“Hello,” ejaculated Frank presently, “We’re moving. Look at those trees!”
Tom glanced up. It was perfectly true, the trees were slowly but steadily slipping past them. They were drifting with the current.
“It must be the tide,” declared Tom. “If ’tis we’ll be out of here soon and if we reach the bay——”
“Hurrah, there’s the bay now!” cried Frank.
A few hundred yards ahead they saw the sheet of open water through the trees and with light hearts grasped the oars and started to row forwards, but before they had taken a stroke Tom uttered a smothered cry, grasped Frank’s arm and pointed a trembling finger at the open water visible through a space between the mangroves.
“Look, Frank! Look!” he whispered
Less than two hundred yards distant, plainly visible and moored close to the edge of the swamp was a big submarine! No second glance was needed to verify Tom’s first suspicions; the shattered conning tower left no doubt as to the craft’s identity.
Frank was too surprised and dumbfounded to speak and stood gazing with unbelieving eyes at the submarine so near to them and so totally unexpected.
“Quick!” whispered Tom. “If we don’t watch out we’ll be drifting in sight on that open water. Grab a root or a branch while I push the boat in.”
Seizing his oars, Tom pushed and pulled, forcing the boat close to the trees until Frank could grasp one of the swaying, descending roots and made the boat’s painter fast to it.