While these instructions were going forward, Gaines and Dick had gone into the motor room, Clackett and Carl had posted themselves in the place from which the submerging tanks were operated, and Speake had gone forward into the torpedo room.
“We’re all ready,” said Bob. “Take to the conning tower, Tirzal, and give your signals.”
The half-breed, as proud as a peacock to have the management of this strange craft under his hands, got up the ladder until only his bare feet and legs from the knees down were visible.
Bob, posting himself by the periscope, divided his attention between the panorama unfolded there and the work of Tirzal. He was considerably relieved by the handy manner in which the half-breed took hold of his work.
With ballast tanks empty, and the Grampus riding as high in the water as she could, the motor got to work the instant the anchors were off the bottom and stowed.
“We’re off, Jordan!” cried Bob.
“Off on one of the strangest cruises I ever took part in,” returned the consul, his face glowing with the novelty of the situation; “and it’s a cruise, my boy,” he added, a little more soberly, “which is going to demand all our resourcefulness in the matter of tact, skill, and courage. Even then there’s a chance that we——”
Jordan did not finish, but gave Bob a look which expressed plainly all that he had left unsaid.