Fingal came down the ladder slowly. Fortunately for those below he kept his gaze upward as he descended. When he reached the foot of the ladder his face was toward the after bulkhead of the periscope room, and those who were waiting were behind.
At a signal from Bob the attack was made. Bob himself sprang at Fingal’s throat and caught his bull-like neck in a strangling grip. Like a huge animal, Fingal pushed himself around. Speake had one of his arms and Dick the other. Clackett, bending down caught his feet and jerked them off the floor.
Fighting furiously, Fingal was thus thrown bodily into the hands and arms of Bob, Dick, and Speake. They were not expecting to receive the heavy weight, and the huge body crashed to the floor. Bob’s grip about Fingal’s throat was wrenched loose, and a half-strangled bellow of fury went up from the desperate scoundrel.
Feet stamped the deck. There was no need of a demand from those above as to what was going on, for both the men knew that there was trouble. Fingal would not have bellowed in that fashion if there had not been.
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“Never mind the noise, now,” panted Bob. “We’re in for it, and we must be quick.”
One of the other men already had his feet on the ladder. Leaving Dick, Speake, and Clackett to handle Fingal, Bob jumped up the ladder, caught the descending feet, and flung his whole weight on them.
As a result, the man’s hands were torn from the iron rungs, and he and Bob tumbled in a heap on the floor of the periscope room.
Bob came off better than his antagonist, for the latter struck his head against the steering wheel, doubled himself up in a ball, then flung out his limbs convulsively and lay silent and still.
“Look after both of them, fellows!” cried Bob. “I’m going after the other one.”
The second of the two men who had been on the deck was showing more wariness than his companion had done. The abrupt disappearance of his comrade from the top of the ladder had filled him with doubts, and when he saw Bob rushing upward, he must have gained the idea that all the others were captured. Yet, be that as it may, he whirled from the conning tower in a panic and leaped off the boat.
When Bob lifted his head clear of the hatch, a sharp report echoed out, and a bullet struck the sloping side of the conning tower and glanced off into the river.
The ruffian was standing on the planks that had formed the old landing. Undeterred by the shot, Bob threw himself out of the tower, gained the rickety wharf at a jump, and raced after the man.
The latter retreated to the bank, turned there, and assayed another shot. A metallic click echoed out, but no report. Again and again the trigger fell uselessly.
With an oath, the fellow hurled the weapon at Bob, faced about, and dashed into the timber.
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Bob gave pursuit. Had it not been that Gaines was missing from the boat’s complement, Bob would not have chased the fugitive; but Gaines’ absence made it necessary for the submarine to remain at the landing until he should return, and if this man got away he would probably spread the news of what had happened and cause a detachment of the revolutionists to charge the boat.
Bob, it will be remembered, was in his stocking feet. The ground over which he was running was covered with sharp stones, and before he had gone a hundred yards he realized that he would have to give up the pursuit.
Turning back, he regained the landing, leaped to the deck of the submarine, and bent over the hatch.
“How are you, down there?” he called.
“Finer’n silk!” came the jubilant voice of Speake. “We’ve got lashings on both men. Where’s the other chap?”
“He jumped ashore and got away. Come up here, Dick, you and Clackett. One of you bring a hatchet. Let Ysabel watch the prisoners, and you, Speake, go below and see if everything is in shape for a quick departure.”
“Goin’ to leave without Gaines, Bob?” asked Clackett.
“Not unless we have to. We’re going to hang out here until the last moment.”
Dick and Clackett presently showed themselves on deck. Bob had already discovered that the Grampus was moored to two trees with a couple of cables at the bow and stem. The boat was pointed upstream.
“Cast off the stern cable, Clackett,” ordered Bob, “and throw it aboard. One rope is enough to hold us. Go out on the bow, Dick,” he added, “and sit there175 with the hatchet. If you get an order to cut the cable, don’t lose any time in carrying it out.”
“Aye, aye, mate!” replied Dick.
Clackett went ashore and unfastened the rear cable from the tree. Bob drew it in, coiled it, and dropped it down the hatch.
“What am I to do now, Bob?” shouted Clackett.
“Go up the bank and a little way into the woods,” answered Bob. “Hide yourself and watch for soldiers. If you hear or see any, rush this way and give the alarm to Dick. He’ll cut the cable, and then the two of you dodge below as quick as the nation will let you, the last one down closing the hatch after him. Understand?”
“That’s plain enough,” said Clackett, climbing the bank and vanishing in the timber.
Bob went down into the periscope room and found Ysabel sitting on one of the stools and keeping watch of the prisoners.
Fingal, his great arms twisting fiercely against the ropes and his eyes glaring, lay on the floor. Near him was the other prisoner. The latter had recovered from the blow that had stunned him, and, to judge from his humble appearance, his warlike disposition was entirely gone.
“What shall we do with Pedro, Bob?” asked Ysabel anxiously.
“Does he want to go back with us to Belize? Ask him.”
“If he did that, they would probably arrest him for what he has done,” said the girl.
She put the question, however, and Pedro shook his, head.
“Ask him if he wants us to put him ashore here.”
Pedro nodded as soon as Ysabel had translated the words into Spanish.
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“Tell him we’ll do that before we leave,” said Bob, “but that we can’t trust him ashore until we are ready to go.”
Pedro tried to talk in response to this, and Bob removed the gag for a moment. Turning his face toward Ysabel, Pedro spoke rapidly for a few moments. Ysabel’s face became very serious as she listened.
“What is it?” inquired Bob.
“He says that the Grampus will never be able to leave the river,” answered the girl; “that the fort is in the hands of the rebels, and that they are planting mines in the river, so close to the bottom that the submarine will strike them if she submerges. If she floats on the surface, then the guns of the fort will sink her.”
There was terror in the girl’s face as she repeated Pedro’s words. Here was an unlooked-for difficulty, and one that gave Bob the utmost concern.
“Just ask him, Ysabel,” said he, “why the rebels planted mines in the river when they knew the submarine was in the hands of their friends? Pedro’s story sounds improbable, to me. If it comes to that, we passed the mouth of the river under water, and no one in the fort or the town saw us.”
Ysabel talked for a few moments more with Pedro.
“He says,” the girl reported finally, “that Don Carlos saw the flag of the rebels flying from the fort by means of the periscope when we ascended the stream; but the don knew there were some submarine mines in Port Livingstone, and that he was going to have the soldiers plant them. He was afraid Fingal might try to run away with the Grampus, and intended to pen her in the river.”
“Then even these revolutionists can’t trust each other!” exclaimed Bob. “With such a lack of con177fidence as that, if it extends to the rank and file, the insurrection will prove a farce. Just——”
At that moment some one landed heavily on the deck of the submarine. Bob straightened erect and stepped to the foot of the ladder. Looking up, he saw Clackett gazing down.
“There are two men comin’, Bob!” reported Clackett. “One of em’s Don Carlos, an’ the other wears a red coat with shoulder straps and has a sword.”
“Some officer, I suppose,” said Bob. “Come down here, quick, Clackett, and tell Dick to follow you, but not to cut the cable. Speake!” he called through one of the tubes.
“What is it?” came back the voice of Speake.
“Up here with you! More work.”
Speake, tumbling up from below, and Dick and Clackett, dropping down from above, reached the periscope room at about the same time. Bob had been replacing the gag between Pedro’s lips.
“Drag the prisoners into the room where they were keeping us,” said Bob. “There’s going to be more lively work here, and we’ve got to clear decks for action.”
While Speake, Clackett, and Dick fell to with a will, half dragging and half carrying the prisoners into the steel chamber off the periscope room, Bob kept close to the periscope and watched the bank above the landing.
Then, just as his comrades finished their work and returned to his side, he gave vent to an exclamation and whirled away from the periscope table.
“Don Carlos is coming,” he whispered, “and General Pitou is with him! Now, at one stroke, we can lay the rebel general by the heels and nip this revolution in the bud. Steady, now! Not a whisper, mind. There are two of them, and we must capture both.”