The boat itself rattled along with that insensibility of mechanism that
sometimes astounds an apprehensive man. Twenty minutes later, she turned
into the open lane, and was rushing westward again at full steam.
An immense relief spread over the crew. Galton, who stood on the bridge
at the wheel beside Caradoc, blew out a long breath and wiped the sweat
from his face, Farnol Greer began a windy whistling of "Winona, Sweet
Indian Maid." Madden felt as if a weight had been lifted off his brain.
Hogan was humming a tune. But all eyes turned anxiously seaward, to see
where the submarine would "blow."
Ten minutes later, a distant ripple in the water caught their watchful
eyes and the wireless masts popped up, on the opposite side of the great
weed field, four or five miles distant.
A spontaneous cheering broke out on the _Vulcan's_ decks.
"Double crossed! Double crossed!" bellowed Hogan.
"Back track! We put one over! Hurrah for Cap'n Smith!" they shouted
above the pounding of the engines.
Everyone but Caradoc wore the fixed exultant grin of the man who outwits
his rival. The submarine had been thoroughly outgeneraled. North and
west of the _Vulcan_ lay the whole Sargasso for an endless chase.
The diving boat had lost the great advantage of having the steamer
cornered.
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