“Guess they’re reaching off for a run to Bridgeport,” rejoined Ned. But in this surmise he came far—very far—from guessing the real object of the catboat’s cruise.
CHAPTER XXI.
THE SHIPWRECKED MEN—AND A BOX.
It was an exhilarating experience—this of racing through the wind-torn water. As Ned and Herc, who had been posted on deck-watch, for so long as the submarine cruised on the surface, stood in the lee of the conning-tower, muffled up in their warm reefers, they fairly chuckled with delight. Urged forward by her three propellers, the submarine’s form slipped through the tumble of waters like a swift, gliding thing endowed with life.
“Wonder when we are going to dive?” said Ned, as on and on, through the dark, raced the little craft, her rounded steel sides gleaming wet with flung spray.
“Hope they don’t forget us when they make up their minds to go under,” said Herc, with a grin; “it’s pretty dusty on the water to-night.”
“No danger of our being forgotten,” rejoined Ned, with a laugh. “Wow, but they are speeding her up. I suppose they want to show that official outfit of big bugs what she can do.”
This was the case. In the conning-tower, crowded closely together in that narrow space, were the naval officers. Their faces fairly shone as the Lockyer plunged through the heaving water-rows.
“This craft beats anything we have in the service up to date!” exclaimed Commander McGill enthusiastically.