At last Jack's voice broke in, coolly:
"You see, gentlemen, the gauge now gives a constant reading. We can't
go any lower, for the water tanks are as full as they'll hold, and
there's still the buoyancy caused by all the air the interior of the
boat. So we're as far below the surface as we can go."
"Bully for you, Benson!" cried Lieutenant McCrea, slapping the young
skipper on the back. "You understand what you're doing, and no one
could do it with more coolness. You must have been born aboard a
submarine."
"He never saw a craft of this kind, until a few weeks ago," retorted
Jacob Farnum admiringly.
Taking out a notebook and pencil, Commander Ennerling recorded the
reading of the submergence gauge, which showed how many feet the craft
was below the surface of the water.
"Of course," hinted Mr. Farnum, smilingly, "don't know the gauge to be
correct."
"We've the means with us of testing and standardizing the gauge in the
harbor," replied the president of the board.
"If we ever see the harbor again," muttered Eph Somers, overhead in the
conning tower.
"How does this compare with the depths touched by submarine boats now
owned by the Navy?" asked David Pollard, a bit feverishly. He was not
afraid of their present rather dangerous position, but was frightfully
nervous over the thought of any good showing this craft born in his
brain might fail to make.
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