As the crew whistled and sang the _Vulcan_ kicked a frothy course
down the long westward lane. To every one's surprise, the submarine did
not dive immediately, but straightened herself on the other side of the
seaweed field on a course parallel with her quarry.
Madden climbed up on the bridge and found a pair of binoculars in the
chart room. He took these outside and trained them on the little vessel.
Apparently the submarine intended to remain at the surface for some
time, for she had opened her hatches and an officer had come out on the
slender deck, and stood looking at the _Vulcan_ through a
telescope.
At the distance, Madden could see the fellow plainly, and even the inky
shadow he threw on the deck. The officer perused the tug for several
minutes, then allowed his glass to wander around the horizon.
"They've come up for air," observed Caradoc, who had approached his
friend from behind. "I believe we'd best stop that. Good air is a luxury
with those fellows." He turned to Galton, who was steering. "Swing her
into the northwest, my man."
The tug answered to her helm with a quiver, and in twenty minutes more
was nosing her way again through the ooze of weed. The German officer
calmly completed his survey, folded his telescope, then disappeared down
the hatch.
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