"Empty the ballast tanks, Clackett!" he shouted.
Clackett must have thought that a strange order, but he was there to obey, and the tone of Matt's voice told him clearly that instant compliance was wanted.
The splash of the turbines could be heard, and the Grampus began rising into rougher water.
"I'll go out first," said Matt, stepping to the ladder. "You follow me, Dick, and, Glennie, you come last."
Matt lingered a moment to pick up an iron wrench and secure it to the end of one of the ropes that was going aloft with him, and then made his way up the ladder.
By then the Grampus was rolling and pitching on the surface, and when Matt opened the hatch, a wave swept over his head, nearly smothering him and hurling him fiercely against the inner wall of the tower.
It looked like suicide to venture out into the waves that hurled themselves over the rounded deck of the submarine, but he watched his chances, got over the edge of the tower and crawled to the steel periscope mast. Just as he reached it, another wave flung itself over the boat. Had his arms not been around the mast, he would have been plucked bodily from the deck and swept into the sea.
As soon as the wave had passed, he tied his life line to the stout steel upright, and stood erect. Just then the submarine was riding a wave, and he saw the overturned boat to the north and on the port side—twice as far away as when he had first seen her through the periscope.
Dick was on the other side of the tower, lashing himself to the flagstaff, and Glennie was out of the hatch to the waist line.
Talking, at such a time, was impossible. Matt pointed in the direction of the overturned boat, and the faint tinkle of the motor-room bell below was heard as Glennie signaled for a turn on the port tack.