The Z99 was low
roofed, damp, with an intricate system of rods, controls, engines,
tanks, stop-cocks, compasses, gauges--more things than it seemed
the human mind, to say nothing of wireless, could possibly attend
to at once.
"The policy of secrecy which governments keep in regard to
submarines," remarked the captain, running his eye over everything
at once, it seemed, "has led them to be looked upon as something
mysterious. But whatever you may think of telautomatics, there is
really no mystery about an ordinary submarine."
I did not agree with our "Captain Nemo," as, the examination
completed, he threw in a switch. The motor started. The Z99 hummed
and trembled. The fumes of gasoline were almost suffocating at
first, in spite of the prompt ventilation to clear them off. There
was no escape from the smell. I had heard of "gasoline heart," but
the odour only made me sick and dizzy. Like most novices, I
suppose, I was suffering excruciating torture. Not so, Kennedy. He
got used to it in no time; indeed, seemed to enjoy the very
discomfort.
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