All night long the Grampus felt her way up the coast. Clackett acted as pilot some of the time, and Bob “spelled” him in two-hour watches. Neither was very well acquainted with the coast, and it was necessary to proceed slowly.
The electric projector was turned against the forward lunettes, and, with this trail of light stretching before them, the Grampus plowed her way through the breaking seas and safely escaped the reefs that lined her course.
Morning found the submarine still several hours from Belize.
Ysabel and Speake got breakfast, and while it was being eaten a cry of “Sail, ho!” came from Clackett, who was in the tower.
“Where away?” called Bob, only passively interested.
“Dead ahead,” answered Clackett. “But I ought to have said ‘Smoke, ho!’ as the craft is a steamer.”
“Which way is she heading?”
“Toward us.”
“Then probably she’s some Costa Rica fruiter.”
Bob went on with his eating. Dick was below, standing his trick at the motor in order to give Gaines a chance to eat and rest.