The _Sword_ was divided into three water-tight compartments. The after one contained the accumulators and machinery. The middle one, occupied by the pilot, was surmounted by a periscope fitted with lenticular portholes, through which an electric search-lamp lighted the way through the water. Forward, in the other compartment, Thomas Roch and I were shut in.
My companion, though the gag which was choking him had been removed, was still bound, and, I thought, knew what was going on.
But we were in a hurry to be off, and hoped to reach St. George that very night if no obstacle was encountered.
I pushed open the door of the compartment and rejoined Lieutenant Davon, who was standing by the man at the wheel. In the after compartment three other men, including the engineer, awaited the lieutenant's orders to set the machinery in motion.
"Lieutenant Davon," I said, "I do not think there is any particular reason why I should stay in there with Roch. If I can help you to get through the tunnel, pray command me."
"Yes, I shall be glad to have you by me, Mr. Hart."
It was then exactly thirty-seven minutes past eight.
The search-lamp threw a vague light through the water ahead of the _Sword_. From where we were, we had to cross the lagoon through its entire length to get to the tunnel. It would be pretty difficult to fetch it, we knew, but, if necessary, we could hug the sides of the lake until we located it. Once outside the tunnel the _Sword_ would rise to the surface and make for St. George at full speed.
"At what depth are we now?" I asked the lieutenant.
"It is not necessary to go any lower," I said. "From what I was able to observe during the equinoctial tides, I should think that we are in the axis of the tunnel."
Yes, it was all right, and I felt that Providence was speaking by the mouth of the officer. Certainly Providence could not have chosen a better agent to work its will.
In the light of the lamp I examined him. He was about thirty years of age, cool, phlegmatic, with resolute physiognomy--the English officer in all his native impassibility--no more disturbed than if he had been on board the _Standard_, operating with extraordinary _sang-froid,_ I might even say, with the precision of a machine.