[CHAPTER VIII.]
THE DON'S PROPOSAL.
Before the don could follow Fingal's suggestion and unburden himself of what he wanted to say, the splash and gurgle of water entering the submersion tanks reached the ears of those in the steel room. At the same moment a shiver ran through the boat's fabric and she began to sink.
"What are you doing?" demanded Matt sharply.
"Going under the water," explained the don affably. "We're off Port Livingston and are going to proceed up the Izaral without being seen."
"What's that for? If the town and the fort are in the hands of the rebels, you won't have anything to fear."
"We don't know whether the rebels have captured the fort yet or not," said the don, "and we don't want to take any chances of being sunk by the fort's guns in case they are still in the hands of the enemy."
"If you don't know anything about this boat," said Matt, "you'll get us all into trouble trying to maneuvre it."
"Gaines an' Clackett, I guess," put in Fingal, "'ll keep us from gettin' inter any very serious fix. They're helpin' run the craft, ye know," and Fingal leered cunningly. "Go ahead, don," he added, as the submarine halted its downward plunge and started onward again.