Part 21 (1/2)

Signal bells clanged, and again they were gliding under the ocean's armor of ice.

As he listened to the hum of the machinery, one question puzzled Dave. He had seen something along the end of that ice-floe. What was it? A sail?

If so, it was a very strange one--half white and half black. He could not be sure it was a sail. But what else could it have been?

But now they had swept out from under the ice. It was time to rise.

Instantly he pressed the b.u.t.ton. The craft slowed again. Another press, and as before they rose. This time no white surface would interrupt them.

A current coming from land caught them forward and tilted the craft. She slanted from fore to aft. This did not matter; she would right herself on the surface like a cork.

But what was this? As the point shot from the water, something rang out against the steel. This was followed immediately by what, in the narrow apartments, amounted to a deafening explosion; then came the sound of rus.h.i.+ng waters.

”Great G.o.d! We're bombed!” shouted the Doctor.

Dave's cool head saved them for the moment. His hand seized an electric switch and he pulled it desperately. The bow compartment was quickly closed, checking the rush of water into the rest of the ”sub,”

Fortunately, no one had been forward at the time.

But now they were sinking rapidly. Then came the throb of the pumps forcing out the water from the compartments aft. Slowly the sickening sinking of their s.h.i.+p was checked.

”Will she rise again?” asked the Doctor, white-faced but cool.

”I think so, sir,” responded Dave.

Dave watched a gauge with anxious eyes. The pumps were still working.

Would the craft stand the test? Would she rise?

One, two, three minutes he watched the dial; then a fervent ”Thank G.o.d!”

escaped his lips. The sub was rising again.

But once more his brow was clouded. What awaited them on the surface?

”One more,” he muttered, ”just one more, and we are done for.”

Every man aboard the submarine had a different explanation for the bomb which had disabled their craft. Jones, the electrician, had just finished reading the adventures of a young British gunner in these very waters somewhere back in the eighties. The story had to do with the defense of seal fisheries against the j.a.ps, and Jones was sure that a j.a.panese seal-poaching boat had bombed them. McPherson, who had seen active service chasing German subs, was certain they had encountered one of the missing U boats. Wilder believed it had been a Russian cruiser, and, of course, Jarvis blamed it to the ”bloomin' 'eathen.”

The first and third of these theories could be discarded at once, since no craft was to be seen when last they submerged, and a cruiser or schooner of any size could scarcely have escaped their attention.

As for Dave, he had another theory, but was too busy to talk about it. He had read a great deal regarding the Eskimos and their methods of hunting.

Meanwhile the submarine was rising slowly toward the surface. She was coming up with her stern tilted high this time, for the water in her forward compartments disturbed her balance. Every heart beat fast as the water above grew lighter.

”McPherson, be ready to throw open the hatch the minute we are clear,”

commanded Dave. ”All life belts on?” he asked.

”Aye, aye, sir!” came in chorus.

”Rifles?”