ON THE JUMP.
“You say the schooner got away to the south, Ferral?” asked Jordan.
“Yes, and looked as though she was bound for down the coast. Looks as
though Cassidy had deserted, Bob.”
“We ought to have jailed him,” commented Jordan. “Did Cassidy know
anything about the sealed orders, Bob?”
“Captain Nemo, junior, had me read the orders aloud in the periscope
room,” Bob answered. “Cassidy had been in the conning tower, but when I
finished with the letter I saw that he was in the room with us.”
Jordan’s face grew even more foreboding.
“This looks bad!” he exclaimed. “I wouldn’t trust that Fingal man
around the corner, and here he’s run off with Cassidy and headed down
the coast. There’s something in the wind, and if our game is tipped off
before we get to where we’re going it will be a case of up-sticks with
Coleman.”
“I don’t think Cassidy would dare tip off our work to Fingal!”
exclaimed Bob, somewhat dashed by the course of events.
“A drunken man is liable to do anything.”
“But what would Cassidy have to gain by telling Fingal our business to
the southward?”
“Why, as for that, Fingal has been suspected of helping those same
revolutionists. If he can help the scoundrels hang on to Coleman, they
might make it worth his while.”
“The letter I read in the periscope room,” said Bob, after a moment’s
thought, “spoke of the Rio Dolce as the place where Coleman was being
held. This, you tell me, is wrong. In that event, and assuming that
Cassidy heard the whole of the letter, then he has a clew that’s not to
be depended on.”
“Fingal must know the Rio Dolce is not the place. The fact that the
schooner bore away to the south proves that some one has correct
information. No, Bob, Fingal has learned through Cassidy just why
the _Grampus_ put in at Belize; and Cassidy, intoxicated as he is
and worked up over a fancied grievance, has cast in his lot with the
schooner. The pair of them are off to the south to make trouble for us,
take my word for it. What we must do is to get away as close on their
heels as possible. We can’t wait until evening, but must proceed on the
jump and get away without losing any more time than necessary.”
“Wait a minute,” spoke up Dick. “You remember, Bob, that there was
a schooner that took Captain Sixty off the fruiter _Santa Maria_,
and sailed with him to find the derelict brig. That schooner was to
take off the arms and ammunition from the wreck, and would have done
so if the submarine hadn’t shown up and been backed by the cruiser
_Seminole_.”
“I remember that,” said Bob. “What of it, Dick?”
“Well, I think the schooner that took Cassidy and the other swab south
is the same one that figured in our affairs a few days ago.”
To all appearances the consul had had news relative to these events in
the gulf. As soon as Dick had finished, he slapped his hands excitedly.
“Jupiter!” he exclaimed. “This is more proof that Fingal is hand and
glove with the revolutionists. This new move, Bob, means that that pair
of scamps are off for the south to put a spoke in our wheel. We can’t
delay the start an instant longer than we find necessary to finish our
preparations.”
Before Bob could answer, an open carriage drove along the street.
The doctor was in the rear seat supporting the captain. The latter
looked like a very sick man indeed, and was leaning feebly against the
doctor’s arm.
“Don’t tell him anything about Cassidy’s running away,” cautioned Bob,
starting down the steps and toward the road. “It would only worry him,
and we’ll carry out the work that has been given to us, in spite of
Cassidy and Fingal.”
“He knows about it already,” said Dick. “We discovered Cassidy and the
other chap making for the schooner while we were coming ashore.”
“Did the captain give Cassidy permission to leave the submarine?”
“No. Carl said that the captain became unconscious just when the mate
started up to hoist the flag, and that the mate took another pull at
the flask and went on up the conning-tower ladder. It was French leave
he took, nothing less. As soon as Doctor Armstrong got to the _Grampus_
he wasn’t any time at all in bringing the captain to his senses, and
the first man Nemo, junior, asked about was Cassidy.”
By that time the carriage, which was proceeding slowly, was opposite
Bob, Dick, and Jordan, who formed a little group on the sidewalk. In
response to a gesture from the captain, the vehicle came to a halt.
“You are the American consul?” asked the captain, making an effort to
straighten up.
“Yes,” replied Jordan.
“I am Captain Nemo, junior, of the submarine _Grampus_. My unfortunate
illness puts me out of the work that lies ahead of the boat and her
crew, but Bob Steele, there, is perfectly capable of discharging the
duties of master. I should feel quite sure of the outcome if it was not
for the mate. He has deserted, and I am positive he intends to make
trouble. You must get away as soon as possible, Bob. Cassidy went the
other way from the Rio Dolce--which is a move I can’t understand, if he
is planning to interfere with the rescue of Coleman.”
Bob and Jordan exchanged quick looks. The captain, having no
information to the contrary, was still under the impression conveyed by
the sealed orders, viz.: that the captured consul was on the Rio Dolce
instead of the River Izaral. Neither Bob nor Jordan attempted to set
the captain straight.
Evidently the captain had talked more than was good for him, for
when he finished he collapsed, and had hardly strength enough to say
good-by. As he was driven off, Bob gazed after him sympathetically.
“Strange that a few hours should make such a difference in Captain
Nemo, junior,” he murmured.
“The climatic change perhaps had something to do with it, Bob,”
suggested Jordan. “But we can’t stand around here, my lad. We’ve got to
hustle--and this isn’t a very good climate to hustle in, either. It’s
the land of take-it-easy. You get the submarine in shape, and I’ll hunt
up the pilot, get together the war plunder and my own traps, and join
you just as quick as the nation will let me. On the jump, my lad, on
the jump.”
Jordan, suddenly energetic, turned and hastened back into the consulate.
“There’s a whole lot to that land lubber,” remarked Dick. “He’s as full
of snap and get-there as any chap I ever saw. But what’s the first
move? You’re the skipper, now, and it’s up to you to lay the course.”
“We’ve plenty of stores aboard for the trip we’re to make, with the
exception of gasoline. The _Grampus_ will be in strange waters on a
secret mission, and we must make sure of an abundant supply of fuel at
the start-off.”
The boys were not long in finding a place where they could secure the
gasoline, and but little longer in getting a negro carter to convey the
barrel to the landing. Here the same colored boatman who had brought
Bob and Dick ashore was waiting, and the barrel was loaded and carried
out to the submarine.
The sailboat hove to as close alongside the _Grampus_ as she could get,
and both vessels were made fast to each other by ropes. The gasoline
barrel was tapped, a hose run out from the conning-tower hatch, and the
negroes laid hold of a pump and emptied the barrel into the gasoline
reservoir of the submarine.
Dick took charge of the transfer of the gasoline, while Bob went down
into the periscope room and called up Speake, Clackett, and Gaines.
“Friends,” said he, “we’re off on a short cruise in strange waters--a
cruise that will probably call for courage, and will certainly require
tact and caution. Mr. Hays Jordan, the American consul, is going with
us, and when he comes aboard he will bring a pilot who knows where we
are to go and will take us there. You men know that it is Captain Nemo,
junior’s, order that I take charge of the work ahead of us. Have you
any objection to that?”
“The captain knew his business,” averred Gaines heartily, “and whatever
is good enough for him is good enough for us.”
Speake and Clackett likewise expressed themselves in the same
whole-souled manner.
“Thank you, my lads,” said Bob. “I suppose you have heard how the mate
went off in a huff. That makes us short-handed, in a way, although the
pilot we’re to take on will help out. Our work is government work,
something for Old Glory, and I feel that we will all of us do our best.
We shall have to run all night, and I will arrange to have Ferral
relieve Gaines, and Carl relieve Clackett. As for Speake, he will have
abundant opportunity to rest, as most of our night work will be on the
surface. Speake may now get us something to eat, and after that you
will all go to your stations.”
Speake was not long in getting his electric stove to work. There were
only a few provisions he could prepare without causing an offensive
odor, and the limited menu was quickly on the table. Hardly was the
meal finished when a boat hove alongside with Jordan. Bob, Dick, and
Carl went up on deck to assist the consul in getting his traps aboard.
Jordan had exchanged his white ducks for a trim suit of khaki. Two
belts were around his waist, one of them fluted with cartridges, and
the other supporting a brace of serviceable revolvers. With him came
three rifles and a box of ammunition.
The pilot was an unkempt half-blood named Tirzal. He was bareheaded and
barefooted, and had a ferret-like face and shifty, beadlike eyes.
As soon as the impedimenta was stowed below decks, Bob instructed
Tirzal in the steering of the submarine. The boat could be maneuvered
either from the conning tower or from the periscope room. When
maneuvered from the conning tower, the pilot stood on the iron ladder,
using his eyes over the top of the tower hatch; when steered from
below, compass and periscope were used.
Tirzal grasped the details with surprising quickness, his little eyes
snapping with wonder as they saw the panorama of ocean, shore, and
shipping on the mirror top of the periscope table.
While these instructions were going forward, Gaines and Dick had gone
into the motor room, Clackett and Carl had posted themselves in the
place from which the submerging tanks were operated, and Speake had
gone forward into the torpedo room.
“We’re all ready,” said Bob. “Take to the conning tower, Tirzal, and
give your signals.”
The half-breed, as proud as a peacock to have the management of this
strange craft under his hands, got up the ladder until only his bare
feet and legs from the knees down were visible.
Bob, posting himself by the periscope, divided his attention between
the panorama unfolded there and the work of Tirzal. He was considerably
relieved by the handy manner in which the half-breed took hold of his
work.
With ballast tanks empty, and the _Grampus_ riding as high in the water
as she could, the motor got to work the instant the anchors were off
the bottom and stowed.
“We’re off, Jordan!” cried Bob.
“Off on one of the strangest cruises I ever took part in,” returned the
consul, his face glowing with the novelty of the situation; “and it’s
a cruise, my boy,” he added, a little more soberly, “which is going
to demand all our resourcefulness in the matter of tact, skill, and
courage. Even then there’s a chance that we----”
Jordan did not finish, but gave Bob a look which expressed plainly all
that he had left unsaid.