CHAPTER XXVI
The submarine had risen and stood away to southward. So intent had the occupants of the lifeboat been to discover some sign of their companions that the discovery of themselves by the submarine flash came with a shock of surprise. In the light of that pale ray, which had picked them out of the darkness, they saw in that first moment no more than one another's faces—a memory to last them all their days.
"They're hailing us," the captain said with bitter mouth.
"Who is hailing us?" The idea of rescue was still in the forefront of his mind.
"Submarine."
How the captain knew, Newcomb had no idea. But certainly the insignificant, low-pitched shadow—obscure mother of the light-ray ... she was moving! And she was moving in the direction of the Leyden's grave.
A voice came from her at last, uttering not the German they thought to hear, but words yet more unfamiliar.
"He says," interrupted the Dutch captain, "we're to come 'longside."
"Shall we?" The chief engineer still could conceive orders as coming only from the autocrat of the ship at the bottom of the sea.