"Probably," guessed Matt, "the Fuegans thought the Chilians were visitors from the bottom of the sea, inasmuch as they came out of the boat, and were afraid to molest them. But we're not going to let the scoundrels get away so easy as all that."
Stepping back down the ladder until his fingers could touch the steering device and the bell pushes, Matt rang for full speed ahead.
The jingle of the bell reached the Fuegans, and perhaps gave them the idea that this monster of the deep was making ready to do battle with them. Dropping their bows, they seized their paddles and shot their canoes to a safer distance.
The churning of the propeller still further alarmed the savages, and when the submarine headed shoreward, pointing straight for one segment of the canoe-draw circle, there was a wild scramble among the boats to get out of the way.
The Chilians, looking over their shoulders and seeing the Grampus pursuing them, redoubled their efforts to get away. But they would not have succeeded had not the Fuegans unexpectedly changed their tactics.
Whiz-z-z—zip! An arrow flashed past Matt's head.
"Come down, Matt!" shouted Glennie. "If you don't they'll put one of those arrows through you! It's a wonder that one missed."
Matt needed no second bidding. Emboldened by the attack of the first savage, all the others prepared to launch their shafts.
As Matt dropped into the tower and closed and secured the hatch, a veritable cloud of arrows came pecking at tower and deck, some of them gliding off into space, and some of them splintering and breaking upon the tough steel.
Matt continued to remain in the tower, his eyes at the lunettes and his hand on the steering device.