ANOTHER ATTACK.
This weird vanishing on the part of the object in dispute between Motor Matt and Captain Pons left those on steps of the Casa gasping. The Frenchman dropped limply down and hugged his folded arms to his breast; the Chilian looked wild, and a superstitious fear arose in the eyes of the two negroes. Glennie grabbed up the glasses the captain had been using a few minutes before, clapped them to his eyes, and proceeded to examine the surface of the bay.
The strange movements of the torpedo had had something of an effect upon the Grampus, for she had swung about on her cable and dipped slightly sternward. She was lying quietly enough now, however, and Carl, Dick, Speake, Gaines, and Clackett were swarming over her deck and evidently wondering what had become of the Whitehead.
Matt, with his naked eyes, could see his friends moving about, although it was impossible for him to discover exactly what they were doing.
"They're pulling in the rope that was made fast to the torpedo," said Glennie. "They've got the end of it in their hands."
"Great spark plugs!" murmured Matt dazedly. "That was a queer performance, I must say. Can you see anything of the Whitehead, Glennie?"
"Not a thing. There must have been some compressed air still left in the cylinder, and in some way it got to the screws."
Matt shook his head.
"That's not it, Glennie. Even if the Whitehead's screws had begun to work they couldn't have caused the big tube to dance around in that unheard-of fashion. I——"
Matt, with a sudden alarming thought running through his mind, started down the steps at a run. The Frenchman shouted something. Taking his cue from Captain Pons, the Chilian also shouted. Probably it was a command for Matt to halt, but the young motorist did not construe it in that way. Pons, himself, had said that there was no cause for the arrest of Matt and Glennie, and Motor Matt believed that he was perfectly free to go wherever he wished. Just then he was tremendously eager to get aboard the Grampus.
One of the old-fashioned pistols went off with a bang like a small cannon. A lead slug screeched through the air well over Matt's head.
"Come back, Matt!" yelled Glennie. "If you don't, the next bullet may come closer to you."
Matt faced about indignantly.
"What are they shooting at me for?" he demanded.
"They don't want you to get away, just yet."
"But I've got to get away! We must get aboard the Grampus as quick as the nation will let us. Can't you understand this business, Glennie? That French submarine is in the bottom of the bay! The Japs are recovering that torpedo! You know why they want it, as well as I do."
"Jupiter!" exclaimed Glennie, "I hadn't thought of that. But you'd better come back here, Matt, while we explain the situation to Captain Pons. It's better to have him and the captain of the port for friends rather than enemies."
"Every minute's delay makes the position of the Grampus just that much more dangerous. Carl, Dick, and the rest don't know a thing about this other submarine, and if the Japs made an attack on our boat, while she's lying at anchor——"
"Don't fret about that, Matt," cut in Glennie. "The Japs will have their hands full saving their torpedo. They're thinking more about that Whitehead just at present than of anything else. But, anyhow, we can't try to dodge the bullets these negroes will send after us if we make a run of it."
Matt, fretting over the delay, slowly returned to the steps. The negro was reloading his pistol, the other was making ready to use his weapon in case Matt refused to obey orders, and both the captain of the port and Captain Pons were looking extremely fierce and determined.
Both captains were talking to Glennie. The ensign answered them sharply, and the captains gave responses equally sharp.
"What a pair of dunderheads!" growled Glennie to Matt.
"How's that?" queried Matt.
"Captain Pons has developed a very bright idea," was the ensign's sarcastic response. "He says we caused the torpedo to act in that unaccountable manner, and that we did it in order to steal it from him."
Matt caught his breath.
"Is Captain Pons in his sober senses?" he demanded.
"All the senses Heaven endowed him with are on duty."
"How does he think we could cause the torpedo to act in that manner?"
"He lays it to our friends on the Grampus, but is gloriously indefinite concerning the way they worked the trick."
Matt walked up the steps and faced Captain Pons. "We had nothing to do with the disappearance of the torpedo!" he cried. "Why, the very idea is preposterous! How could any of our men cause the Whitehead to disappear in that fashion?"
"You want ze torpedo," insisted Captain Pons doggedly. "You make ze dispute wiz me. Zen, w'en I say non, ze torpedo belong wiz me, pouf! away he go lak a streak. You haf stole heem, and you will answer to ze French government for zat, by gar!"
"That is foolish talk, Captain Pons, for a man of your age and experience."
"Hein! I am not so foolish as w'at you zink."
"It was the other boat that stole the torpedo—the submarine the Japs stole from you."
"Zat could not be ze Pom. Ze Jap zey would not dar-r-r-e bring ze Pom back in ze bay."
"You don't know those Japs as well as we do, captain. They are enemies of ours, and have followed us clear from Port-of-Spain, Trinidad. They want to destroy the Grampus, to keep her out of the hands of the United States Navy. If I don't go down there, and warn my friends and do something to protect our submarine, this Pom of yours may make an attack."
"Zis is a friendly port," replied Captain Pons, with a wave of the hand. "Ze Japs will not dar-r-r-e make attack in ze friendly port."
Matt was disgusted. He felt that he had never met a man so dense as this Captain Pons.
"The Japs stole your submarine in a friendly port," he remarked dryly. "I guess that proves that they're not above committing lawless acts in a Chilian harbor. You have no right to detain Ensign Glennie and myself. We are under the protection of the Stars and Stripes. If you are determined to keep us with you on this ridiculous charge of stealing the torpedo, then will you not accompany us to the Grampus while we take measures for the boat's protection? While there, perhaps we may be able to convince you how foolish this charge of yours is."
"Zat is reasonable talk," admitted Captain Pons gravely. "I vill spik wiz my good friend, Captain Arco."
Matt and Glennie drew apart while the two captains held a whispered conversation, although a very animated one.
"A couple of jumping jacks!" muttered Glennie; "and blockheads, to boot. I wonder what those French shipbuilders were thinking of to send a man like Captain Pons with their submarine."
"Well, he may know all about the submarine, and be perfectly trustworthy," answered Matt.
"I wouldn't trust him to drive a pair of mules on a canal."
The ensign was completely disgusted.
"Ah!" he said, a moment later. "The two great minds have at last come to a decision in this momentous matter."
Captains Pons and Arco approached the two lads importantly.
"Ze good captain has agreed to go back wiz you and me to ze submarine," announced Captain Pons. "If, w'en we get zere, you will hand ovair ze torpedo, zen we not make ze trouble for you any more. Allons! let us be gone."
The negroes, following an order from the captain of the port, dropped in on either side of Matt and Glennie, their antiquated pistols prominently displayed. Then, with the two captains leading the way, the American lads left the Casa de la Administracion.
"How those Japs managed to get hold of that torpedo without showing themselves," remarked Glennie, on the way to the landing, "is a conundrum."
"They must have come up under the torpedo," answered Matt, "just close enough to the surface to grapple a coil of the rope that was around the steel shell."
"Even on that theory the move is hard to understand. While the Pom was under water it would not be possible for any one aboard of her to work at the ropes around the torpedo."
"Perhaps the grappling was done by manœuvring the boat."
"That might be——"
Glennie was interrupted. By that time the party had nearly reached the landing. Before any of them stepped foot on the wharf, however, there came a loud detonation, and a geyser-like column of water arose high in the air. So lofty was the column that some of the spray from it was hurled across the intervening stretch of the bay and into the faces of Matt, Glennie, and the rest.
When the column had sunk downward, those on the shore could see that the Grampus had disappeared!
A BAD HALF HOUR.
Matt, Glennie, the two captains, and the negroes were stupefied. They stood as though rooted to the ground and stared across the water toward the spot where the Grampus had been anchored.
"Sacre!" muttered Captain Pons. "Zat was a torpedo, by gar!"
"It was fired at the Grampus!" cried Matt, almost beside himself. "I was afraid an attack would be made—and the boys didn't know anything about that other submarine, Glennie. If our boat has been destroyed, if—if——"
Matt staggered against the post to which the painter securing the rowboat was made fast.
The negroes began talking excitedly between themselves, and Pons and Arco likewise began to air their opinions.
"Don't lose your nerve, Matt," said Glennie. "That was a torpedo, all right, and it goes without saying that the Japs discharged it from the Pom, under water. It hit something, and was discharged, but it didn't hit the Grampus."
"No," answered Matt, his moody eyes resting on the spot where the Grampus had been anchored, "the torpedo didn't hit the Grampus, for the column of water spouted up almost a fathom from the place where she was moored; but the boat may have been destroyed by the explosion, for all that. When the geyser dropped, it covered the place where our submarine ought to have been. But you can see, Glennie, she isn't there."
Motor Matt had gone through many perils and difficulties since he and his chums had started for "around the Horn" with the Grampus, but he had never been so greatly cast down as he was at that moment. He was thinking of Carl, of Dick, and of the three brave men, Speake, Gaines, and Clackett, who had stood shoulder to shoulder with him through all the dangers that had met them since leaving British Honduras.
It was a good thing that Glennie, at that moment, was so hopeful.
"We haven't been able to see the Grampus for several minutes, Matt," he observed. "In coming down the hill from the casa, the boat was hidden from us."
"All the same, Glennie, she was in her berth, whether we saw her or not. If she hadn't been where we left her, the Japs wouldn't have had any target, and the torpedo would not have been exploded in that spot. If it comes to that, the fact that we didn't see her goes to show that she may have changed her position a little, and have been right where the torpedo exploded."
"I don't think that for a minute," averred Glennie stoutly. "The last we saw of the Grampus all our friends were on deck. If she had been torpedoed, we'd certainly see some of the boys in the water. They were under hatches when that Whitehead went off; and, if they were under hatches, they may have been safe. I'm inclined to think they were."
"If the bottom plates of the submarine were blown in," proceeded Matt, "she would sink and go down like so much lead. Let's get into the boat and row out, Glennie. We can see a good deal more if we're right over the spot where the Grampus was anchored than we can from here."
Matt, suiting his action to the word, dropped hastily over the edge of the wharf and into the boat. The wharf was in a bad state of repair. The planks had been torn from the piles, and a region of semi-darkness stretched away under the floor.
As Matt dropped into the boat, his face was turned landward and his eyes rested for a moment on the gloom that lay between the outer piles and the shore; but, during that moment, he glimpsed something that gave him a start. Unless he was greatly mistaken, he could make out the dim shape of a human form crouching in the darkness.
"Cast off the painter, Glennie, quick!" he called.
The ensign lifted the loop over the top of the post and flung it into the boat.
Grabbing the wharf planks, Matt gave a pull that sent the boat in between the piles. He could hear shouts of wild suspicion coming from Captain Pons and Captain Arco. Unable to figure out what impelled Matt to vanish under the wharf, they jumped to the conclusion that he was doing something he ought not to do.
Paying no attention to the frantic voices, or the frenzied tramping on the planks overhead, the young motorist continued to drag the boat onward toward the shore. Several yards back from the edge of the wharf, the bow of the boat struck against a timber that had one end imbedded in the sand, while the other end rose upward, clear of the water.
The human form Matt had seen was lying upon the timber. The man made no move to escape, or to protect himself, and Matt was not long in discovering that he was either dead or unconscious.
For a moment Matt's heart was in his throat. His fears, even against his better judgment, made him apprehensive that this form, lying helplessly on the timber under the wharf, might be that of one of his friends.
Close examination, however, proved his fears groundless. The man was under medium height and had a tawny skin. He was barefooted, bareheaded, and stripped to his waist. Rolling him into the boat, Matt drew the light craft back into the daylight at the edge of the wharf.
"What under the canopy are you about, Matt?" called Glennie, from the edge of the wharf. Then, seeing the man in the bottom of the boat, he gave vent to an astonished whistle. "That's what you went under the wharf for, eh? Where was that fellow?"
"He was lying on a timber, just out of the water," answered Matt. "The question is, where did he come from, and what was he doing there?"
"He looks as though he was stripped for swimming."
"And he worked so hard in the water, and in getting ashore, that he gave out and lost consciousness as soon as he pulled himself upon that timber. The fact that he was under the wharf proves that he didn't want anybody to find him. He's a Jap, Glennie."
A yell escaped Captain Pons, and he began talking excitedly and pointing his finger at the Jap.
"What does Pons say, Glennie?" Matt asked.
"He says that that fellow was one of the men who stole the Pom. The captain is very sure he is not mistaken. There were five in the party."
"Gif the r-r-rascal here!" cried Captain Pons, stretching his arms downward, "gif heem to me! By gar, he is one of ze t'ieves—ve haf captured one of ze t'ieves!"
Matt lifted the unconscious man, and three pairs of hands caught him from above and pulled him up on the wharf. Hardly had the Jap touched the planks than, with amazing suddenness, he jumped to his feet and tried to run.
"He was shamming!" exclaimed Glennie.
"No," answered Matt, as the two negroes deftly caught the fleeing Jap and flung him roughly down on his back, "I'm positive he was not shamming, Glennie. He recovered while we were lifting him to the wharf and thought he could make a bolt and get away."
As the two negroes held the prisoner down on the planks, Captain Pons stepped to his side, bent over, and shook a fist in his face.
What the captain said was in Spanish, which he probably used for the Jap's benefit, and Matt could not follow his words further than to be sure that Pons was threatening and reviling the man for the treacherous part he and his countrymen had played.
The prisoner looked up calmly into the Frenchman's face, seeming to take his capture and his failure to escape as a matter of course.
"We get the torpedo," said he, in good English, the moment Captain Pons ceased talking.
"How did you get the torpedo?" queried Glennie, pushing the captain aside and drawing closer to the prisoner.
"I volunteered," went on the Jap, a note of ringing exultation in his low voice; "they passed me through the torpedo tube, and I cut the cable that secured the torpedo to the other submarine, and made a rope fast from our boat. It was hard work, all under water. Then I swim ashore, but I am weak and faint and try to hide. You have captured me. Do what you will. Banzai, Nippon!"
The Chilian could not understand English, and he was consumed with curiosity. Captain Pons understood, however, and the calmness of the prisoner, during his brief recital, filled him with rage. He tried to strike the Jap, but Glennie interfered.
"Let him alone, Pons!" cried Glennie. "He thinks he has done right. Anyhow, he's a prisoner, and a prisoner should not be mistreated."
"Diable!" ground out the captain. "He make ze brag zat he steal ze torpedo! S-scoundr-r-el! He should be hang', by gar!"
Glennie turned to Motor Matt.
"You heard, Matt?" he queried. "The Japs passed this fellow out through the torpedo tube of the Pom while the boat was under water. He made a line fast, cut the cable securing the torpedo to our submarine, and then swam ashore. A rare piece of work!"
"Ask him about that torpedo attack on the Grampus," said Matt. "See if you can find out anything about the intentions of the other Japs."
"You are one of the Sons of the Rising Sun?" queried Glennie, again addressing the prisoner.
A gleam darted through the Jap's eyes.
"I say nothing," he answered. "I have told about the torpedo. But I tell you nothing more. It is all for Nippon, for my beloved country."
"That's the way with those fellows," said Matt disappointedly. "He wouldn't speak another word even if he was tortured. I'm surprised that he said what he did about the torpedo. Turn him over to Pons and the captain of the port, Glennie, and let's row out into the bay and see if we can learn anything about the fate of the Grampus."
Matt's face was haggard with fear and anxiety. He had had a bad half hour, since the explosion of the torpedo and the disappearance of the Grampus, and his face reflected the intensity of his feelings.
Glennie turned away from the prisoner and stepped to the edge of the wharf. He paused there for a moment, rigid as a statue, his eyes wandering over the surface of the bay.
Motor Matt, wondering at his manner, likewise directed his gaze off over the water. As he did so, Glennie recovered his wits abruptly and gave vent to an exultant yell.
"Hurrah!" he roared, jerking off his cap and waving it. "What's the matter with the motor boys, Matt? We've had our worry all for nothing!"
CHASING A TORPEDO.
Dick and Carl, together with the rest of the crew of the Grampus, did a lot of guessing after Matt and Glennie left them with the captain of the port.
The commotion kicked up by the torpedo put a sudden and effectual stop to their speculations. Carl, Dick, and Speake were on deck when the Whitehead began its peculiar performance, and the jerks administered to the Grampus by the tow line quickly brought Gaines and Clackett up through the tower hatch.
"Ach, du lieber!" cried Carl. "See vonce vat has habbened mit der dorpeto. A vale has got dangled oop mit der tow line; oder oof id don'd vas a vale id vas a shark, und a pig feller, I bed you. Vat a funny pitzness! From der actions, id looks like der dorpeto vas alife."
"Whale!" scoffed Dick. "Don't you believe that a whale, or shark, either, has got anything to do with that."
"Vat it iss, den?"
"I give it up. What do you think, Speake?"
"Ask me something easy," answered Speake. "Mebby something has got loose inside the torpedo—compressed air, or something—and that that is what's putting the big tube through its jig."
"Led's pull in der line," suggested Carl, "und make der dorpeto pehave."
"Not on your life!" cried Dick. "It's full of dynamite, and I'll never let the Grampus get any closer to that infernal machine than she is now."
"Matt vants dot dorpeto or he vouldn't haf taken der drouple to tow her in."
"Matt can have it, matey, but I don't intend to board a Whitehead when it's dancing a hornpipe. If the dynamite should happen to let go——"
Dick was interrupted by a chorus of surprised yells from the rest of his companions.
The torpedo, kicking one end high in the air, had taken a "header" toward the bottom of the bay.
"Dot means goot-by," murmured the amazed Carl. "Der vale's run off mit it. Bedder dot vale look a leedle oudt und not knock his tail too hardt against der dorpeto. Oof he do dot, den, py shinks, he make some mincemeat out oof himseluf."
"Great guns!" exclaimed Gaines. "What do you suppose did that, Dick?"
"More mysterious things have happened to us since we left Magellan Strait," ruminated Dick, "than ever came our way before. Suppose we haul in on the tow line and have a look at the end of it."
The line was pulled aboard. There were some forty feet of it, and the end was sliced off clean.
"A knife did that!" declared Clackett.
"Der vale dit id mit his teet'," asserted Carl, who always hung to one of his own theories like a dog to a bone.
"Bosh, Clackett!" scoffed Gaines. "How could a knife have done that? Who was down there to cut the rope?"
"It don't make any difference what separated the rope," put in Speake, "the thing was done, and something or other is running away with Motor Matt's torpedo. Matt must have wanted that Whitehead or he wouldn't have gone to the trouble to tow it in. Are we going to let it get away from us?"
"How can we help it?" inquired Clackett.
"We can follow it," asserted Speake.
"We haven't any business taking the Grampus from her anchorage while Matt's ashore," said Gaines.
"I guess Matt wouldn't mind if we took a dive along the bottom of the bay to overhaul that runaway torpedo," remarked Dick.
"Sure, nod!" chimed in Carl. "Matt vill be as madt as some vet hens ven ve tell him der dorpeto skyhooted avay mit itseluf und ve ditn't do nodding to shdop id."
"We'll chance it, anyway, mates," said Dick. "I'm always in command whenever our old raggie is off the boat. Get down to the motor, Gaines. Clackett, get after the tanks. Come below, the rest of you, and let the last man down secure the hatch."
Speake was the last one to drop down the hatch. The ballast tanks were already filling as he stepped off the iron ladder upon the floor of the periscope room.
Dick was at the wheel.
"Turn on the electric projector, Speake," said Dick. "I'm going up into the tower and do the steering from there."
Dick got just two rounds up the ladder when a muffled roar enveloped the Grampus, and she was heaved violently over until the tower was almost on a level with her keel.
Carl, who had been inspecting the periscope, was thrown violently against the rounded wall over the locker. Speake, just reaching up to turn the electric switch that sent a current through the wires of the projector, went head over heels against one of the bulkheads. As for Dick, he pulled off a remarkable stunt at ground and lofty tumbling, winding up with his head under the periscope table and his heels in the air.
Yells came in muffled volume from below, proving that Gaines and Clackett were likewise having their troubles.
The Grampus righted herself almost as quickly as she had flopped over. This, taking place before those aboard had had a chance to adjust themselves, still further complicated matters.
When every one was finally right side up, Dick jumped to the speaking tubes.
"How are you down there, Gaines?" he called.
"I turned a handspring over the motor," came back the voice of Gaines, "but I guess I didn't damage anything."
"I stood on my head in one of the accumulators," added Clackett through the tank-room tube. "We turned turtle there for about half a minute. What caused it, Dick? I heard an explosion, too."
"That bally old torpedo must have gone off," answered Dick. "No use hunting for it now."
"I don't believe it was that torpedo that exploded," said Speake. "What could have set it off?"
"Der vale shlowed oop a leedle," explained Carl, "und id run indo him. I bed you somet'ing for nodding dere iss vale all ofer der pay."
"We're in luck, anyhow," exulted Dick. "This old flugee is as trim and steady as ever. Now that we're down near the bottom we'll cruise a little and see what we can discover. We've got an hour or two, I guess, before Matt and Glennie get back to the landing and want to come aboard. Slow speed, Gaines," he called.
Hurrying up into the conning tower, Dick pressed his eyes against the forward lunettes. The trail of light, reaching out through the lunette, illuminated the murky waters for several yards beyond the point of the submarine's bow.
There was a commotion in the depths, and fishes were darting in all directions.
Steering from the ladder, Dick headed the Grampus toward the north. They had not gone far before Dick saw something which made him rub his eyes.
"Am I doing a calk," he muttered, "or are these lamps of mine making a monkey's fist of their work? Strike me lucky! Carl! Look into the periscope!"
A vague shape was passing through the gleam of the search light. It looked like a huge cigar, its pointed end tilted slightly upward. At the rear of the object there was a flurry of water.
"Id's a vale!" boomed Carl, whose mind seemed to be running on whales that day.
"It's another submarine," gasped Speake, "that's what it is. I wonder if Matt didn't know there was another submarine in these waters?"
"Watch!" cried Dick excitedly. "What's that behind the thing?"
The other boat was moving in a course that angled slightly with the direction the Grampus was following. Because of this the second craft was some time in passing through the glow of the search light.
As Dick called out, those at the periscope table saw the Whitehead torpedo glide into the gleam from the electric projector. A rope held the forward end of the torpedo to the stern of the other submarine, the buoyancy of the steel cylinder causing its rear part to stand almost straight up in the water.
It was an odd procession the boat and the torpedo made as they defiled through the pencil of light.
"Dot's der feller vat shtole Matt's dorpeto!" cried Carl. "Run against der rope, Tick, und preak der dorpeto loose."
"Not much, I won't, matey," breathed Dick. "We're not going to take any chances with that Whitehead."
"It certainly wasn't that torpedo that went off, a little while ago, Dick," observed Speake.
"Right-o," Dick answered, startled by the thought this remark of Speake's had aroused. "It was a torpedo, though, and that other craft must have launched it at us."
"Ach, himmelblitzen!" gasped Carl. "For vy should dot odder poat shoot some dorpetos ad us, hey?"
"Give it up, Carl, unless there are some of those Sons of the Rising Sun aboard."
Dick slid down the ladder in a hurry.
"Empty the tanks, Clackett!" he sang out. "We've got to hustle out of this," he added to Carl and Speake, "before they shoot another Whitehead at us. Keelhaul me, but this will be news for Matt. We've got to tell him about it as soon as ever we can get the Grampus back to her old berth."
Two minutes later the submarine lifted her turtle-like back out of the waves. Dick headed her south, and Carl and Speake pushed open the hatch and went out on the wet plates. Dick ascended the ladder to steer from the hatch. Hardly had he got head and shoulders into the outside air when a shout from Carl and Speake drew his eyes toward the wharf.
Matt and Glennie, and a few more the boys did not know, were on the landing. Glennie was yelling and waving his cap.
"Vat's der madder mit him, I vonder?" queried Carl. "He vouldn't be doing dot oof he knowed aboudt dot odder poat und der dorpeto."
NORTHWARD BOUND.
The Grampus had no more than dropped anchor in her old berth than Matt, Glennie, Captain Pons, the captain of the port, and the negroes were alongside in the boat.
"Great spark plugs," cried Matt, "but you fellows gave me a scare."
"Vell, bard," answered Carl, "ve vas a leedle schared ourselufs."
"Here's another scare for you, matey," called Dick. "The Sons of the Rising Sun have a submarine of their own, and are after us. They were here, off Lota, and just went north with that torpedo in tow."
"Jupiter!" exclaimed Glennie. "How did you fellows know that?"
"You act as though it wasn't any news to you."
"It isn't, but we thought you fellows were not informed and would fall a victim to the Pom."
"Pom?" echoed Dick.
"That's the name of the other submarine," went on Matt. "She's a French craft and was brought here by this man, Captain Pons, to be turned over to the Chilian government. Five Japs worked a trick and succeeded in getting hold of her."
"Why, how——"
"We'll tell you all about it later, Dick. Where were you when that torpedo went off?"
"Just diving to the bottom to go hunting for the other torpedo. That Whitehead they fired never touched us."
"It must have touched something," put in Speake, "or the firing pin wouldn't have got in its work."
"It hit a harbor buoy," said Matt. "At least, the captain of the port says there was a buoy at this point. As it isn't here now, it must have been demolished. It's a lucky thing for all of us that the buoy was between the Grampus and the Whitehead. Glennie and I will go back to the shore, Dick, and get a barrel of gasoline. You get the hose rigged and have everything ready to discharge the gasoline in short order. We're northward bound, and are going to get away from these waters just as quick as the nation will let us."
There was something of a disappointment in this for the men on the submarine. They had hoped for a chance to stretch their legs ashore, but they appreciated the necessity of getting the Grampus out of harm's way as quickly as possible.
"Won't the Pom lay for us as we pull out of the bay, Matt?" asked Dick.
"She can't lay for us. You see, she had only two torpedoes. One of those was destroyed in the attack made on the Grampus in the bay; the other one the Pom is dragging off to some place where she can get it in shape for work. We need not fear any attack from the Sons of the Rising Sun until the other Whitehead is ready for use. If we act quickly, we can get well away from the Pom before she becomes dangerous."
"Diable!" rasped out Captain Pons. "Is it ze American vay to r-run from ze enemy? Pur-r-r-soo and capture, zat is ze sing. I will go wiz you, oui, I, myself, Captain Pons. You will help me get back ze Pom. Eh?"
"We're not here to take any risks with the Grampus, captain," said Matt. "Responsibility for the safety of the boat rests on my shoulders, and you'll have to get some Chilian war ship to help you."
"Zat is not right!" cried the captain. "One mariner is in ze duty bound to help anozzer mariner in ze distress. Me, I call on you. You refuse, zen zat is mos' contemptible."
"I'm sorry you look at it in that way, captain," replied Matt; "but it's just possible I know my own business better than you do."
Captain Pons had a little fit all by himself, and while he had it he was saying unpleasant things.
"What's the matter with the frog eater?" cried Dick. "Throw him overboard!"
Matt signed for the captain of the port to have the negro oarsmen get the boat back to the landing. The captain at once gave the order and the boat danced away in the direction of the wharf.
Captain Pons was still calling down anathemas on the heads of all Americans who refused to help a Frenchman in "ze distress."
"By gar," he cried, "I vill vire my government how you haf treat' me! I vill use ze cable, and let ze president of my country know it all. It is mos' contemptible!"
"Captain," said Matt, "we are not allowed to take any strangers aboard the Grampus. Our submarine has appliances which put her so far ahead of every other boat in her class that we are all under seal of secrecy and are bound by a pledge to keep strangers away. So, you see, it would be impossible for you to take a cruise in the Grampus."
Captain Pons glared.
"It is mos' contemptible!" was all he could say.
Matt and Glennie, without delaying further, pushed into the town. Matt had little difficulty in finding the gasoline he wanted. He had to go to two or three places before he found fuel that answered the severe tests he put it to, but finally he got what he desired and had it hauled to the landing.
The captain of the port was not in evidence, but his two negroes were waiting at the boat.
Matt had come down to the wharf in the wagon that brought the gasoline, and Glennie had been left to follow on foot. The ensign put in an appearance just as the barrel had been transferred to the boat. Matt was surprised to see him carrying a rifle.
The only firearms aboard the Grampus consisted of a six-shooter which had accompanied the ensign when he first assumed his duties on the submarine.
"What are you going to do with that, Glennie?" laughed Matt. "Shoot Japs?"
"Well, no, not exactly," answered Glennie, "There are a good many ways in which a weapon of this sort might come in handy, besides using it for shooting Japs. It's an American gun, Matt—a Marlin. It looked sort of homelike, so I just took it in, along with a box of cartridges."
If Matt hated one thing more than another, it was a gun. He had seen firearms used so recklessly while he was in the Southwest that he had acquired a strong prejudice against them. Notwithstanding this fact, he was a crack shot, and had more than once carried off the prize in a shooting contest.
"All right, Glennie," said he, although a trifle reluctantly, "bring it along."
"You don't like guns, Matt," observed the ensign as he lowered himself into the boat and dropped down on one of the thwarts.
"Or knives, either," added Matt, "when they are used to get the better of another fellow. A pair of fists make pretty good weapons."
"Fists are all right," laughed Glennie, "so long as the other chap uses them; but when you find an enemy standing off forty or fifty feet and looking at you over the sights of a gun—well, that's the time another gun would be mighty valuable."
By the time the small boat fell in alongside the Grampus, Dick, Carl, and the rest had the hose ready and it took only a few moments to rig the pump. Presently the gasoline was flowing down the tower hatch and into the reservoir below.
Dick, keeping one eye on the negroes while they bent over the pump handles, leaned against the conning tower and heaved a long breath.
"I'm hoping, old ship," said he to Matt, "that we'll be able to leave the Japs behind, this time, for good and all. Those on the Pom must have seen us while we had their craft under our search light, and I guessed good and hard why they didn't turn and send another torpedo at us. I didn't know, you see, that they only had two Whiteheads to their blessed name. We could have pulled their fangs if we had opened up that torpedo and took out the dynamite."
"I intended," answered Matt, "to take the torpedo aboard through one of our tubes as soon as we reached this harbor, but the captain of the port came down on us before I had the chance."
"How did you find out about that submarine, and the Japs being in charge of her?"
Matt straightened out this point to his chum's satisfaction. That part of Matt's recital which had to do with the Jap who had been captured under the wharf was particularly interesting to Dick.
"Those fellows don't care a rap for their own lives," muttered Dick, "and that's what makes 'em such nasty fighters. When that fellow got out through the Pom's torpedo tube, he must have come up directly under the Whitehead. By hugging the torpedo close, he could have got his head out of water without any of us on the Grampus seeing him. But he took long chances, just the same, and there are only four Japs left to navigate the other craft. The work probably calls for all hands, and there's bound to be a time when the Pom can't run for lack of hands to navigate her. The Japs are only human, and they'll have to have a spell of rest like every one else."
"We've got a good chance to show them our heels," said Matt, "and it's our duty to make the most of it."
"I'm a Fiji, though," said Dick, "if I don't hate to run away from those Sons of the Rising Sun. It looks as though the United States and Great Britain had struck their colors to the yellow rascals."
"I feel the same way, Dick, but this submarine is worth a hundred thousand dollars, and we're only her trustees. It's our duty not to take any chances with her."
"Right-o, matey. I understand that just as well as you do. Captain Nemo, Jr., ought to give you a good slice of that hundred thousand when you tie up the Grampus at the navy-yard wharf."
"I'm not looking for that, Dick," returned Motor Matt earnestly. "It's the idea of making good that appeals to me beyond anything and everything else. It isn't so much the money that comes to us for what we do, but the way we toe the scratch that counts."
An hour later all preliminaries were finished and the Grampus was off up the bay, tanks emptied and steel hull high in the water, her motors humming and setting a record pace.
A HALT FOR REPAIRS.
Late in the afternoon of the day they left Lota Bay the Grampus spoke the British ship Sovereign, bound from Santiago to Liverpool. By means of a megaphone, Matt had a brief talk with the captain of the sailing vessel.
"What craft is that?" inquired the British captain, after answering Matt's hail with information concerning his own vessel.
"The submarine Grampus," answered Matt, "six weeks out from Belize, British Honduras, and bound for San Francisco."
"My word!" came from the other megaphone. "Sure about that?"
Matt was "stumped." It was certainly an odd question to ask.
"Of course I'm sure of it. Why?"
"Well, we passed another submarine, two hours ago, and she was towing a torpedo. Said she had discharged it at a target and was going to beach it somewhere, and get it in shape for further use. But the bally joke of it is that the captain of that other submarine said that his boat was the United States submarine Grampus. It's a main queer go if there are two submarines of that name both belonging to the United States Government."
"Well, what do you think of that?" muttered Glennie, leaning out of the hatch. "The nerve of it!"
"That other boat was the Pom," called back Matt, "sent over to Chili by a firm of French shipbuilders. She was stolen from the harbor of Lota by a handful of Japs."
"Fancy that! Those Japs are——"
The rest of it Matt could not hear. The two boats had merely spoken each other in passing and were quickly out of reach of each other's megaphones.
"Those Sons of the Rising Sun are stealing our thunder," remarked Glennie.
"I suppose," returned Matt, "that it's a heap safer for the Japs to call their boat the Grampus than the Pom. If they happened to speak a vessel that knew of the stealing of the Pom results might prove disastrous if they told the truth."
Matt descended to the periscope room to give the news to Carl and Dick.
"Dot's der vorst yet!" grunted Carl. "Der itee oof dem Chaps calling deir old frog-eader poat der Grampus! I don'd like dot. Id vas some insulds."
"I guess we can stand it, Carl," said Matt.
"Did Pons tell you anything about that French submarine, matey?" inquired Dick.
"A little, but not as much as I would have liked to learn. The Pom, I infer, is smaller than the Grampus, and is propelled by electricity when submerged and by gasoline on the surface. She's only able to stay under water an hour. Captain Nemo, Jr., could teach those French builders a trick or two with his patent submerged exhausts."
"How's her diving? Can't she remain submerged longer than an hour with her ballast tanks full and her electric motor quiet?"
"No. Her rudders keep her below the surface, and the diving rudders won't work unless her motor's going."
"She don'd amoundt to mooch, oof dot's der case," commented Carl. "Der Grampus has got der Pom shkinned bot' vays for Suntay. I bed you somet'ing for nodding der Pom couldn't have come aroundt der bottom end oof Sout' America like vat ve dit. Pom! She vas vat der French fellers call a pomme de terre, by vich, ven I so expression meinseluf, I mean a botato. Whoosh!" and the Dutch boy gave a grunt of disgust.
The night fell clear and bright. It was Matt's intention to continue running during the night, but submerged so that only the periscope ball was awash.
When the time came to fill the ballast tanks, however, an unexpected difficulty presented itself—a difficulty which had almost brought overwhelming disaster once before, when the Grampus had just emerged from Magellan Strait: the Kingston valves by mean of which the tanks were operated failed to work.
This was no particular fault of the valves, but of some damage that had been done to them, and which caused them to go wrong occasionally—and usually at the most inopportune times.
Matt had made up his mind that new valves would have to be put in, but that was a job which would necessarily have to wait until the submarine reached the end of her long journey.
Repairing the valves would take several hours, and Matt decided to stay on the surface and put in a little bay on Quiriquina Island.
It was not necessary to reach the island before morning and when Dick relieved Gaines at the motor, a call for half speed went through the speaking tube to the motor room.
The young motorist studied his charts, then, with the surroundings of the islands clearly in mind, took the steering wheel himself and laid his course by compass.
It was about five o'clock in the morning when the Grampus rounded a bluff headland and took a due east course across Tona Bay. Quiriquina Island loomed up clear and distinct against the gray dawn hovering in the eastern skies.
The cove which Matt selected as a berth for the submarine while repairs were being made had a sloping beach of white sand. It was virtually a bay within a bay, and the waters were as calm as those of an inland lake.
As soon as the anchors were down, all hands came on deck to get a whiff of the morning air.
"We'd better have breakfast before we tackle the valves, hadn't we, Matt?" inquired Speake. "I know I can work better on a full stomach, and I suppose the rest of you can."
"Good idea, Speake," returned Matt. "I had thought about that, but supposed you would like to loaf a little and not pen yourself up in the torpedo room with an electric stove."
"Those confounded valves bother me," grumbled Speake, "and I couldn't loaf and enjoy myself if I had to think about them."
"They bother me, too," added Glennie, "and I believe I'll go below and look them over."
"I'll go with you," said Clackett. "We can make a preliminary survey and then get busy right after breakfast. Plenty of chance to loaf during my watch below."
"Glad to see you fellows so industrious," laughed Matt. "Perhaps, if you are real smart, you can get those valves fixed by breakfast time, and the rest of us won't have to tinker with them."
"You'll be needed, Matt, when it comes to the fixing," answered Glennie, as he climbed into the conning tower.
Clackett followed him.
"I guess I'll go down, too," yawned Gaines, "and catch forty winks on top of the periscope-room locker. This morning air is fine, but I'm satisfied to take my share through the open hatch."
He followed Clackett into the tower. Dick, descending to the edge of the rounded deck, peered into the clear depths of the water below.
"I can see our cable, mates," said he, "and our anchor with one fluke in the sand. Come on, Carl. Let's take a swim before breakfast."
"Nod me, Tick," answered Carl. "I feel like loafing, und shvimming iss too mooch like vork."
"How about you, Matt?"
"I feel as Carl does," said Matt. "Take your swim if you want to, Dick, and Carl and I will be the anchor watch."
Dick was out of his clothes in a jiffy. "So long," he called, as he took a "header" from the bow of the boat.
He was perfectly at home in the water, and when Matt saw him swimming out toward a headland that walled in the cove on the south, he thought little of it. When he saw that Dick was intending to swim around the point, however, he stood up and called out a warning. But Dick only laughed and kept on until he was out of sight.
"He von't go so far dot he can't ged pack again," remarked Carl. "He iss like a fish, Tick iss, und he feels pedder in der vater as oudt oof id."
Carl, for some days, had been wearing an outfit of sailor togs which he had found in the slop chest of the submarine. He was trying to be as nautical as possible, so that he could "shiver his timbers" and "dash his deadeyes" with the best of them when the Grampus reached San Francisco.
"I can valk like a sailor," remarked Carl, getting up from his seat by the tower, "und aboudt all I lack now iss to be aple to hitch oop my drousers like vat a sailor does. How iss der vay oof it, Matt?"
"Never mind that part of it, Carl," laughed Matt. "You'll be enough of a sailor at the end of this cruise, even if you don't know how to hitch up your trousers. Besides," and Matt squinted at him critically, "I doubt if you could ever do the trick."
"For vy nod?"
"Why, the trousers are too tight a fit around the waist."
"Yah, so, aber dey're so pig a fit oop und down dot I valk on der pottoms, und id iss eider hitch dem oop oder cut dem off. Now, vatch. Meppy id goes like dis."
Carl jumped into the air, grapped the band of the trousers with one hand in front and the other behind, and kicked out his legs. When he came down, his feet were so far apart that they slipped on the rounded plates, and he went down and rolled over and over. Matt grabbed him just in the nick of time to keep him out of the water.
"Look out," warned Matt, "or you'll take a swim whether you want to or not."
"I guess dot I leaf der hitching pitzness oudt," said the chagrined Carl, "aber id vas so bicturesque dot I vish I could manach id. Now, ven I——"
Carl was interrupted by a shout, wafted toward them from across the cove. He and Matt started up and saw Dick swimming in their direction with all his might.
"What's the matter, Dick?" called Matt.
"Sharks!" came back the breathless answer.
Matt was no more than a second making up his mind what he should do. To help Dick by bringing the Grampus closer to him was out of the question—disaster might overtake the young sailor before the anchor could be lifted from the bottom.
"Ach, himmelblitzen!" murmured Carl fearfully. "Vat ve going to do, Matt?"
"Below with you, quick!" flung back the king of the motor boys. "Glennie's rifle is in the periscope room. Get that and a coil of rope and hustle back here."
Carl, shaking with excitement, hurried to carry out the order. As he vanished into the tower, Matt went forward toward the bow of the boat, keeping his keen eyes on Dick.
DICK MAKES A DISCOVERY.
The ability of the king of the motor boys to "keep his head" in trying situations had more than once turned the tide for himself and his chums. Matt could become as excited as anybody, but excitement never interfered with the steadiness of his nerves or with his ability to think quickly and resourcefully in time of danger.
Far beyond Dick Matt could see a black, triangular fin slitting the water, tacking this way and that, but coming closer and closer to the young sailor.
Dick was swimming rapidly, but the shark, of course, was cutting through the water at a much faster gait. Had the shark laid a straight course for its intended victim, the latter would long since have been overtaken.
With a keen eye Motor Matt made a quick estimate of the distance separating Dick and the shark from the boat. He concluded that Dick could not by any possibility reach the Grampus before the shark would be upon him, but the sea scavenger would be close enough for a good shot.
Carl, in a veritable tremor of excitement, rolled over the top of the conning tower with the rifle in one hand and a coil of rope in the other.
"Don'd led dot shark ged avay mit Tick," he pleaded, handing the rifle to Matt. "Pud a pullet righdt indo dot shark, Matt, mitoudt vaiting any longer as bossiple."
"I've got to wait until I can get a good shot, Carl," answered Matt, "and that time will come when the shark goes over on its back."
"Ven id does dot," quavered Carl, "id iss retty to bite. Oof you make a miss, Matt, id iss all ofer mit Tick."
"I'll not make a miss. Get a clamp on your nerves and be ready to throw the rope as soon as Dick comes near enough."
"My teet' chatter a leedle," whimpered Carl, "aber my nerfs iss all righdt. Don'd you be afraidt pecause I am, Tick," he cried. "Schvim like der Olt Poy vas afder you!"
Dick had need of all his breath and could not waste any in useless words. He was coming through the water at a fierce clip, his arms working like piston rods in a fine, steady, overhand stroke. He could see Matt on the deck with the rifle ready, and he knew that whatever the king of the motor boys could do would be done.
"Ach, shood, shood!" implored Carl, watching the black fin zigzagging nearer and nearer. "Don'd vait, Matt!"
But Matt paid no attention to Carl. He knew what kind of a target he wanted, and that the shark would give it to him if he waited.
When Dick was about a dozen feet from the boat, the right moment came. With a flip of its tail the shark leaped partly out of the water and turned on its back, its great jaws opening.
Matt had braced himself firmly and lifted the Marlin repeater to his shoulder.
"Fire avay, kevick!" clamored Carl, and just then Matt pulled the trigger.
It was a bull's-eye hit. Straight to its mark leaped the murderous bit of lead, and the shark, stunned by the impact of the bullet, snapped its jaws harmlessly together and sank downward in the reddening water.
"You're all right, Dick!" cried Matt. "Toss the rope, Carl."
Carl threw the line and Dick laid hold of it. The report of the rifle brought Gaines from the periscope room, Glennie and Clackett from the tank room, and Speake from the torpedo room in short order. All of them were on the deck just as Matt and Carl assisted Dick out of the water.
"What's the rumpus?" inquired Gaines.
Matt pointed to the shark, which was floating, belly up, on the water.
"Your rifle did it, Glennie," said Matt. "If it hadn't been for that, nothing could have saved Dick. I didn't think there was a shark within miles of us when Dick went into the water."
Dick was nearly fagged. The tremendous exertion he had put forth had tried him severely.
"It was foolish of me to go around that point," said Dick, leaning back against the conning tower, "but I'm glad I did."
"Dot's funny," returned Carl. "Glad you vent aroundt der point und shdirred oop dot shark! How you make dot oudt?"
"Well, I made a discovery," went on Dick. "If I hadn't made that discovery, like enough I'd have kept on swimming and have got so far away the shark would surely have nipped me before I could have got back close enough for Matt to shoot."
"What was the discovery?" asked Glennie.
"There's another cove around the point, a good deal like this one. The Pom is there, close inshore, and——"
"Der Chaps!" breathed Carl, thunderstruck.
"The Pom!" exclaimed Glennie.
"Here's a piece of luck!" ground out Gaines. "Who'd have thought we'd moor ship alongside the same island picked out by the Japs! There seems to be a fatality about our dealings with these Sons of the Rising Sun. Even after we dodge them we have the knack of dropping right into their hands again."
"Mebby," suggested Speake, "they saw us and followed us to the island."
"Hardly that, mate," spoke up Dick. "They've beached that torpedo, and all four of the Japs are ashore, tinkering with it."
Matt was puzzled to know what to do. If the Japs had not heard the rifle shot, it would be possible for the Grampus to haul in her anchor and slip away, unnoticed, providing the tank valves were repaired and she could leave the bay under water. But this manœuvre would leave a threatening danger behind, and Matt and his friend would never feel safe from an unexpected attack.
In that critical moment, Motor Matt would have given a deal if he could have known all about the Pom and her capabilities. For a few moments he stood on the deck, turning the situation over and over in his mind, his eyes on the point around which lay the hostile submarine.
"How far is the Pom anchored off the shore, Dick?" he asked.
"Not more than half a cable's length."
"Do you think the Japs saw you?"
"I'm sure they didn't—they were too busy with that torpedo. But they may have heard me yell, or the report of that gun may have reached them. They have good ears, those fellows."
"Get into your clothes, Dick," said Matt, having at last made up his mind as to what he should do. "After that, take the rifle and sit here on the deck. Watch that point of land. If the Japs fix that torpedo so they are able to use it, they will have to come around the point in order to launch it at us. Finish getting the breakfast, Speake. Gaines will pass it around as soon as you have it ready. Clackett and I will go below and see what we can do with those valves. Don't bother us with any breakfast until we have them once more in working order."
"What are Carl and I to do, Matt?" inquired Glennie.
"Stay up here with Dick, and keep your eyes peeled."
Matt, Clackett, and Speake went below. Matt and Clackett were an hour at the valves before they were finally made dependable. All the while they were at work a deep silence reigned throughout the boat. Every one realized the necessity of keeping quiet so as not to arouse the Japs.
Matt, after swallowing a cup of coffee, came out on deck and began taking off his clothes.
"What's the game, matey?" asked Dick. "You're not going into the water and give the sharks a chance at you, are you?"
"I'm going ashore," said Matt.
"I wouldn't do that, Matt," counseled Glennie. "Why is it necessary? If the valves are in shape, we can pull out of here and make our way north under water. The Japs will never be the wiser."
"I'm tired of bothering with these Sons of the Rising Sun," Matt answered. "We never know what they're going to do, or when they're going to do it. I thought we had dropped them for good, down below English Reach, but they were clever enough to get away from Sandoval and play that trick in Lota. If possible, let's put them out of the running, now, for keeps."
"How will you do it?" questioned Gaines.
"I'm not just sure of that, and won't be until I do a little reconnoitring ashore. I've a scheme in mind, but I want to be positive it will work before we try it. Go down to the engine room, Gaines, and, Clackett, you take your usual place in the tank room. Heave up the anchor, Speake. Glennie, you get into the conning tower. If the current sets inshore and causes the Grampus to drift that way when the anchor is up, have the motor run just enough to hold the boat where she is. Dick, you hang on to the rifle. When you go down, Gaines, pass up the strongest cable we have, so that Carl can bend it on to the mooring ring at the stern. Understand?"
"I guess we all understand what we're to do," replied Glennie, "but I'll be hanged if I know why we're to do it."
"You'll know—perhaps sooner than you imagine."
Matt, stripped to his trousers, stepped to the landward side of the boat.
"Sharks always go in pairs, mate," cautioned Dick.
"If you see one take after me, Dick," returned Matt, "treat it the same as I did the one that took after you."
With hardly a splash Matt dropped into the water and swam toward the beach.