UNDER THE AMAZON.

Three days and nights of uneventful traveling brought the Grampus to Santa Rosa Bay directly in the great mouth of the Amazon. Para River, to the south, is not generally considered as an arm of the river, although unquestionably it forms a part of the vast delta.

The mouth of the Amazon Matt knew to be two hundred miles wide, and full twenty-seven fathoms deep. It is full of islands, and a bar, running seaward from one of these islands, caused the Grampus an unforeseen delay.

Feeling positive that the mysterious steamer had reached the Amazon ahead of them, or that she was perhaps watching along the coast; most of the latter part of the submarine's journey toward the Para had been made under water. The boat was submerged when she reached the Amazon, and the run across Santa Rosa Bay was by periscope alone.

Matt saw the little rocky island, whitened with seabirds, and supposed he was giving it a wide berth. He did not suspect the presence of the bar, and the chart, most unaccountably, did not show it.

The first news of trouble was contained in an announcement by Gaines, from the motor room.

"Propeller's out of commission, Matt."

This was alarming information. With the propeller useless, the submarine would drift helplessly in the current unless stoutly anchored.

Quickly as possible the ballast tanks were emptied and the boat brought to the surface. Matt, turning the wheel over to Speake, rushed into the conning tower, threw open the hatch and made a survey of the situation.

There were no boats of any kind in the vicinity of the Grampus, and consequently no hope of being towed into safe quarters while repairs were being made. Matt, when he broke out of the hatch, was confidently expecting to find the submarine being whirled out to sea by the swift current, but, to his surprise, the boat was setting in toward a small cove of the island. He got out on the deck for the purpose of making further observations. Dick and Glennie followed him.

"What do you make out, matey?" queried Dick. "From the looks of things, we're floating upstream."

"We're in a back-set of the current," Matt answered, studying the river in the neighborhood of the island. "That uplift of rocks parts the stream, sends the current around the upper part at sharp angles, and below, where we are, the current sucks back inshore."

"A dangerous coast to run into," remarked Glennie.

"That cove looks like a quiet place for shipping a new propeller," said Matt.

"You ought to have a dry-dock for that, hadn't you?"

"That would be fine—but we haven't got it. The next best thing is to shift all the weight forward and throw the propeller out of water. We can do that if our forward anchor can find holding ground on the bottom of the cove."

Matt stepped back to the conning tower.

"Speake!" he called.

"Aye, aye!" came back from Speake.

"Send Clackett to the torpedo room, and tell him to let go the forward anchor as soon as I give the word. Carl might go down and help. When I give the word, I want the anchor dropped at once!"

Speake could be heard talking through the tank-room tube. Matt, standing by the tower, watched sharply while the submarine drifted closer and closer to the rocks. The cove did not measure more than fifty feet across at its mouth, and was semi-circular in shape, and not more than fifty feet wide, measuring from a line drawn between the rocky headlands at the entrance. The shore was buttressed by high bowlders.

The current was bearing the submarine into the cove midway between the headlands—the line of drift being straight toward the farthest point inland.

Dick had a hand lead, and forward at the bow he heaved it constantly.

"Mark three!" he cried.

"Eighteen feet," said Glennie. "How much do you draw, Mr. King?"

"We ought to have ten feet," answered Matt. "Sharp with it, Dick," he added anxiously. "We must get as close inshore as we can."

"Quarter less three!" called Dick.

"Sixteen and a half," muttered Glennie; "shoaling rapidly. You'd better get that mud-hook down, Mr. King."

"Two and a half!" announced Dick, then: "Two and a quarter!" and finally: "Mark twain!"

Matt was not as close to the shore as he wanted to be, but twelve feet was as little water as he dared keep under the Grampus.

"Let go the anchor!" he yelled to Speake.

Speake promptly repeated the order, and only a very short scope of cable was run out.

The nose of the submarine was brought up short and the stern moved around into the cove as though on a pivot.

"The anchor's not fast!" cried Glennie. "It's dragging!"

Matt had already discovered that. The anchor afforded sufficient resistance to keep the bow of the boat toward the entrance of the cove, but they were sliding stern-first farther into the shoaling waters.

Dick hurried aft and began heaving the lead close to the stern.

"Two and a half!" he cried.

"Great guns!" exclaimed Glennie. "Wouldn't that knock you? It's deepening!"

"Mark three!" shouted Dick.

"Three fathoms," murmured Glennie, "and within two jumps of shore! The rocks must lie steep-to. The current's responsible for that."

The pull of the anchor continued to draw the boat around so that she was drifting broadside on.

"Deep four!" reported Dick, and began coiling up the line. The submarine was rubbing against the rocks, and there was no room to cast.

"Good luck," said Matt gleefully, "even if it does come out of a damaged propeller. We can pass a couple of cables ashore and tie up to the rocks. On deck, Speake!" he called through the hatch. "There's some old hose and canvas in the storeroom, and you, and Clackett, and Gaines had better bring it up. Fetch a couple of cables at the same time."

Matt leaped to a shelf notched out of one of the rocks, climbed to the top of the bowlder, and picked out the stones most convenient for mooring. When the cables were brought up and bent to their stanchions, the spare ends were passed ashore. While he was making them fast, Clackett, Gaines, Speake, and Carl were festooning the old hose over the submarine's side and padding the plates with canvas blankets as fenders against the jagged rocks.

"Now," called Matt, talking from the top of a bowlder and looking down on the deck of the Grampus, "the next thing is to weight the forward part of the boat so that the propeller will be thrown up clear of the water. Move everything possible from aft. If the anchor has taken hold, a little pulling on the chain may help. If this don't fill the bill, then we'll pile rocks on the bow and force it under that way. Now, then, get busy, all hands."

Speake, Carl, Gaines, and Clackett went below. Matt began tossing loose stones to Dick, and he built them up forward of the flagstaff, passing ropes around the pile in order to hold it to the deck when the boat began to cant forward.

By degrees the bow went deeper and deeper, and the stern rose. At last, after some two hours of trying work, the propeller was brought into view. The blades were fairly buried in a mass of ropy seaweed.

Matt gave vent to a relieved laugh.

"It won't be necessary to ship a new propeller, after all," said he. "Traveling under the Amazon is hard on the screw. That bar was covered with seaweed, and the propeller twisted itself up in it. Pass a rope aft and secure it to the periscope guys. You can hang to the rope, Dick, slip over the stern, and cut away the grass."

"Easy enough," answered Dick, dropping on the deck to pull off his shoes and stockings, and roll up his trousers. "We'll clear away that propeller in a brace of shakes."

"While you're at it," said Matt, "I'll mosey off around the island and see what it looks like. I'll not be gone long."

He dropped from the top of the bowlder, and vanished. Glennie looked after him as though he would have liked an invitation to accompany him, and stretch his legs on hard earth, but he did not follow. Instead, he picked up a coil of rope, and began securing an end to one of the wire periscope guys.

"I'll attend to that, Mr. Glennie," said Dick, still with an undue emphasis on the "mister." "You're an innocent bystander, you know, and are here to look on."

Glennie dropped the rope, flushed, and drew back. Matt had not asked him to go on the exploring expedition, and now Dick refused to have him render even trifling aid.

"I'm sorry you fellows have taken such a dead set at me," said Glennie.

"You told us where we stood when you first came off to us from the Port-of-Spain landing," returned Dick. "I don't see that you've got any kick coming because we took you at your word."

Glennie started to say something, but closed his mouth suddenly, and left the words unspoken. Perhaps he was beginning to see where he was at fault.

While he stood by the conning tower, watching Dick move aft with the rope in his hands, a sharp cry came suddenly from among the rocks.

"Dick! Clear the propeller, and sink the boat in——"

It was Matt's voice; although faint, it was unmistakable, and each word was strangely clear-cut and distinct.

Dick halted and faced about.

"Something's happening to Matt!" he cried.

The next moment he dropped the rope and started to spring ashore. But Glennie was already on the rocks.

"You heard what he said!" shouted Glennie. "Clear the propeller and sink the boat! I'll help King if he needs help—but your duty is clear."

The ensign whirled about and jumped from the bowlder. As he disappeared, Dick saw his revolver glistening in his hand.