"At first," said Captain Bill, "I thought that the first depth-bomb must have jammed all the external machinery; then I decided that our measures to rise had not yet overcome the impetus of our forced descent. Meanwhile the old hooker was heading for the bottom of the Irish Sea, though I'd blown out every bit of water in her tanks. Had to--fifty feet more, and she would have crushed in like an egg-shell under the wheel of a touring-car. But she kept on going down. The distance of the third, fourth, and fifth depth-bombs, however, put cheer in our hearts. Then, presently, she began to rise; the old girl came up like an elevator in a New York business block. I knew that the minute I came to the surface those destroyer brutes would try to fill me full of holes, so I had a man with a flag ready to jump on deck the minute we emerged. He was pretty damn spry about it, too. I took another look through the periscope, and saw that the destroyer lay about two miles away, and as I looked she came for me _again_. Meanwhile, my signal-man was hauling himself out of the hatchway as if his legs were in boiling water." [Sidenote: The Stars and Stripes signal to the destroyer.] "We've got her!" cried somebody aboard the destroyer, in a deep American voice full of the exultation of battle. The lean rifles swung, lowered. "Point one, lower." They were about to hear "Fire!" when the Stars and Stripes and sundry other signals burst from the deck of the misused _Z-3_. "Well, what do you think of that!" said the gunner. "If it ain't one of our own gang. Say, we must have given it to 'em hard." "We'll go over and see who it is," said the captain of the destroyer. "The signals are O.K., but it may be a dodge of the Huns. Ask 'em who they are." In obedience to the order, a sailor on the destroyer's bridge wigwagged the message. "_Z-3_," answered one of the dungaree-clad figures on the submarine's deck. [Sidenote: No resentment of the adventure.] Captain Bill came up himself, as the destroyer drew alongside, to see his would-be assassin. There was no resentment in his heart. The adventure was only part of the day's work. The destroyer neared; her bow overlooked them. The two captains looked at each other. The dialogue was laconic. "Hello, Bill," said the destroyer captain. "All right?" "Sure," answered Captain Bill, to one who had been his friend and classmate. "Ta-ta, then," said he of the destroyer; and the lean vessel swept away in the twilight. [Sidenote: The cook's opinion of the destroyers.] Captain Bill decided to stay on the surface for a while. Then he went below to look over things. The cook, standing over some unlovely slop which marked the end of a half a dozen eggs broken by the concussion, was giving his opinion on destroyers. The cook was a child of Brooklyn, and could talk. The opinion was not a nice opinion. "Give it to 'em, cooko," said one of the crew, patting the orator affectionately on the shoulder. "We're with you."