The long arm of the periscope with its "eye" on top had been raised, and it reached far above the biggest combers. In front of the helmsman, who happened to be Mr. Barr, was a big plate of ground glass on which every object outside was plainly shown, although of course in miniature. Those of my readers who have ever seen a "camera obscura" will recognize what I mean.
Upon the ground glass, as within a picture frame, was reproduced the motion of the furious seas, the scurrying clouds and the angry storm wrack. It was an inspiring marine painting, with the motion and sweep that an actual painting could never possess. It thrilled Rob as he gazed at it and realized that it was through this pandemonium of the storm that the Peacemaker was bravely fighting her way.
"Better slow down a bit, hadn't I?" asked Mr. Barr as the Peacemaker, urged by her powerful engines, ploughed right through a mountainous sea.
As she bored her way through the mighty wall of green water, a roar like that of a railroad train resounded and the craft pitched as if she were going to plunge to the bottom of the sea. This latter, in fact, Rob rather wished she would do. He knew that in the depths all would be quiet and undisturbed.
In reply to Mr. Barr's question, the ensign nodded.
"The strain is already pretty strong," he said; "we don't want to force her too hard."
Accordingly the inventor, utilizing the auto control device, cut down the speed till, instead of ploughing through the waves, the Peacemaker skimmed over them. Unlike most submarines, which cannot do otherwise than plunge into heavy seas, the Peacemaker's hull was so constructed that she rode the waves like a duck.
After a while the sensation of heaving and falling began to get upon Mr. Barr's nerves.
"I'm feeling a bit squeamish," he declared; "let's dive and get out of this."
The ensign nodded and laughed.