“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.”