“We’ll surrender!” shouted another, waving a white dish-rag.
“Then throw your arms overboard!”
A succession of splashes followed. The mutineers couldn’t seem to get rid of them fast enough.
“Stand by to catch a line,” then roared the officer; “we’re coming alongside.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” called back the cowed mutineers, as the submarine crept up to the yacht’s side. An instant later she was fast, and her officers and crew were on the yacht’s deck. Channing Lockyer at once made aft, followed by most of the officers. The latter were naturally anxious to ascertain the cause of the trouble. The inventor was drawn by a different motive—one we can guess.
In the meantime, the mutineers were driven forward and imprisoned in the forecastle. This done, Lieutenant Parry and the boys were making for the stern of the vessel, when Ned’s keen eyes noticed the canvas cover over one of the yacht’s boats shake and quiver as if something alive were under it.
Darting forward, he pulled it back and beheld, snuggled down among the thwarts of the boat, two human figures.
“Two more of them here, sir!” he cried.
The officer and Ned’s mates were at his side in an instant. In spite of the crouching fellows’ kicks and protests, they soon had them hauled out and on the decks. They tried to hide their faces, but they were remorselessly switched round and made to face the light.
“Tom Gradbarr!” exclaimed Ned, recognizing his captive.