CAPTURING THE GENERAL.
Bob, on the occasion of his former visit to the River Izaral, had
caught a fleeting glimpse of General Pitou. Speake, who had been a
prisoner in the general’s hands for a brief time, was more familiar
with his appearance. Gliding to the periscope table, Speake took a look
for himself.
“You’re right, Bob,” he whispered, “it’s the old villain himself.”
“I should think he was takin’ chances coming so far from camp,”
remarked Clackett, “and right in the direction of General Mendez and
his troops.”
“Perhaps,” chuckled Dick, “he was expecting to drop down the river in
the submarine! Let’s not disappoint him, mates. He’ll go down, but not
with the people he intended to have as companions.”
A deep silence reigned in the periscope room. Voices were heard on the
landing, and then a clattering rattle as the general landed on the
deck. Don Carlos followed more lightly, and stepped to the conning
tower.
“Fingal!” called Don Carlos. “The general is here, and he feels that
the prisoners must be dealt with in a summary manner at once. He
doesn’t think it advisable to wait until nightfall. Better bring them
up.”
Here, in a moment, a situation was developed which threatened Bob’s
plan for entrapping Don Carlos and Pitou. The don and the general were
not intending to come into the boat, but to wait on the deck while the
prisoners were brought up.
“I say, below there!” called Don Carlos, in a louder voice. “Wake up,
you! Where’s Fingal?”
“Ahoy, don!” bellowed Bob, trying his utmost to imitate the raucous
tones of Fingal’s voice. “Bring the general down a minute!”
Bob’s imitation was fairly good, but not good enough to deceive the
keen ears of Don Carlos. With a yell of alarm, the don sprang ashore.
“This way, general!” he shouted; “hurry! There’s something wrong here.”
There followed a crash, a rattling slide of some object over the
sloping deck of the boat, then a shrill volley of oaths.
Bob rushed up the ladder and looked out of the hatch.
The general was a little man, and he carried a prodigious sword and
wore a pair of immense spurs on his cavalry boots. As near as Bob could
judge, from what he saw, the general had tried to leap ashore and
his spurs had caught in one of the guy ropes. Instead, therefore, of
leaping, he fell in a heap, and had clattered and banged along the deck
until he was caught and held between the side of the boat and a pile
that formed part of the wharf.
The general was seeking in vain to extricate himself from his
difficulties. Every time he tried to get up, his boots would slip on
the rounded plates, and he would sit down on the sharp points of his
spurs.
The air was fairly blue in his immediate vicinity, and a perfect bedlam
of epithets went up from him. Don Carlos, seeing Bob in the top of the
tower, guessed rightly that the prisoners had released themselves in
some manner. The don did not return to assist the general, but danced
about on the bank, tossing his arms frantically and shouting for him to
make haste.
The general was more than anxious to oblige, but fate was against
anything like haste. The sharp points of his spurs galled him, and
when his spurs ceased from troubling, his long sword got between his
legs and tripped him.
Bob had abundant time to slide over the top of the conning tower, grab
the general by the collar of his red coat, and pull him erect on the
ridgelike spine of the deck.
With a howl of wrath, Pitou backed up against the conning tower, drew
his sword, threw his left arm over his face, and proceeded savagely to
carve slices out of the air.
The situation was serious, from several points of view, but Bob, for
all that, could hardly repress a laugh.
Then, to crown the ignominy that was being heaped upon the general,
Speake suddenly hoisted himself above the top of the tower, noted the
situation, reached out calmly and passed his arms about the general’s
body under the shoulders.
The next moment Bob had a glimpse of a red coat, a pair of cavalry
boots, and flashing spurs being elevated and dragged down into the maw
of the tower.
It was a tragic disappearance--tragic for the general--for, in this
inglorious manner, he was leaving the scene of his military exploits.
As soon as Bob got below he found his friends enjoying the general as
much as he had done. Clackett had taken his sword, Speake had pulled
off his boots, and Dick was sitting on the captive’s breast, pinning
him to the floor while he affixed cords to his wrists and ankles.
“Fer goodness’ sake,” cried Speake, “get somethin’ between his jaws!
He’s chatterin’ more’n a cage o’ monkeys.”
Ysabel stepped forward with a bandage, and the general was soon silent.
Dick finished by dragging him into the prison chamber and dropping him
down beside Fingal.
“Oh, what a fine general it is!” laughed Dick. “And he was trying
to make himself dictator of the country! I wonder what sort of a
population they have here, to let a little wasp like that go on the
warpath and make trouble!”
“He is a little wretch!” exclaimed Ysabel, with flashing eyes.
“And that’s the military phenomenon your uncle, Abner Fingal, was
trying to make you marry!” exclaimed Dick, suddenly recalling a
half-forgotten episode in Ysabel’s life.
The girl flushed crimson. “Never!” she breathed fiercely.
“If it hadn’t been for his spurs and his sword,” said Bob, “he would
have been able to get away. But we’re strangely reckless, friends,”
he added, “to amuse ourselves with the general when we are in such
desperate plight. We can’t leave here until Gaines gets back, and not
only has one of Fingal’s men escaped us, but Don Carlos has likewise
got away. Both will carry the news of what we have done to the camp of
the rebels--and you can imagine what will happen when the rebels hear
that we have got their general below decks. We’ll have the entire army
about our ears--and that won’t do; at least, not until we have Gaines
with us. After that, we can close the hatch, sink below the surface and
glide downstream without----”
Bob paused. He suddenly remembered what Pedro had said about the
submarine mines at the mouth of the river.
“We may have a hard time getting out of the river,” he continued
thoughtfully. “Pedro told Ysabel that the rebels had planted mines in
the river bed, close to the fort, and that they were so low in the
water we would probably strike them if we tried to pass the fort
submerged. Again, if we attempt to gain the gulf by keeping on the
surface of the river, the cannon in the fort will bombard us.”
“A plague on their mines and their cannon!” cried Dick recklessly.
“We’ll run past the fort. If the soldiers are all as able as their
general, they couldn’t hit us with grape and canister.”
“Well, that’s a bridge for us to cross at a later time,” said Bob.
“Just at present we have Gaines to think about. He ought to have got
back by this time. Clackett, go back to your post in the woods and keep
a sharp watch for soldiers. We’ll surely have a visit from them now. Up
on deck with your hatchet, Dick, and stand ready to cut the cable at
the first sign of an attack.”
“Aye, aye!” responded Dick, picking up the hatchet. “I think we could
capture the whole rebel army if it came our way.”
“We’ve had one experience with the rebel army, Dick,” said Bob, “and it
was far from pleasant. Let’s not repeat the experience. Climb for the
deck, and be----”
Events were happening for the young motorist and his chums that day!
They were coming like the rapid reports of a Gatling gun, and hardly
was one issue met and vanquished before another was raised.
Dick and Clackett were on their way up the ladder when a rattle of
musketry reached the ears of those in the submarine. It came from the
direction of the bank, and was followed by loud cries and a tremendous
thrashing among the bushes.
“Hurry!” cried Bob. “Don Carlos must have met a detachment of Pitou’s
army and have headed them this way! We can’t wait any longer for
Gaines! Up with you and cut the cable!”
Clackett stepped off the ladder to make room for Bob, who sprang to
follow Dick aloft.
When Dick reached the deck, he gave a shout of astonishment. “Hurry
up!” he called.
When Bob was able to see what was going on, he was as greatly surprised
as Dick had been.
Coming down the bank, and traveling as fast as his long legs could
carry him, was Gaines. He was clad only in shirt and trousers, and
his bare feet were bleeding from their contact with the sharp stones.
Unmindful of this trying discomfort, he rushed down the bank with
flying leaps, while bushes crackled behind him and little wreaths of
smoke rose upward, marking the discharge of firearms.
Bob rushed along the deck and caught the hatchet out of his chum’s hand.
“Go to the engine room, Dick,” said he quickly, “and take charge of the
motor. Send Clackett to the tank room. Let Speake take the wheel until
I come. Submerge when I give the word, and do it _quick!_”
It was no time for hesitation, and Ferral darted back down the hatch.