It seemed to me that the diving-tanks never had filled so slowly.
We heard a loud explosion apparently directly above us; the craft
trembled to the shock which threw us all to the deck. I expected
momentarily to feel the deluge of inrushing water, but none came.
Instead we continued to submerge until the manometer registered forty
feet and then I knew that we were safe. Safe! I almost smiled.
I had relieved Olson, who had remained in the tower at my direction,
having been a member of one of the early British submarine crews,
and therefore having some knowledge of the business. Bradley was
at my side. He looked at me quizzically.

"What the devil are we to do?" he asked. "The merchantman will
flee us; the war-vessel will destroy us; neither will believe our
colors or give us a chance to explain. We will meet even a worse
reception if we go nosing around a British port--mines, nets and
all of it. We can't do it."

"Let's try it again when this fellow has lost the scent,"
I urged. "There must come a ship that will believe us."

And try it again we did, only to be almost rammed by a huge freighter.
Later we were fired upon by a destroyer, and two merchantmen
turned and fled at our approach. For two days we cruised up
and down the Channel trying to tell some one, who would listen,
that we were friends; but no one would listen. After our
encounter with the first warship I had given instructions
that a wireless message be sent out explaining our predicament;
but to my chagrin I discovered that both sending and receiving
instruments had disappeared.