At nightfall, the boat, taking advantage of the darkness, rose to the surface of the sea and sailed without lights. Andrey stood on the bridge throughout the night. The water was placid, the stars were screened by a light mist, and far away to the south the pale blue gleam of an enemy searchlight moved through the clouds.
The boat was now approaching a mine field. At dawn, when the greenish-orange light began slowly to pervade the fleecy clouds, the Kate sank to a great depth at a definitely fixed point in the sea. Steering solely by compass and map, she commenced to pick her way under the mines. Yakovlev was in charge of the steering apparatus, while Prince Bylopolsky calculated the [v]side drift and reported to the chief engineer in charge of the motors. Andrey, leaning over the map, gave orders to the man at the wheel.
There was no sensation of movement, and it seemed as if the Kate stood still amidst the eery darkness. The men for the most part were stretched on their backs, seeking to consume as little oxygen as possible. In spite of this precaution, however, the air was thick, and the sailors felt a tingling sensation in the ears.
Suddenly the boat’s keel struck against something hard, and a grating sound broke the stillness.
“Stop! Stop!” called out Andrey, dashing forth from the navigating cabin.
The pinions cracked and the motors ceased to pulsate. Immediately the air became hot, as in a Turkish bath. Andrey entered the water-tight conning tower, which was flooded with diluted, greenish light from the ports provided for the purpose of giving a view of the surrounding waters. He peered through the glass pane. Vague, blurred forms and shadows gradually became visible in the twilight of the deep. One of the shadows wavered and glided along the window, and the round, tragic eyes of a fish glanced at Andrey. The fish disappeared in the depths below the boat. Evidently the Kate had not run aground, nor were there any submerged reefs in that quarter. Andrey gave an order to raise the boat several feet. Then numerous shadows leaped aside and scattered, and the captain plainly saw a jumbled heap of ropes and ladders. It was obvious that the Kate had blundered into the remains of a sunken ship.
The halt was unfortunate—indeed, might prove fatal. The uniform motion of the boat had been disturbed, the [v]orientation lost; the inevitable small error made at the point of submerging must have increased in the course beneath the waves. The Kate had lost her way, and something must be done. Andrey drummed nervously on the window-pane as he thought. It was impossible to stay under water any longer, and yet to rise to the surface meant to be seen and attacked by enemy warships. Only in this way, however, was it possible to determine the boat’s position.
Andrey, giving an order for the boat to rise slowly, returned to his observation point. The water gradually grew clearer. Suddenly a dark ball moved down to meet the craft. “A mine!” flashed across Andrey’s mind, and, overcoming the torpor which had begun to oppress his brain, he ordered the submarine to be swerved from her course. The ball moved away, but another appeared on the right. There was another change of direction. And now everywhere in the midst of the greenish twilight cast-iron shells lay in wait. The Kate was in the toils of a mine net!
Sea water, when viewed from a great height, is so transparent that large fishes can even be seen in it. Owing to this fact, the Kate was discovered by two enemy [v]hydroplanes as she rose among the mines toward the surface of the bay. The aircraft were seen, however, and the boat dived again to a great depth.
The Kate now blindly groped her way forward. The motors worked at their top speed, and the body of the boat trembled. Hundreds of demons called horsepowers fiercely turned the various wheels, pinions, and shafts. The air was hot and stuffy; the men at the engine, stripped to the waist, worked feverishly. Speed was necessary, for only oxygen enough to sustain the crew for one hour remained in the lead cylinders.