There came a low thump from forward, followed by a gurgling splash. From that Matt knew that the bow port had been closed and that the water was being blown out of the tube by compressed air. Then a faint rattle told him the breech door was being opened preparatory to loading the torpedo.
By then Matt was able to see the charging whale. He was a tremendous fellow, and he was making straight for the submarine with all the force in his great body. The water flashed away from his shining sides, and a long trail of foam unrolled behind his churning flukes.
"I'll do the steering from here, Dick!" shouted Matt, laying hold of the patent device which enabled one to steer from the tower.
Matt headed the boat so as to meet its strange antagonist bow on. Whale and submarine came together with a terrific impact. For an instant the whale seemed stunned, sheered off a little, and the sharp prow raked his side.
The next instant the Grampus was beyond the whale. Matt, looking behind, could see the huge cachalot leaping clear out of the water, and falling into it again with a splash like some mountain dropping into the sea.
The whale was terribly wounded, and bleeding, but the wound seemed only to have increased his pugnacious disposition.
"Watch the periscope, Dick!" roared Matt. "Can you see him? He's out of sight from here."
"He's sounded, mate," answered Dick, his tense voice proving the strain his nerves were under. "I'm hoping he'll leave us now, and—— Sink me! There he is again! He's coming for us like an express train."
A spouting of reddened water gave Matt the location, and he put the Grampus about, so as to face the danger and bring the cachalot in front of the port torpedo tube.
"Tell them to make ready in the torpedo room!" shouted Matt. "They must fire the Whitehead the moment I give the word."