Motor Matt Makes Good; or, Another Victory For the Motor Boys

by Stanley R. Matthews

He missed the guy by a fraction of an inch, slipped downward over the rounded deck and rolled into the water. He made little noise, so little that Speake could not hear it above the swirl of waves thrown up by the rounded plates of the Grampus.

Another moment and Matt was in the water and swimming. The deadly compression at his throat continued, and he was unable to voice a sound. He could see the little search light of the submarine moving rapidly onward into the darkness, and could see the half of Speake's form, like a blot of shadow, rearing out of the tower hatch.

All this time Matt felt the pull of the rope about his neck, drawing him steadily and remorselessly away into the foggy night. No one spoke behind him, and there was not the slightest sound to tell him who his captors were, or where they were, or how they had succeeded in making him a victim in that mysterious fashion.

A minute, two minutes, passed. At the end of that time Matt felt his strength leaving him because of the strangling grip about his throat. Then, suddenly, the rearward "pull" relaxed and the constriction at his throat ceased. With one hand he reached upward and pulled the strangling coil loose and gulped down a deep draught of air.

A moment later he gave vent to a cry, hoping to attract the attention of Speake. But the Grampus was too far away. With difficulty Matt freed himself of his shoes and coat. He had no idea how long he would have to swim, but he prepared himself to keep afloat as long as possible. What the end was to be he did not know, and he had no time to give to that phase of the question.

Some mysterious force had hurled him from the deck of the Grampus into the sea, and perhaps this same force would continue to take care of him. Turning about in the water, he lifted himself high with a downward stroke of his powerful arms, and peered in the direction from which the attack had come. He could see nothing and could hear nothing.

For a moment Motor Matt was tempted to forget his dire plight in marveling over the mysterious nature of that attack. The next instant, however, he began asking himself if it would be possible to reach the Chilian shore. It was a mile away, at least. To swim such a distance was no very extraordinary feat, but there were currents sucking Matt oceanward, and against these it was powerless for him to struggle.

Matt could keep afloat, but to what purpose? Would it be possible for him to keep on the surface until his friends on the submarine discovered his absence and put back to his rescue? Even if he could swim for that length of time, could his friends find him in that darkness, with the current dragging him farther and farther from the course over which the Grampus had recently passed?

In Motor Matt's place, a good many lads would have given up the struggle, but Matt was of different calibre. As long as there was a breath in his body he would fight, for he knew that while there is life there is always hope.