The
underwater craft was still coming on, her periscope in the midst of a
hail of fire from the steamer's guns. For, now that the vessel was
making turns, it was possible for two gun crews, alternately, to fire at
the German boat.
"There goes the periscope!" yelled Charlie, as a burst of shots,
concentrated on the brass tube, seemed to dispose of it.
But he had spoken too soon. The submarine had merely drawn the periscope
within herself, it being of the telescope variety, and the next moment,
with a movement of the water as if some monster leviathan were breaking
from the ocean depths, the steel-plated and rivet-studded back of the
submarine rose, glistening in the sun and in full view of those on deck,
not two hundred yards away.
"There she blows!" cried Charlie, as an old salt might announce the
presence of a whale. "There she blows! Film her, boys!"
And Blake and Joe were doing just that.
Meanwhile even wilder excitement, if possible, prevailed on deck. There
was a rush for the boats that nearly overwhelmed the crews stationed to
lower them from the sides, and the officers had all they could do to
preserve order.
"The torpedo! The torpedo at the stern!" cried the lookout, who,
notwithstanding his position of almost certain death should the ship be
struck, had not deserted his elevated post.
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