submarine drove
onwards in silence. Then came a sharp order from the commander, and she
began to rise.

'What's she coming up for?' asked Roy of Ken in a low voice.

'She's got to, so as to fire her torpedo. You can't fire so long as you're
submerged.'

'But if they see us, they'll let loose with their guns.'

'They've only got the periscopes to shoot at. Take more than Turkish
gunners to hit them.'

'Stand by!' came the crisp order from Commander Strang. 'Three points to
port--one more. Don't miss her, whatever you do, Williams. She's got the
legs of us, and we shan't get a second shot.'

'That's right. Steady now. Shut down! Let go!'

Ken heard a sharp hiss as the compressed air drove the long gray Whitehead
out of its tube, and sent it flashing away on its deadly errand. Young
Hotham sat still as a statue, his eyes glued to the periscope. The rest of
the crew seemed hardly to breathe. As for Ken, his mouth was dry. To him,
more than to any one else aboard, the success or failure of the shot meant
much.

Five, ten, fifteen seconds--then Hotham gave a sharp cry.

'Got her. Got her, by the living jingo! Oh, good shot, Williams!'

As he spoke a dull shock made the whole hull of G2 quiver.

'Hurrah!' shouted Ken, and the cheer was echoed by a score of voices.

'Struck her just aft the engines,' exclaimed Hotham jubilantly. 'Settled
her hash all right. Gad, they've got pluck. They're still shooting. Ah,
did you hear that, Carrington?'--as the submarine quivered again slightly.
'That was a shell. It struck the water not ten yards away.'

'But that's the last,' he continued. 'She's cocking her bows up. Phew, the
whole bottom's knocked out of her. There she goes. She's sinking. Poor
beggars, they haven't time to get out a boat, and we'll never reach 'em in
time to save any of them.'

'Her stern's under. Bow's straight up in the air!' He paused a moment.

'All over,' he added quietly. 'She's gone.' Commander Strang's voice rang
out from farther aft. Ken felt the vessel rising, and a few moments later
a slight swaying told that she was on the surface. Up went the hatch, and
the terrible clatter of the petrol engines replaced the deep purr of the
dynamos.

'I'd give a finger to be on deck,' said Ken to Roy, and for once Roy did
not jeer. He merely nodded, for he knew how desperately anxious Ken was
about his father.

Ken had not long to wait. A few minutes later, an order was passed for
Carrington to go up,