Mr. Damon divided his time between the forward pilot-room,
the living-apartment, and the place where Mr. Swift, Garret
Jackson and Mr. Sharp were working over the engines. Every
few minutes he would bless some part of himself, his
clothing, or the ship. Finally the old man settled down to
look through the plate-glass windows in the main apartment.
On and on went the submarine. She behaved perfectly, and
was under excellent control. Some times Tom, at the request
of his father, would send her toward the surface by means of
the deflecting rudder. Then she would dive to the bottom
again. Once, as a test, she was sent obliquely to the
surface, her tower just emerging, and then she darted
downward again, like a porpoise that had come up to roll
over, and suddenly concluded to seek the depths. In fact,
had any one seen the maneuver they would have imagined the
craft was a big fish disporting itself.
Captain Weston remained at Tom's side, giving him
instructions, and watching the compass in order to direct
the steering so as to avoid collisions. For an hour or more
the craft was sent almost straight ahead at medium speed.
Then Mr. Swift, joining his son and the captain, remarked:
"How about depth of water here, Captain Weston?"
"You've got more than a mile.
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