She went down slowly. At thirty feet Raymond stopped the motors and let a little water into the auxiliary through the vent, as she lost weight.
‘How’s the bubble?’ he asked.
‘Midship, sir. She’s horizontal,’ answered the coxswain.
The depth-needle crept on. Fifty feet, fifty-five, sixty, sixty-two, and then a light jar was felt and a faint upward pressure on the soles of the feet like a passenger feels when a lift reaches the bottom of the shaft in a Tube station.
The boat was on the bottom.
‘Six tons in the auxiliary,’ ordered Raymond. The boat took on a slight list to port and then righted and lay still. The depth-meter was steady at fifty-two feet.
‘Fall out diving stations,’ said the captain. ‘One hand keep watch in the control room and call me if the depth-meter shifts or we take on a list, coxswain.’
The crew dispersed and the officers returned to the ward room.
An even deader stillness than usual prevailed now that the boat was stationary and had gone to sleep on the bottom. The talk of the men in the after compartment drifted in and was the only sound that broke the underwater silence. In the control room sat the watch-keeper with his eyes on the gauges, sixty-two feet on the depth-gauge, and thirty pounds pressure to the square inch. The long-suffering battery was having a rest and the crew proceeded to follow its example.
Raymond and Boyd turned in and Seagrave picked up a book. Above, somewhere astern, were two pannicky Destroyers and other things as well; and somewhere else, at the bottom of the sea also, was the dead Destroyer who would destroy no more.... Ah, well....