“Don’t know yet, old man,” flung back Ned; “we’re going to see.”
“Well, if she is we’re on the job,” snapped Bowler, a determined look settling over his face. It would have gone hard with one of his crew who showed a sign of flinching in that dread moment, but his assistants were going about their tasks, oiling and feeling bearings, without a sign but their intense pallor to show the strain under which they were laboring.
“Good thing we don’t carry a crew of them fellows,” muttered Bowler, as he glanced disgustedly at the whining, terrified Italians, bound fast to their stanchions in the cabin.
Through the forward bulkhead the boys hastened. They found the torpedo room in darkness. This looked bad, for the incandescents in there were supposed to be kept burning constantly.
“Guess a wire has snapped,” surmised Ned; “that shows that we bumped that old derelict good and hard.”
The walls of the place were beaded with moisture, condensed from the warmth within the hull and the chill of the waters without, but there was no sign of a leak. The floor was removable for such emergencies, and the lads soon had it torn up. Hither and thither Ned waved his lantern over the plates, but seemingly, they were all tight. All at once, Herc gave a startled cry. He pointed to a place where a tiny stream of water could be seen making its way through.
“So far as I can see, that’s the only leak,” said Ned; “the pumps can easily take care of that.”
Further examination confirmed this diagnosis. That tiny leak was all the damage the submarine had sustained.
Ned hastened to the conning-tower and so reported. Immense relief was visible on the countenances of all as he told of the results of his investigation.