On gaining the upper platform Hythe found that the "Aphrodite" was running nearly awash, with no navigation lights. Even the lamps in the conning-towers were screened. It was a pitch-dark night, although the atmosphere was clear. The water was exceptionally smooth for the Atlantic seaboard of the coast of Spain and Portugal.
Away on the starboard hand were several large vessels, each showing their green navigation lights, denoting that they were bound north. One, brilliantly illuminated, was evidently a liner on which the passengers were keeping a late night, for the distant strains of a string band were just audible above the subdued noise of her powerful engines.
"You know this coast, I suppose?" asked Captain Restronguet. "Do you recognize yonder light?"
The sub looked intently in the direction indicated. Through the darkness shone a fixed white light which increased and diminished in intensity, attaining its maximum glare every thirty seconds.
"Yes, Cape Trafalgar," he replied. "And we are within twelve miles of it."
"Otherwise it would appear to be a flashing light," added Captain Restronguet. "I see your knowledge of the various lights is exceptionally good. Had it been daylight we might have found time to let you have a sight of some of Nelson's relics, for we are passing over the scene of that ever-memorable victory. The bottom of the sea here is strewn with the remains of the French and Spanish vessels that were either sunk in action or foundered in the storm that arose after the fight was over."
"I have seen enough of naval disasters for the time being," remarked Hythe.
"You will soon get used to sights of that description," said the captain with a shrug of his shoulders. "Some day, all being well, I hope to visit the remains of the Russian vessels sunk at Tshushima. Not simply for idle curiosity, but with a definite motive. But it blows cold, so I think we may as well descend."
When Hythe awoke next morning the "Aphrodite" was at rest. Throwing back the metal slide over his cabin scuttle he looked out. The submarine was below the surface and in a fairly crowded anchorage, for dimly in the sunlit water he could distinguish more than one mooring chain and a mushroom anchor deeply embedded in the ooze.
"This must be Gib.," he thought, as he prepared to dress.