Two submarines had answered his signal, instead of one, and the last had crept up to attack him while he was sinking her consort.
The steamer, however, answered her helm, slowly, but enough. The swift white streak drove past her stern with a few feet to spare, and she began to shake as her engines quickened.
"Port!" Rankine shouted in a harsh voice. "Steady that!"
A flash blazed out of the darkness, a panel of the wheelhouse was shattered, and the canvas bridge-screen fell apart in rags; but Rankine had seen a long, dark shape on the water close ahead. It might vanish in a moment, before his guns could be swung and trained. Indeed, he doubted if the submarine were within their field of fire, and he meant to use a surer means. One end of the black hull tilted up and the other began to sink. His enemy was going under. But would she be quick enough? The steamer's sharp steel stem was only a dozen yards away now.
Shouting an order to the crew, Rankine gripped the bridge-rails hard.
The water ahead boiled and rose in a tumbling ridge; there was a heavy shock, and the steamer trembled violently. One could feel her forge through something that crumpled up beneath her bows; but the jarring and grinding passed aft, and she leaped forward when she was once over the obstacle. Rankine saw a curious disturbance down the screw-torn wake, but it subsided and he stopped the engines.
"Sound the forward well! Swing your light aft and lower the gig!" he ordered.
The stream of radiance flashed astern and spread about the vessel; but there was nothing on the water except their own boat, which made toward them. Then a man came up to report that the well was nearly dry.
"She's a strong old ship," Rankine remarked, and turned to another man: "Where's that prisoner, Evans?"
"I haven't seen him, sir, since the torpedo missed us."