsciously, ”they went into that wreck!”
”Wreck!” came Rawlins' whispered words. ”Wreck! That's no wreck. That's a submarine. That's their hangout!”
So absolutely thunderstruck was Tom at Rawlins' words that he could not even reply. But now he saw that what he had mistaken for a waterlogged sunken hulk was indeed an under-sea boat, a submarine and a big one. He had never seen a submarine except from above water before. He had no idea how such a craft would appear under water. He did not realize that the narrow deck almost awash, the tiny superstructure and conning tower which are all the landsman sees are but a very small portion of a submarine's whole; that out of sight, and never exposed above the surface of the sea, is a big boat-shaped hull with rudders and propellers; that the cigar-shaped Jules Verne type of submersible so familiar in fiction is not a thing of fact; and that the modern submarine if seen under water might easily be mistaken for an ordinary vessel's hull.
It was not at all surprising therefore that Tom had mistaken the submerged craft for the hulk of a steamer or s.h.i.+p, for submarines were the last thing in his mind and no one would have dreamed of seeing one here beneath the surface of the East River.
Now, however, Tom could see that what he had mistaken for the stump of a mast was the conning tower; what he had thought were shattered deck houses and rails were the superstructure; and he could now even make out the lateral horizontal rudders and the vertical rudder and screws.
But this made the mystery still greater. It was even more wonderful to find a submarine here than a sunken vessel. Of course, Tom knew there were plenty of the navy's submarines forever knocking about, and for an instant it occurred to him that it was one of these engaged in making some test and that the divers whom they had seen were members of the boat's crew.
Then instantly he remembered the men had spoken in a foreign tongue, that they had carried a mysterious object to the trapdoor in the sewer, and that they had taken the same or a duplicate object from the sewer.
It was all inexplicable, puzzling, unfathomable.
Rawlins' voice recalled him to the present.
”They've gone,” said the diver. ”I want to find out who and what she is.
You stay here. I'll be away only a moment.”
As he spoke, he released Tom's hand and with a final caution for the boy not to follow or move away, Rawlins floundered towards the submarine.
Interestedly Tom watched him. He noticed that Rawlins did not stir up the mud and then, for the first time, he discovered that the bottom was hard and sandy. Somehow all sense of fear and danger had left him. How foolish he had been, to be sure! No doubt, he thought to himself, it was the unexpected appearance of the men and their grotesque forms which had aroused his imagination. There was Rawlins, still moving away and looking as terrible and awesome as had the others-even more so, if anything, with his proboscis-like helmet topped by its grid and the container on his shoulders giving him the appearance of being humpbacked.
He wondered how far the submarine was from where he stood. Rawlins now seemed close to it and yet he could not possibly tell whether his friend was really near to the craft or not. It was all most interesting, most baffling and most unreal and dreamlike. He wondered what Frank and Henry would think of his long silence. He wondered if they could hear him or he could hear them. Surely there would be no danger in speaking now.