As the submarine craft was pinned fast, Andy Greggs clutched Oscar by the arm.
"We are lost, Oscar!" he gasped. "That fuse—it is ready to go off!"
The young captain nodded, for words failed him. The fuse was set for three minutes. Two minutes had already passed. A minute more—and then?
One of the crew—ordinarily a brave man—fell upon his knees, the tears streaming down his cheeks.
"Nothing can save us!" he moaned. "That torpedo will crush us into a million pieces!"
Thirty seconds passed—forty-five. Everybody on board held his breath. Captain Oscar felt as if his head was on the block and the axe of the executioner ready to fall.
And then the full minute passed—swiftly, silently—and then another minute. One and another straightened up and each looked at his comrades as if doubting that he was not dreaming.
The torpedo had failed to explode!
"The shock of the wreck must have torn the fuse from its place," said Captain Oscar.
"Pray heaven such is a fact!" murmured his lieutenant.