As the vessel closed with the grey cliffs of Normandy, Ross suddenly shouted: "Submarine on the port bow!"
Less than two cables' length away could be discerned the twin periscopes and a portion of the conning-tower. The submarine was not forging ahead; it was simply stationary, except for a slight movement caused by the action of the waves. It certainly was not a British craft. It might be French. The odds were that it was German, since submarines belonging to the allied nations were not in the habit of keeping awash, unless in the presence of an enemy.
Quickly the guns, which were already cleared for action, were trained upon the visible part of the submarine; but as she made no attempt to move, Captain Syllenger refrained from giving the order to open fire.
Thrice the Capella circled round the mysterious craft, at the same time gradually closing, since she had nothing to fear from the discharge of a torpedo.
"I believe she's abandoned, sir," said Barry.
The Capella stopped. Preparations were being made for the lowering of a boat, when one of the seamen shouted:
"It's a dud, sir; a blessed decoy-bird!"
The man was right. Upon investigation, the submarine was found to be nothing more than a couple of barrels covered with painted canvas. Two thick poles passing vertically through them, and weighted at the lowermost ends to give the necessary stability, served as periscopes.
"There's a real submarine knocking about, I'll swear," said the skipper. "Put a shot into those barrels, Morgan."
One shell was sufficient. Little more than a hundred chips floating on the surface was left of the decoy.