"How's her diving? Can't she remain submerged longer than an hour with her ballast tanks full and her electric motor quiet?"
"No. Her rudders keep her below the surface, and the diving rudders won't work unless her motor's going."
"She don'd amoundt to mooch, oof dot's der case," commented Carl. "Der _Grampus_ has got der _Pom_ shkinned bot' vays for Suntay. I bed you somet'ing for nodding der _Pom_ couldn't have come aroundt der bottom end oof Sout' America like vat ve dit. _Pom!_ She vas vat der French fellers call a _pomme de terre_, by vich, ven I so expression meinseluf, I mean a botato. Whoosh!" and the Dutch boy gave a grunt of disgust.
The night fell clear and bright. It was Matt's intention to continue running during the night, but submerged so that only the periscope ball was awash.
When the time came to fill the ballast tanks, however, an unexpected difficulty presented itself--a difficulty which had almost brought overwhelming disaster once before, when the _Grampus_ had just emerged from Magellan Strait: the Kingston valves by mean of which the tanks were operated failed to work.
This was no particular fault of the valves, but of some damage that had been done to them, and which caused them to go wrong occasionally--and usually at the most inopportune times.
Matt had made up his mind that new valves would have to be put in, but that was a job which would necessarily have to wait until the submarine reached the end of her long journey.
Repairing the valves would take several hours, and Matt decided to stay on the surface and put in a little bay on Quiriquina Island.
It was not necessary to reach the island before morning and when Dick relieved Gaines at the motor, a call for half speed went through the speaking tube to the motor room.
The young motorist studied his charts, then, with the surroundings of the islands clearly in mind, took the steering wheel himself and laid his course by compass.
It was about five o'clock in the morning when the _Grampus_ rounded a bluff headland and took a due east course across Tona Bay. Quiriquina Island loomed up clear and distinct against the gray dawn hovering in the eastern skies.
The cove which Matt selected as a berth for the submarine while repairs were being made had a sloping beach of white sand. It was virtually a bay within a bay, and the waters were as calm as those of an inland lake.