She slowed down. The aperture in her conning-tower opened and a couple of officers appeared. From hatchways fore and aft, seamen clad in grey fearnought coats came tumbling on deck, greeting the British with jibes and laughter.
"So you getting on, Englishmen!" exclaimed a leutnant. "Still it is long vay to land, hein? An' where vos der Capella? Suppose I tell you: we her haf sent to der bottom. Goot night, ver' goot night. Our ver' kind regards to Jellicoe."
The U-boat forged ahead, then, getting way, made off at high speed. In a quarter of an hour she was out of sight.
"I suppose those fellows were telling the truth, old man," called out Ross, addressing his chum.
"'Fraid so," replied Vernon. "They had her name pat, so it looks as if the poor old ship's done for. But, I say, what a whopper of a submarine!"
"One of the new type, I should fancy," said the skipper of the Orontabella. "I shouldn't be surprised if she were a mine-layer as well."
Darkness fell upon the scene. The men rowed doggedly, Vernon setting the course by the simple expedient of keeping the Pole Star in line with the boat's stem. It saved the strain of peering into the compass bowl, and in any case the boats were bound to hit the English coast, unless they were swamped or run down.
Throughout the long night the steady progress was maintained. It was horribly cold. Most of the men were lightly clad in imperfectly dried garments. Both Ross and Vernon were glad when the officers of the Orontabella relieved them, since they could take turn at the oars and derive a certain amount of warmth from the exertion.
Day dawned at last, a brilliant pink sky that betokened bad weather before the day was out. Away on the starboard bow could be discerned a grey cliff surmounted by dark hills. It was the Isle of Wight, distant about six miles off.
With the appearance of the sun the wind freshened, and soon developed into a strong breeze dead in their teeth. Spray began to fly over the bows, soon to be followed by green seas, that necessitated constant baling. It was quite evident that every yard of that six miles meant desperate work, with the chances of being swamped before the boat reached land.