After a short interval a man replied in the affirmative.
"Thank you," called the lieutenant-commander. "I am in command of an English landing-party. Your commander is a prisoner. If your vessel attempts to move, I'll cut away the weight you see above you, and sink you. I give you three minutes to surrender."
The terse sentences, the peremptory tone, left no room for doubt. Before the three minutes were up, the crew had come to a unanimous decision. They would surrender.
"Thank you. Now every one of you go aboard the lighter and leave your arms behind."
The men went silently from one vessel to the other. Then the crane switch was suddenly found to be in order, and a light flashed from the top. From the lighter the men were hauled up by ropes, one by one.
"How many are there of you?" asked the lieutenant-commander of the first.
"Twenty."
The same question put to one or two more received the same reply. As the men passed him, the officer counted them.
"Eighteen! Nineteen! No more?" He turned to two British sailors. "Down you go!"
They slid down the rope, boarded the submarine, and dived below. In a few moments they returned, hauling a man between them. They made him fast to the chain, and by the time he was hoisted they had swarmed up the rope.