BOARDED!
In order to reach the arm of the river that led to Para the _Grampus_
had to pass through a little strait known as South Channel, then on
by Tucuria and around Cape Magoari. Dick, Carl, and Glennie remained
on deck, Dick using a pair of binoculars, and Bob attending to the
steering from the top of the tower. They were traversing the tortuous
channels without the chart to guide them, and most unexpectedly they
found that what they supposed to be South Channel had emptied them
out into the river close to the island where Bob had had his recent
exciting experience.
“Well, wouldn’t that surprise you?” cried Dick. “Here we are back at
our old stamping grounds once more, after racing around for an hour and
getting nowhere.”
“Und dere iss der leedle cove!” cried Carl. “Vat a funny
pitzness--gedding losdt on der Amazon.”
“We couldn’t have been in South Channel,” said the chagrined Bob.
“This is new country to me,” observed Glennie; “but I looked at the
chart early this morning, marked the location of South Channel, and
could have sworn we started into it when we left this island.”
“Come below, you fellows,” called Bob disgustedly. “You can take the
wheel, Dick, and steer by the periscope while I overhaul the charts.
There’s no sense wasting time and gasoline like this.”
Bob dropped down the ladder and the rest followed him.
“We’re mixed up, Gaines,” Bob called through the motor-room tube, “and
a pilot who knows the coast would be mighty handy about now. Quarter
speed while we study the maps. Dick,” Bob added, “run circles off the
island while we get our bearings.”
Bob opened the locker and dug up the chart. Laying it on one of the
stools, he examined it, with Carl and Glennie looking over his shoulder.
“Here’s where we are now,” said Bob, sticking a pin in the chart, “and
there’s the entrance to South Channel just below Mixiana Island.”
“The passage we got into by mistake,” remarked Glennie, “was that
crooked little passage that runs into Mixiana Island, bends around in
the shape of a big ‘O,’ and then lets us out again at the same place we
went in.”
“Exactly,” agreed Bob.
“It was easy to make the mistake.”
“Easy, yes; but I ought to have been sure. We should have had the chart
on deck with us, but I thought I had the thing firmly fixed in my mind.”
“A chart is a hard thing to carry in your mind.”
“I’m beginning to think so myself. Head south by east, Dick,” Bob went
on to his chum. “You’ll know the passage we took when you see it. Skip
that, and head into the one west of it.”
“Sou’ by east it is, mate,” answered Dick.
“If you wanted to,” suggested Glennie, “you could pass to the north of
Mixiana Island and get to Cape Magoari by going around it. It looks to
me as though that would be our shortest course.”
“Short, yes; but it would take more time.”
“How so?”
“Well, if we went to the north of Mixiana Island we would be in the
open bay, and that pesky Jap steamer may be standing off and on, hoping
to get sight of us. In order to avoid that, we should have to run
submerged, which would mean no more than half speed, the best we could
do. By going through South Channel we won’t need to fear the steamer,
and can run on the surface, and put every ounce of our motor’s power
into moving ahead.”
“Correct,” said Glennie. “I find that there are a good many things
about running a submarine that I have yet to learn.”
Dick gave a grunt as he bent over the periscope table. His face was
hidden by the periscope hood, so the disgusted expression which he wore
could not be seen.
Dick Ferral did not easily forgive a slight. From the first, Glennie
had struck him “on the wrong side,” and it would take time before Dick
got over his dislike.
Carl, in this respect, was like Dick. Neither of the boys could ever
forget the lordly air assumed by the ensign when he hove to alongside
the submarine in the launch. The “mister” which Glennie had imposed
upon them still rankled in their bosoms.
Up to that moment off Port of Spain there had been no “misters” on the
_Grampus_. The formality demanded by Glennie had been a strain on the
friendly relations of the crew--and perhaps on the crew’s temper as
well.
Glennie heard Dick’s grunt, even though he could not see the disgusted
expression on his face, and he whirled and stared sharply at Dick’s
back.
“Discipline iss going to der dogs on dis ship,” mourned Carl, in
mock dejection. “If ve don’d haf more discipline dere is going to be
drouple, ain’d it? First t’ing you know, I vill haf to be calling my
olt pard Misder Bob, und my odder olt pard Misder Dick, und den if
somepody ton’t call me misder, I bet you I preak his head.”
“That will do, Carl,” said Bob, noting the flush that crossed Glennie’s
face.
“That’s all right, Mr. Steele,” spoke up the ensign. “I started that,
and they’re within their rights, I suppose, when they rub it in. All I
can say is that I didn’t understand your method of running this boat.
Now, in the navy, we have to have discipline; we have to have our gun
crews, our watches, and all that; and we have to insist on a certain
amount of respect from subordinates. The admirals require it from the
captains, the captains from the commanders, the commanders from the
lieutenants, and so on down through the various ranks of commissioned
officers. Even a passed midshipman,” and he smiled a bit grimly, “has
the pattern always before him, and he is taught to exact his due from
all the noncoms. But, as I say, I didn’t understand how matters were
when I boarded the _Grampus_. I--I am sorry I took the stand I did.”
Just how much it cost Glennie to make that apology probably none of the
boys, not even Bob, could realize. But he made it right manfully, and
Bob stepped toward him and put out his hand.
“Say no more, old fellow,” he cried heartily. “We all of us get out
of our course a little, now and then. Before we get through with this
cruise we all are going to understand each other a whole lot better.
Carl and----”
Bob turned with the intention of making his Dutch chum take the hand he
released, but Carl had faded mysteriously out of the periscope room.
Whether he expected what was coming, or not, and dodged away to avoid
meeting the issue, Bob could only guess.
“Dick,” and Bob turned to his sailor chum, “I want you----”
“Here we are,” cried Dick, “just taking the entrance to South Channel.
And it’s the right channel, too, because we slammed right past that
other one where we go in and come out the same place.”
Glennie could not fail to note how both Carl and Dick had avoided
Bob’s attempt to put him on more friendly footing with them. There
was a noticeable constraint in his manner, but he did not allow it to
interfere with his stating the desire he had in his head.
“When I came aboard,” he went on, “I believed I was merely the
representative of the United States government, that I was to look on,
keep hands off, and write up my own log. But I can see very plainly
where I can be of service to you, Bob; and I can also see where, by
helping you, I can get a much better insight into the capabilities of
the _Grampus_. I should like to have you let me do my part in running
the boat. If you want me for quartermaster, I can spell you, or Mr.
Ferral; with a little instruction, I could also run the motor, or
do the work in the tank room. If it would be any help, I might even
learn to cook the meals. All I want is to be useful--and to learn the
_Grampus_ from top to bottom, inside and out, as well as you know her.”
Dick gave another grunt; but this time it was more subdued. The idea
of any one learning the _Grampus_ as well as Bob knew her! In order to
do that, a fellow would have to be born with a working knowledge of
explosive engines in his head--just as Bob had been.
“Thank you for that, Glennie!” said Bob. “You can get busy right now,
if you want to.”
“Just tell me what I’m to do,” Glennie answered.
“Go up on deck and keep a sharp lookout while we’re passing through the
channel. We must be vigilant, even when we can see no reason for it.
Wily enemies are after us, and eternal watchfulness is the price of
success, fully as much as it is of liberty.”
“Aye, aye, sir!” said Glennie, and started forthwith up the ladder.
“He’s too top-heavy, Bob,” growled Dick, pulling his head away from the
periscope.
“He’s a good fellow at heart, Dick,” averred Bob. “We’re all going to
like him a whole lot when we know him better.”
Dick sniffed and jerked his chin over his left shoulder.
“If he takes hold on this boat he’ll make a mess of everything. I don’t
like the cut of his jib, nor the way he talks, now that he sees his
first bluff didn’t go. If----”
There was a muffled shout and a bounding of feet on the deck. A wide
grin parted Dick’s face.
“There he goes--in hot water already.”
Dick ducked back into the periscope hood. But the periscope did not
show the deck of the _Grampus_, nor the waters immediately adjacent,
being constructed for reflecting objects at longer range.
Bob hurried up into the tower. The moment he was able to look over the
hatch he was thrilled by what he saw.
A dugout canoe was alongside the steel hull--and it had evidently
brought three natives from the neighboring shore. They were exactly the
same kind of savages Bob had encountered on the island--perhaps, even,
they had formed part of the same crowd.
One of the savages had gained the deck forward. Glennie had caught
his spear, and the two were struggling for possession of the weapon.
A second native was climbing up the rounded deck with the apparent
intention of attacking Glennie in the rear. The third of the trio kept
to the canoe, paddling, and keeping it alongside.
So intent were all three of the Indians on the struggle which Glennie
was carrying on that they did not notice Bob. Swiftly the young
motorist got out of the conning tower.
“Look out behind you, Glennie!” shouted Bob Steele as he hurried
forward.