"Submarined?" came the next question.
"Yep. First done in by a German agent and his bomb, then gunned by a submarine. Me and my mates were blown overboard and rescued by a fellow in command of the submarine."
"Rescued! That's unusual! Why?"
Larry shrugged his shoulders. Indeed, neither he nor Jim nor Bill could tell why it was that the submarine commander had taken it into his head to preserve their lives. Too often, alas! men had been left floating helpless on the water after a similar attack, and the submarine, having risen to the surface, and its officers and crew maybe having jeered at them, had motored off and left them to their fate. It was no wonder then that this burly individual expressed surprise at such a happening.
"And you?" asked Jim after a while.
"Me and these fellows 'long with me belong to the merchant marine, and we've to thank a submarine for being here. It's three nights ago that, without a word of warning, without sight of the submarine, there was a terrific explosion that burst our plates in and swamped our engine-room. The chief engineer and his mates were killed right off, and our skipper was thrown from his bridge into the water. We chaps set to work to lower the boats, but they'd been smashed into matchwood. It so happened that this trawler was steaming some few miles away, and it may be that the same submarine that did you in was the cause of our misfortune. Anyways, we were taken aboard and brought to the trawler, and—and—here we are."
"Waiting to go to a German prison," came a voice from one of the figures seated against the bulkhead.
"Which means wellnigh starvation for the British," said another, whereat there was silence.
"If—starvation if——" began Bill, as though he had suddenly thought of something brilliant.
"If what, young Bill?"