“Stop long enough to take on the Canal pilot,” he replied. “Nothing else.”
The Skipper was on the bridge, along with Corvin, as they ran alongside the jetty leading to the first locks. As they tied up at the dock below the locks, Corvin stepped ashore. He came back shortly with a gray-haired man who would pilot them through the Canal. The weather was clear and the sun beat down warmly, so half the crew were lined up on the deck, and all hatches were open. All officers were on the bridge, except McFee, who stayed below in charge. Even Stan left his Diesels long enough to come up for a look at the Canal, for all the submarine’s engines were off as they were pulled through the locks by the little donkey engines running on tracks alongside.
The Canal pilot came aboard and climbed to the bridge. Lines were cast, cables attached fore and aft to the donkey engines on both sides, and they began to move forward on the pilot’s orders. Ahead March saw the huge steel doors into the first lock. Slowly and steadily the pigboat moved into the chamber, and the great doors swung silently shut behind them.
Then water rushed into the lock and the boat gently moved upward as the surface of the water rose. Soon they were level with the water in the next lock and the gates ahead of them swung back against the walls. They saw, in the lock next to them, a battered destroyer heading the other direction.
“She’s been through something, all right,” Gray commented. “Going home for repairs.”
The crew on the destroyer waved to the men on Kamongo and for a time there were shouts back and forth. Then they had moved out of the second lock into Gatun Lake, as the destroyer sank down in its lock toward the level of the ocean.
Sailing through the lake was like a pleasant excursion trip on a lake steamer. The thick jungles were unlike anything most of the men had seen before and they looked about them with curiosity.
Through the locks at Pedro Miguel and then at little Lake Miraflores, and they were once more at sea level—this time at the level of the Pacific.
They dropped the pilot at the edge of the long breakwater and then headed out to sea, looking back at the lights of the city of Panama which were beginning to twinkle in the growing darkness.
“Not much time for sightseeing when you’re on submarines,” Stan said, as he and March climbed down to the control room.