His hopes were not to be realized for the present. With a barely perceptible jar the airship alighted on the surface of the Pacific. Her searchlights played upon an unruffled expanse of calm water. The storm had been confined to the upper strata of the atmosphere.
"Heave out the sea-anchor in case it comes on to blow," ordered Vaughan Whittinghame. "We're safe for the present. Mr. Dacres, will you please go on deck and obtain a stellar observation? It will be dawn in half an hour; but I would like to ascertain our position in case we drive ashore before daybreak."
The sub hurried to carry out his orders. It was a relief, after being cooped up in the confined atmosphere of the observation room of the heaving and pitching "Meteor," to breathe in the fresh night air.
The searchlights had now been switched off. The airship was floating motionless in a phosphorescent sea. Having taken the observation Dacres was about to go below and work out his position when a peculiar swirl in the water about a hundred yards to starboard attracted his attention.
"Surely that's not a reef?" he asked himself. "I wish I had my night-glasses."
Then came a quick succession of splashes. "Sharks—that's what it is. Or perhaps a swarm of threshers attacking a whale. A lively commotion! I'll go below and get my binoculars."
"Anything in sight?" asked Captain Whittinghame, noticing Dacres' haste.
"Something splashing, sir; I'm just going to get my binoculars."
The two men made their way to the upper deck. The sub pointed in the direction he had noticed the commotion, but all was now quiet. A careful examination of the spot by the powerful night-glasses revealed no sign of anything to account for the swirl of the water.
"Hark! What's that?" demanded Whittinghame.