“She’s below, too.”
“Where did she come from?”
“She was one of those we took out of that yawl. We all thought she was a boy until she told us who she was. We owe our escape to her.”
While sitting on the deck, Gaines had been slowly recovering his strength. He was still muttering dazedly over Bob’s amazing disclosures, when Speake showed himself at the hatch.
“You fellows better come below!” he called “Dick said you wanted the boat submerged, Bob, an’ I guess that the quicker we do it the better. There’s an outfit of black soldiers, dead ahead, waiting for us.”
Bob whirled around and allowed his eyes to follow the direction of Speake’s pointing finger.
On a shelflike projection of the high bank, perhaps a quarter of a mile ahead, was a group of rebels. They could be seen only indistinctly, but it was apparent from their actions that they were waiting for the Grampus to come within good range.
“Climb for the hatch, Gaines!” ordered Bob. “We’ve got to get below the surface. If we stay out here, while we’re passing those soldiers, they’ll shoot us off the deck.”
Gaines got to his feet and walked painfully to the tower. After he had climbed in, and vanished, Bob followed, closing the hatch behind him.
“Fill the ballast tanks, Clackett!” called Bob, through the tank-room tube. “About ten feet will do, just so the periscope ball is awash.”