"We didn't know we were off our course," explained Tom. "We were in pursuit of a band of rascals. Night overtook us, but we risked keeping on, for it was urgent that we should not get too far behind them."
"What's this? What's this?" came Obadiah's voice. "My dear young man, I'm sorry indeed that I was the cause of stopping you, although, as I said, disaster must have overtaken you if you had kept on."
"I suppose nothing is so bad that it mightn't be worse," muttered Jeff.
"Tell you what," came Obadiah's voice suddenly, "the town of Brownhaven, where I hail from, isn't far from here. You are not too damaged to proceed under your own power, are you?"
"I don't think so," rejoined Tom.
"Then this is my plan: I'll go ahead—on the surface, of course—showing a light to guide you. You can follow along and before two hours are over you'll be at a shipyard in Brownhaven, where I can promise you quick repairs. I'm safe in saying this, because I own the yard. In fact, I erected it to build my submarines, of which I hope to sell several to the government."
"It's a private yard, then?" said Tom.
"Yes; but, as the accident was my fault in a way, I feel that it is only fair for me to do your repairing free of charge."
"Good fo' yo', Mister Obadiah!" hailed the voice of Rosewater, "and git us asho' as quick as poss'bul, please, fo' ah is dyin' fo' a sight ob dat dar terrier firma."
A few minutes later, with a light showing from the submarine ahead, the crippled Sea Ranger began to crawl slowly along. It was a pitiful travesty of her former brisk pace, and Tom could almost have wept. However, there was really no one to blame, he felt, and this Obadiah Ironsides, whoever he was, appeared to be doing all he could to repair the mischief he had unwittingly done.