He increased speed, and by seven-thirty they were in smooth water and only ten miles off the harbour.
Boyd clambered up to the bridge to assist Raymond to take her in, while Seagrave buzzed round the motors and saw all in readiness for entering port.
Nearly all the crew who were not on watch were up on deck; crowded on the conning-tower, round the gun, anywhere where they could keep a safe footing against the now gentle roll and get a breath of fresh air after the trials and stuffy atmosphere of the night below.
Up the hatch came the voice of the cheerful stoker impressing on the signalman that ‘he didn’t want to lose him, but he thought he ought to go,’ as the latter struggled up with his arms full of flags, and, bending on a couple, hoisted them to the yard-arm of the telescopic mast.
‘Entrance signal up, sir,’ he reported.
‘All right,’ said Raymond. ‘What’s that on the starboard bow?’
The signalman clapped his glass to his eye and sucked his teeth.
‘British submarine, sir, approaching the harbour from the northward. I think it’s “159,” sir. She seems to be keeping level.’
Raymond jerked the bell.
‘Three fifty revs!’ he shouted down the hatch. ‘We’ll show her what we can do now. We’ll make Snatcher look old-fashioned.’