This time von Sperrgebiet returned from comparing the sounding with the chart, wearing a distinctly worried expression.
The hawk-eyed seaman beside him on the bridge gave an ejaculation and pointed ahead.
"Land, Herr Kapitan!" he said.
"Fool!" replied his Captain. "Idiot! How can there be land there unless"—he glanced inside the binnacle half contemptuously—"unless the compasses are mad—or I am."
He raised his glasses to stare at the horizon. "You are right," he said. "You are right…. It is land." He gnawed his thumbnail as was his habit when in perplexity.
The next moment the seaman pointed again. "The Hunters," he said.
Von Sperrgebiet gave one glance ahead and kicked the man down through the open hatchway of the conning-tower. He himself followed, and the hatch closed. The helmsman was standing, staring at the compass like a man in a trance.
"Herr Kapitan," he said, as von Sperrgebiet approached, "it is bewitched." Indeed, he had grounds for consternation. The compass card was spinning round like a kitten chasing its tail, first in one direction, then in another.
"Damn the compass!" said von Sperrgebiet. "Flood ballast tanks—depth thirty metres—full speed ahead!"
He thrust the helmsman aside and took the useless wheel himself.