"How is everything, matey?" queried Dick through the speaking tube.
"The Salvadore is within twenty fathoms of us," replied Matt, "but everything is quiet. Full speed ahead, Gaines," he added. "We'll not come to the surface until we're several miles nearer Smyth Channel."
With all the machinery working smoothly, the Grampus glided as softly as a huge fish away from the dangerous port of Punta Arenas, the red periscope ball alone showing, and flashing a crimson trail in the direction of the Pacific.
[CHAPTER XIV.]
ENGLISH REACH.
When safely beyond Punta Arenas, the Grampus arose to the surface and rode as high as completely empty ballast tanks would let her. The higher she was in the water the more speed she would develop—and speed was the one crying need at that time.
Luck had favored the chums in Punta Arenas, and all were hoping that the good fortune would hold until they passed the western end of the strait. But in this they were destined to be disappointed.
With everything working perfectly they passed Port Famine, and, a little later, the southernmost point of South America that enters the strait—Cape Froward. Here the weather usually changes, but it did not change for Motor Matt and his friends. They had, what was rare in those waters, a fair day, which, so far as the barometer could foretell, was likely to hold.
But after passing Cape Froward, and while Mount Sarmiento's snowy crown was still visible in the distance, the motor developed a serious complaint. It refused absolutely to run, and the trouble was too much for Gaines and Dick. Matt had to go down and give the machinery his personal attention.