THE SNARE TIGHTENS.
The yawl was on the windward side of the _Grampus_. Bob, calling down
directions to Gaines, had the submarine brought about so that the yawl
lay on the lee side. This, to some extent, gave smoother water for the
unloading of the small boat’s passengers.
Speake, holding to one of the wire guys that supported the periscope
tube, descended the rounded deck, until up to his knees in water.
Stretching out his hand he caught the fist of the big fellow in the
sou’wester. The latter, standing on the gunwale of the yawl, gave a
leap and landed sprawling on the submarine’s deck.
A wave rolled over him, but he managed to clutch the guy rope and hang
on. The next moment he rolled over close to the conning tower and lay
there, face down, apparently almost spent.
Clackett, imitating Speake’s maneuver, was bringing another of the men
aboard. One by one the yawl was unloaded, the boy being the last to
come.
Bob, climbing out of the conning tower, ordered the rescued men below.
Two of them had vanished through the hatch when Bob, bending over the
big fellow by the base of the conning tower, asked him who he and his
comrades were, and how they happened to be adrift in a small boat.
“Had er shipwreck,” answered the man hoarsely.
“Can’t you get up?” asked Bob. “We’ll have to get you below, somehow.”
“Mebbe I kin make it if yer put yer arms under mine an’ give me a
lift.”
Bracing himself on the deck, Bob reached downward and pushed his hands
under the man’s armpits. At the same moment, the big fellow developed a
surprising amount of strength. Both his arms went upward, as he whirled
over on his back, and closed about Bob’s waist like the two jaws of a
vise.
“Now, then, nail ’em, you swabs!” he roared. “I got the boss o’ the
gang, an’ you git the rest!”
Not until that moment did Bob Steele suspect treachery. The revelation
came to him like a lightning flash.
A wild uproar echoed from below, and forward and aft Speake and
Clackett were struggling with those they had helped aboard.
The rounded deck of the _Grampus_, slippery with water and deluged
again and again by the waves, was a fearsome place for such a struggle.
How the combatants ever kept themselves out of the sea was a mystery.
Bob fought as best he could. He recognized the big fellow as Abner
Fingal, and knew, as well as though he had been told, that Don Ramon
Ortega had engineered a cunning plot for the capture of the submarine.
“What are you trying to do, Fingal?” Bob demanded, as the scoundrel
held him helpless in his ironlike grip.
“Trying to even up fer some o’ the things you done a spell ago!” roared
Fingal. “Stop yer squirmin’, or----”
With a fierce effort, Bob succeeded in breaking free. He rose to his
knees, only to meet the flintlike fist of Fingal. The terrific blow
hurled him backward, and he slid along the sloping deck against the guy
rope that supported the small flagstaff, close to the bow.
Fingal jumped after him, caught him by the collar, and pulled him back
before he could slip from the support of the rope and drop into the
sea. The jerk Fingal gave him hurled Bob headfirst against the iron
socket in which the base of the staff was secured to the deck. It was
a savage blow, and Bob straightened out limply and a wave of darkness
rolled over him.
When Bob opened his eyes again, he was in the same room where he and
Dick had been confined by Gaines, Speake, and Clackett. But there was
another prisoner now, for Speake was with Bob and Dick.
Dick, on a stool beside the cot, was rubbing Bob’s temples. Across from
them, on the other cot, Speake was sitting, nursing a bruise on the
side of his face.
“Hard luck, old boy!” muttered Dick ominously. “How are you feeling?”
“None too good,” answered Bob.
“You got a crack fore and aft. It’s a wonder one of ’em didn’t bash in
your skull.”
“It wasn’t the blows I received that’s hurting me now, Dick,” Bob went
on, “but the fact that we were trapped when we thought we were helping
a boatload of shipwrecked sailors. Have they captured the boat?”
“Well, I should say! That outfit of pirates swarmed all over her. I was
down in the engine room, you know, and, while I knew by the racket that
something was happening that wasn’t down on the bills, yet I didn’t
dare leave the motor. After a while the racket died out a little and I
called up through the speaking tube to learn what was going on. Some
one laughed; then, the next I knew, Fingal came driving Gaines along. A
swab trailed after Fingal, and both of ’em had guns. I was ordered up
to the periscope room, and Gaines was sent to the motor, the other chap
staying with him and keeping the gun aimed at him all the time. Oh, I
guess you fellows have got enough of helping the don, haven’t you?”
and Dick turned to Speake.
“We was a pack of fools,” answered Speake.
“What happened to you, Speake?” inquired Bob.
“The same as happened to all the rest,” was the growling response.
“That was a husky lot o’ shipwrecked mariners we picked up! They didn’t
seem hardly able to crawl aboard, but they woke up considerable as
soon as they got their feet on the _Grampus’_ deck. I had it which an’
t’other with a chap for’ard o’ the connin’ tower, and I held my own
until Clackett was downed and the man that was goin’ for him came at
me. Then, o’ course, I had to give up. Clackett an’ me was sent below
at the pistol’s p’int. Clackett’s in the tank room, and Gaines is in
the motor room, both with a couple of the thieves holdin’ guns on them
an’ makin’ ’em run the boat. The don’s steerin’, and we’re hikin’ right
on toward Port Livingstone. Oh, what a howlin’ mess!”
Bob sat up and bowed his head in his hands for a moment. His head
ached, and he was trying to think and get at the full extent of the
disaster.
“It was all a put-up job,” remarked Dick.
“That’s easy to guess, Dick,” returned Bob, lifting his head. “The boat
I saw hull down, off on the port side of us, must have been Fingal’s
schooner, the _North Star_. The schooner was expecting the don along
with the _Grampus_, and was laying to get that crew of rascals aboard
of us. Dropping the yawl in the water, the schooner left the boat
behind. Oh, I see it all now. But I can’t understand this Don Ramon
Ortega. This business will open the eyes of a good many people in
Belize.”
“But what’s the upshot of it all? What’s the don tryin’ to do?” This
from Speake, as he continued to nurse his injury.
“I can see through him, all right enough,” said Dick. “He’s playing
even with us for what we did on the Izaral River, a few days ago.”
“He has captured the _Grampus_,” added Bob, “and probably intends to
turn her over to General Pitou.”
“An’ there wasn’t anythin’ in that story of the don’s?” asked Speake.
“It was a pretty good story, an’ sounded to me like it might be
straight goods.”
“The don is helping Fingal,” returned Bob, “and the submarine is now in
the hands of the five we ‘rescued’ from the yawl, and the don. There
are six of our enemies and only five of us. Naturally, we don’t count,
being locked up in this steel room; and Gaines and Clackett can’t count
for much, either, with revolvers staring them in the face whichever way
they turn. This is a hard row of stumps for us, pards!”
“An’ all owin’ to Clackett, an’ Gaines, an’ me!” mourned Speake.
“There’s nothing to be gained thinking over that part of it, Speake,”
said Bob. “We’ve got to look this thing squarely in the face and do
what we can to recapture the submarine.”
“Nothin’ we can do!” grunted Speake. “That outfit of roughs have got
the whip hand of us, and they’re going to keep it. They was wise to
keep Gaines an’ Clackett to attend to the runnin’ of the machinery, an’
I guess the don can do the steerin’, easy enough.”
“I wonder if there was any truth at all in the don’s story?” ventured
Bob.
“In what part of it?” queried Dick.
“Why, about the revolutionists capturing Port Livingstone, and the fort
across the river.”
“If part o’ his yarn’s crooked,” grumbled Speake, “then I’ll gamble the
whole of it’s crooked. Why, Bob? What difference does that make?”
“Well, if Port Livingstone is in the hands of the revolutionists, then
we’ll be taken there, and not up the Izaral.”
“Wait!” exclaimed Dick, as a sudden thought came to him. “Don Ramon
Ortega is in mighty poor business if he’s helping these revolutionists.
What a two-faced swab he is! When he talked with us, last evening, he
was all against the rebels; now he’s for them. What will the Spanish
government say to that sort of work?”
“There’s something about Don Ramon that’s mighty puzzling,” said Bob.
“He’s a scheming scoundrel, though, and it’s our business to recapture
the _Grampus_--if we can.”
“How’ll we go to work, Bob?” asked Speake gloomily. “Every man in
Fingal’s party is armed. What could five of us do ag’inst six armed
men, providin’ we was able to bunch together and face ’em?”
At this point, the door leading into the periscope room opened and the
don and Fingal stepped through. Bob, Dick, and Speake all started up
on the entrance of the two men, but the latter carried revolvers, and
another armed man stood in the doorway behind them.
“Don’t get reckless, you fellows!” warned Fingal. “We ain’t
particularly anxious to hurt ye, but there’s no tellin’ what’ll happen
if you try to climb over us an’ git through that door.” The burly
ruffian turned toward his companion. “Fire away, don,” he added, “an
tell ’em what you got on your mind.”