BOARDED! In order to reach the arm of the river that led to Para the Grampus had to pass through a little strait known as South Channel, then on by Tucuria and around Cape Magoari. Dick, Carl, and Glennie remained on deck, Dick using a pair of binoculars, and Matt attending to the steering from the top of the tower. They were traversing the tortuous channels without the chart to guide them, and most unexpectedly they found that what they supposed to be South Channel had emptied them out into the river close to the island where Matt had had his recent exciting experience. "Well, wouldn't that put a kink in your hawser?" cried Dick. "Here we are back at our old stamping-grounds once more, after racing around for an hour and getting nowhere." "Und dere iss der leedle cove!" cried Carl. "Vat a funny pitzness—gedding losdt on der Amazon." "We couldn't have been in South Channel," said the chagrined Matt. "This is new country to me," observed Glennie; "but I looked at the chart early this morning, marked the location of South Channel, and could have sworn we started into it when we left this island." "Come below, you fellows," called Matt disgustedly. "You can take the wheel, Dick, and steer by the periscope while I overhaul the charts. There's no sense wasting time and gasolene like this." Matt dropped down the ladder and the rest followed him. "We're mixed up, Gaines," Matt called through the motor-room tube, "and a pilot who knows the coast would be mighty handy about now. Quarter speed while we study the maps. Dick," Matt added, "run circles off the island while we get our bearings." Matt opened the locker and dug up the chart. Laying it on one of the stools, he examined it, with Carl and Glennie looking over his shoulder. "Here's where we are now," said Matt, sticking a pin in the chart, "and there's the entrance to South Channel just below Mixiana Island." "The passage we got into by mistake," remarked Glennie, "was that crooked little passage that runs into Mixiana Island, bends around in the shape of a big 'O,' and then lets us out again at the same place we went in." "Exactly," agreed Matt. "It was easy to make the mistake." "Easy, yes; but I ought to have been sure. We should have had the chart on deck with us, but I thought I had the thing firmly fixed in my mind." "A chart is a hard thing to carry in your mind." "I'm beginning to think so myself. Head south by east, Dick," Matt went on to his chum. "You'll know the passage we took when you see it. Skip that, and head into the one west of it." "Sou' by east it is, matey," answered Dick. "If you wanted to," suggested Glennie, "you could pass to the north of Mixiana Island and get to Cape Magoari by going around it. It looks to me as though that would be our shortest course." "Short, yes; but it would take more time." "How so?" "Well, if we went to the north of Mixiana Island we would be in the open bay, and that pesky Jap steamer may be standing off and on, hoping to get sight of us. In order to avoid that, we should have to run submerged, which would mean no more than half-speed, the best we could do. By going through South Channel we won't need to fear the steamer, and can run on the surface, and put every ounce of our motor's power into moving ahead." "Correct," said Glennie. "I find that there are a good many things about running a submarine that I have yet to learn." Dick gave a grunt as he bent over the periscope table. His face was hidden by the periscope hood, so the disgusted expression which he wore could not be seen. Dick Ferral did not easily forgive a slight. From the first, Glennie had struck him "on the wrong side," and it would take time before Dick got over his dislike. Carl, in this respect, was like Dick. Neither of the boys could ever forget the lordly air assumed by the ensign when he hove to alongside the submarine in the launch. The "mister" which Glennie had imposed upon them still rankled in their bosoms. Up to that moment off Port-of-Spain there had been no "misters" on the Grampus. The formality demanded by Glennie had been a strain on the friendly relations of the crew—and perhaps on the crew's temper as well. Glennie heard Dick's grunt, even though he could not see the disgusted expression on his face, and he whirled and stared sharply at Dick's back. "Tiscipline iss going to der togs on dis ship," mourned Carl in mock dejection. "Oof ve don'd haf more tiscipline dere iss going to be some drouples, ain'd it? Fairst t'ing you know I vill haf to be calling my olt bard Misder Matt, und my odder olt bard Misder Tick, und den oof somepody ton't call me misder I bet you I preak his head." "That will do, Carl," said Matt, noting the flush that crossed Glennie's face. "That's all right, Mr. King," spoke up the ensign. "I started that, and they're within their rights, I suppose, when they rub it in. All I can say is that I didn't understand your method of running this boat. Now, in the navy, we have to have discipline; we have to have our gun crews, our watches, and all that; and we have to insist on a certain amount of respect from subordinates. The admirals require it from the captains, the captains from the commanders, the commanders from the lieutenants, and so on down through the various ranks of commissioned officers. Even a passed midshipman," and he smiled a bit grimly, "has the pattern always before him, and he is taught to exact his due from all the non-coms. But, as I say, I didn't understand how matters were when I boarded the Grampus. I—I am sorry I took the stand I did." Just how much it cost Glennie to make that apology probably none of the boys, not even Matt, could realize. But he made it right manfully, and Matt stepped toward him and put out his hand. "Say no more, old fellow," he cried heartily. "We all Matt turned with the intention of making his Dutch chum take the hand he released, but Carl had faded mysteriously out of the periscope room. Whether he expected what was coming, or not, and dodged away to avoid meeting the issue, Matt could only guess. "Dick," and Matt turned to his sailor chum, "I want you——" "Here we are," cried Dick, "just taking the entrance to South Channel. And it's the right channel, too, old ship, because we slammed right past that other one where we go in and come out the same place." Glennie could not fail to note how both Carl and Dick had avoided Matt's attempt to put him on more friendly footing with them. There was a noticeable constraint in his manner, but he did not allow it to interfere with his stating the desire he had in his head. "When I came aboard," he went on, "I believed I was merely the representative of the United States Government, that I was to look on, keep hands off, and write up my own log. But I can see very plainly where I can be of service to you, Matt; and I can also see where, by helping you, I can get a much better insight into the capabilities of the Grampus. I should like to have you let me do my part in running the boat. If you want me for quartermaster, I can spell you, or Mr. Ferral; with a little instruction, I could also run the motor, or do the work in the tank room. If it would be any help, I might even learn to cook the meals. All I want is to be useful—and to learn the Grampus from top to bottom, inside and out, as well as you know her." Dick gave another grunt; but this time it was more subdued. The idea of any one learning the Grampus as well as the king of the motor boys knew her! In order to do that, a fellow would have to be born with a working knowledge of explosive engines in his head—just as Matt had been. "Thank you for that, Glennie!" said Matt. "You can get busy right now, if you want to." "Just tell me what I'm to do," Glennie answered. "Go up on deck and keep a sharp lookout while we're passing through the channel. We must be vigilant, even when we can see no reason for it. Wily enemies are after us, and eternal watchfulness is the price of success, fully as much as it is of liberty." "Aye, aye, sir," said Glennie, and started forthwith up the ladder. "He's too top-heavy, Matt," scowled Dick, pulling his head away from the periscope. "He's a good fellow at heart, Dick," averred Matt. "We're all going to like him a whole lot when we know him better." Dick sniffed and jerked his chin over his left shoulder. "If he takes hold on this boat he'll make a monkey's fist of everything. I don't like the cut of his jib, nor the soft-sawdering way he overhauls his jaw-tackle now that he sees his first bluff didn't go. If——" There was a muffled shout and a bounding of feet on the deck. A wide grin parted Dick's face. "There he goes—in hot water already." Dick ducked back into the periscope hood. But the periscope did not show the deck of the Grampus, nor the waters immediately adjacent, being constructed for reflecting objects at longer range. Matt hurried up into the tower. The moment he was able to look over the hatch he was thrilled by what he saw. A dugout canoe was alongside the steel hull—and it had evidently brought three natives from the neighboring shore. They were exactly the same kind of savages Matt had encountered on the island—perhaps, even, they had formed part of the same crowd. One of the savages had gained the deck forward. Glennie had caught his spear, and the two were struggling for possession of the weapon. A second native was climbing up the rounded deck with the apparent intention of attacking Glennie in the rear. The third of the trio kept to the canoe, paddling, and keeping it alongside. So intent were all three of the Indians on the struggle which Glennie was carrying on that they did not notice Matt. Swiftly the young motorist got out of the conning tower. "Look out behind you, Glennie!" shouted Motor Matt as he hurried forward. |