“You’ll make it!” yelled Dick, reaching over to help the girl to the rounded steel deck.
“Into the tower hatch with you, Ysabel!” cried Bob. “Help her, Dick,” he added. “There’s no use hanging to the rope now.”
As Bob scrambled to the deck, the impetus of his leap flung the bow of the submarine away from the bank. Dick was already pushing and supporting Ysabel toward the tower hatch.
The bullets were now flying too thickly for comfort, but Bob drew a long breath of relief when he saw the girl disappear behind the protection of the tower.
“In with you, Dick!” shouted Bob, the rain of bullets on the steel deck giving point to his words.
“But you’re hurt, matey,” answered Dick.
“No time to talk!” was Bob’s brief response.
Dick, without delaying matters further, dropped through the top of the tower. The firing suddenly ceased. As Bob mounted the tower and threw his feet over the rim, he saw the reason.
Four of the ragged soldiers had leaped from the bank to the submarine’s deck. More would have come, but the gap of water had grown too wide for them to leap across it. These four, scrambling and stumbling toward Bob, caused their comrades to hold their fire for fear of injuring them.
Just as Bob dropped down the iron ladder, the foremost of the negro soldiers reached the tower. His big hands seized the rim as he made ready to hoist himself upward and follow the fugitives into the interior of the boat.