Bob Steele In Strange Waters / or, Aboard a Strange Craft E-Book

Donald Grayson

• Herausgeber: iOnlineShopping.com
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

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Project Gutenberg’s Bob Steele In Strange Waters, by Donald Grayson

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Title: Bob Steele In Strange Waters

or, Aboard a Strange Craft

Author: Donald Grayson

Release Date: January 6, 2019 [EBook #58627]

Language: English

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BOB STEELE IN STRANGE WATERS ***

Produced by Stephen Hutcheson and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

BOB STEELE

In Strange Waters

OR

Aboard a Strange Craft

The submarine battles with a gigantic bull cachalot.

Page 211.

BOB STEELE

In Strange Waters

OR

Aboard a Strange Craft

BY

DONALD GRAYSON

AUTHOR OF

The Famous Motor-Power Stories

PHILADELPHIA

DAVIDMcKAY,PUBLISHER

604–8 SOUTH WASHINGTON SQUARE

Copyright, 1909

By STREET & SMITH

In Strange Waters

All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

PAGE

I.

In the Depths.

5

II.

Out of the Jaws of Death.

12

III.

Sealed Orders.

18

IV.

The American Consul.

25

V.

Timely Forbearance.

32

VI.

On the Jump.

37

VII.

The Landing Party.

44

VIII.

Carl in Trouble.

50

IX.

A Friend in Need.

55

X.

Strange Revelations.

62

XI.

One Chance in Ten.

68

XII.

By a Narrow Margin.

75

XIII.

Waiting for Something.

81

XIV.

A Great Play.

88

XV.

On the Way.

94

XVI.

A Dash of Tabasco.

101

XVII.

A Serious Serenade.

106

XVIII.

Don Ramon Ortega.

112

XIX.

The Shadow of Treachery.

119

XX.

The Hidden Snare.

125

XXI.

A Mutiny.

132

XXII.

A Lesson in “Who’s Who.”

139

XXIII.

The Snare Tightens.

146

XXIV.

The Don’s Proposal.

152

XXV.

Unexpected Loyalty.

159

XXVI.

A Favorable Opportunity.

165

XXVII.

Exciting Work.

172

XXVIII.

Capturing the General.

178

XXIX.

Off for the Gulf.

184

XXX.

Running the Battery.

190

XXXI.

The “Seminole.”

195

XXXII.

Matters Arranged.

202

XXXIII.

A Submarine Battle.

207

XXXIV.

In Quest of Documents.

214

XXXV.

The Meeting in the Harbor.

220

XXXVI.

Ah Sin’s Clew.

226

XXXVII.

Off for the Amazon.

233

XXXVIII.

Villainous Work.

240

XXXIX.

Rubbing Elbows with Death.

246

XL.

A Dive for Safety.

251

XLI.

Putting Two and Two Together.

258

XLII.

Under the Amazon.

264

XLIII.

Hand to Hand.

270

XLIV.

Boarded!

276

XLV.

A Prisoner—and a Surprise.

283

XLVI.

The Old Slouch Hat.

289

XLVII.

At Para.

295

XLVIII.

A Desperate Risk.

301

IN STRANGE WATERS.

CHAPTER I.

IN THE DEPTHS.

“Bob Steele!”

“What is it, captain?”

“We are in St. George’s Bay, ten miles from the port of Belize, British Honduras. Two days ago, while we were well out in the gulf, I opened the letter containing the first part of my sealed orders. Those orders, as you know, sent us to Belize. Before we reach there and open the envelope containing the rest of our orders, I think it necessary to test out the Grampus thoroughly. Unless I am greatly mistaken, the instructions yet to be read may call for work that will demand the last ounce of preparation we can give the submarine. I have stopped the motor, and we are lying motionless on the surface of the sea. The lead shows that there are two hundred and twenty-five feet of water under us. The steel shell of the Grampus is warranted to stand the pressure of water at that depth. Do you follow me?”

“Certainly, captain.”

“Now, Bob, I have been watching you for a long time, and I believe that you know more about the gasoline motor than I do, and fully as much about maneuvering the submarine. We are going to dive to two hundred and ten feet —the deepest submersion by far the Grampus ever made. I wish you to take entire charge. If you get into difficulties, you must get out of them again, for I intend to stand by and not put in a word unless tragedy stares us in the face and you call on me for advice.”

A thrill ran through Bob Steele. The submarine, with all her complicated equipment, was for a time to be under his control. This move of Captain Nemo, junior’s, perhaps, was a test for him no less than for the Grampus.

For a brief space the young man bent his head thoughtfully.

“Do you hesitate, Bob?” asked Captain Nemo, junior.

“Not at all, sir,” was the calm answer. “I was just running over in my mind the things necessary to be done in making such a deep dive. The pressure at two hundred and ten feet will be terrific. At that depth, the lid of our hatchway will be supporting a weight of more than thirty-two tons.”

“Exactly,” answered the captain, pleased with the way Bob’s mind was going over the work.

“If there happened to be anything wrong with the calculations of the man who built the Grampus, captain, she would be smashed like an eggshell.”

“We are going to prove his calculations.” The captain seated himself on a low stool. “Gaines is at the motor, Clackett is at the submerging tanks, Speake has charge of the storage batteries and compressed air, and Cassidy is here in the periscope room with us to drive the Grampus in any direction you desire.”

“Dick Ferral is with Gaines,” added Bob, “and Carl Pretzel is with Clackett.”

“Exactly. Every man is at his station, and some of the stations are double-manned. Now, then, go ahead.”

Bob whirled to a speaking tube.

“We’re going to make a record dive, Clackett,” he called into the tube, “and Captain Nemo, junior, has placed me in charge——”

“Bully for the captain!” came back the voice of Clackett, echoing weirdly distinct in the periscope room.

“Our submergence will be two hundred and ten feet,” went on Bob. “You and Carl, Clackett, will put the steel baulks in place. I’ll have Dick and Gaines help you.”

Another order was called to the engine room, and presently there were sounds, forward and aft, which indicated that the metal props, to further strengthen the steel shell, were being dropped into their supports.

“Cassidy,” said Bob, “see that the double doors of the hatch are secured.” “Aye, aye, sir,” answered the mate, darting up the conning-tower ladder.

“Speake,” ordered Bob, through another tube, “see that the tension indicators are in place.”

“Double doors of the hatch secured,” reported Cassidy a moment later.

“Pressure sponsons in place,” came rattling through the tube from Clackett.

“Tension indicators in position,” announced Speake.

“Dive at the rate of twelve yards to the minute, Clackett,” ordered Bob.

A hiss of air, escaping from the ballast tanks as the water came in, was heard. A tremor ran through the steel fabric, followed by a gentle downward motion. Bob kept his eyes on the manometric needles. Twenty yards, twenty-

five, thirty, and forty were indicated. A pressure of ten pounds to the square centimeter was recorded.

“Plates are beginning to bend, captain,” called Speake.

This was not particularly alarming, for the baulks would settle down to their work.

“Close the bulkhead doors, Dick!” called Bob.

“Aye, aye!” returned Dick, and sounds indicated that the order was immediately carried out.

“Sixty yards,” called Clackett; “sixty-five, seventy yards——” “Hold her so!” cried Bob.

“What is the danger point in the matter of flexion, captain?” asked Bob, turning to Nemo, junior, whose gray head was bowed forward on his hand, while his gleaming eyes regarded the cool, self-possessed youth with something like admiration.

“Ten millimeters,” was the answer.

“We still have a margin of three millimeters and are at the depth you indicated.”

“Bravo! We are five yards from the bottom. Do a little cruising, Bob. Let us see how the Grampus behaves at this depth.”

The entire shell of the submarine was under an enormous pressure.

Bob gave the order to start the motor, and the popping of the engine soon settled into a low hum of perfectly working cylinders. A forward motion was felt by those in the submarine.

“Not many people have ever had the novel experience of navigating the ocean seventy yards below the surface,” remarked the captain, with a slow smile.

“It’s a wonderful thing!” exclaimed Bob. “The Grampus seems equal to any task you set for her, captain.”

The air of the periscope room was being exhausted by the breathing of Bob, Nemo, junior, and Cassidy. Bob ordered the bulkhead doors opened, in order that fresh oxygen might be admitted from the reservoirs. Just before the doors were opened, Captain Nemo, junior’s, face had suddenly paled, and he had swayed on his seat, throwing a hand to his chest.

“You can’t stand this, captain!” exclaimed Bob, jumping to the captain’s side. “Hadn’t we better ascend?”

The captain collected himself quickly and waved the youth away.

“Never mind me, my lad,” he answered. “I feel better, now that a little fresh oxygen is coming in to us. Go on with your maneuvering.”

All was silent in the submarine, save for the croon of the engine, running as sweetly as any Bob had ever heard. Aside from a faint oppression in the chest and a low ringing in the ears, the Grampus might have been cruising on the surface, so far as her passengers could know.

Cassidy was at the wheel, steering, his passive eyes on the compass.

Bob turned away from the manometer with a remark on his lips, but before the words could be spoken there was a shock, and the submarine shivered and stopped dead.

“Hello!” whooped the voice of Carl. “Ve must haf run indo vone of der moundains in der sea.”

“Full speed astern, Gaines,” cried Bob.

The blades of the propeller revolved fiercely. The steel hull shook and tugged, but all to no purpose.

Captain Nemo, junior, sat quietly in his seat and never offered a suggestion.

His steady eyes were on Bob Steele.

Bob realized that they were in a terrible predicament. Suppose they were hopelessly entangled in the ocean’s depths? Suppose there was no escape for them, and the shell of the Grampus was to be their tomb? These reflections did not shake the lad’s nerve. His face whitened a little, but a resolute light gleamed in his gray eyes.

“How are the bow plates, Speake?” he demanded through one of the tubes.

Speake was in the torpedo room.

“Right as a trivet!” answered Speake.

After five minutes of violent and useless churning of the screw, Bob turned to Cassidy. The mate, grave-faced and anxious, was looking at him and waiting for orders.

“Rig the electric projector, Cassidy,” said Bob calmly.

“Aye, aye, sir,” replied the mate.

When the little searchlight was in position, a gleam was thrown through one of the forward lunettes out over the bow of the Grampus. Bob, feeling keenly the weight of responsibility that rested on his shoulders, mounted the iron ladder to the conning tower and looked through one of the small

windows.

To his intense astonishment he found the bottom of the sea pervaded with a faintly luminous light, perhaps due to some phosphorescence given off by the marine growth. Through this glow traveled the brighter gleam of the searchlight.

The Grampus was lying in a dense forest of nodding, moss-covered stems. The vegetation of the ocean bed, with its lianes and creeping growth, twisted all about the submarine, fluttering and waving in the currents caused by the swiftly revolving propeller.

A gasp escaped Bob’s lips, however, when he fixed his attention forward. For a full minute he stood on the ladder, taking in the weird and dangerous predicament of the Grampus.

Then an exclamation fell from his lips, and he looked down to see Captain Nemo, junior, slowly mounting to his side.

“Look!” whispered Bob hoarsely, nodding toward the lunettes.

The captain pressed his eyes against the thick glass and then dropped back.

“A ship!” he exclaimed. “We have rammed an old Spanish galleon and are caught in her rotting timbers!”

He looked upward, his startled eyes engaging Bob’s, and the two staring at each other.

CHAPTER II.

OUT OF THE JAWS OF DEATH.

What the captain had said was true. The Grampus, cruising in those great depths, had had the misfortune to hurl herself bodily on into an ancient wreck.

The wreck, which must have lain for centuries there on the bottom, was covered with marine growth, yet, nevertheless, seemed wonderfully well preserved. The high bow and poop, covered with serpentlike lianes and creeping weeds, were erect in the water, for the galleon lay on an even keel. The ship’s two masts and steep bowsprit had been broken off, and the decks were a litter of weeds, shells, and sand.

The Grampus, cleaving the heavy submarine growth, had flung her sharp prow into the galleon’s side and was embedded almost to the flagstaff.

The captain and Bob descended silently into the periscope room.

“We jammed into an old wreck, did we?” queried Cassidy, calmly but with a look on his face which reflected the perturbation of his mind.

“Yes,” answered Bob. “Some Spanish ship went down here—perhaps loaded with treasure for across the sea.”

“Hardly loaded with treasure, Bob,” spoke up the captain. “This is the Spanish Main, and the reefs off Honduras offered shelter for many a pirate in the old days. This galleon, I am inclined to think, was stripped of her treasure by some buccaneer, and sunk. It is too bad that she was sunk in the course we happened to be taking.”

The rack of the useless motor ceased on an order from Bob; in the deep, deathlike silence that intervened, a wail came up from the tank room.

“Vat’s der madder mit us, Bob? Dit ve run indo a cave in der ocean? If ve can’t ged oudt, vat vill pecome of us?”

“We ran into an old Spanish ship, Carl,” answered Bob, “and we are so jammed in the side of the hulk that we haven’t been able, so far, to back out.”

“Meppy ve von’t nefer be aple to pack oudt! Meppy ve vas down here for keeps, hey? Nexdt dime I go down in some supmarines, you bed your life I make a vill before I shtart.”

Carl, white as a sheet and scared, came rolling into the periscope room.

Dick likewise showed up from forward.

“Well, here we are!” said he; “I hadn’t any notion this was to be our last cruise.”

“It’s not,” answered Bob. “We’ll get out of this.”

He turned to Captain Nemo, junior, who was again seated quietly, his calm eyes on Steele.

“The power of the screw, unaided, will not serve to get us clear of the wreck,” said the captain. “What are you going to do, Bob?”

Bob thought for a moment. “Am I to have my way, captain?” he asked.

“Certainly. I want to see what you can do.”

“Speake! Gaines! Clackett!” called Bob. “Come up here, at once.”

From the engine room, the torpedo room, and the ballast room came the rest of the submarine’s crew. Their faces were gray with anxiety, but they were men of pluck and determination, and could be depended on to fight for life until the very last.

“Men,” said Bob, “we have rammed an old hulk that has been lying for centuries in the bottom of St. George’s Bay. The nose of the Grampus is caught and held in the wreck’s side, and the full power of the engine is not sufficient to pull us out. We shall have to try something else—something that will put a great strain on the steel shell of the submarine, considering the pressure the boat is under at this enormous depth. I am going to give some orders, and on the swiftness with which they are carried out our lives may depend. You will all go back to your stations, Carl with Clackett and Dick with Gaines; and when I shout the word ‘Ready!’ the engine will be started with all power astern. At the same instant, Clackett and Carl will open the pipes and admit air into the ballast tanks, and open the valves that let out the water. We may have to do all this several times, if necessary, but you fellows have got to be prompt in doing what you are told.”

Admiration was again reflected in Captain Nemo’s pale face. Leaning back against the steel wall of the periscope room, he settled himself quietly to await developments.

“Count on me,” said Clackett, as he and Carl disappeared.

“And on us,” said Gaines, leaving the periscope room with Dick.

Cassidy merely gave a nod and turned to his steering wheel. Bob went up into the tower and placed himself at one of the lunettes. His heart was beating

against his ribs with trip-hammer blows, but his brain was cool and clear. When he had given the crew sufficient time to gain their stations, he lifted his voice loudly.

“Ready!”

The word rang through the periscope room and echoed clatteringly through the steel hull.

The propeller began to whirl like mad, and the sudden opening of the ballast tanks depressed the free rear portion of the submarine.

For a full minute the wild struggle went on, and so shaken was the boat that it seemed as though she must fly in pieces. Then, abruptly, the Grampus leaped backward and upward, clearing the forestlike growth of seaweed at a gigantic bound.

The upward motion was felt by every one in the boat, and cries of exultation came to Bob’s ears in clamoring echoes.

Slipping like lightning down the ladder, he shouted to Gaines to stop the madly working engine and reverse it at a more leisurely speed.

Like a huge air bubble, the Grampus swung up and up, and when she emerged above the surface, and Bob could see sunlight through the dripping lunettes, he turned off the electric projector, opened the hatch and threw it back, and gulped down deep breaths of the warm, fresh air.

Once more slipping down the ladder, he saluted the captain.

“I turn the ship over to you, sir,” said he, and collapsed on a stool, mopping the perspiration from his face.

“You’re a brick!” grunted Cassidy, picking up the course for Belize.

“Hooray for Bob!” came a thrilling shout from somewhere in the bowels of the craft. For an instant, the steel walls echoed with the jubilant yells of Carl, Dick, Gaines, Speake, and Clackett.

“It came near to taking the ginger all out of me, captain,” breathed Bob. “The novelty of the thing was mighty trying.”

Captain Nemo, junior, still strangely pale, was regarding the youth fixedly. For some moments after the cheering ceased he said nothing; then, leaning abruptly forward, he caught Bob’s hand. The captain’s own hand was as cold as ice.

“Captain!” the young fellow exclaimed, starting up, “there’s something wrong with you! Do you feel faint or——”

The captain waved his hand deprecatingly, and the calm, inscrutable smile hovered about his thin lips.

“Let that pass for a moment, my lad,” said he. “I was testing the Grampus, but, more than that, I was likewise testing you. Since we picked up Carl and Dick, off the Dolphin, and before that, while we were cruising about trying to find them, you have been serving your apprenticeship on the submarine. I have always had the utmost confidence in you, Bob Steele, and I have now, I think, tested your knowledge of the Grampus in a manner which leaves no room for doubt. You are able to run the boat, and to extricate her from any difficulties in which she might become entangled, as well, if not better, than I could do myself.”

Bob, from the captain’s manner, had suspected that the gray-haired inventor of the craft had tried to bring out all that was in him. Captain Nemo, junior, of course, had not been able to forecast the trouble that was to overtake the submarine in the bottom of the bay, but this dangerous experience had served only to show Bob’s resourcefulness to better advantage.

“You are cool-headed in time of danger,” proceeded the captain, “and, no matter what goes wrong, your ability is always on tap and can be brought to bear instantly upon anything you desire to accomplish.”

The red ran into Bob’s face, and he waved a hand deprecatingly.

“I’m not a particle better than a lot of other fellows,” said he, “who try to use their eyes and hands and brains.”

“I expected you to say that, Bob,” continued the captain. “The test, in your case, was hardly necessary, for I have watched your work in a lot of trying situations—and it has always been the same, steady, resourceful, reliable. Just now, we are going to Belize, British Honduras, to carry out some work for our government. As I have already told you, I don’t know what that work is. Two sealed envelopes were given me by Captain Wynekoop of the U. S. cruiser Seminole. The first one told us to proceed to Belize. The next one, which Ihave here in my pocket, will instruct you relative to the work in prospect, and ——”

“Instruct me?” broke in Bob startled.

The captain nodded.

“I have not recovered from the strange illness which overtook me in New Orleans, as a result of inhaling the poisonous odor given off by the head of that idol. I feel that another attack is coming upon me—I have felt it for several hours—and, inasmuch as the government is watching the work of the Grampus with the intention of buying her at a good round price if she makes

good, our sealed orders must be carried out. For this work, Bob, you are my choice; you are to command the Grampus, do everything that you think—that you think——”

Captain Nemo, junior, paused, struggled with the words for a space, then drooped slowly forward and fell from his seat to the floor of the room. There he lay, unconscious, and breathing heavily.

CHAPTER III.

SEALED ORDERS.

For a brief space Bob Steele and Cassidy stood looking down at the prostrate form crumpled at their feet. The captain had been stricken so suddenly that they were astounded.

Cassidy took a look through the periscope and lashed the wheel; then he hurried to help Bob, who was lifting the unconscious man to a long locker at the side of the room.

“He ain’t never been right since he was sick in New Orleans,” muttered Cassidy. “He jumped into work before he was well enough.”

The captain’s former illness had been of a peculiar nature. An idol’s head, steeped in some noxious liquor that caused the head to give off a deadly odor, was, according to his firm belief, the cause of his sickness. Carl had also come under the influence of the poisonous odor, but it had had no such effect upon him. However, no two persons are exactly alike, and sometimes a thing that will work havoc with one may have no effect upon another.

“His heart action is good, Cassidy,” said Bob.

“He’s a sick man for all that,” replied the mate. “I’ve noticed for several hours he was nervous like. We’ll have to take him ashore at Belize, and you’ll have to be the captain while we’re doing the work that’s to be done.”

There was an under note in Cassidy’s voice that caused Bob to give him a keen look. The mate was a good fellow, but he was second in command, aboard the Grampus, and it was quite natural for him to expect to be the one who stepped into the captain’s shoes.

“You heard what Captain Nemo, junior, said?” asked Bob.

“Sure, I did,” returned the mate gruffly.

“I had not the least notion he was picking me for any such place.”

“He’s a queer chap, the cap’n is,” said Cassidy, averting his face and getting up from the side of the locker. “I’ll go get him a swig of brandy— maybe it’ll bring him round.”

When Cassidy returned from the storeroom with the brandy flask, Bob could hardly avoid detecting that he had himself sampled the liquor. Bob was disagreeably surprised, for he had not known that the mate was a drinking man.

While they were forcing a little of the brandy down the captain’s throat, Dick and Carl came into the periscope room.

“Vat’s der madder mit der gaptain?” asked Carl, as he and Dick crowded close to the locker.

Bob told of the illness that had so suddenly overtaken the master of the submarine.

“Well, that’s queer!” exclaimed Dick.

“For the last hour,” went on Bob, “the captain’s hands have been like ice and his face pale. I knew he didn’t feel well, but I hadn’t any idea he was as bad as this.”

“Tough luck!” growled Cassidy.

“Shall we need a pilot to take us into Belize?” asked Bob.

“We can’t get very close to the town, but will have to lay off and go ashore in a boat. I know the place well enough to take the Grampus to a safe berth.”

“Then you’d better go up in the lookout, Cassidy, and see to laying us alongside the town.”

A mutinous look flickered for an instant on Cassidy’s weather-beaten face. He hesitated, and then, without a word, turned away and climbed into the conning tower.

A moment more and the captain revived and opened his eyes.

“How are you feeling, sir?” queried Bob.

“Far from well, my lad,” was the answer, in a weak voice. “Are we off Belize?”

“Not yet, sir, but we are drawing close.”

“We are close enough so that we can read the second half of our sealed orders.”

The captain lifted a hand and removed from the breast pocket of his coat a sealed envelope, which he handed to Bob.

“Open it, Bob,” said he, “and read it aloud.”

The young motorist paused. “Captain,” said he, “wouldn’t Cassidy be the

right man for carrying out the work that brought us into these waters? He is the mate, you know, and I think he expects——”

“Cassidy is here to obey orders,” interrupted the captain. “Cassidy has a failing, and that failing is drink. No man that takes liquor is ever to be depended on. As long as I’m around, and can watch him, Cassidy keeps pretty straight, but if I’m laid up at Belize, as I expect to be, I prefer to have some one in command of the Grampus whom I can trust implicitly. Read the orders.”

Bob tore open the envelope and removed the inclosed sheet.

“On Board U. S. Cruiser Seminole, at Sea.

“CAPTAIN NEMO, JUNIOR, Submarine Grampus.

“SIR: Acting under orders from the secretary of the navy, I have the honor to request that the Grampus lend her aid to the rescue of United States Consul Jeremiah Coleman, who has been sequestered by Central American revolutionists, presumably under orders from Captain James Sixty, of the brig Dolphin, who is now a prisoner in our hands. Mr. Hays Jordan, the United States consul at Belize, will inform you as to the place where Mr. Coleman is being held. This is somewhere up the Rio Dolce, in a place inaccessible even to gunboats of the lightest draft, and it is hoped the Grampus may be able to accomplish something. Present this letter to Mr. Jordan immediately upon reaching Belize, and be guided in whatever you do by his knowledge and judgment. I have the honor to remain, sir, your most obedient,

“ARTHUR WYNEKOOP,

“Captain Cruiser Seminole.”

A movement behind Bob caused him to look around. Cassidy had descended quietly from the conning tower and was steering the ship entirely by the periscope.

“We are off Belize, sir,” announced Cassidy, “and two small sailboats are coming this way. We are to anchor at the surface, I suppose?”

Bob did not know how long the mate had been in the periscope room, but supposed he had been there long enough to overhear the instructions.

“Certainly,” said the captain.

Cassidy touched a jingler connected with the engine room. The hum of the motor slowly ceased.

“Get out an anchor fore-and-aft, Speake,” the mate called through one of the speaking tubes.

“Aye, aye, sir,” came the response through the tube.

A little later a muffled rattling could be heard as a chain was paid out through the patent water-tight hawse hole. Presently the rattling stopped, and the Grampus shivered and swung to her scope of cable. More rattling came from the stern, and soon two anchors were holding the submarine steady in her berth.

“I want you to go ashore, Bob,” said Captain Nemo, junior, “and see the American consul. Find a place where I can be taken care of; also, show that letter to the consul and tell him you are my representative. Better take Dick with you.”

“All right, sir,” replied Bob.

A blueish tinge had crept into the pallor of the captain’s face. Bob had been covertly watching, and his anxiety on the captain’s account had increased. The captain must be taken ashore as quickly as possible and placed in a doctor’s hands.

“Come on, Dick,” called Bob, starting up the conning-tower ladder.

With his chum at his heels, Bob crawled over the rim of the conning-tower hatch and lowered himself to the rounded steel deck.

The port of Belize, nestling in a tropical bower of coconut trees, was about a mile distant. Owing to her light draft, the Grampus had been able to come closer to the town than other ships in the harbor. The submarine lay between a number of sailing vessels and steamboats and the line of white buildings peeping out of the greenery beyond the beach.

Two small sailboats, manned by negroes, were approaching the Grampus. Bob motioned to one of them, and her skipper hove-to alongside, caught a rope thrown by Dick, and pulled his craft as near the deck of the submarine as the rounded bulwarks would permit. A plank was pushed over the side of the sailboat, and Bob and Dick climbed over the lifting and shaking board.

“Golly, boss,” remarked the negro, “dat’s de funniest boat dat I ever seen in dis port. Looks like er bar’l on er raft.”

“Never mind that,” said Bob, “but lay us alongside the wharf as soon as you can.”

The two negroes comprising the sailboat’s crew were Caribs. They talked together in their native tongue, every word seeming to end in “boo” or “boo-hoo.”

“A whoop, two grunts, and a little blubbering,” said Dick, “will give a fellow a pretty fair Carib vocabulary. What ails Cassidy?”

“I think he sampled the flask of brandy when he brought it to the captain,” replied Bob.

“That was plain enough, for he had a breath like a rum cask. But it wasn’t that alone that made him so grouchy. There’s something else at the bottom of his locker.”

“Well, he’s the mate,” went on Bob, dropping his voice and turning a cautious look on the two negroes, “and I suppose he thinks Captain Nemo, junior, ought to have put him in command. To have a fellow like me jumped over his head may have touched him a little.”

“Probably,” murmured Dick, “but it’s a brand-new side of his character Cassidy’s showing. I never suspected it of him. Do you think the captain’s trouble is anything serious?”

“I hope not, Dick, but I’m worried. The sickness came on so suddenly I hardly know what to think.”

“He may have some of the poison from that idol’s head still under his hatches. It’s queer, though, that he should be so long getting over it, when Carl cut himself adrift from the same thing so handsomely.”

“Things of that kind never affect two people in exactly the same way.”

The negroes brought their boat alongside the wharf. As Bob paid for their services, and climbed ashore, Dick called his attention to the Grampus. Cassidy could be seen on the speck of deck running the Stars and Stripes to the top of the short flagstaff. The other sailboat, to the boys’ surprise, was standing in close to the submarine.

Having finished with the flag, Cassidy could be seen to throw a rope to the skipper of the sailboat, and then, a moment later, to spring aboard.

“What does that move mean?” queried Dick.

“Give it up,” answered Bob, with a mystified frown. “Probably we shall know, before long. Just now, though, we’ve got to think of the captain and send off a doctor to the Grampus.”

Turning away, he and Dick walked rapidly to the shore and on into the town.

CHAPTER IV.

THE AMERICAN CONSUL.

“There’s a bobby,” cried Dick, catching sight of a policeman, “a real London bobby, blue-and-white striped cuffs and all. We’ll bear down on him, Bob, and ask the way to the American consul’s.”

The policeman was kind and obliging. Drawing the boys out into the street, he pointed to a low, white building with the American flag flying over the door. There were palms and trees around the building, and a middle-aged man in white ducks was sitting in a canvas chair on the veranda. He was Mr. Hays Jordan, and when the boys told him they were from the submarine Grampus, the consul got up and took them by the hand.

Bob lost not a moment in telling of the captain’s illness, and of his desire for a doctor and of comfortable lodging ashore. The consul seemed disappointed by the news.

“I reckon that puts a stop to the work that brought the Grampus here,” said the consul.

“Not at all,” replied Bob. “The Grampus is at the service of the government within an hour, if necessary.”

“But who’s in charge of the boat?”

“I am.”

Mr. Hays Jordan looked Bob over, up and down, and started to give an incredulous whistle. But there was something in the youth’s bearing, and in the firm, gray eye that caused him to quit whistling.

“Well!” he exclaimed. “Pretty young to be skipper of a submarine, aren’t you?”

Here Dick interposed. “He’s old for his age, if I do say it, and Captain Nemo, junior, is a master hand at taking the sizing of a fellow. He selected Bob Steele to engineer this piece of work, and, if you keep your weather eye open, it won’t be long until you rise to the fact that the captain knew what he was about.”

“The captain ought to have a doctor without loss of time,” interposed Bob,

impatient because of the time they were losing, “and he must have a place to stay.”

“We’ll not send a sick man to the hotel,” said Mr. Jordan, “but to a boarding house kept by an American. And we’ll also have an American doctor to look after him.” He slapped his hands. In answer to the summons a negro appeared from inside the house. “Go over to Doctor Seymour, Turk,” said the consul, “and ask him to come here.”

“We might be able to save time,” put in Bob, “if my friend went with your servant and took the doctor directly to the submarine.”

“Fine!” exclaimed the consul, and Dick and the negro hurried away.

“Sit down, my boy,” said the consul, waving his hand toward a chair, “and we’ll chat a little. I reckon I ought not to say much to you until I talk with Captain Nemo, junior, and make sure everything is right and proper. Still ——”

“Here are my credentials,” said Bob, and handed over the letter which he had recently read aloud in the periscope room of the Grampus.

The consul glanced over the letter.

“I’ll take you on that showing, Bob Steele,” said he heartily, as he handed the letter back. “If anything is done for my friend Coleman, it’s got to be done with a rush. The little states all around us are able to have a revolution whenever some one happens to think of it. There’s one on now, and Captain James Sixty was to help on the fighting by landing a cargo of guns and ammunition. Sixty’s work, as you may know, was nipped in the bud, and the revolutionists are having a hard time of it. But they’re still active, and about two weeks ago, when Sixty failed to arrive with the war material and they were afraid he had been captured by the United States authorities, the hotheaded greasers planned reprisal. That reprisal was about the most foolish thing you ever heard of. They spirited away my friend Coleman; then they sent me a letter saying that Coleman would be released whenever the United States government gave up Sixty—and, at that time, Sixty wasn’t in the hands of the authorities at all. He had just simply failed to show up with the contraband of war, and the revolutionists imagined he had been bagged. I communicated with Washington at once, and it was that, I reckon, that gave the state department a line on Sixty.”

“Is Mr. Coleman in any danger?” asked Bob.

“You never can tell what a lot of firebrands will do. They’re bound to hear of Sixty’s capture, and of the confiscation of his lawless cargo. The news will get to them soon, and when that happens Coleman is likely to have trouble. If

possible, he must be rescued from the revolutionists ahead of the receipt of this information about Sixty and the lost guns. It’s a tremendously hard piece of work, and only a submarine boat with an intrepid crew, to my notion, will stand any show of success. If a small boat from a United States warship was to try to go to the rescue, the revolutionists would learn she was coming and would immediately take to the jungles of the interior with their captive. See what I mean?”

“Mr. Coleman’s captors are somewhere on the sea-coast?”

“Not exactly. They have a rendezvous on the River Izaral, which runs into the Gulf of Amatique, to the south of here. The revolutionists have tried to make people think that they have Coleman somewhere on the Rio Dolce, but that would put the whole unlawful game in British territory, and wherever the British flag flies you’ll find lawbreakers mighty careful.”

The consul looked around cautiously and then hitched his chair closer to Bob’s.

“I haven’t been idle, Bob Steele,” he went on, lowering his voice. “I have had spies at work, and one of them has reported the exact location of the revolutionists’ camp. Acting as a log cutter, he came close to the place. This man will lead you to the exact spot—and, as good luck has it, he’s a pilot and knows the coast.”

“I should think,” hazarded Bob, “that the United States government could make a demand on the president of the republic where all this lawless work is going on, and force him to rescue Mr. Coleman.”

The consul laughed.

“You don’t know Central America, my lad,” he answered. “It’s as hard for the president of the republic to get at the revolutionists as for anybody else. Meanwhile, Coleman’s in danger. We can’t wait for a whole lot of useless red-tape proceedings. We’ve got to strike, and to strike hard and quick. But we’ve got to do it secretly, quietly—getting Coleman away before the revolutionists know what we’re doing. Understand?”

Bob nodded.

“We’ll not do any fighting if it’s possible to avoid it,” proceeded the consul, “for that would merely complicate matters. Besides, what could a handful of strangers do against a horde of rascally niggers? Softly is the word. We’ve got to jump into ’em, and then out again quicker than scat—and when we come out, we’ve got to have Coleman.”

“Are you going with us, Mr. Jordan?” asked Bob.

The consul started and gave Bob a bored look.

“Going with you?” he drawled. “Why not? It isn’t often we have anything exciting, here in Honduras, and I wouldn’t miss the chance for a farm. Coleman lives where he never knows what minute is going to be his last, and he’s continually guessing as to where the lightning is going to strike, and when. About all I do is lie around in a hammock, fight mosquitoes, take a feed now and then at Government House, and drop in at an English club here every evening for a rubber at whist. It’s deadly monotonous, my lad, to a fellow who comes from the land of snap and ginger.”

“I’ll be glad to have you along,” said Bob. “When had we better start?”

“This afternoon.” The consul picked his solar hat off the railing of the veranda and got up. “I’m going over to the boarding house,” he added, “to make arrangements for Captain Nemo, junior. It’s just around the corner, and I’ll only be gone a few minutes. Make yourself comfortable until I return.”

“I’ll get along all right,” answered Bob.

Jordan got up, descended the steps, swung away down the street, and quickly vanished around a corner.

The scenery was all new and strange to Bob, and he allowed his eyes to wander up and down the street. The houses were white bungalows, some of them surrounded by high white fences, and with tufted palms nodding over their roofs.

Negro women passed by with baskets on their heads, dark-skinned laborers in bell-crowned straw hats slouched up and down, and a group of tawny soldiers from a West India regiment, wearing smart Zouave uniforms and turbans, jogged past.

As soon as Bob had exhausted the sights in his immediate vicinity, he lay back in the chair and gave his thoughts to the captain.

He had always liked Nemo, junior. The captain had been a good friend to Bob Steele and his chums, and the young motorist hoped in his heart that his present illness would not take a serious turn.

While Bob was turning the subject over in his mind, two men came along the walk and started for the steps leading to the veranda of the consulate.

Bob, suddenly lifting his eyes, was surprised to note that one of the men was Cassidy. The other was a white, sandy-whiskered individual in a dingy blue coat and cap and much-worn dungaree trousers.

Both were plainly under the influence of liquor. They came unsteadily up the steps and Cassidy made a bee line for Bob.