XIX
Long before dawn Howard was astir. Possessing in an eminent degree the not very rare faculty of being able to awake at any hour desired, he had set his mental alarm-clock for four o’clock, and, in spite of his fatigue, had awakened within fifteen minutes of that time.
Without disturbing any of the others, who lay stretched in more or less uneasy postures on the comfortless floor of the Seashark, he made his way first to the conning-tower for a last examination of the fixtures there; then to the deck, where a brief inspection showed that the propeller was still clear; and, at last, to the pilot’s seat, where, taking his place, he pulled the lever that let the water into the ballast tanks.
Swiftly the tanks filled, and silently and smoothly the Seashark sank down through the water. For a time the weed scraped against her sides, but soon this ceased, and the electric beam showed only black water before the tiny windows of her conning-tower. When fifty feet of depth was registered on the gage, Howard turned on the power and, gathering way, the Seashark drove along beneath the sea.
Three hours later, when the weary sleepers began to stir, he was still at his post, tirelessly staring before him. As the day waxed, a faint light, interspersed with occasional stronger beams, filtered down from above, giving token that the canopy of weed had grown thin, and was broken here and there by channels of open water. Soon it would be safe to go to the surface.
Suddenly, with terrifying swiftness, came a sound and a shock that shook the Seashark from stem to stern. Simultaneously the black hull of a great ship showed across the path, not a hundred feet away. There was no time to stop; no time to check the speed; scarcely time to deflect the course. But quicker than thought, quicker than lightning, automatically, Howard’s trained brain and hand met the danger.
The horizontal rudders sent the Seashark diving down, down, down, in a desperate endeavor to pass beneath the obstruction—down till Howard saw clear water in front of him.
Under the keel of the ship sped the Seashark, still diving desperately. For one agonizing instant she touched, scraped, shrieked; then tore free.
But the danger was not passed; though, with reversed rudders, the Seashark strove to beat her way upward. A glance at the dials showed that the depth was increasing—not diminishing; a glance behind showed that the black hull was ominously close. The slant of the Seashark grew steeper, steeper; almost it stood on end. The rumble of falling objects came from below, followed by startled shrieks, as the sleepers, rudely awakened, slid in a tangled heap to the after-end of the boat. Howard clung wildly to the steering-wheel to save himself from being hurled down upon the rest. As he clung, confused, not understanding, the tiny vessel was shaken like a rat in a dog’s jaws. Her machinery began to tear loose from its bed. Mere peas in a pod, her passengers tumbled right and left as willed by the mighty power that grasped them.
After turmoil peace. Howard pulled his dazed wits together to the realization that the Seashark was lying quiescent on the surface of the water, though by no means on an even keel. Her engines had stopped, and her lights were out. Only a faint glimmer through the windows of the conning-tower illumined the scene of wreckage around him. Wild with anxiety, he lowered himself into the blackness of the sleeping room, and called Dorothy’s name.