CHAPTER XXIII.
THE “WHITE SHARK” AND THE SQUADRON.
Mr. Dancer worked on his odd-looking collection of levers and buttons, and the White Shark obediently shot upward, but, of course, not at so sharp an angle as that at which she had descended to escape the battleship’s prow. In a few seconds she was near the surface, as the periscope indicated.
To avoid the danger of coming up under another battleship, which has, by the way, destroyed dozens of submarines, Mr. Dancer rose to the surface on a long, slanting course. As he glanced at the periscope indicator he saw that they were by no means too far off for safety—that is, had the fleet been in motion. But the periscope disclosed it lying motionless, while small boats dotted the water in every direction.
“Chadwick, how’s your patient?” called out Mr. Dancer.
“Oh, better. He is sitting up. When we are ready we can transfer him back to his ship.”
“That was a white thing you did for me, mates,” declared the sailor, who told them that his name was Jim Harding. “I’ll never forget it, either, see if I do.”
“That’s all right,” declared Jack; “glad to get you out safe and sound. But how did you come to go overboard?”
“I dunno exactly. I was standing on the deck rail with some of my mates, when all of a sudden two fellers, skylarking behind me, bumped into me. I guess I was too much interested in your craft here to pay much attention to what I was doing. The first thing you know I found myself in the water. My! That was an awful struggle! I guess I came pretty near taking you down with me, too,” he went on, addressing Jack.
“Well, if you did, I gave you a good sound crack on the head,” laughed Jack; “it was the only thing to do.”