Carl pushed Dick toward the conning tower. The sailor was loath to be the first to seek safety, but hesitation on his part only blocked the way for the others. Down Dick went, Carl close after him. Then Glennie took a dive through the hatch, and had no more than cleared the way before Matt followed.
Flashes were shooting up in the darkness all along the wharf. Leaden hail pattered on the steel sides of the Grampus, but the stout iron merely gave a ringing laugh and flung the softer metal off.
An unexpected event happened just as Matt ducked below the hatch. The propeller, working against the pull of the anchors, suddenly took a grip and hurled the Grampus ahead.
Carl had set the rudder for a move toward the wharf. It was in that direction, therefore, that the boat plunged, thus carrying those aboard nearer their enemies. Matt grabbed the tower steering device just in time to turn the craft. So narrow was the margin that the rounded side of the hull brushed the wharf timbers as the boat swept by.
This gave the soldiers a chance to do some shooting at close range; it likewise gave them a chance—for the fraction of a minute—to jump aboard, but no one improved the opportunity. Another minute and the submarine was headed out into the strait.
"Take the wheel, Carl, until I get down," called Matt.
"Dot's me!" boomed Carl from below.
Matt closed the hatch and descended to the periscope room.
"Stop the engine, Gaines!" he called through the tube. "Fill the tanks, Clackett!" he added.
"Hooray!" came from Clackett as the splash of water echoed from the filling tanks. "It's good to hear your voice again, Matt. How far down are we going?"