"That cove looks like a quiet place for shipping a new propeller," said Matt.
"You ought to have a dry-dock for that, hadn't you?"
"That would be fine—but we haven't got it. The next best thing is to shift all the weight forward and throw the propeller out of water. We can do that if our forward anchor can find holding ground on the bottom of the cove."
Matt stepped back to the conning tower.
"Speake!" he called.
"Aye, aye!" came back from Speake.
"Send Clackett to the torpedo room, and tell him to let go the forward anchor as soon as I give the word. Carl might go down and help. When I give the word, I want the anchor dropped at once!"
Speake could be heard talking through the tank-room tube. Matt, standing by the tower, watched sharply while the submarine drifted closer and closer to the rocks. The cove did not measure more than fifty feet across at its mouth, and was semi-circular in shape, and not more than fifty feet wide, measuring from a line drawn between the rocky headlands at the entrance. The shore was buttressed by high bowlders.
The current was bearing the submarine into the cove midway between the headlands—the line of drift being straight toward the farthest point inland.
Dick had a hand lead, and forward at the bow he heaved it constantly.