A little later a muffled rattling could be heard as a chain was paid out through the patent water-tight hawse hole. Presently the rattling stopped, and the Grampus shivered and swung to her scope of cable. More rattling came from the stern, and soon two anchors were holding the submarine steady in her berth.
“I want you to go ashore, Bob,” said Captain Nemo, junior, “and see the American consul. Find a place where I can be taken care of; also, show that letter to the consul and tell him you are my representative. Better take Dick with you.”
“All right, sir,” replied Bob.
A blueish tinge had crept into the pallor of the captain’s face. Bob had been covertly watching, and his anxiety on the captain’s account had increased. The captain must be taken ashore as quickly as possible and placed in a doctor’s hands.
“Come on, Dick,” called Bob, starting up the conning-tower ladder.
With his chum at his heels, Bob crawled over the rim of the conning-tower hatch and lowered himself to the rounded steel deck.
The port of Belize, nestling in a tropical bower of coconut trees, was about a mile distant. Owing to her light draft, the Grampus had been able to come closer to the town than other ships in the harbor. The submarine lay between a number of sailing vessels and steamboats and the line of white buildings peeping out of the greenery beyond the beach.
Two small sailboats, manned by negroes, were approaching the Grampus. Bob motioned to one of them, and her skipper hove-to alongside, caught a rope thrown by Dick, and pulled his craft as near the deck of the submarine as the rounded bulwarks would permit. A plank was pushed over the side of the sailboat, and Bob and Dick climbed over the lifting and shaking board.
“Golly, boss,” remarked the negro, “dat’s de funniest boat dat I ever seen in dis port. Looks like er bar’l on er raft.”
“Never mind that,” said Bob, “but lay us alongside the wharf as soon as you can.”