The noise ceased in an instant, and I wondered at it dully. The crew sat heavily in the stern, the skipper holding the wheel. I could see his brown, knotted hands white with the anguished grip with which he clasped its rim. We lay in the long swell of the Channel in utter silence. Of all those thousands, we were left alone, rising and falling on the billows, absolutely without energy and without the slightest desire to act. The motor stopped, we could hoist the main sail from the cage, but we thought of no such thing. For minutes, which seemed like hours, we lay there while I gazed indifferently at the water. A hoarse cry from the skipper aroused me. “Lookee there!” he shouted. I turned at the command and started. Scarce a hundred yards away was the conning tower of a submarine above the waves. Its top was open and a man’s head, the face masked with huge goggles, faced us. As I gazed with open mouth, the head disappeared, the top closed, and the conning tower sunk beneath the waves. I had seen “the man.” The sight somehow galvanized me into energy. Now I had seen that the antagonist was a human being, and not a superhuman power, I would fight for my life. I ordered the sail raised through the cage, taking great care not to disturb it, and we started slowly back to Folkestone. Hours later, as we came up towards the harbor, I saw a yacht approaching. On the bridge were three figures. There was the flutter of a white dress beside the man at the wheel. As they came nearer, I saw it was the yacht I had chartered for our hunt in the Channel. The man and the girl on the bridge were Tom and Dorothy. As they came alongside, Tom called. “What happened?” I raised my head. “We four are all that are left,” I said sadly. CHAPTER XVIII As I came over the side of the yacht, Dorothy was at the rail and in a moment was in my arms. “Thank God! Thank God! you are back,” she murmured. “You are back and the awful waiting is over, but how many wives and sweethearts will wait all the rest of their lives!” Tom was but a moment behind his sister. “Do you mean to say that every boat, without exception, has gone?” he questioned. “Every one within my range of vision. Between eighty and ninety in all,” I answered. “Good God! What a catastrophe,” said Tom dazedly. “I can’t realize it.” My little yacht was still alongside, and the skipper now hailed us. “Mr. Orrington, sir, could somebody else take our boat in, and could we go with you? I think, sir, we’d feel easier, if we could go with you.” There was something to do. In a few minutes an exchange had been made, and my crew was on the larger yacht. As they came over the rail, Tom met them with a low request to keep their mouths shut. “Don’t fear us,” said my skipper. “We’re alive, that’s all we ask for. We don’t have any call or wish to talk about it. Do we, mates?” The other men shook their heads dumbly, and went slowly to their places. “What became of your propeller?” asked Tom, coming back towards us.