They were so uncanny, so spectral in their splendour.
Securely fastening the turret door, he went below, determined to give his beloved engines a thorough clean.
Although to an unpractised eye the gleaming cranks and levers appeared spotless, the engineer found sufficient to occupy his attention for three hours, ascending at intervals during this period to the turret to assure himself that all was well.
Only when the engines glistened like burnished silver did Wilson cease his efforts; then, cleansing his grimy hands, he returned to the wheelhouse, to await the return of his comrades.
Little did he think what the future held in store for him; little he dreamed of the perils through which he was to pass ere he saw his friends again!
Slowly the hours dragged by, and there came no sign from the absent ones, and no sound broke the appalling, death-like silence of the underworld.
Once Wilson thought he heard a faint explosion, but the sound was too indistinct for him to judge with any certainty.
Within the boat and without all was silent as the grave.
To the lad’s excited imagination even the homely interior of the Seal seemed to partake of the ghostly character of her surroundings. Every plate in the vessel he knew, every bolt had been adjusted under his own supervision, yet he found himself continually fancying that queer noises came from below.
The eternal ticking of the saloon clock seemed to intensify the unnatural stillness. He craved for some noise—anything, he cared not what—as thirsty men crave for water, yet no sound came to him.