“Oh, we can easily show them anything that any submarine craft can do,” smiled Jack Benson, confidently.  “And I’m certain we can show the Navy officers an ease of handling that isn’t reached by any other submarine in the world.”

“It’s a good thing to have a confident captain,” smiled David Pollard.  “A confident captain, aboard a reliable boat, spells victory.”

When the meal was over Captain Jack went back above to the wheel.  There was no moon this night, but the stars shone brightly over the water.  It was a warm night, with a gentle breeze, and only the gentlest swell to the water.  The “Pollard” had been slowed down to twelve miles an hour, but there was still speed enough for the motion to be exhilarating.

“Oh, it’s great to be captain of probably the most powerful and dangerous sea-terror in the world!” throbbed the boy, looking up at the stars.  “How little I dreamed of this, a few months ago!”

“Going to be ready, now, for the dive and the hour’s run under water, captain?” inquired Mr. Farnum, coming up on deck.

“In about ten minutes, sir,” replied Jack, pointing forward over the port bow, “we’ll be abreast of Point Villars light.  Why not dive just abreast of that light?  It will give us a starting point to reckon our run from.”

“A good idea,” nodded Mr. Farnum, and just then David Pollard came up from below.  Both stood watching the young commander for some moments.

“Captain,” remarked the inventor, “you handle the boat as easily as though you had been doing this sort of thing for years.  You must have had some practice aboard rather goodsized craft?”

“Never anything much bigger than a thirty-foot gasoline boat,” Jack replied.  “In the old days, sir, a young sailor had to begin with a rowboat, go on to a cat-boat, and so work on up until he could handle a full-rigged ship.  That’s where the change has come with to-day’s gasoline boats.  A fellow who learns to run a twenty-foot gasoline launch can just as easily handle a big gasoline yacht of any size.  The new style of power saves a heap of time in the learning, sir.”

Captain Jack was now nearing a line abreast of the Point Villars light.  He watched keenly.  At last, when just abreast, he shouted down through the manhole: 

“Shut off the gasoline power.  Stand ready to turn on the electric power.  Get ready to dive.  Henderson, take the steering wheel in the conning tower.”

Less than sixty seconds later the ventilators had been taken in, the manhole cover was made fast, and all were below, save Bill Henderson, who sat at the tower wheel, before him an electric lighted compass.

“Henderson,” called Captain Jack, “steer north by northeast, one point off north.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” came from the seaman in the conning tower.

“Hold fast!  Make ready to dive!” called the young captain.

Then, at the signal, Hal Hastings turned open the sea-valves into the diving tanks.  Down shot the “Pollard,” the young captain standing by the gauge to watch until they were fifty feet below.