“Up with the hatch, Carl!” he yelled. “Out on the deck and see how many you can pull out of the river.”
Carl, wrenching back on the lever and throwing up the dripping hatch cover, scrambled out.
“Steer from the tower, Dick,” Bob called, racing up the ladder, “as soon as the hatchway is cleared.”
Clackett followed Bob, and Ysabel Sixty followed Clackett. The thrill of the moment was in the girl’s nerves. She could not have held herself back if she had wanted to. Armed with a coil of rope, she climbed over the rim of the hatch and out on the slippery plates of the deck.
What Bob saw, when he struck the deck, was an overturned launch in the water, and two men clinging to the bow of the Grampus. One of these was Cassidy and the other was Tirzal. The former was clinging to the flagstaff, and the other to one of the wire cable guys. By an accident, they had held to the curved deck instead of slipping back into the water.
Dick, from the tower, was able to direct the boat so as to facilitate the picking up of those in the river.
Carl tossed a rope to Speake, Bob got one to Coleman, and Clackett succeeded in getting a line in the hands of Jordan. Ysabel tossed one end of her rope to Fingal, but he flung it aside with an oath. The negro soldier reached for it, but Fingal struck his hand fiercely aside, seized the soldier by the neck and began swimming with him toward the river bank.
While the rescued prisoners were being hauled aboard, Bob watched Fingal and the negro. The current was swift, but both men were strong swimmers. To Bob’s satisfaction he saw the two gain the bank and get safely upon dry ground. Fingal’s move was characteristic of him, for, as soon as he could lift himself, he shook his clenched fist at the submarine and those on her deck. If he had had a rifle, undoubtedly he would have done some shooting.
“Bob Steele!” cried Jordan. He was sitting on the deck, his back against the side of the conning tower, shaking the water out of his ears.
“Well?” asked Bob.