The engine was instantly reversed, but not until the submarine had run into some obstruction, halting her with a jar that threw all her passengers off their feet.
For a moment the silence was broken only by the hum of the fiercely working cylinders, and the splash and bubble of the current as it met the obstruction of the huge steel shell.
“Cut out the turbines!” yelled Bob; “empty the tanks by compressed air. Full speed astern, Dick! Every ounce of power now!”
“What’s happened, do you think, Bob?” asked Ysabel, who had been sitting on the locker in the periscope room, watching eagerly all that had taken place.
“The river winds about a good deal, Ysabel,” Bob answered, “and we have probably run into the bank. When the periscope went out of commission it prevented us from keeping track of our course.” “Ah!” he added, noticing that the propeller was dragging them against the current and away from the bank, and that they were rising toward the surface. “We’ll do, now.”
“But we can’t pass them cannon on the surface,” observed Speake.
“There’s nothing else for it, Speake,” answered Bob, “but a dash straight for the gulf. We’ll have to keep to the surface, and if the rebels are able to aim straight, they’re going to give us a lively time.”
Bob relieved Speake in the conning tower. With his eyes against the lunettes, he kept keen watch ahead as turn after turn of the river unfolded before the racing boat.
At last they came close to a bend on the opposite side of which Bob knew there was a straightway stretch of water leading to the gulf.
He signaled the motor room for full speed astern once more, then slowed down until the backward pull of the propeller just balanced the rush of the current, the Grampus hanging stationary in midstream.