During that night run down the coast the Grampus was driven at full speed. The electric projector was fitted against the lunettes of the conning tower, and threw an eye of light far out over the dark water.
It was the hope of those aboard the submarine that they would be able to overhaul and pass the schooner, North Star, which, presumably, was rushing on ahead of them to interfere in some manner with the work cut out for the Grampus.
The schooner had about three hours’ start of the submarine, but the latter craft was keeping to the surface and traveling at such a speed that it was thought she would surely overtake the other boat before the mouth of the Izaral was reached.
However, in this Bob and Jordan were disappointed. They passed one steamer, creeping up the coast, but not another craft did they see.
“The North Star won’t be able to ascend the Izaral, anyhow,” commented Jordan. “If Fingal communicates with the revolutionists, he will have to send a small boat—and perhaps we can overhaul that boat before it reaches the headquarters of the insurgent force.”
There was a certain amount of sleep for everybody aboard the Grampus, that night, but Bob Steele. Dick and Carl slept the first half of the night, and, after that, relieved Gaines and Clackett; Speake caught cat naps off and on; Jordan stretched himself out on top of the locker in the periscope room and took his forty winks with nothing to bother him; and Tirzal, when the submarine was in a fairly clear stretch of her course, was relieved by Bob and sent down to curl up on the floor and snore to his heart’s content.
The tireless motor hummed the song familiar in Bob’s ears, and the excitement of the work in prospect kept him keyed to highest pitch in spite of his loss of rest.
In the gray of early morning, an hour after Bob had turned off the electric projector, he sighted the mouth of a river with high, bluffy banks on each side. On one of the banks, peeping out from a covert of royal palms, was a small village. Directly across the stream from the village, commanding both the river and the small harbor in front of the town, was a rude fort.
Bob called Tirzal.
“She’s de ruvver, all right, you bet,” declared Tirzal, after taking a look at the periscope. “Stop um boat, boss,” he added. “We no want de people in de town to see um.”