The ensign had not made much of a hit with Ferral—nor with any of the rest of the submarine’s complement, for that matter. Dick, however, did no more than grumble. If Bob Steele thought it necessary to pull out for the Amazon in such short order, then there was nothing more to be said. Bob knew what he was about.
Dick alone, of all the submarine’s crew, had been the only one to set foot on shore. As soon as the gasoline was transferred, and the boatman paid for his services, the anchor was taken in and the Grampus laid her course for the Serpent’s Mouth and began her long voyage toward the Amazon. Dick took the wheel. Bob, studying the charts, gave him the course. Glennie came out of his room and watched the two lads while they were at work.
Everything was going well, and the rhythmical hum of the motor echoed through the boat from the engine room. Glennie walked over and took a look at the periscope. In the mirror were reflected the slowly receding shore line and the distant mountains that arose behind the town.
“You fellows seem to know your business,” remarked Glennie.
“Aye,” growled Dick, “and we mind it, Mr. Glennie.”
The ensign turned from the periscope and went up on deck.
“Why are you keeping the boat so high in the water?” he called down.
“He knows so much, matey,” said Dick to Bob, “why not let him figure that out for himself?”
“Because,” Bob answered, shaking his head at Dick, “we can make better speed when we’re riding light. Once out of the Gulf of Paria, though, the sea will probably be so rough we’ll have to submerge.”
The ensign continued to ask questions and Bob continued to answer them until Speake announced dinner. The meal was served to the crew at their different stations, Ah Sin carrying the plates and the steaming cups of coffee.