Arrived alongside under the out-swung torpedo davit, the boat was made fast and a line passed over the propellers of the inboard ‘fish.’ Its other end was thrown aboard, and the _Zero’s_ men clapped on to the nose and tail ropes and lifted her bodily out of the water. Then the T.I. passed a thin steel band round the body of the torpedo at its point of balance, screwed in a shackle, hooked on the davit runner, and all was ready. ‘Hoist away!’ cried Burton from the stern sheets. The torpedo crept quietly up the _Zero’s_ side, the men guiding her as she rose. When she cleared the deck level, the davit was swung round and she was gently lowered on to the wooden chocks prepared to receive her. The second torpedo followed, and all but two of the boat’s crew came aboard, the coxswain and the bow oar remaining to get her inboard. She was pulled under the davits, hooked on, and as her dripping keel rose out of the water, Jenkins put the telegraphs ahead and the _Zero_ was under weigh again. Before the gig was up the T.I. was fussing round the recovered torpedo like a hen round a long-lost chicken, putting on tail clamps, draining the engines, and generally seeing to their needs. As Burton went up to the bridge, after seeing the boat in, ‘123,’ who was now about a mile away, slowly disappeared from sight. First of all she settled down bodily in the water until her superstructure was awash. Slowly her decks submerged, leaving only her gun and conning-tower visible. Then as she sank deeper, her periscope’s standard sticking out of the water was the only evidence of her existence. The standard vanished, and through binoculars the periscope alone could be seen, leaving a thin wake behind it. Then that, too, disappeared, and there was no longer anything to tell the watchers that ‘123’ had ever existed. Down in her internals the crew was at diving-stations ready for the next attack. In the fore-end, where Seagrave was in charge of the torpedo tubes, the electric light winked and shimmered on the round copper doors. The T.I. and two seamen were busy with valves and levers, and the sound of a pump rose above the hissing of escaping air. Raymond was in the control room, by the periscope, and Boyd stood by, ready to record every course and bearing on the chart and carry out any special orders the captain might give. She had dived to thirty feet as a preliminary canter in order to get well clear of the Torpedo Boat, before showing her periscope, and now, at an order from Raymond, the two coxswains slowly brought her up. Very gingerly the captain raised the instrument, took a quick glance round, and lowered it again. ‘Thirty feet,’ he ordered. ‘Course 20 deg., Boyd. _Zero_ bearing 120 deg. We’ll let her get well out to sea again and have another smack at her on her way back.’