"Lively, matey!" he called.
When Matt was able to see what was going on, he was as greatly surprised as Dick had been.
Coming down the bank, and traveling as fast as his long legs could carry him, was Gaines. He was clad only in shirt and trousers, and his bare feet were bleeding from their contact with the sharp stones. Unmindful of this trying discomfort, he rushed down the bank with flying leaps, while bushes crackled behind him and little wreaths of smoke rose upward, marking the discharge of firearms.
Matt rushed along the deck and caught the hatchet out of his chum's hand.
"Go to the engine room, Dick," said he quickly, "and take charge of the motor. Send Clackett to the tank room. Let Speake take the wheel until I come. Submerge when I give the word, and do it quick!"
It was no time for hesitation, and Ferral darted back down the hatch.
[CHAPTER XIII.]
OFF FOR THE GULF.
It was easily seen that Gaines was nearly spent. His breath tore through his lips in gasps, and when he reached the edge of the wharf, he fell there, unable to roll over the edge and drop down on the deck of the Grampus.