"Oh," remarked the ober-leutnant. "How was that?"
"Well, it was like this. We were off the Fastnet, bound for the Bristol Channel, when up pops a blank U-boat astern of us. Since we could only do nine knots 'twasn't much good trying to foot it, so our Old Man hoisted a bloomin' signal to some hooker what wasn't anywhere abouts, up-helmed and makes straight for Old Fritz. Fritz didn't like that 'ere signal, no more'n he liked the idea of our old packet goin' for her, so he dives. Bless me if our Old Man didn't keep cruisin' around for the best part of an hour, just to make Fritz think as 'ow he was a patrol boat. Still he might have got us. I've been torpedoed three times already."
"Then I should think you'd had enough of it," said von Loringhoven tentatively.
"Me—not much," replied the man, bridling at the mere suggestion. "It'll take more'n Old Fritz's tin-pot submarines to choke me off. My old grandfather didn't used to be frightened at Boney's privateers, an' he sailed from Bristol Town for more'n fifty years. What's bred in the bone—you know, mate. An' I ain't the only one, not by long chalks."
"Where are you bound this voyage?" asked the German.
"Dunno exactly," was the reply. "There was some talk of the 'Andromeda' making a run to Alexandra. Look 'ere, mate, you're axing me a lot o' questions. 'Ow about yourself; wot are you doin'?"
"Me—I'm only a cast-off Tommy," replied von Loringhoven.
"Then you must a' been pretty badly knocked about," commented the seaman, "or they wouldn't let you out of it."
"Still able to work, thank goodness," replied the ober-leutnant. He saw possibilities in keeping up the conversation. "How about it—shall we ride together as far as Bristol?"
For a few moments the man did not reply. He was draining his tankard, and his range of vision was limited to about nine-tenths of the interior surface of the metal mug, while his gullet was working like a piston-rod.