“We got to de place, boss,” said Tirzal, lifting himself erect with a deep breath of relief. “Now we come to de top an’ tie de boat to a couple ob trees on de sho’.”
“Where are the revolutionists?” asked Bob.
“Dey a good way off, boss. We hab to take to de bank an’ go find um. I know de way. Here’s where de boats come. You see dat pitpan close by de bank? Him rebels’ boat.”
“Do you suppose,” queried Bob, turning to the consul, “that the schooner sent word to the rebels by means of the pitpan?”
Jordan shook his head perplexedly.
“They wouldn’t do that. The pitpan is no more than a mahogany log, hollowed out, and would be a poor sort of craft to row against the current of the Izaral while it’s at the flood. I can’t understand why we don’t see or hear something connected with the schooner. Perhaps”—the consul’s face brightened—“Fingal and Cassidy are on the wrong track, after all.”
“You go to de top, boss,” put in Tirzal, “an’ me swim asho’ wid rope; den we warp um boat close to de bank.”
As a preparation for his swim, the half-breed began to divest himself of his clothes.
Bob gave the order to empty the ballast tanks by compressed air, and the Grampus rose to the surface to the tune of water splashing from the tanks.