UNDER THE AMAZON.
Three days and nights of uneventful traveling brought the _Grampus_ to
Santa Rosa Bay directly in the great mouth of the Amazon. Para River,
to the south, is not generally considered as an arm of the river,
although unquestionably it forms a part of the vast delta.
The mouth of the Amazon Bob knew to be two hundred miles wide, and full
twenty-seven fathoms deep. It is full of islands, and a bar, running
seaward from one of these islands, caused the _Grampus_ an unforeseen
delay.
Feeling positive that the mysterious steamer had reached the Amazon
ahead of them, or that she was perhaps watching along the coast, most
of the latter part of the submarine’s journey toward Para had been made
under water. The boat was submerged when she reached the Amazon, and
the run across Santa Rosa Bay was by periscope alone.
Bob saw the little rocky island, whitened with sea birds, and supposed
he was giving it a wide berth. He did not suspect the presence of the
bar, and the chart, most unaccountably, did not show it.
The first news of trouble was contained in an announcement by Gaines,
from the motor room.
“Propeller’s out of commission, Bob.”
This was alarming information. With the propeller useless, the
submarine would drift helplessly in the current unless stoutly anchored.
Quickly as possible the ballast tanks were emptied and the boat brought
to the surface. Bob, turning the wheel over to Speake, rushed into the
conning tower, threw open the hatch, and made a survey of the situation.
There were no boats of any kind in the vicinity of the _Grampus_, and
consequently no hope of being towed into safe quarters while repairs
were being made. Bob, when he broke out of the hatch, was confidently
expecting to find the submarine being whirled out to sea by the swift
current, but, to his surprise, the boat was setting in toward a small
cove of the island. He got out on the deck for the purpose of making
further observations. Dick and Glennie followed him.
“What do you make out, mate?” queried Dick. “From the looks of things,
we’re floating upstream.”
“We’re in a back-set of the current,” Bob answered, studying the river
in the neighborhood of the island. “That uplift of rocks parts the
stream, sends the current around the upper part at sharp angles, and
below, where we are, the current sucks back inshore.”
“A dangerous coast to run into,” remarked Glennie.
“That cove looks like a quiet place for shipping a new propeller,” said
Bob.
“You ought to have a dry dock for that, hadn’t you?”
“That would be fine--but we haven’t got it. The next best thing is to
shift all the weight forward and throw the propeller out of water. We
can do that if our forward anchor can find holding ground on the bottom
of the cove.”
Bob stepped back to the conning tower. “Speake!” he called. “Send
Clackett to the torpedo room, and tell him to let go the forward anchor
as soon as I give the word. Carl might go down and help. When I give
the word, I want the anchor dropped _at once!_”
Speake could be heard talking through the tank-room tube. Bob,
standing by the tower, watched sharply while the submarine drifted
closer and closer to the rocks. The cove did not measure more than
fifty feet across at its mouth, and was semicircular in shape, and
not more than fifty feet wide, measuring from a line drawn between
the rocky headlands at the entrance. The shore was buttressed by high
bowlders.
The current was bearing the submarine into the cove midway between the
headlands--the line of drift being straight toward the farthest point
inland.
Dick had a hand lead, and forward at the bow he heaved it constantly.
“Mark three!” he cried.
“Eighteen feet,” said Glennie. “How much do you draw, Mr. Steele?”
“We ought to have ten feet,” answered Bob. “Sharp with it, Dick,” he
added anxiously. “We must get as close inshore as we can.”
“Quarter less three!” called Dick.
“Sixteen and a half,” muttered Glennie; “shoaling rapidly. You’d better
get that mud hook down, Mr. Steele.”
“Two and a half!” announced Dick, then: “Two and a quarter!” and
finally: “Mark twain!”
Bob was not as close to the shore as he wanted to be, but twelve feet
was as little water as he dared keep under the _Grampus_.
“Let go the anchor!” he yelled to Speake.
Speake promptly repeated the order, and only a very short scope of
cable was run out.
The nose of the submarine was brought up short and the stern moved
around into the cove as though on a pivot.
“The anchor’s not fast!” cried Glennie. “It’s dragging!”
Bob had already discovered that. The anchor afforded sufficient
resistance to keep the bow of the boat toward the entrance of the cove,
but they were sliding stern first farther into the shoaling waters.
Dick hurried aft and began heaving the lead close to the stern. “Two
and a half!” he cried.
“Great guns!” exclaimed Glennie. “Wouldn’t that knock you? It’s
deepening!”
“Mark three!” shouted Dick.
“Three fathoms,” murmured Glennie, “and within two jumps of shore! The
rocks must lie steep-to. The current’s responsible for that.”
The pull of the anchor continued to draw the boat around so that she
was drifting broadside on.
“Deep four!” reported Dick, and began coiling up the line. The
submarine was rubbing against the rocks, and there was no room to cast.
“Good luck,” said Bob gleefully, “even if it does come out of a damaged
propeller. We can pass a couple of cables ashore and tie up to the
rocks. On deck, Speake!” he called through the hatch. “There’s some old
hose and canvas in the storeroom, and you, and Clackett and Gaines had
better bring it up. Fetch a couple of cables at the same time.”
Bob leaped to a shelf notched out of one of the rocks, climbed to the
top of the bowlder, and picked out the stones most convenient for
mooring. When the cables were brought up and bent to their stanchions,
the spare ends were passed ashore. While he was making them fast,
Clackett, Gaines, Speake, and Carl were festooning the old hose over
the submarine’s side and padding the plates with canvas blankets as
fenders against the jagged rocks.
“Now,” called Bob, talking from the top of a bowlder and looking down
on the deck of the _Grampus_, “the next thing is to weight the forward
part of the boat so that the propeller will be thrown up clear of the
water. Move everything possible from aft. If the anchor has taken hold,
a little pulling on the chain may help. If this don’t fill the bill,
then we’ll pile rocks on the bow and force it under that way. Now,
then, get busy, all hands.”
Speake, Carl, Gaines, and Clackett went below. Bob began tossing loose
stones to Dick, and he built them up forward of the flagstaff, passing
ropes around the pile in order to hold it to the deck when the boat
began to cant forward.
By degrees the bow went deeper and deeper, and the stern rose. At last,
after some two hours of trying work, the propeller was brought into
view. The blades were fairly buried in a mass of ropy seaweed.
Bob gave vent to a relieved laugh.
“It won’t be necessary to ship a new propeller, after all,” said he.
“Traveling under the Amazon is hard on the screw. That bar was covered
with seaweed, and the propeller twisted itself up in it. Pass a rope
aft and secure it to the periscope guys. You can hang to the rope,
Dick, slip over the stern, and cut away the grass.”
“Easy enough,” answered Dick, dropping on the deck to pull off his
shoes and stockings, and roll up his trousers. “We’ll clear away that
propeller in a brace of shakes.”
“While you’re at it,” said Bob, “I’ll scout around the island and see
what it looks like. I’ll not be gone long.”
He dropped from the top of the bowlder, and vanished. Glennie looked
after him as though he would have liked an invitation to accompany him,
and stretch his legs on hard earth, but he did not follow. Instead, he
picked up a coil of rope, and began securing an end to one of the wire
periscope guys.
“I’ll attend to that, Mr. Glennie,” said Dick, still with an undue
emphasis on the “mister.” “You’re an innocent bystander, you know, and
are here to look on.”
Glennie dropped the rope, flushed, and drew back. Bob had not asked him
to go on the exploring expedition, and now Dick refused to have him
render even trifling aid.
“I’m sorry you fellows have taken such a dead set at me,” said Glennie.
“You told us where we stood when you first came off to us from the Port
of Spain landing,” returned Dick. “I don’t see that you’ve got any kick
coming because we took you at your word.”
Glennie started to say something, but closed his mouth suddenly, and
left the words unspoken. Perhaps he was beginning to see where he was
at fault.
While he stood by the conning tower, watching Dick move aft with the
rope in his hands, a sharp cry came suddenly from among the rocks.
“Dick! Clear the propeller, and sink the boat in----”
It was Bob’s voice; although faint, it was unmistakable, and each word
was strangely clear-cut and distinct.
Dick halted and faced about.
“Something’s happening to Bob!” he cried.
The next moment he dropped the rope and started to spring ashore. But
Glennie was already on the rocks.
“You heard what he said!” shouted Glennie. “Clear the propeller and
sink the boat! I’ll help Steele if he needs help--but your duty is
clear.”
The ensign whirled about and jumped from the bowlder. As he
disappeared, Dick saw his revolver glistening in his hand.