To Sir George Hubert Wilkins and his 18 men in the 24-year-old submarine Nautilus—surface cruising the North Atlantic to England last week, en route to the North Pole—went radiograms as foreboding as the witch cries that menaced Macbeth.
On the opposite side of the earth, in the Yellow Sea of Wei-hai-wei, the spanky new British submarine Poseidon came spuming to the surface like a dolphin after air. The hatches sprang open. The crew started clambering out. Thirty-one were on deck and 18 below when the Yuta,...
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