The above questions were all shouted at once in the tense excitement.
Barton, his face white as ashes, came out of his engine room.
"What did we hit?" he demanded in a frightened voice.
"I don't know; but we struck something, possibly a sunken wreck, a hard blow," was the inventor's reply. Although his face was deadly pale, his voice was without a tremor as he spoke.
"We must make an examination at once," he went on. "Andrews, Higgins, and Ross," addressing the three sailors who had appeared from forward, "make an examination forward at once and see if any of the plates have started. If you find a suspicion of a leak report to me at once."
The sailors, trained in naval discipline, saluted, and hastened off on their errand.
"If we are leaking, what are we to do?" demanded Rob.
"Meet death as bravely as we can," was the reply in steady tones; "submarines carry no boats and we must go to the bottom unless we can find some way to stop the leak."
Small wonder that the boys were stricken aghast. Barton, the machinist, flung himself face downward on a couch and began whimpering.
The inventor looked at the man with contempt.