But, had Guy known that his chum, Alec Seton, was on board the submarine, he might not have expressed himself thus. He would still have done his level best to strafe the U-boat, Seton notwithstanding. It would have been a case of duty before everything; but it would have been an unpleasant task. CHAPTER IX At Zeebrugge It would be no exaggeration to state that Alec Seton "had the wind up badly" when the U-boat dived suddenly. He knew what it meant right enough; only on this occasion the positions were reversed. Instead of being the hunter he was the hunted, and, what was worse--worse from a strictly personal point--he was being strafed by some of his own friends, men who, from long practice, had been uncannily adept in sending German submarines on their last, long voyage. Had he been on board a British submarine, and had been chased by a pack of Hun torpedo-craft, he would have borne the situation with comparative calm, knowing that it was part of the game, and that both sides could hit unpleasantly hard. But, a captive in an enemy craft, unable to lift a finger to help himself, Seton had good cause for being in a mild state of funk. It seemed to him that the U-boat was diving almost horizontally, for he slid heavily against the for'ard bulkhead. Then, with a disconcerting roll, the boat regained an even keel. Men were shouting, hand-wheels and levers were being manipulated with undisciplined haste. There was no doubt about it: Fritz was having a sticky time, and taking his medicine badly. Then came the muffled detonation of M.-L. 4452's depth charge. The U-boat, caught by the underwater undulations, rolled and pitched alarmingly. Gear was carried away, and clattered noisily across the steel platforms, the electric lights went out, water began to hiss in--fine but high-pressured jets through the buckled plates and started rivet-holes. In the darkness there was no telling whether the U-boat was plunging to the bed of the North Sea. A sudden impulse prompted Seton to thrust his shoulder against the steel door. In calmer moments he might have reflected upon the needlessness of it. If he had to drown, he might just as well remain in solitude as spend his last moments in the company of a crew of panic-stricken Huns. The door resisted the impact, but unaccountably the lock gave. Stumbling over the raised threshold, the Sub found himself brought up against a number of complicated valve wheels and tubes. There he hung on and waited. Already some of the crew had produced electric torches. The pumps were set to work to keep the slight but none the less dangerous influx of water under control. Von Kloster, his eyes fixed upon the depth gauge, was bellowing out orders, while the unter-leutnant was feverishly attending to the wheel operating the horizontal rudders. Right aft, the sweating engineers were trying to coax the electrically-driven engines into action.