At this moment a tremendous shock interrupted Bob Steele. The big steel hulk of the submarine stopped dead, reeled for an instant like a drunken man, and then rebounded sternward against the push of the propeller. Accompanying the weird maneuver was a fierce thrashing of the waves outside.
Sunk level with the surface of the sea, conning tower awash, the Grampus had been proceeding at a good clip on her southward journey. Bob Steele and Dick Ferral were in the periscope room, Bob with his attention divided between the periscope table, the steering wheel, and the small compass, and Dick on his knees beside a locker on which were a number of admiralty charts.
Dick was thrown sidewise by the shock, and Bob only saved himself a fall by taking a convulsive grip on the spokes of the steering wheel.
“Fore rudder will not work, sir!” cried Speake through the tube communicating with the engine room.
One admirable thing about Bob was that he never got “rattled.” Under any and all circumstances he kept his head.
“Stop your motor, Gaines!” he cried instantly through another of the tubes, then, whirling to still another, he called: “Prepare to empty the ballast, Clackett!”
The ready “Aye, aye, sir!” that came through both tubes proved that those in motor room and tank room were on the alert.
The hum of the engine died slowly, and muffled sounds from the tank room showed that Clackett was calmly attending to his work.
In time of accident no man could leave his post, for the safety of the submarine, and the lives of those within her might depend upon an instant compliance with orders. Iron-nerved men formed the crew of the Grampus, for each had been selected by Captain Nemo, junior, with that quality in mind.