A man brought a bottle, lifted his head, and poured a generous portion of some stimulant down his throat. Felton had just strength to swallow, and it warmed and aroused him. He sat up and, being a torpedo expert, had little difficulty in assimilating his first impressions. He was acquainted with submarines; there was the tube from which he had emerged, beside it the air flasks and trimming tanks. Amidships the vertical and horizontal steering gear, and aft the engine and motor. In this much the craft resembled the conventional submarine that he knew. But there was this difference—that he noted when able to turn his head. The boat was stiffened with upright stanchions of about the size and length of the stanchions in the airship, and placed in about the same position along the sides. Another similarity struck him at his first glance around; and he wondered why he had not remarked it in the airship; the air flasks, trimming tanks, and spare torpedoes arranged along the sides, occupied the same relative positions as did the steel cylinders in the other, while the steering gear of both was amidships and the motive power aft.
"What have you caught this time, Bill?" called a voice from the wheel—a strangely familiar voice.
"Dunno," answered the man with the flask. "It's a sheep, I think, or maybe a dog; but it looks something like a horse. Have another drink, and tell us what you are."
Felton did not refuse a second draught. It brought him to his feet.
"I'm a man," he answered with spirit. "Are you guying me—in this exigency? I'm near dead."
"He says he's a man, sir," called the man.
"All right. Send him aft."
Felton was pushed, rather than led, to the man amidships.
"How do you do?" he said kindly. "So, you thought you'd visit us. We catch all our fish this way."
"My God, captain," answered Felton, "I'm not visiting! I jumped out of an airship, and was sucked into your tube. I'm glad I'm alive."