Climbing the ladder into the conning tower, Matt stole a look through the lunettes. To see under water, contrary to the usual fiction on the subject, is impossible. Only a sombre void met Matt's eyes. By means of electric light and powerful reflectors Captain Nemo, Jr., could throw a gleam several yards through the lunettes; but this was a drain on the storage batteries, and for use only in case of emergency.
At sixty feet down the Grampus lay as easily under the enormous water pressure as a man in a hammock. At the captain's suggestion, Matt stretched himself out on a blanket on the floor of the periscope room and, in spite of his worry, was soon asleep.
When he was aroused by Cassidy a gleam of day was shining down the conning-tower hatch.
"Speake is getting breakfast, Matt," said Cassidy, "and we're up at the surface again. The storm is over, and the cap'n is on deck, calling for you. Better go up."
Matt jumped to his feet and raced up the ladder. The sea was still a bit rough, although part of the submarine's deck was high and dry. Captain Nemo, Jr., was on the deck, clinging to one of the wire guys that supported the periscope mast.
"Do you see anything of the whaleboat, captain?" were Matt's first words.
"Not a sign," answered the captain, handing Matt a pair of binoculars. "Take a look for yourself."
Bracing himself in the top of the tower Matt swept the glasses over the vast expanse of sunlit, heaving water.
There was nothing to be seen. From horizon to horizon the gulf held only the dancing, gleaming waves.