“They wouldn’t trust us even if we agreed to join 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’s 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?”