PAGE 5
Between The Millstones
by
Rising from the forward end of this slot, and lying close to the metal hull in front of it, was a strong lever of brass, L-shaped, connected internally, and indicating to his trained mechanical mind that its only sphere of action was to lift up and sink back into the slot. He fingered it, but did not yet try to move it. A little to the left of this lever was a small blade of steel, curved to fit the convex hull,–which it hugged closely,–and hinged at its forward edge. This, too, must have a purpose,–an internal connection,–and he did not disturb it until he had learned more.
To the right of the brass lever was an oblong hatch about eight inches long, flush with the hull, and held in place by screws. Three seams, with lines of screws, encircled the round hull, showing that it was constructed in four sections; and these screws, with those in the hatch, were strong and numerous–placed there to stay.
Fatigued from his exertion, he moistened his hair, sat down, and watched the incoming tide swing the craft round parallel with the beach. As the submerged bow raised to a level with the stern, he noticed that the small blades on the horizontal vanes dropped from their upward slant to a straight line with the vanes.
“Rudders,” he said, “horizontal rudders. Can’t be anything else.” With his chin in his hand and his wrinkled brow creased with deeper corrugations, he put his mind through a process of inductive reasoning.
“Horizontal rudders,” he mused, “must be to keep her from diving, or to make her dive. They work automatically, and I s’pose the vertical rudders are the same. There’s nothing outside to turn ’em with. That boat isn’t made to ride in,–no way to get into her,–and she isn’t big enough, anyhow. And as you can’t get into her, that brass lever must be what starts and stops her. Wonder what the steel blade’s for. ‘T isn’t a handy shape for a lever,–to be handled with fingers,–too sharp; but it has work to do, or it wouldn’t be there. That section o’ railroad iron on top must be to hang the boat by,–a traveler,–when she’s out o’ water.
“And the fan-wheel on the nose–what’s that for? If it’s a speed or distance indicator, the dial’s inside, out o’ sight. There’s no exhaust, so the motive power can’t be steam. Clockwork or electricity, maybe. Mighty fine workmanship all through! That square door is fitted in for keeps, and she must ha’ cost a heap. Now, as she has horizontal rudders, she’s intended to steer up and down; and as there’s no way to get into her or to stay on her, and as she can’t be started from the inside or steered from the outside, I take it she’s a model o’ one o’ those submarine boats I’ve heard of–some fellow’s invention that’s got away from him. Guess I’ll try that lever and see what happens. I’ll bury the propellers, though; no engine ought to race.”
He pushed the craft into deeper water, pointed it shoreward, and cautiously lifted the curved blade to a perpendicular position, as high as it would go. Nothing happened. He lowered it, raised it again,–it worked very easily,–then, leaving it upright, he threw the long brass lever back into the slot. A slight humming came from within, the propellers revolved slowly, and the craft moved ahead until the bow grounded. Then he followed and lifted the lever out of the slot to its first position, shutting off the power.
Delighted with his success, he backed it out farther than before and again threw back the brass lever, this time with the curved blade down flat on the hull. With the sinking of the lever into the slot the mechanism within gave forth a rushing sound, the propellers at the stern threw up a mound of foam, and the craft shot past him, dived until it glanced on the sandy bottom, then slid a third of its length out of water on the beach and stopped, the propellers still churning, and the small wheel on the nose still spinning with the motion given it by the water.