she suddenly ran into shoal water. She would go
bumping along on the bottom; and, meeting an obstacle, if not too high,
she would be more likely to bounce over it than to smash herself against
it.

But sometimes they do run into things and fetch up?

That is right, they do. Let our naval men tell of the old C plunger--the
first class of sub in our navy--which hit an excursion steamer down the
James River way one time. She was a wooden steamer about 150 feet long,
and the C's bow went clear through the steamer's sides. The steamer's
engineer was sitting by his levers, reading the sporting page of his
favorite daily, when he heard a crash and found himself on the
engine-room floor. Looking around, he saw a wedge of steel sticking
through the side of his ship. He did not know what it was, but he could
see right away it didn't have a friendly look; so he hopscotched across
the engine-room floor and up a handy ladder to the deck, taking his
assistant along in his wake. After rescuing the passengers it took three
tugboats to pry sub and steamer apart.

Our C boat must have hit her a pretty good wallop, for as they fell
apart the steamer sank. They ran the little old C up to the navy-yard to
see how much she was damaged. Surely after that smash she must be shaken
up--her bow torpedo-tubes at least must be out of alignment! But not a
thing wrong anywhere; they didn't even have to put her in dry dock. Out
and about her business she went next morning.

Later another of the same class came nosing up out of the depths, and
bumped head on and into a breakwater down that same country--a solid
stone wall of a breakwater. What did she do? She bounced off, and, after
a look around, also went on about her business.

* * * * *

In the morning our sub up-anchored for her run across the open bay. On
the conning-tower was rigged a little bridge of slim brass stanchions
and thin wire-rope rail, with the canvas as high as a man's chin for
protection; and away she went in a wind that was still blowing hard
enough to drive home-bound Gloucester fishermen down to storm trysails
and sea enough to jump an out-bound destroyer of a thousand tons under
easy steam to her lower plates whenever she lifted forward.

There was not a soul standing around on the main deck of the destroyer
as we passed her, nor on her high forward turtle-deck, which was being
washed clean; and surely not much comfort being bounced around