A GREAT PLAY.
Instantly all was commotion on board the submarine, but it was orderly
commotion. Clackett jumped to his ballast tanks, Gaines “turned his
engine over,” and Carl and Dick hastened into the periscope room.
“Aft with you, Carl,” called Bob, “and stand by to take in the stern
anchor. Clackett, forward, and be ready for the bow anchor. Dick,”
Bob’s eyes were again on the periscope table, “bring all the loose
coils of rope you can find and lay them on the locker.”
Dick had no notion what the ropes were wanted for, but he went for
them, and soon had four coils laid along the top of the locker. After
that, he passed to the steering wheel, standing shoulder to shoulder
beside Bob in front of the periscope table.
There was an atmosphere of expectancy all through the submarine. Every
nerve was strained, and each person stood at his post almost with bated
breath. Ysabel, without speaking, came into the periscope room and
watched Bob with steady eyes.
“There she is!” cried Dick, his eyes on the periscope mirror; “I see
her coming!”
Bob also saw the motor launch, breaking into sight against the
background of indistinct foliage, far up the stream. The boat was
comparatively small, and well loaded. Fingal was in the bow thwarts,
with a rifle across his knees; in the stern was Cassidy and a negro
soldier, both likewise armed with rifles. Between Fingal and Cassidy
and the negro were the prisoners. There were four of them--Jordan,
Speake, Tirzal, and a slender, full-bearded man in a battered solar
hat. Cassidy was close to the gasoline engine and was evidently looking
after it. Fingal, from the bow, was doing the steering.
“They’re all there,” said Bob, in a calm, matter-of-fact tone. “Come
here, Ysabel.”
The girl stepped obediently to his side. Bob pointed to one of the
prisoners reflected in the mirror.
“Is that Coleman?” he asked.
“Yes,” was the answer.
“You’d better go back and sit down, Ysabel,” said Bob. “Pretty soon
we’re going to need all the space we have in this vicinity.”
Bob was easy, almost smiling. A great relief had come to him, for the
launch was in sight with four captives and three captors, and now it
lay with Bob alone whether his friends and Coleman should be released
or not.
“Why don’t you do something?” implored Dick, his hands shaking with
excitement.
“I’m waiting for the right time,” was the cool answer.
“We’ve only two revolvers,” muttered Dick, “and there are three rifles
in that boat. What can we do?”
“Nothing with firearms. We’ve got to make a different play, Dick.”
A moment longer Bob waited, studying the approach of the launch with
calculating eyes; then, suddenly, he turned.
“In with the anchors, Clackett, you and Carl,” he called. “See how
quick you can get them off the bottom. Start your engine, Gaines,” he
added.
The lifting of the anchors caused the _Grampus_ to drift with the
current. But only for a moment. Soon the screw took the push and Dick,
under orders from Bob, headed the craft upstream and the propeller
worked just fast enough to hold her steady.
“Anchor’s stowed!” called Clackett.
“Jump for the tank room, Clackett!” called Bob. “Carl, up here with
you.”
As Carl came rolling excitedly into the periscope room, Clackett
reported, by tube, that he was back at his usual post.
“Keep the _Grampus_ pointed for the launch, Dick,” said Bob. “Carl,
take a coil of rope and climb to the conning-tower hatch. The moment
the tower’s awash, open the hatch, get out on the deck and do what you
can with the rope.”
Carl was bewildered. What was he to do with the rope? Nevertheless, he
obeyed orders.
Bob continued to watch the periscope table and to calculate. Then,
again suddenly, he whirled to the tube communicating with the tank
chamber.
“Empty the tanks by compressed air, Clackett!” he called. “See how
quick you can do it! Everything depends on you!”
The hiss of the air was heard ejecting the water. The submarine began
to rise.
“Bring her up under the launch, Dick!” cried Bob. “Make no mistake, old
chap! _Under the launch_, mind!”
A thrill ran through Dick Ferral’s nerves. At last he understood what
his friend was about! Had he had time, Dick would have liked to give
Bob Steele a hug from sheer admiration.
“When the tanks are empty,” shouted Bob to Clackett, “come up, take a
coil of rope and rush for the deck.”
“Aye, aye, sir!” called Clackett.
The periscope revealed a strange situation. The launch was almost upon
the periscope ball. Too late those in the motor boat recognized the
device. Before the boat could sheer off, the _Grampus_ had risen under
her bodily and lifted her clear of the water. The steel hull of the
submarine shivered, and wild cries came from those in the motor boat.
Dick grabbed a coil of rope and leaped for the iron ladder.
“Up with the hatch, Carl!” he yelled. “Out on the deck and see how many
you can pull out of the river.”
Carl, wrenching back on the lever and throwing up the dripping hatch
cover, scrambled out.
“Steer from the tower, Dick,” Bob called, racing up the ladder, “as
soon as the hatchway is cleared.”
Clackett followed Bob, and Ysabel Sixty followed Clackett. The thrill
of the moment was in the girl’s nerves. She could not have held herself
back if she had wanted to. Armed with a coil of rope, she climbed over
the rim of the hatch and out on the slippery plates of the deck.
What Bob saw, when he struck the deck, was an overturned launch in the
water, and two men clinging to the bow of the _Grampus_. One of these
was Cassidy and the other was Tirzal. The former was clinging to the
flagstaff, and the other to one of the wire cable guys. By an accident,
they had held to the curved deck instead of slipping back into the
water.
Dick, from the tower, was able to direct the boat so as to facilitate
the picking up of those in the river.
Carl tossed a rope to Speake, Bob got one to Coleman, and Clackett
succeeded in getting a line in the hands of Jordan. Ysabel tossed one
end of her rope to Fingal, but he flung it aside with an oath. The
negro soldier reached for it, but Fingal struck his hand fiercely
aside, seized the soldier by the neck and began swimming with him
toward the river bank.
While the rescued prisoners were being hauled aboard, Bob watched
Fingal and the negro. The current was swift, but both men were strong
swimmers. To Bob’s satisfaction he saw the two gain the bank and get
safely upon dry ground. Fingal’s move was characteristic of him, for,
as soon as he could lift himself, he shook his clenched fist at the
submarine and those on her deck. If he had had a rifle, undoubtedly he
would have done some shooting.
“Bob Steele!” cried Jordan. He was sitting on the deck, his back
against the side of the conning tower, shaking the water out of his
ears.
“Well?” asked Bob.
“Did you come up under that launch by accident, or did you do it
purposely?”
“I had that all figured out, Jordan,” laughed Bob.
“It was the greatest play I ever heard of!”
“It was the only one we could make that would stand any show of
winning. When you and Speake and Tirzal left the _Grampus_, you took
all the rifles. We were left with only a brace of six-shooters. Of
course I knew better than to try to get the best of Fingal, Cassidy,
and the soldier with two popguns when they were armed with rifles.”
“Of course you did!” chuckled Jordan. “I’m as wet as a drowned rat,
but I’m happy--oh, yes, happier than I ever thought I should be, a
few minutes ago. By the way, Bob, that gentleman with the dripping
whiskers is Jeremiah Coleman, the fellow we came to rescue, and just
missed leaving a few more prisoners to keep him company. Jerry, shake
hands with Bob Steele. He was complimented in those messages from New
Orleans, and I must say that he fills the bill.”
“Glad to meet you, Bob Steele,” said Coleman, as he leaned to take
Bob’s hand. “You’ve done a fine thing for all of us, and it’s something
that won’t be forgotten in a hurry.”
“Cassidy and Tirzal seem to have come aboard without gettin’ wet,”
remarked Clackett, with a glance of contempt in the direction of the
mate. Cassidy sat on the deck with his head bowed, as abject a figure
as Bob ever saw.
“Which way now, Bob?” asked Dick.
“Belize,” replied Bob. “Go down the ladder and let Tirzal take the
wheel until we all get below; after that, Tirzal can steer from the
tower. Go below, gentlemen, with Dick. You’ll feel more comfortable
after you dry your clothes, and then we can have a talk. There are a
lot of things I’ve got to find out.”
Ysabel led the descent into the periscope room; Coleman followed her,
then Tirzal, then Speake, and then Jordan. Clackett and Carl brought
up the rear of the procession, both, with their eyes, telling the
melancholy Cassidy what they thought of him as they dropped down the
tower hatch.
“Better go below, Cassidy,” said Bob calmly.
For answer, the mate jerked a revolver from a belt at his waist and
lifted the muzzle to his breast.
In a twinkling, Bob had hurled himself across the slippery deck and
knocked the weapon out of Cassidy’s hand.
“You’re less of a man than I thought you, Cassidy,” cried Bob
contemptuously, “to think of such a thing as that!”