"Oh, well," remarked Matt, looking around, "this might be worse."
"How?" moaned Carl. "I don'd see dot."
Matt's interest in the Pom, now that he was able to give the boat a personal examination, bade fair to eclipse his concern for the dangers by which he was surrounded. Here was a brand-new piece of mechanism, a boat crammed with French machinery that would well repay a close study.
A rigid box under the conning tower, enabled a man to lift the upper half of his body into the cupola and get his eyes opposite the lunettes. As the man stood there, his right hand fell naturally on a steering wheel and his left on push buttons which must communicate with the engine room.
"This is a whole lot different from the interior of the Grampus," muttered Matt.
"Id is so shmall as a rat drap," shuddered Carl. "I feel like I vas shut oop in a cage."
Matt, pushing backward from the turret, fell off a ledge into a sort of well. As he sat up and groped about with his hands, he touched a switch. Pulling the switch, an incandescent lamp flared out overhead.
"That's better," said he. "Now we can look around without so much trouble."
Here, aft from the conning tower, machinery was packed away closely.
Up against the roof, on the port side, was a little engine, operated by compressed air, by which the submarine was steered. Matt discovered that by observing the wires that ran to the engine from the steering wheel.