“What are you doing?” demanded Bob sharply.
“Going under the water,” explained the don affably. “We’re off Port Livingstone and are going to proceed up the Izaral without being seen.”
“What’s that for? If the town and the fort are in the hands of the rebels, you won’t have anything to fear.”
“We don’t know whether the rebels have captured the fort yet or not,” said the don, “and we don’t want to take any chances of being sunk by the fort’s guns in case they are still in the hands of the enemy.”
“If you don’t know anything about this boat,” said Bob, “you’ll get us all into trouble trying to maneuver it.”
“Gaines an’ Clackett, I guess,” put in Fingal, “will keep us from gettin’ inter any very serious fix. They’re helpin’ run the craft, ye know,” Fingal leered cunningly. “Go ahead, don,” he added, as the submarine halted its downward plunge and started onward again.
“Bob Steele,” said the don, “I have a proposition to make to you and your men. You will find it to your interest, I think, to accept it.”
“What’s the proposition?” asked Bob curtly.
The more Bob Steele studied Don Ramon, the more153 puzzling the man became. His English was good, and yet he was undeniably of Spanish descent. Somehow Bob was gathering the idea that the don was a native of Central America, and not of Spain; yet Bob knew that this could not be, for he had heard that the Spanish consul at Belize hailed from Barcelona.
“My friend Fingal,” proceeded the don, “appears to think that you and your men owe him something on account of what happened during your former visit to the River Izaral, and——”
“So they do!” growled Fingal, with a savage frown; “they owe me somethin’ not only on account o’ that, but on account o’ my brother, Jim Sixty. If it hadn’t been for them, Jim would never have got nabbed by the United States gov’ment for filibusterin’. I swore I’d git even with ’em for——”
“Forget that for a little, Fingal,” interposed the don. “I’ve reasoned with Fingal,” he said to Bob, “and he has agreed to let bygones be bygones, providing you fall in with our plans.”
He paused, his piercing eyes on the young motorist’s face.
“I’m waiting to hear what your plans are,” said Bob.
“We captured this boat for the revolutionists,” continued the don, “and she will be of great help to General Pitou in his work; but, in order to be as efficient as possible, the craft ought to be manned with her regular crew. So——”
“Then that story you told us about General Mendez, and about the trap Pitou was laying for him, was untrue?”
“Much of it was not the exact truth,” the don cheerfully admitted. “General Mendez and his force are not far from the Purgatoire River, but it is he who is laying the trap for Pitou, and not Pitou for him. Gen154eral Pitou will have to capture the fort at the mouth of the Izaral and be able to turn its guns on General Mendez, or the loyalist forces will drive the rebels into the sea. In order to keep track of Mendez, we need the submarine for scout duty up and down the river. Now, Bob Steele, you are thoroughly familiar with the boat, and our proposal is that you and your men take charge of her and render gallant service for General Pitou. Some of our men, of course, will stay on the boat to make sure that you prove faithful to your promises to us, but that will be a mere formality.
“If you will do this, I promise to pay you the sum, in gold, that I mentioned when talking to you in the harbor at Belize. Furthermore, in the event that General Pitou’s uprising is successful, and we make him dictator of the country, you and your friends will share liberally in the division of the spoils. What do you say? You are young men—mere youths, in fact—and such a golden prospect ought to appeal to you.”
Bob stared at the don. “And you,” he breathed, “are the Spanish consul at Belize! What would happen to you if they knew, in Spain, how you are meddling with the affairs of a country with which your own is at peace?”
“I might just as well puncture that bubble here and now,” returned the don, with a laugh. “I am not Don Ramon Ortega, the Spanish consul, but Don Carlos Valdez, the revolutionist.”
Bob started back. “Don Carlos Valdez!” he exclaimed. “We heard about you in Belize, Don Carlos.”
“And what do they say about me in Belize?”
“Why, that you’re the greatest rascal unhung!”
“They say more than that,” added Speake wrathfully, “and that you’ll be hung, one o’ these fine days.”
Speake was chagrined and spiteful because of the155 way he and his mates had been taken in by the plausible revolutionist at the start-off. He saw, now, how farsighted Bob Steele was in refusing to have anything to do with the don.
Carlos Valdez smiled ironically. “What they say doesn’t make any material difference,” he answered. “I have been in Belize for a week. I walked the streets openly, and no one dared to molest me. Why, I even went to the Spanish consul and asked for a passport. While he was preparing to make it out, I felled him with a blow and left him bound and gagged in his own sitting room. I had to do that, you see, before I dared to call on you, Bob Steele, and impersonate him.”
“At any rate,” said Bob Steele, “I am glad of one thing.”
“And that is?”
“That Don Ramon Ortega is not the villain I know you to be.”
“Your opinion counts for as little as does that of the people of Belize,” returned the don easily. “You have not answered my question as to whether you and your men would accept our proposal.”
“I didn’t think it was necessary to answer it,” said Bob. “I would blow up the Grampus before I would allow her to fall into the hands of General Pitou.”
“Better think well before you make a foolish answer like that,” struck in Fingal.
“That’s my answer, just the same.”
“How about the rest of you?” The don turned to Dick and Speake.
“What Bob Steele says matches my sentiments to a dot,” replied Dick.
“Mine, too,” added Speake. “If me and my mates had obeyed Bob Steele like we’d ought to have done, we’d never have got into this fix in the first place. It156 may be a little late in the day, but here’s where I begin carryin’ out his orders jest as he gives ’em.”
“Do you know what this decision means?” queried the don gravely.
“I’m not thinking of that, but of my duty to Captain Nemo, junior,” said Bob.
“It means,” fumed Fingal, enraged at the refusal of Bob and his friends to cast their lot with the revolutionists, “that you’ll never live to get back to Belize!”
“Or even back down the river to Port Livingstone,” supplemented the don. “Presently we are going to tie up at an old landing on the river bank. After that, we will leave you by yourselves until nightfall. This will give you a little more time to think over our proposition. Life is a pleasant thing to young men like you, and you ought not to cast it lightly aside. Come on, Fingal,” he finished.
The don and Fingal stepped back into the periscope room, closing and locking the door behind them.
Dick went over to his cot and sat down with a mirthless laugh.
“The old Spaniard has given us his ultimatum,” said he. “We must either run the submarine for the revolutionists, or go to Davy Jones. Pleasant prospect, eh?”
“Wonder if they’ve batted up the same proposition to Gaines and Clackett?” mused Speake.
“Probably they have,” said Bob. “They want to secure the services of the submarine’s crew, and Gaines and Clackett are important members of the ship’s company.”
“What sort of a move would it be,” suggested Dick, “to pretend to join the swabs and then, watching our chances, cut and run back to Belize?”
Bob shook his head.
“They wouldn’t trust us even if we agreed to join157 them. Didn’t you hear what was said about having an armed guard constantly on the boat, as a ‘mere formality?’ No, Dick, the best thing for us will be to come out flatfooted and let the rascals know just where we stand. If they attempt to take any desperate measures against us, we will claim the protection of Old Glory.”
“What do they care about a piece of bunting?” returned Dick. “See how they ran off that American consul! Why, these revolutionists aren’t responsible for any thing, and they’ll do just what they please.”
In his own heart, Bob himself felt that Dick was stating the exact truth.
While the boys and Speake were talking, the turbines could be heard emptying the ballast tanks, and the boat began slowly rising. A little later the boys knew they were on the surface of the river. Steps were heard running along the deck, overhead, and a sound of voices came to them. Then there was a bumping along one side of the hull, a stopping of the motor, and the submarine was at a halt.
“I suppose we’re tied up at that landing,” observed Dick, “and here we’re to stay and think matters over until nightfall, as the don put it. By the way, isn’t it about time to eat? You and I, Bob, haven’t had a mouthful since last night.”
The words were hardly off of Dick’s lips when the door leading into the periscope room opened and closed. The prisoners caught a glimpse of armed men standing in the other chamber, and then gave their attention to the boy who had entered with a basket.
The lad still had his stocking cap drawn down over his ears, and the collar of his jacket turned up about his throat.
“What have you got?” demanded Speake. “If it’s158 grub, set it down. We was jest wonderin’ if your outfit was calculatin’ on starvin’ us to death.”
The boy’s actions were peculiar, to say the least. Laying a finger on his lips, he bent his ear to the edge of the door and listened; then, turning around, he jerked off his stocking cap.
“Bob,” he whispered excitedly, “don’t you know me?”
Bob gazed at the lad’s handsome face like one stupefied.
“Ysabel!” he murmured; “Ysabel Sixty!”
“Jupiter!” gasped Speake.
“Great guns!” muttered Dick.