"Top-hole—absolutely ripping!" declared Warborough. "This lying in wait is apt to be a bit tedious, but there are moments when you feel downright happy at being in the submarine service."
"Pretty dangerous?" hazarded Aubyn, who had not entirely got over the feeling that he was imprisoned at the bottom, or nearly at the bottom of the sea.
"That's what gives a spice to the business," said Warborough. "If we do bump a mine there's precious little chance for us. The worst part of the job is when we are getting fairly close to Harwich, and running awash. The helmsman of one of your destroyers might get a trifle jumpy, you know—mistakes have been made in that direction, especially at night."
"That I can quite understand," rejoined Terence, recalling the many anxious hours he had passed on the "Strongbow" as officer of the watch, and straining his eyes in the darkness till he fancied he saw the periscope and conning-tower of more than one submarine.
"And the rotten part of the business is, the man in the street grumbles," continued Warborough. "It's all very fine saying that the Silent Navy is above public opinion and all that—it isn't, and it's a bit rough. Our men come back from leave with the yarn that they are continually being asked, 'What is the Navy doing?' And if people find out that they belong to the submarine service they ask still more pointed questions. Civilians forget that the German ships rarely put to sea, except when they think they can do a sneaking bit of damage. And after this recent scrap they'll be still more chary about coming out. Now, if there's nothing or hardly anything afloat for us to go for, it's not much use running a great risk of being rammed by our own destroyers. Submarines can't fight submarines, and the fact that a few German 'unterseeboots' have started playing the fool with our merchant craft complicates the situation. However, there are four of our submarines keeping an eye on the approach to the German North Sea ports, so perhaps, after the war is over and people are let into the know, we may be vindicated in the minds of the Great British Public. Why, man, what's wrong now? Your nose has started to bleed."
Terence brought out his handkerchief and applied it to his nasal organ. It was a very rare thing for it to bleed, and he wondered whether it was the result of the concussion when he was blown from the deck of the "Livingstone."
"I don't fancy so," remarked Warborough. "It's the excess of oxygen. We are frequently affected that way. Shove your head in that basin and let me pour cold water on your neck: that will stop it pretty quickly."
Aubyn's companion was quite right. In less than two minutes the flow had entirely ceased.
"How about the water?" asked Terence. "I suppose this is the pump?"
"Yes. You'll have to exert a fair amount of strength to get rid of the water, you know."