The projectile, hidden in the water, passed some six yards from the stern, losing itself in space.

Had it not been for Toni's rapid tacking, the boat would have been hit squarely in the side.
Through the speaking tube connecting with the engine-room the captain shouted energetic orders to put on full speed.

Meanwhile the mate, clamped to the wheel, ready to die rather than leave it, was directing the boat in zigzags so as not to offer a fixed point to the submarine.
All the crew were watching from the rail the distant and insignificant upright periscope.

The third officer had rushed out of his stateroom, almost naked, rubbing his sleepy eyes.

Caragol was in the stern, his loose shirt-tail flapping away as he held one hand to his eyebrows like a visor.
"I see it!...