"Be sharp! Pass them out!" ordered a voice that Jack knew so well, and the next moment he found himself being carefully, but swiftly, lifted from the canoe on to the narrow platform of the _Olive Branch's_ submarine.
"Thank goodness you're saved!" muttered Gerald, fervently.
The survivors of the unfortunate expedition were carefully passed through the narrow forehatchway, then, scorning to take shelter, Gerald steered the submarine from the skeleton platform surrounding the outside of the conning-tower.
There was no need for the vessel to plunge; her sudden appearance from beneath the waters of Desolation Inlet had struck panic into the hearts of the savages, and now, like a terrier let loose amidst a swarm of rats, the submarine dashed towards the remaining canoes.
Some of the natives let fly a shower of spears in a half-hearted manner. Most of the weapons fell short, while a few glanced harmlessly from the rounded plating of the avenging craft.
Crash! The snout of the steel monster caught the nearest canoe a formidable blow amidships, the dug-out being lifted clear of the water by the impact. The next instant it fell, cut completely in two, and those of its occupants who were not killed or stunned by the concussion were swimming for their lives.
Gerald, in his lust for revenge, resolved to sink the remaining canoes. In their flight the savages lost all sense of strategy and kept together as if seeking comfort in companionship. Thus the submarine's work was rendered still more easy.
Just as the avenger reached the last of the native craft, a savage, in the courage of despair, took a flying leap upon the tapering bows of the submarine. Then, as agile as a cat, he ran along the narrow, sloping deck-plating, and, ere Gerald could avoid the unexpected attack, the muscular Patagonian grasped the sub-lieutenant round the waist.
Gerald's shout for aid was drowned by the crash of the shattered timbers of the canoe, and ere he could repeat the cry the native had shifted the grip of his right hand to his antagonist's throat, while with his left he strove to wrench Tregarthen from the narrow platform.
Realising that the moment he relaxed his grasp of the iron rail he was a lost man, Gerald contrived to strike out with his left. Handicapped by the fact that his hands were encased in thick woollen gloves, and that his reach was limited, the blow fell comparatively light. Then he tried to kick his antagonist clear, but at the first attempt the agile black, intent only on encompassing his enemy's destruction, twisted his legs in a crushing embrace round Gerald's waist, while both his sinewy hands were engaged in squeezing the sub-lieutenant's throat.