Already the wounded were being carried below by their messmates. Four scorched and maimed forms lay motionless on the low fo'c'sle. There was no need to bestow medical attention upon them.
By this time Denbigh was aware that besides Stirling and himself only three persons remained on the bridge. Neither of them was O'Hara. Nor could he find the mate of the Myra, who on the first alarm had hurried with the others to the bridge.
The sub made his way to the ladder. Two steps did he descend, then his foot encountered nothingness. The rest of the ladder had been swept out of existence.
Grasping the still intact handrail Denbigh lowered himself to the superstructure. Almost the first man he met was Armstrong, who was mopping his cheek with a blood-stained handkerchief.
"It's nothing," replied the mate in answer to Denbigh's enquiry. "Didn't discover until I went below."
"Seen anything of O'Hara?" asked the sub anxiously.
"Yes, I've just carried him below, and I was on my way back to look for you."
"Thanks," said Denbigh briefly. "And what's happened to O'Hara?"
"Only shaken, I believe. He was blown off the bridge with the signal locker for company. They both fetched up against a splinter screen. O'Hara swears it isn't much, but I have my doubts."
The two officers made their way across heaps of debris to the diminutive ward-room. Here lying on a cushion on the floor was O'Hara.