A SUBMARINE BATTLE.
About a week later, the boys received sailing orders and promptly made
everything ready aboard the _Grampus_. Then, having learned every
detail of their commission, they collected the men and departed on the
new cruise.
They had been at sea several days, and were proceeding leisurely
southward, when Bob took one of the daily observations.
“Look at the chart, Dick. Unless I’m off in my reckoning, those blue
things in the distance, that look like clouds, are the mountains of
Trinidad.”
“Right-o, mate! The Gulf of Paria is to the south, and right ahead of
us is the Boca Drago, or Dragon’s Mouth, the entrance to the gulf.
What’s our first port of call?”
“Georgetown. That’s where we’re to pick up the midshipman.”
“But we’re two days ahead of time, and he won’t be expecting us. Why
not put in at Port of Spain for a little social call? I was there once,
on the old _Billy Ruffin_, and it’s a fine place for getting on your go
ashores and seeing the sights.”
“This is a business trip, old chap, and not a sight seeing excursion.
Our schedule has been made out for us, and we’ve got to follow it
through. It’s a big responsibility we’re under, and if anything should
happen to the _Grampus_, there’d----”
At this moment a tremendous shock interrupted Bob Steele. The big
steel hulk of the submarine stopped dead, reeled for an instant like
a drunken man, and then rebounded sternward against the push of the
propeller. Accompanying the weird maneuver was a fierce thrashing of
the waves outside.
Sunk level with the surface of the sea, conning tower awash, the
_Grampus_ had been proceeding at a good clip on her southward journey.
Bob Steele and Dick Ferral were in the periscope room, Bob with his
attention divided between the periscope table, the steering wheel, and
the small compass, and Dick on his knees beside a locker on which were
a number of admiralty charts.
Dick was thrown sidewise by the shock, and Bob only saved himself a
fall by taking a convulsive grip on the spokes of the steering wheel.
“Fore rudder will not work, sir!” cried Speake through the tube
communicating with the engine room.
One admirable thing about Bob was that he never got “rattled.” Under
any and all circumstances he kept his head.
“Stop your motor, Gaines!” he cried instantly through another of the
tubes, then, whirling to still another, he called: “Prepare to empty
the ballast, Clackett!”
The ready “Aye, aye, sir!” that came through both tubes proved that
those in motor room and tank room were on the alert.
The hum of the engine died slowly, and muffled sounds from the tank
room showed that Clackett was calmly attending to his work.
In time of accident no man could leave his post, for the safety of
the submarine, and the lives of those within her might depend upon an
instant compliance with orders. Iron-nerved men formed the crew of the
_Grampus_, for each had been selected by Captain Nemo, junior, with
that quality in mind.
Meanwhile Bob Steele had been studying the top of the periscope table
carefully.
“So far as I can make out,” said he, in a puzzled tone, “there is
nothing above.”
“The Orinoco brings down a lot of drift, mate,” put in Dick, “and we
may have struck a log floating between two waves. If our rudder has
been damaged----”
He was interrupted by another blow, fully as severe as the first. But
this stroke came from the side and not from forward, and hurled the
submarine over so far that every loose article slammed to starboard,
and it seemed as though the boat must surely turn turtle.
“Start the turbines, Clackett!” roared Bob through the tank-room tube;
“empty the ballast tanks!”
“Sorry to report, Bob,” came the instant response of Clackett, “that
the turbines are disabled an’ won’t work.”
Bob was astounded. “Then empty the tanks by compressed air!” he cried.
“Sharp’s the word, Clackett!”
The hiss of air, fighting with the water in the tanks, was heard. At
once the boat began to ascend and presently the slap of waves against
the outer shell proved that they were on the surface.
“Take the wheel, Dick,” called Bob, and leaped up the iron ladder into
the conning tower.
The lunettes, or little windows in the tower, were frosted with
spindrift, and Bob threw open the hatch and pushed head and shoulders
over the top.
“Great spark plugs!” he cried; “a whale!”
“A bull cachalot!” exclaimed Dick from below, staring through the
periscope.
“Vat iss dot, Dick?”
The voice of Carl Pretzel, none too steady, floated up to Bob from the
periscope room. Carl was not on duty, and had probably come up to find
out what was going on.
“Why,” went on Dick excitedly, “a cachalot is one of the hardest
fighters in the whole whale family. We probably ran into that old
blubber head while he was taking his morning nap, and he’s got his mad
up. By the Old Harry! See him spout! We’re going to have trouble with
him, Bob! His head’s like India rubber, and he could poke it through
the plates of the _Grampus_ and never hurt himself.”
Bob had got his head out of the hatch just in time to snatch a glance
at the flukes of a big whale disappearing in the sea.
He signaled half speed ahead by the engine-room jingler. The elevation
of the periscope ball gave Dick a much more extensive view of the
surface than it did Bob from the top of the conning tower. The
whale had come to the top again, and, while Bob was able to see the
geyserlike column of water the creature threw up, Dick could take in
the cachalot’s immense proportions.
“He’s lumpy all over,” announced Dick, “and every lump is an old
harpoon mark. He’s a veteran, mates, and he’s coming right at us. He’ll
stave in the plates, Bob! Dodge him!”
“Tell Speake and Clackett to put a Whitehead in the port torpedo tube!”
called Bob.
Dick immediately repeated the order, and Carl clattered below to help.
“They can’t get the tube loaded, Bob,” cried Dick, “before the cachalot
will be on us.”
“We’ll have to meet his first charge,” answered Bob calmly; “there
can’t be any dodging.”
There came a low _thump_ from forward, followed by a gurgling splash.
From that Bob knew that the bow port had been closed and that the water
was being blown out of the tube by compressed air. Then a faint rattle
told him the breech door was being opened preparatory to loading the
torpedo.
By then Bob was able to see the charging whale. He was a tremendous
fellow, and he was making straight for the submarine with all the force
in his great body. The water flashed away from his shining sides, and a
long trail of foam unrolled behind his churning flukes.
“I’ll do the steering from here, Dick!” shouted Bob, laying hold of the
patent device which enabled one to steer from the tower.
Bob headed the boat so as to meet its strange antagonist bow on. Whale
and submarine came together with a terrific impact. For an instant the
whale seemed stunned, sheered off a little, and the sharp prow raked
his side.
The next instant the _Grampus_ was beyond the whale. Bob, looking
behind, could see the huge cachalot leaping clear out of the water, and
falling into it again with a splash like some mountain dropping into
the sea.
The whale was terribly wounded, and bleeding, but the wound seemed only
to have increased his pugnacious disposition.
“Watch the periscope, Dick!” roared Bob. “Can you see him? He’s out of
sight from here.”
“He’s sounded, mate,” answered Dick, his tense voice proving the strain
his nerves were under. “I’m hoping he’ll leave us now, and---- There he
is again! He’s coming for us like an express train.”
A spouting of reddened water gave Bob the location, and he put the
_Grampus_ about, so as to face the danger and bring the cachalot in
front of the port torpedo tube.
“Tell them to make ready in the torpedo room!” shouted Bob. “They must
fire the Whitehead the moment I give the word.”
Dick repeated the order. The torpedo was contrived so as to travel at
a certain distance under water. If discharged at too great a distance
from the whale it would sink to its normal depth, and so miss the
charging monster altogether. Bob, watching the cachalot with sharp
eyes, awaited the right moment for letting the Whitehead go.
The whale left a bloody track as it hurled itself nearer and nearer.
“Fire!” shouted Bob suddenly.
A gurgling swish, a spluttering cough, and a thud followed. The surface
of the sea directly ahead of the submarine was full of ripples that
marked the passing of the deadly infernal machine.
“Full speed astern!” cried Bob.
Dick repeated the order to Gaines. Barely was the motion of the
propeller reversed when whale and torpedo met. There was a dull roar,
and the sea lifted high in a veritable flurry. The _Grampus_ slid
backward rapidly, rocking on the troubled waters. Then, the lifted
waves having descended, the whale was seen torn cruelly and lying on
his back. Already the triangular fins of sharks were in evidence,
rushing from every direction upon the prey.
Bob descended to the engine room and found Dick steering with one hand
and wiping the perspiration from his face with the other.
“A tight squeak!” Dick muttered. “We’re out one torpedo, but you saved
the boat.”
Speake, meanwhile, had been taking the turbine to pieces. He now
appeared in the periscope room with a wooden sieve half full of small
fish.
“Mullet for dinner, Bob!” he laughed. “A shoal of fish was bein’ chased
by the cachalot. The draft holes of our turbines was open an’ the fish
run in. No wonder the turbines wouldn’t work!”
“Good enough,” answered Bob laughing, “if you can call anything good
that put our turbines out of commission at a time when we needed them.
Have some of them for dinner, Speake.” He turned to Dick. “Lay our
course for the Port of Spain, old chap,” he added. “We’ll put into the
harbor and look the submarine over to see whether her bow has been
damaged any. I’ll go below and have a look at the fore rudder. Possibly
we can tinker that up temporarily. It would never do to pick up the
midshipman with the _Grampus_ at all out of commission.”
“Aye, aye!” responded Dick heartily.
They were to call at the Port of Spain, after all, and Dick Ferral was
mightily pleased with the prospect.