“As soon as the panel is open, run out on deck and give a good, hearty cheer. I’ll join you.”
They congregated under the panel.
“All right!” came Mr. Dancer’s voice after a short interval.
Click! Back slid the panel. In rushed fresh air and sunlight.
“Now, boys, remember the instructions,” was Jack’s father’s warning as they stumbled up the steel steps toward the parallelogram of air and light.
With great self-control the boys held back their enthusiasm till ordered to “cut loose.” It was the more hard to do this, as from every ship came a deep, roaring and booming of cheers for the plucky little submarine craft and her brave ship’s company.
All about lay men-o’-war boats, ordered out on a search, doubtless, and each huge battleship lay motionless. It made a wonderful picture to the group that stood on the drenched decks of the submarine that had just risen from the depths, to which not many minutes ago it had appeared that she was consigned forever.
Practically every battleship in the squadron knew by wireless and signaling of what had occurred. They had learned how the men on the leading battleship, Manhattan Island, had seen the submarine apparently rammed and sunk by the craft second in line, the San Francisco. The reappearance of the small diving craft was deemed wonderful, because several of the keenest sighted officers had been prepared to swear that they saw the actual impact.
Wonderful enough, Old Glory, drenched and dripping from the dive, still hung at the stern of the White Shark.
“Jack, hustle astern and get those colors!” cried Mr. Chadwick.