“We’ve run forty miles at that depth,” he said, “but keep her submerged. This was to be a thorough test.”
“She’s having it, sir,” ventured the midshipman; “we must be out of the Sound and under the Atlantic by this time.”
“Well, we left Block Island some miles to our stern quite a little while ago,” was the reply. “It’s a queer thing to think that there may be some big liner’s keel right above us at this moment.”
“It is, indeed, sir,” agreed Mr. Stark. Just then, Mr. Lockyer and Lieutenant Parry, with other members of the testing party who had been below examining the engines, entered the conning-tower. They reported everything as working to the pitch of satisfaction.
“Well, Mr. Lockyer, I congratulate you, sir,” said Captain McGill ponderously. “I think that your craft will prove a magnificent success. There is only one thing now to test her at, and that is to ascertain how she stands the vibrations set up by torpedo firing.”
“If we could run across a derelict——,” began Midshipman Stark.
“Good gracious, young man, I hope we do no such thing,” laughingly exclaimed Captain McGill; “at this depth, and at ten miles an hour, we would never reach the surface to tell the tale. However, that does not prevent me from admitting that I’m exceedingly sleepy. Gentlemen, it is almost eight bells. Suppose we turn in for a nap. We can be called if anything occurs.”
“This traveling under water seems to affect one’s wakefulness,” yawned one of the board. “I think your suggestion is an excellent one, captain.”
Soon afterward, leaving orders to be summoned at once if anything out of the way occurred, the officers composing the board retired to their staterooms. Quarters were close on the Lockyer, but room had been found for all. The two apparent castaways had gone to their stateroom some time before.