That one terrific stroke, which had come so near to the motorship, seemed to have broken the backbone of the storm, in a measure, and there was a noticeable diminution in the force of the wind, while the rain fell less heavily.
It was late afternoon, and night was coming on, so with the clouds to add to the gloom of the sky, it was so dark that the boys could hardly see the water below them.
A little later, when the storm showed more evidence of dying out, they looked down and saw below them the lights of Boston.
“We’re safe!” cried Jerry. “The bay isn’t under us any more.”
“Good!” cried Bob. “Now we can have a regular supper!”
“You sure are the limit, Chunky!” cried Ned. “But never mind. We won’t rub it in. This has been a strenuous afternoon, all right, from the time we sighted that submarine.”
“I wonder where it is now?” asked Bob, and his chums could see that he really was worrying over the safety of his uncle and cousin.
“No telling,” said Jerry. “I don’t believe we will ever see her again.”
Neither he nor his chums realized what fate had in store for them in connection with that same submarine.
Jerry knew the course he wished to take, though it was necessary to steer by compass, and soon, when the storm had quieted down to only a comparatively gentle blow, the tall steersman guided his craft to the ground in a big open field, some miles from Boston. There it was anchored for the night and the boys prepared to stay on board, as they had often done before. They had come down in a lonely neighborhood, so they were not troubled by curious spectators.