“Ahoy, Lockyer!” came a hail through the fog at this moment.
“Ahoy!” hailed Ned, “what boat’s that?”
“Lockyer!” came the answer.
Ned knew at once from this, though the fog hid the boat, that it was Lieutenant Parry and his party returning.
As commander pro tem of the submarine, Lieutenant Parry had answered to Ned’s hail by giving the boat’s name. This—under Navy usage—signified that he was the captain. Other commissioned officers would have hailed: “Aye, aye.” Enlisted men would have replied: “Halloo!”
The short flight of steel steps, which did duty as an officer’s gangway, was hastily lowered from the starboard side of the submarine, and the party received on board in Navy style.
“Doesn’t look much like a cruise to-night, Lockyer, I’m afraid.” Ned, standing at attention by the gangway, heard Lieutenant Parry remark this to the inventor as they went below.
But good fortune was to favor the submarine after all. At sundown a brisk breeze sprung up, before which the fog rapidly melted away. By dusk the skies were clear, and outside the harbor a sharp wind was kicking up white-caps in dancing water-rows. It was ideal weather for cruising, and when, after supper, the order came to up anchor, the command was obeyed with alacrity.
But smart as the Lockyer had been in hastening to make ready for her start after the fog had lifted, another boat in the harbor was ahead of her in getting to sea. This was a largish catboat, which had come in that morning. Some time before the order came to “up anchor” on their own craft, the crew of the Lockyer had watched the catboat, on which were two men, slip from her moorings and, heeling gracefully before the breeze, run out of the harbor. Soon she was skipping across the Sound, bobbing about like a dancer in a quadrille. The dying light glowed goldenly on her big, single sail.
“Those fellows are off for a night’s cruise, too,” commented Herc, as he watched the white canvas glimmering more and more dimly in the gathering dusk.