Bob was just coming down the ladder after putting the riding lights in position.
“Wish I knew, Dick,” he answered, switching on the incandescent in the periscope room and dropping down on a low stool.
“I had a dream last night,” Dick resumed, giving a short laugh as he spoke. “I was doing as sound a caulk as ever I did in my life when that dream jumped in on me, and it was so blooming realistic that it brought me up in my bed with a yell.”
“You must have been eating some of the hot stuff they have down here, before you went to bed. The peppery grub they give you in Belize would make a wooden Indian have the nightmare! But what was it, old chap?”
“It was about Fingal.”
“Fingal?”
“Yes, Captain Abner Fingal, who’s now, I hope and believe, doing time in a United States federal prison.”
“Fingal,” observed Bob Steele, “is a tough old proposition to dream about.”
“I won’t forget in a hurry how he crossed our course, down there on the River Izaral, or how you came up under our gasoline launch with the good old Grampus, tipped over the launch, and released the prisoners and pulled them out of the water. Fingal120 and one of the rebel soldiers got away from us by the skin of their teeth. Do you remember how, when Fingal reached the bank, he got up on his knees and shook his fist after us?”
“I’ll not forget that in a hurry,” said Bob. “If Fingal could have had us in his hands then we’d have experienced a little more trouble than we could have taken care of. But what’s the dream?”
“Well, I thought I was adrift in a big forest, with Fingal and a lot of revolutionists hustling after me, full and by and forty knots, all with machetes. General Pitou, the French leader of the revolutionists, was with Fingal, and the whole pack of them had machetes in each hand and another between their teeth. Finally they caught me, and I was hacked in pieces——”
“Mighty pleasant, that!”
“They hung my head up in a tree,” proceeded Dick gruesomely, “and when I saw the rest of me scattered over the ground underneath, my nerves went to pieces and I fetched a yell that ought to have raised the roof. I tell you I was in a sweat! We’re not done with Abner Fingal, mate. He’ll foul our course before we’re many days older.”
“I don’t take any stock in dreams. They always come from a fellow’s stomach—something he eats that disagrees with him. As for Fingal, you can bet he’ll not come to Belize. He’d like to play even with us, all right, but he has got sense enough not to run his head into a noose.”
Speake, Gaines and Clackett were stowing supplies in another part of the boat. From time to time, as the boys talked, muffled thumps and a sound of distant voices came to them. Cassidy, the mate, was still ashore, taking care of the sick captain.
“What’s the latest news from Nemo, junior?”121 queried Dick. “The last I heard was this morning. The captain wasn’t so well then, Doctor Armstrong told me.”
“I saw Cassidy just before we started for the landing to come out to the submarine,” said Bob. “He said the doctor was sure the captain would pull through, but that he would need careful nursing, and not be bothered with business of any kind.”
“Cassidy will give him the right kind of nursing! I never saw any one so handy in that way, nor who tried to do more. Nemo, junior, ought to forgive Cassidy for his treachery, down there on the Izaral.”
“The captain will do that, I’m sure. Cassidy is mighty sorry he allowed his temper to run away with him. Fingal was responsible for what Cassidy did.”
“Fingal and the grog,” commented Dick. “A few tots of rum will make pirates and beach combers out of a lot of honest men. But why are you getting all these supplies aboard? We’re loaded to the marks with provisions, gasoline, oil, and everything else.”
“You know, don’t you,” returned Bob, “that Captain Nemo, junior, is planning to sell the Grampus to the United States government?”
“Yes, I know. The captain has had that bee in his bonnet for a long time.”
“When we went down the coast and rescued the American consul from the revolutionists, it was at the instigation of the United States authorities. Of course, they were anxious to have the consul rescued, but they were equally anxious to see what the Grampus could do.”
“Well, we showed ’em!” said Dick proudly. “The little old craft, and every one aboard, did themselves proud! What else does your government want?”
“I don’t know as the government wants anything else, but I have thought it best to keep the Grampus122 in trim for any demand that should be made on her. Any time, now, I’m expecting to see the U. S. cruiser Seminole stick her nose in the bay with orders for the Grampus to get under way for the Potomac, bound for Washington. If the order comes, it must find us in the pink of condition.”
“Suppose the order comes before the captain gets well?”
“Then the chances are he’ll ask us to carry out the order for him. We’re in pretty good shape to do that, even without the assistance of Cassidy. Our little crew of six can manage the craft, all right. Carl has been taking lessons from Clackett and can look after the tank room almost as well as Clackett himself; and you have learned to run the motor in a way that has made a hit with Gaines.”
“We’ll do, I guess,” said Dick, with a long breath of satisfaction. “With you as skipper, I wouldn’t be afraid to ride in the Grampus from here to the North Pole. Speaking of Carl, though, what’s become of the lubber? He cut his cables mighty sudden, seems to me.”
“He borrowed a guitar from a fellow in the hotel,” laughed Bob.
“A guitar? What does that mean?”
“I shouldn’t wonder if he had gone off to serenade somebody.”
Dick rolled over on his back and kicked the locker with his heels.
“Oh, my eye!” he sputtered. “It’s Ysabel Sixty! But Carl’s been gone some time.” Suddenly Dick hoisted up on his elbow and peered at his chum. “What do you say, Bob? Let’s go ashore to the place where Ysabel is staying. We can look over the fence and jolly our Dutch messmate just as he gets tuned up. How about a bit of a lark?”
123
“I’ll go you!” chuckled Bob; “but there’s no use starting for two or three hours yet. Midnight is the witching hour.”
“Carl’s showing good taste, anyhow,” continued Dick. “Ysabel Sixty is a fine girl. Now that her father, Jim Sixty, is put where he can’t interfere with her, she’s going to be happier than she ever was before. But Carl is off soundings. The girl hasn’t an eye for him, but for you.”
“Oh, rot!” grunted Bob.
“It’s a fact, all the same. The girl has taken a fancy to you, Bob, and you wouldn’t turn your head to look at the handsomest girl that ever walked. Gasoline motors are your hobby. You’re a born motorist. An explosive engine will be your best girl till the end of the chapter.”
Bob enjoyed this. Dick had a way, now and then, of giving a subject a humorous turn that was highly diverting. Just as Bob was on the point of giving some jesting reply, a voice came to them from without.
“Ahoy, de Grampus! Tumble out an’ pass us a line!”
Both boys gained their feet on the instant.
“That’s Sambo with his sailboat!” exclaimed Dick. “He’s bringing visitors. Nice time, this, to receive callers from Belize.”
“Perhaps it’s Carl coming back,” answered Bob, halfway up the iron ladder toward the conning-tower hatch.
“If it is,” went on Dick, laying hold of the ladder, “then our fun for to-night is knocked in the head.”
As soon as Bob got his head out of the hatch he saw a small sailboat hove to alongside the submarine. There were several men in her, and two were standing forward and aft to catch the ropes they were expect124ing to be thrown. Because of the evening dusk it was impossible to distinguish those in the boat, but it was plain that the craft was the one which the crew of the Grampus used for going ashore.
A dark shadow was thrown by the boat against the lighter background of water—a hovering, ominous shadow of treachery—all the more ominous because neither of the chums were suspecting underhand work there in those peaceable waters off the British town of Belize.