Dick repeated the order. The torpedo was contrived so as to travel at a certain distance under water. If discharged at too great a distance from the whale it would sink to its normal depth, and so miss the charging monster altogether. Matt, watching the cachalot with sharp eyes, awaited the right moment for letting the Whitehead go.
The whale left a bloody track as it hurled itself nearer and nearer.
"Fire!" shouted Matt suddenly.
A gurgling swish, a spluttering cough, and a thud followed. The surface of the sea directly ahead of the submarine was full of ripples that marked the passing of the deadly infernal machine.
"Full speed astern!" cried Matt.
Dick repeated the order to Gaines. Barely was the motion of the propeller reversed when whale and torpedo met. There was a dull roar, and the sea lifted high in a veritable flurry. The Grampus slid backward rapidly, rocking on the troubled waters. Then, the lifted waves having descended, the whale was seen torn cruelly and lying on his back. Already the triangular fins of sharks were in evidence, rushing from every direction upon the prey.
Matt descended to the engine room and found Dick steering with one hand and wiping the perspiration from his face with the other.
"A tight squeak, matey!" Dick muttered. "We're out one torpedo, but you saved the boat."
Speake, meanwhile, had been taking the turbine to pieces. He now appeared in the periscope room with a wooden sieve half full of small fish.
"Mullet for dinner, Matt!" he laughed. "A shoal of fish was bein' chased by the cachalot. The draught-holes of our turbines was open an' the fish run in. No wonder the turbines wouldn't work!"