Instantly the top of the conning-tower was thrown open by those inside who had witnessed the accident at the same moment.
Life-belts were hastily thrown out, and Ned, giving a strong heave, hurled one in the direction of the capsized catboat. Herc did the same. Both buoys were of the Navy type, carrying a small receptacle of chemical substances.
The chemicals, when they struck the water, ignited and burst into a steady blue flame. They illuminated the water with a ghastly radiance. In the weird glare those on the submarine could see two black objects struggling in the water alongside the catboat. The next instant the castaways were perceived to crawl out of the water and climb painfully up on to the keel of the capsized boat. They clung there, shouting, while Midshipman Stark maneuvered the Lockyer alongside.
Save for a few sharp words of command, none of the Navy party had shown the least trace of excitement. Trained to accept any emergency with stiff upper lips, Uncle Sam’s sailors, be they officers or men, don’t waste words. But what they lack in hysterics, they make up in action. In less time than it takes to tell it, the submarine was alongside the capsized boat, and Ned and Herc were reaching out their arms to the two men on her keel. One of them, they noticed, clutched a box tightly in his arms.
“Jump,” urged Ned; “we’ll catch you.”
The man with the box made a leap and slipped flounderingly on the wet steel plates of the diving vessel’s side. He almost dropped his burden, but recovered it instantly. The other, however, seemed in no hurry. He was apparently fumbling with something at his waist.
“Hanged if he hasn’t got on a life-belt,” exclaimed Herc, as the first of the survivors was hurried below.
“That’s right,” exclaimed Ned; “when, on earth, did he have time to put one on?”
In fact, it did seem impossible, so suddenly had the catboat capsized, that her occupants would have had time to strap on the safety devices. Did they then know that she was going to capsize before she went over?