[Sidenote: News of a German submarine.]
Captain Bill sat in a retired nook, if a submarine can possibly be said
to have a retired nook, with a chart spread open on his knees. The night
before, he had picked up a wireless message saying that a German had
been seen at sundown in a certain spot on the edge of his patrol. So
Captain Bill had planned to run submerged to the spot in question, and
then pop up suddenly in the hope of potting the Hun. Some fifteen
minutes before sundown, therefore, the _Z-3_ arrived at the place where
the Fritz had been observed.
"I wish I knew just where the bird was," said an intent voice; "I'd drop
a can right on his neck."
[Sidenote: The sentiments of the captain of a destroyer.]
These sentiments were not those of anybody aboard the _Z-3_. An American
destroyer had also come to the spot looking for the German, and the
gentle thought recorded above was that of her captain. It was just
sundown; a level train of splendor burned on the ruffled waters to the
west; a light, cheerful breeze was blowing. The destroyer, ready for
anything, was hurrying along at a smart clip.
"This is the place all right, all right," said the navigator of the
destroyer. "Come to think of it, that chap's been reported from here
twice."
Keen eyes swept the shining uneasy plain.
[Sidenote: How a submarine crew takes orders.]
Meanwhile, some seventy feet below, the _Z-3_ manoeuvred, killing
time. The phonograph had been hushed, and every man was ready at his
post.
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