“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.