Its hand was rising rapidly. First, it showed thirty, then twenty, then ten, and then five feet.
“We’re awash, sir,” came a surprised hail from the conning-tower the next instant.
“Of course we are,” cried Channing Lockyer delightedly. “I didn’t tell you boys we were going to rise, because I wished to try to take you by surprise. I see I have succeeded in doing so.”
“You certainly have,” rejoined Ned; “why, I couldn’t even feel any noticeable shifting of the course.”
“Now, gentlemen, come on deck and see the stars,” smiled Channing Lockyer, leading the way up the steel ladder. In a jiffy he had the cover of the conning-tower opened, and out they stepped upon the wet decks. A gentle swell was running, upon which the slowly moving submarine rose and fell evenly.
“Why this is the very poetry of motion!” cried Lieutenant Parry delightedly.
Above the party shone the steady stars, brightly reflected on the heaving expanse of waters, as if they would twinkle a welcome to this visitor from old Neptune’s realm. For a few seconds the sheer exultation of it filled them to the exclusion of all else. Then Mr. Lockyer, poking his head over the conning-tower top, ordered some more speed.
Obediently the little diver forged ahead, her swifter motion now sending the spray flying back over her decks—or, rather, back. But not one of the absorbed party on the surface minded that. Clinging to the handrails round the edge of the tower, they were enjoying every minute of it, when there came a sudden hail from the naval officer.
“What’s that dead ahead there? It looks like a schooner’s sails blotting out the stars.”