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.

The batteries were not working properly. Matt replaced some of the cells. That, however, did not remedy the matter. Further examination developed carburetter trouble, and, as the examination continued, one ill after another showed itself until it seemed as though every part of the motor had gone into a decline.

Matt, of course, remedied the matter, but it took hours of time and made it impossible for the Grampus to glide into the waters of the Pacific that day.

After supper, smothering their disappointment as best they could, the submarine descended to the bottom according to her usual fashion, and her crew had supper together in the periscope chamber.

"How long does it take a good fast steamer to sail around the Horn?" asked Speake.

"About a year, I guess," grinned Dick. "It would depend on the number of sails the steamer had. Probably she could steam around in two or three days."

"From that," spoke up Clackett, "I should infer that the Jap boat has had time to get somewhere near the end of the strait and lay for us?"

"It's hard to tell where the Jap steamer is," said Matt. "We've done the best we can, so let's not borrow any trouble. Our periscope ball is a pretty small thing for the crew of the steamer to see. We could pass within a mile of the Japs and they'd never know we were anywhere in their vicinity."

"We'll get through, somehow, mates," averred Dick cheerfully. "After we pulled off that little game in Punta Arenas, I'm beginning to think there isn't anything we can't do."

"There'll be more accidents," said Gaines seriously. "Something else will happen to the machinery. I've noticed always that motor troubles come in pairs."

"Why, Gaines," laughed Matt, "our last motor troubles came in bunches of a dozen! Every part of the motor seemed to have developed a weakness."

"They all came at the same time," continued Gaines, with superstitious firmness. "There'll be something else, you mark what I'm saying."

The following morning there was another early start. Everything went swimmingly for several hours; then, on rounding a particularly bold headland, Speake, who was in the conning tower, steering, saw something which nearly caused him to fall off the ladder.

"Oh, Christopher!" he called down the hatch. "Look, Matt!"

Matt and Glennie both sprang to the periscope, drawn there by a quick jump on account of the wild alarm that throbbed in Speake's voice.

English Reach lay ahead of the Grampus, and there, out across the surface of the water, quietly and expectantly waiting, was the Jap steamer!

Speake had been on the lookout, on the crest of the hill at Gallego Bay, at the time the steamer had been raised the other time. He recognized her on the instant.

There was a Chilian flag flying, and from a swift movement of men over the steamer's decks it was certain that the Grampus had been seen.

"They see us now," said Matt, "but they won't in a minute. Clackett," he called through the tank-room tube, "we'll go down the usual depth for periscope work."

Matt's voice was calm and steady, in spite of the fact that the thing for which he had planned in Gallegos Bay—namely, the avoiding of the steamer—had failed.

Minutes passed without bringing the usual swish of water filling the ballast tanks. Through the periscope Matt could see that the Japs were lowering a boat. Speake had come down into the periscope room, closing the hatch behind him in preparation for a dive. He stood with his hand on the wheel and looking over Matt's shoulder.

"What's the matter, Clackett?" called Matt.

"The intake valves won't work!" came back the disgusted voice of Clackett.

Matt ran down to give his personal attention to the matter. For a few minutes he struggled with the valves, but all to no purpose.

"I'll get at the bottom of this trouble," declared Matt, "if it takes a leg."

"I told you something else would happen," called Gaines from the motor room. "That's what it is—tank trouble."

"And just when we need the tanks," said Matt. "That Jap boat is close by, and we ought to be under the surface."

Matt, seeing a way whereby he thought the valve trouble might be remedied, was just beginning a new line of attack when Glennie called frantically through the tube:

"Do something, Matt! One boat is on its way to us from the steamer, and another is dropped into the water. If you can't do anything down there, then come up here."

Matt turned to Dick, explained to him what his new idea was regarding the valve trouble, asked him to work along that line, and then hurried up to the periscope room.

Speake was in the room, hardly knowing what to do.

"If we try to run," said he, "the Jap steamer will catch us, and if we don't run, the rowboats will be on top of us. If we can't dive, Matt, we're in another kind of a hole."

"Don't lose your nerve, Speake," said Matt. "Go down and see if you can help Dick. Glennie will go up into the tower and steer. I'm for the deck to watch and see how matters progress."

"I'm for der teck, too!" declared Carl, who happened, at that moment, to be in the periscope room.

He had a keen scent for trouble, and always tried hard to be around whenever any was going to happen.

Without paying much attention to Carl, Matt opened the locker and took out the submarine's copy of the Stars and Stripes.

"If the Sons of the Rising Sun try any of their old tactics," said Matt, "I'll make it plain that it's a ship carrying Old Glory."

"What do they care for any flag?" demanded Glennie. "Why, they're flying the Chilian flag now, and every man of them is got up in Chilian naval uniform. It's hard to tell them from the real thing, at a distance, too."

Matt ran up the ladder, gained the deck, and bent the flag to the halyards. Presently he had it flying, and drew back from the staff to look at the approaching boats.

Carl was on the after deck. In order, perhaps, to make himself look more nautical, the Dutch boy had crowded himself into sailor clothes. They were too big for him, up and down, and too small the other way.

Glennie, braced in the top of the conning tower, was running the boat from that position.

The first boat that had put off from the steamer, and consequently the nearest one to the submarine, contained an officer and two sailors.

They were rigged out in genuine Chilian style, and Matt had to admit to himself that the imitation was admirable—so admirable, in fact, that he would have been deceived had he not had prior knowledge of the identity of the steamer.

The submarine's motor was doing her best, but the craft had to follow the contour of the coast, and this threw her nearer and nearer the first of the approaching rowboats.

"We're in for it, Matt," said Glennie grimly.

"We'll try and keep ourselves out of harm until our diving gear is put in shape, Glennie," Matt answered. "After that we'll drop away and leave our Jap friends up above."

"Vell, vat oof der tiving gear don'd vas got retty in time, Matt?" asked Carl.

"Don't cross that bridge until you get to it, Carl. If the Stars and Stripes can't protect us on a peaceable cruise, then the Sons of the Rising Sun are taking long chances and running big risks."

A hail came from across the water. The officer in the nearest boat was standing and trumpeting through his hands.

"Spanish!" exclaimed Glennie. "They're not overlooking many details, those Japs. They want to know what boat this is, Matt."

"Just as if they didn't know!" muttered Matt. "Tell them, Glennie. Then ask them what boat they're from."

Glennie followed his orders, receiving some more Spanish talk from the officer.

"He says," reported Glennie, "that he's Captain Sandoval, of the Chilian war ship Salvadore, and, he says further, that he has been requested by his government to meet us at the Pacific end of the strait and give us safe conduct to Valparaiso."

"Talk about nerve!" murmured Matt. "We've seen Sandoval, and Sandoval's ship, the Salvadore, and we know what sort of a bold game our friends, the Japs, are playing. Ask him how he knew we were coming through the strait."

"He replies," pursued Glennie, "that our government communicated with his, and requested that a Chilian gunboat protect the Grampus from Jap miscreants known as Sons of the Rising Sun."

"Continued displays of nerve," murmured Matt, "and of the monumental order. Tell him we don't want his safe conduct, and to sheer away from us."

The first boat was almost upon the submarine. Glennie repeated Matt's order.

"The officer insists on coming aboard," said the ensign.

"Just tell him we know he's a Jap, and that we left the Salvadore and Captain Sandoval at Punta Arenas."

There was no waiting on the part of the Japs in the rowboat for Matt's words to be translated into Spanish. The Japs took the words as they fell from the lips of the king of the motor boys, dropped their mask, and the sailors fell to with their oars.

"Stave in their boat, Glennie!" called Matt, his eyes flashing. "I hate to do it, but it's all we can do to avoid trouble. The sailors in the other boat will pick up these when they drop in the water."

"Dot's der dicket!" chirruped Carl, who had been shaking his fists at the Japs and taunting them with various epithets. "Sink der poat! Den, afder dot, sink der odder poat; und vind oop by drowing a dorpeto indo der shdeamer. Make some cleanoops vile you vas aboudt id."

Glennie so manoeuvred the Grampus that her sharp prow struck the rowboat broadside on. Instead of staving the boat, however, the Grampus ran under her, the forward part of the small boat's keel sliding over the deck. All the Japs were hurled into the water.

"Clear away the boat if you can!" shouted Glennie. "Hooray for Motor Matt!"

The Grampus flung onward. Matt started ahead to clear the rowboat off the deck, but, before he could reach her, she had cleared herself.

The speed of the submarine and the drag of the rowboat had accomplished the work.

"Don't cheer too soon, Glennie!" warned Matt. "Look behind you!"

Glennie turned in the tower and cast a glance rearward. A war ship was just rounding the headland, enveloping the top of the uplift in a dense cloud of black smoke.

"The Salvadore!" fluttered Glennie, his despairing eyes returning to Matt.

"Anyhow," said Matt, "we're saved from the Sons of the Rising Sun. Look at them! That rowboat is hardly taking the necessary time to pick up the Japs we knocked into the water, she's so anxious to get back to the steamer."

"I don'd know vich gifs me der mosdt colt chills," cried Carl, "der Sons oof der Rising Sun oder der fellers on der Salfatore!"