And then—was the liquor affecting his brain?—the captain's face, line for line, feature for feature, was the face of the captain of the airship, whom last he had seen sprawling above him in mid-air. Had he beaten him down, and been picked up first? It seemed impossible.
"How—what—how—" he stammered, rubbing his eyes. "How did you get here, captain? You jumped after me."
"I jumped after you? You are wandering. I saw you all jump, through the periscope, but I was here."
"Then it's the closest resemblance I ever saw. You're the living image of the airship's commander, or else it's the liquor. My head feels queer."
"No doubt. But it's not the liquor. You've had a terrible experience. It's a wonder the jump didn't kill you, as well as affect your mind."
Felton was not satisfied with the explanation. It was a strange and striking resemblance, nothing more; and he was about to say as much when a man came forward from the engine with an oil can. He was the duplicate in face and form of the man he had pommeled, but without the contusions. Felton blinked in amazement, then looked at the others, whom, in the agitation of his entrance, he had not closely observed. Man for man—nine in all—they duplicated the crew of the airship.
"My God," he stuttered. "Am I mad, or drunk?" His brain reeled, and, as it had reeled before, in the social life of a naval officer, he ascribed it to the liquor.
"You've drugged me," he yelled insanely. "Every man here is a double of another."
"Steady—steady, now," said the captain, stepping down and laying a hand on Felton's shoulder. "You're not drugged. You're a little off your balance, and the drink was too heavy. Every drunken man sees double. Isn't that so?"
This seemed logical, and Felton stammered assent. He sat down on the projecting bilge of a torpedo, trying to recover his mental balance. It was hard work, but finally he adjusted himself to the captain's point of view. It was a terrible jump—three hundred feet. He had escaped death by a miracle. Men had gone insane under less pressure, and he had taken two drinks of a powerful stimulant. He would be all right, in time—after a little sleep. Thus reconciled, he took note of his surroundings. The engine was stopped, the men forward had just finished reloading the torpedo tube, and the captain was peering into the periscope—the non-magnifying telescope which gives a view of the seascape.