While they looked, a most astounding thing happened. The torpedo seemed suddenly to become imbued with life. It shivered, jerked sidewise like an animated log, whirled around frantically, and then, with one end leaping into the air, it darted downward, out of sight!
[CHAPTER VI.]
ANOTHER ATTACK.
This weird vanishing on the part of the object in dispute between Motor Matt and Captain Pons left those on steps of the Casa gasping. The Frenchman dropped limply down and hugged his folded arms to his breast; the Chilian looked wild, and a superstitious fear arose in the eyes of the two negroes. Glennie grabbed up the glasses the captain had been using a few minutes before, clapped them to his eyes, and proceeded to examine the surface of the bay.
The strange movements of the torpedo had had something of an effect upon the Grampus, for she had swung about on her cable and dipped slightly sternward. She was lying quietly enough now, however, and Carl, Dick, Speake, Gaines, and Clackett were swarming over her deck and evidently wondering what had become of the Whitehead.
Matt, with his naked eyes, could see his friends moving about, although it was impossible for him to discover exactly what they were doing.
"They're pulling in the rope that was made fast to the torpedo," said Glennie. "They've got the end of it in their hands."
"Great spark plugs!" murmured Matt dazedly. "That was a queer performance, I must say. Can you see anything of the Whitehead, Glennie?"
"Not a thing. There must have been some compressed air still left in the cylinder, and in some way it got to the screws."