"Only what?" asked the sub. anxiously, for the face of his informant had disappointment written on every feature.
"We were just out of it, sir. Turret gun was about to bear when the 'U' boat went bang. One of our seaplanes did the trick, sir; only we were within a brace of shakes of plugging her with a 14-inch shell at the same time. Didn't spot her at that distance until she planked a bomb fairly on the strafed Hun's conning-tower—and she was only about a hundred and fifty feet up when she let rip. That's the worst of those seaplanes, sir; always nosing in where they ain't wanted, if you don't mind my saying so," he added apologetically and at the same time with a tinge of professional jealousy.
Tressidar smiled. By so doing he became aware of a pain shooting through his head.
"Well, what have I got?" he asked, addressing one of the sick-bay staff.
"Steel splinter embedded in right femur——"
"Right what?" repeated the sub. anxiously. "That's the right thigh, I believe? But my head?"
"All right, sir, as far as we know," reported the man. "No doubt it is the sudden shock to the system, sir; I've known it like that before to-day. We've had to leave the splinter in the wound, sir, but we'll soon have a surgeon on board. We're just approaching Harwich. We've exchanged signals and asked for medical assistance."
"There's a steamboat making for us now, sir, added the quartermaster.
"Any casualties?" enquired Tressidar.
"Five men down, sir. The last half a dozen shells from that submarine tickled us up a lot."