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| author | www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org> | 2026-08-03 16:07:20 -0700 |
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| committer | www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org> | 2026-08-03 16:07:20 -0700 |
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diff --git a/79261-0.txt b/79261-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..650a8d9 --- /dev/null +++ b/79261-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7044 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79261 *** + + + + + UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN + + + + +[Illustration: Roaring, firing, cheering, the _Conklin_ blazed her +way by] + + + + + UNDER THE + YANKEE ENSIGN + + BY + RALPH HENRY BARBOUR + + AUTHOR OF “FOR THE FREEDOM OF THE SEAS,” “THE HALF + BACK,” “THE SPIRIT OF THE SCHOOL,” ETC. + + + [Illustration] + + + D. APPLETON AND COMPANY + NEW YORK LONDON + 1919 + + + + + Copyright, 1919, by + D. APPLETON AND COMPANY + + + Printed in the United States of America + + + + + CONTENTS + + + PART I. ACROSS WITH THE FLAG + + CHAPTER PAGE + I. DAVE MAKES AN ENEMY AND FINDS A FRIEND 3 + II. SUBMARINE CHASER NO. _944_ 13 + III. LOST OVERBOARD 24 + IV. THE MUTINY 34 + V. “SURRENDER!” 44 + VI. PETE TO THE RESCUE 53 + VII. PRISONERS ON THE SUBMARINE 63 + VIII. UNDER THE SEA 76 + IX. THE ESCAPE 91 + X. DAVE FALLS ASLEEP 104 + + PART II. SWEEPING THE SEAS + + I. ON PATROL 119 + II. THE NEW “GOB” 130 + III. “CLEAR FOR ACTION!” 143 + IV. THE HUN SHOWS HIS TEETH 154 + V. CONVOY DUTY 165 + VI. FLOATING PERIL 178 + VII. ON THE MINE SWEEPER 187 + VIII. PETE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND 199 + IX. THE ADMIRAL MAKES GOOD 215 + + PART III. STAND BY! + + I. DESTROYER “GOBS” 227 + II. A CHASE INTO THE FOG 242 + III. THE FLAG COMES DOWN 253 + IV. HEROES IN PORT 262 + V. “SUBMARINE!” 272 + VI. THE MUTINY 283 + VII. THE START OF AN ADVENTURE 293 + VIII. THE AIR RAIDERS 309 + IX. PRISONERS OF WAR 318 + X. “STAND BY!” 328 + + + + + LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + + + FACING + PAGE + + Roaring, firing, cheering, the _Conklin_ blazed + her way by _Frontispiece_ + + Silently they watched the U-boat’s approach 64 + + “Got her!” Kennedy shouted triumphantly 156 + + The oars dipped and the boat headed for the submarine 280 + + + + + PART I + + ACROSS WITH THE FLAG + + + + + UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN + + + CHAPTER I + + DAVE MAKES AN ENEMY AND FINDS A FRIEND + + +“Hello, sonny; who let you on board?” + +The tall, stoop-shouldered sailor with the thin face grinned +malignantly. His right sleeve bore a seaman gunner’s mark and a single +enlistment stripe adorned the other. He was a dark-visaged man of +nearly thirty, with deeply-set and crafty eyes under thick, scraggly +brows. The boy who, at the challenge, had paused at the foot of the +fo’c’sle companion, decided then and there that he didn’t like the man, +but he replied quietly and amiably: + +“The quartermaster. Do you know which of these bunks are empty?” + +“Why, say, you ain’t thinkin’ of bunkin’ for’ard! Cabin boys always +live aft, sonny.” + +“If you mean me, I happen to be a seaman.” David Garson moved across +the narrow fo’c’sle and laid his canvas bag on a bunk that showed +no evidence of occupancy. He was seventeen, but scarcely looked it, +for he was not over tall for that age, and had a very boyish face. +But his lack of stature appeared to be atoned for by a compact, +well-proportioned body, and there was capability and self-reliance +behind the youthfulness of his countenance. He was a nice-looking chap, +although you wouldn’t have called him handsome, with brown hair and +eyes, and a well-tanned skin showing above the low neck of his navy +shirt. + +“A what!” exclaimed the other, assuming deep incredulity. “My, ain’t +it awful what war does? Snatches the babes right out o’ their cradles, +don’t it? Where’d you leave your nurse, sonny?” + +“Where you left your manners,” was the quiet reply. + +“Is that so?” sneered the sailor. “Smart, ain’t you? Sort o’ precocious, +eh? Bet your ma felt terrible about losin’ you. Bet you was the sunshine +of the old home, wasn’t you?” + +“What have you got against me?” asked Dave, puzzled. + +“Not a thing! Not a thing! Only you’re too fresh, see? And I’m tipping +you off that you want to talk civil, or something painful might happen +to you.” + +“I see,” responded the boy, dryly. “Some one might mistake me for you.” + +“Aw, cut it!” growled the other. “For two cents I’d hand you a wallop, +you smart Alick! ‘Seaman,’ says you! I’ve swabbed deck with fellers +twice your size, and I’ll do it again if you give me any of your lip!” + +“Why don’t you let me alone if you don’t like my ways?” asked Dave. “I +didn’t start anything.” + +“You’d better not try to.” The gunner, who had followed across the +fo’c’sle, stretched forth a big hand and gave the boy’s head an +ungentle push that, while it did not hurt, sent the blood pouring into +the tanned cheeks. Dave sprang from the edge of the bunk with blazing +eyes. + +“Keep your dirty hands off me!” he said in a voice that trembled in +spite of his efforts to keep it steady. “I haven’t bothered you, and +you’ve no call to bully me. Now let up!” + +“Is that so?” asked the other, thrusting a grinning face closer. +“Suppose I don’t? What would you do, you cute little thing? For two +cents――” + +“Lay off the kid, Chuck!” interrupted a peremptory voice. + +Unheard by them, a short, squarely-built, tow-headed youth of about +nineteen had descended the companion. He had a round, freckled face, +pale blue eyes, a short, button-like nose, and square jaws that were +just now rhythmically busy with a piece of gum. He came across the +fo’c’sle with a sort of cocky swing of his broad shoulders and a wide +smile. But the smile didn’t deceive either Dave or his tormentor. “Some +day, Chuck,” went on the newcomer, “you’ll make a mistake an’ light on +a guy that’s ’most half your size.” + +“What’s it to you, Rooney?” demanded the gunner. “You mind your own +business, or I’ll hand you something, too!” + +“You an’ who else?” inquired the other. “Say, Chuck, you ain’t got +enough up your sleeve to make a motion. The only thing you ever licked +was a stamp, and that didn’t stick. Go on! Fade away! Beat it!” + +“Maybe you can make me!” growled the gunner. But he was already making +a slow retreat. “This baby-face got fresh with me, and I was telling +him something for his own good. If he don’t look out he’s going to run +into something hard, see? And that goes double for you, Rooney!” + +“Yeah, I know,” replied Rooney, sarcastically. “I been hearin’ that +dope for a week. You’re just bluff, Chuck. You ain’t got nothin’ but +talk.” + +“I got enough to put you to sleep, you Bowery tough!” + +“Tough’s the word, matey! Tough enough for you any old day.” + +“Is that so?” The gunner edged with exaggerated nonchalance to the foot +of the companion. “I’ll get you, just the same, believe me!” + +“Sure you will――if my back’s turned,” was the untroubled reply. “But it +ain’t goin’ to be turned, Chuck.” + +“You think you’re smart, don’t you? I’ll fix you some time.” He climbed +the companion, still muttering, and disappeared through the fo’c’sle +hatch. The tow-haired one turned to Dave, chuckling. + +“Ain’t he amusin’?” he asked. “What was he ridin’ you for?” + +“I don’t know. He started it. Much obliged for――for――” + +“Buttin’ in?” laughed Rooney. “That’s all right, kid. Me an’ Chuck’s +been yappin’ at each other ever since this boat left Norfolk. But +nothin’ ain’t happened yet. Some time I’ll paste him one just to end +the――the expense.” + +“Suspense?” laughed Dave. + +“That’s it.” The tow-headed youth grinned. Then: “Say, what’s your +name?” he asked. + +“Garson,” answered Dave. + +“Mine’s Rooney; first name, Pete. I’m French.” He winked broadly. +“What’s your other monicker?” + +“Other――oh, David; Dave for short.” + +“Sure! Like the feller in the Bible. An’ Chuck Morgan was playin’ +Goliar, or whatever his name was. You come from down south, don’t you?” + +“Maryland.” + +“Yeah, I know. That’s the place they sing a song about. I knew you was +from somewhere down yonder, because you talk different. How long you +been in?” + +“A little over three months. I left the Newport station a week ago +Tuesday. I got up here this morning. Do you know if I can take this +bunk?” + +“Sure. Take any you like. If any guy kicks, send him to me. What watch +you in?” + +“Port,” replied the other. “Are you?” + +“Yeah. Stow your duffel and let’s get out o’ here.” + +“I suppose you’ve been in the navy a good while,” said Dave. + +“Me? I joined a year an’ a half ago. ’Bout the time the Huns sunk the +_Sussex_. That got my goat, an’ I figured we’d be goin’ into it pretty +quick after that.” + +“Have you been across yet?” + +“No; this is my first sea duty, same as you. An’ say, kid, it’s goin’ +to be some voyage, take it from Pete!” + +“Is it? Why?” + +“Why? ’Cause we’re goin’ over, that’s why!” + +“Over! You mean this boat’s going to France?” + +“Yeah, France or Paris or some place like that. They ain’t tellin’ it, +but we know. We seen ’em load supplies, kid.” + +“Why, that’s fine, isn’t it?” exclaimed Dave, eagerly. “But――but isn’t +she awfully small to make the trip alone?” + +“She won’t be alone. But she is small, all right, an’ that’s why I’m +tellin’ you it’ll be some trip. Take it from Pete, kid, food ain’t +goin’ to be of no interest to a lot of us guys for a long time!” + +“You mean we’ll be seasick?” said the other thoughtfully. “I suppose I +shall. I’ve never been to sea much. I’ve sailed a boat all my life――” + +“All that time!” marveled Pete, his blue eyes atwinkle. + +Dave laughed. “Well, for five or six years, then, I reckon. But I’ve +never been very far from land.” + +“Nor me. An’ I’m tellin’ you straight that I ain’t cheerin’ much for +it, either. Sometimes I wish I was back on my old job. It had its ups +and downs, but it was pretty steady at that.” + +“What did you do?” Dave inquired. + +“Run an elevator,” chuckled Pete. “Down to the Endicott Building, on +Broad street, in little old New York. That’s my home, New York. I was +born there, an’ wasn’t never out of it till I signed up with Uncle Sam. +Chuck Morgan called me a Bowery tough, an’ that’s what I am, I guess. +Anyway, I was till one day a guy in a silk hat tried to get himself run +over by a truck, an’ I snatched him out of it. He slipped me a ten, an’ +asked did I want a job. I didn’t――much――but I didn’t want to hurt his +feelin’s, an’ so I told him yes. An’ first thing I knew I was workin’ +steady liftin’ an elevator up with a rope. But it wasn’t much of a life +for a husky guy like me. So when the war came along I ducked.” + +“And do you like being in the navy?” asked Dave. + +“Sure! It’s a great life. There ain’t nothin’ to do but work. Trouble +is, though, there ain’t been no scrappin’. I been scrappin’ all my +life, and I sort o’ miss it. But I guess it’s comin’, all right, now. +Those Germans ain’t been doin’ a thing but askin’ for a wallop!” + +“And they’re going to get it,” said Dave, grimly. + +“There’s the truth, take it from Pete! Now, what’s your story?” + +“I reckon I haven’t any,” replied Dave, smiling. “I’m here because I’ve +always wanted to be in the navy, and because――well, a fellow feels as +if he had to do something after the way the Germans have been going on. +Of course, I couldn’t get in until I was seventeen, and I had hard work +getting my mother to consent. There isn’t any one but me at home now, +you see. Dad’s been dead some time, and my sister’s married and living +in California. But after mother saw how much I wanted to get into this +she came around. The day I was seventeen I went up to Baltimore and +enlisted. They sent me to Newport, and I was there three months. Then I +went home on liberty for a week, and now here I am.” + +“Guess it’ll be sort o’ lonely for your ma, won’t it?” reflected Pete. +“Say, if I had a ma I wouldn’t be leavin’ her to go to no war, take it +from Pete.” + +“Oh, yes, I reckon you would. You’d go into this one, just as I did. +It will be lonely for mother, I know――but I just had to do it! She was +perfectly fine about it when she realized how I felt. Mothers are kind +of wonderful folks, aren’t they?” + +“I guess so.” Pete scowled. “I never had any. Not that I knows of. Oh, +well, that’s all right, too. There ain’t no one to worry about me if I +get my fool head blown off. Guess you an’ me’d better go topside. This +tub’s due to pull out pretty soon, I’m thinkin’.” + + + + + CHAPTER II + + SUBMARINE CHASER _944_ + + +A few months before, the craft on which Dave now found himself had +been the pride of a wealthy New York man, and had seldom performed a +more hazardous exploit than to bear its owner up and down the Hudson +River between a palatial home and the city. To-day, shorn of gilt and +draperies, made over, above deck and below, to fit her for her new +requirements, it is doubtful if her former owner would have recognized +her had he seen her lying beside a stone dock in the Brooklyn Navy +Yard. The immaculate white of her hull had disappeared under coats of +lead-gray, and the same dull hue covered all superstructure, masts, +small boats, and standing gear. Even the canvas jackets that covered +the bow and stern guns and the lookout cage on the foremast were +gray. A deck-house had been erected abaft the mainmast, while atop +the wheel-house a bridge now stretched from side to side, a thing of +pipe-iron and canvas. If one looked carefully over the bow one could +just make out under the new paint the yacht’s former name, _Meteor_; +but further back, in big black letters and numerals, was the legend: S +C _944_. + +The _944_ was a hundred and twenty-two feet over all, and had a beam +and a draught that, while conducive to speed, had not been figured +with deep sea voyaging in mind. Her twin oil-burning engines could +send her along at a twenty-mile clip. She carried a complement of +two commissioned officers and twenty-six enlisted men, most of whom, +from captain down to mess attendant, were well under thirty. In fact, +Lieutenant Cowan was but twenty-five, and the _944_ was his first +command; and his junior and executive officer, Ensign Hyatt, was still +younger by two years. Even the engineering head, a non-commissioned +officer holding the rating of chief machinist’s mate, was well on the +under side of thirty. So, it will be seen, on the _944_ enthusiasm took +the place of hard experience. + +But of enthusiasm there was plenty, as Dave discovered that first +evening aboard. By that time they were somewhere in the broad waters +of the Sound, while behind them trailed three other chasers. The +sweltering heat of the August day had given way to the fresh coolness +of night, and a little southeast breeze, straight from the twinkling +lights of the distant shore, played a soft tune in the aerial that +stretched between the short masts. Dave had eaten his first “chow” +on board――had, in a fashion, learned the ropes――and was now on +speaking terms with most of the crew. They were, he thought, a nice +lot, and he was already looking on the _944_ as the Pride of the +Navy, and congratulating himself on not having been relegated to +the _Pennsylvania_ or _Arizona_! And perhaps he had some excuse for +self-gratulation, for on a boat of the chaser size officers and men +are thrown nearer together than on the big ships, and while there is +never any letting down of the bars separating ward room from fo’c’sle, +the conditions of living make for a closer intimacy and a greater +esprit de corps. Dave’s watch was below that evening, and he swung his +legs from his bunk in the little fo’c’sle and listened to the chatter +of the others, the swish of water along the side, and the steady hum +of the engines. The port watch were bewailing the fate that had kept +them on the wrong side of the “pond” until now. “Dutchy,” who was +a big two-fisted Dane, with a long body and short stumps of legs, +lugubriously predicted in his slow and careful manner, that the war +would be all over before they got across. Followed much speculating as +to their destination. Mallory, second class radio man, held for Dover. +Kennedy, gun pointer, said Bordeaux, having already made one trip to +that port on an armed cargo boat. Pete Rooney favored Queenstown, +principally, perhaps, because he had a hankering to set foot on the +sod of his forebears. Todd, master-at-arms, third class, and British +in everything save birth, would have it Plymouth. And some one else +suggested Nantes. Dave was about the only one there who had no theory +on the subject. He didn’t much care where they dropped anchor so long +as it was “over there.” Every one seemed agreed on one thing, at all +events, which was that it needed only their presence in French or +British waters to bring the submarine menace to a speedy end, and Dave +found himself confronted by a mental vision of Admiral Sims standing +on the tip end of Ireland, shading his eyes and searching the horizon +impatiently for sight of the _944_! + +Later, Dave and Pete climbed up and made their way along the dark deck +to the lee of the after-house. There, with the hulk of the three-inch +gun black before them, and the light of the next chaser in line swaying +astern, they became better acquainted. Fisher’s Island dropped away to +port, and the _944_ began to dip and roll, and presently they went back +to the fo’c’sle and turned in. + +Dave stood morning watch, and was on deck when the first light of day +came up over the eastern edge of the world. The _944_ was some fifty +miles east of Cape Cod, and as the dawn brightened he saw that the +four chasers had become four times four, and that a big gray cruiser, +four-stacked, and bristling with eight-inch and six-inch guns, was +hovering to southward. Most of the chasers were of one class, boats +built for their work, capable and speedy looking 110-footers, but here +and there a converted yacht, generally similar to the _944_, lent +variety. Signals fluttered from the flagship, and were answered, and +by the time the first rays of the sun were leveled along the ocean the +flotilla of tiny adventurers had formed in a hollow square formation, +and, with the big cruiser leading, were tossing the foam from their +bows. All that day they steamed eastward over a summer sea, for all the +world like a lot of little gray ducklings following a mother duck, and +at night, with only stern lights showing dimly, they kept their places +and dropped the miles steadily behind them. + +On every craft lookouts watched from deck and cage, for while never +yet had a hostile periscope poked itself above those waters, there was +no knowing when such a thing might happen. Dave had his first trick in +the foretop cage the second day out. He toed the ratlines and squirmed +into the little gray canvas cask that was barely big enough to hold +him. Sitting erect, his head just topped the rim. Twelve feet below +was the flying bridge in front and the big, squatty funnel behind. The +breeze sang in his ears and made elfin music in the aerial wires. It +was rather jolly up there at first, but after awhile the sunlight hurt +his eyes and he began to weary of the ceaseless swing of his perch as +the short mast canted from side to side. The motion wasn’t as soothing +as that of a hammock. Watching the other chasers and the big cruiser +grew monotonous, and searching the empty ocean for enemy periscopes was +horribly idle. It was an event when he could report: “Smoke two points +off the port bow, sir,” or “Sail dead ahead.” He didn’t exactly wish +for a submarine, perhaps, but he came near it toward the last of his +trick. He had two hours of it up there, and then slid down to make way +for his relief. + +Life those first two days was pleasant enough. He found his place and +learned his duties, and became known to the rest of “the bunch” as +“The Kid,” which title, since he was the youngest member of the crew, +he was fairly entitled to. Pete Rooney figuratively adopted him, and +as Pete was a popular and respected person, that fact was held to be +in his favor. Chuck Morgan grouched, and gloomed at him, but Chuck was +in the starboard watch, and they met not so frequently as they would +have otherwise. The food was excellent, and the cook a wonder, and as +long as the chaser behaved herself meals were jolly occasions. They +had three days of perfect weather, with a light easterly breeze and a +smooth sea, and then things happened. + +Some time in the early morning of the fourth day Dave awoke from his +dreams to find himself rolling from one side to the other of his bunk, +and in danger of leaving it completely. The little boat was full of +whines and creakings, while outside a northeast gale was howling +loudly. The _944_ soon showed her shortcomings as a rough weather +craft, for her narrow beam and light draught, while excellent for the +purpose of pursuing submarines and eluding torpedoes, made her easy +prey for a gale. Mess tables were of no use that morning, and even the +Old Man and the luff ate breakfast with one hand and clung to something +stable with the other. By that time the _944_ was thrusting her sharp, +arching bow right into the waves, and the big seas were roaring back +across her deck. They donned their life-vests and stretched the +lifelines, but even then getting from one end of the boat to the +other was a slow and risky business. One by one the companion craft +disappeared from vision in the murk. The gale increased in fury that +night, and after a wave had smashed in the wheel house as though it had +been cardboard, the _944_ was swung about, tail to the storm, and went +plunging and rolling south-westward. + +The next day found them fighting hard. Portholes had been smashed +and the lower deck was flooded half the time. Somewhere the seams +had opened, and the hold fairly gurgled. The wireless went when the +dynamo was flooded, and with that they lost their last touch with the +flagship. On deck everything movable that had not been lashed tight had +gone by the board, and much that still stood was broken or twisted. +They managed to keep the water from the engine room only by pumping +ceaselessly, and Dave took his turn with the others at standing almost +waistdeep in water and clearing waste and débris from the top of the +pump to keep it from clogging. Following seas climbed over the stern +and threatened to make an end of the little craft. The water poured +down the wardroom stairs in cataracts, and clothes, shoes, books, and +papers floated about there in wild confusion. The _944_ carried two +small boats, which were lashed in chocks amidships. These stood the +pounding until, in the middle of the morning watch of the sixth day +out, one of them broke loose and went banging to the rail. + +Dave was one of those hurried to the rescue. Wrestling with a +twelve-foot boat on a wet, slippery deck that stood at all angles, and +under the hammering of a sixty-mile gale and giant seas, is man’s work, +and so the half-dozen sailors found it. But they kept at it, holding +tight when a wave thundered down on them, and then working like Trojans +before the next, and they at last got the boat back in place, and were +securing it with new lashings, when a warning cry sent them groping for +holds. The sea that came aboard over the starboard stern looked to +Dave, in the faint light of a single lantern, as high as a house. He +didn’t expect to survive it himself, and didn’t expect the _944_ to. He +took a strangle hold on the lifeline, crouched, and set his teeth. + +Then he was down, with tons of water atop him, and his hold on the rope +was torn away, and, choking and smothering, he was rolling helplessly +across the canting deck. He tried to call out, but got only a mouthful +of water for his pains, felt horribly frightened, and made frantic +grasps with his hands. + +After what seemed a very long time he found himself face down on the +deck, with one hand clasped painfully about a boat davit and the lower +half of his body suspended sickeningly over a void. He had no breath +with which to call for aid, and scant chance in any case, for, with a +crash that staggered the chaser, another seething cliff of water struck +the counter and hurled itself forward. Dave heard a strangled cry in +the darkness above the confusion of sound, and then, with a silent +prayer for mercy, he flattened himself to the planks, felt the boat +reel wildly, and knew that, despite his clasp on the davit, he must go +over the side when that weight of water struck him. + +There was a brief moment of suspense, during which Dave’s thoughts +raced at lightning speed, and then, with the noise of Niagara, the +solid wall of water struck the stern house and came leaping over and +past with wild, resistless fury. Dave’s last gasp of breath was driven +from his lungs under the impact, his straining fingers were torn loose, +and, in a roaring flood, he went, turning over and over, into the +maelstrom of the seas. + + + + + CHAPTER III + + LOST OVERBOARD + + +Down he went, the dull roar of water in his ears. Then, even more +quickly, he was shot to the surface. Instinctively he thrashed arms and +legs. His lungs seemed bursting by the time his head was momentarily +above the waves, and he could not have cried out had his life depended +on it. All he could do was take a great breath of air as he went +swirling upward on the crest of a sea. For an instant he opened closed +eyes. Below him was a dim gleam of light, and even as he sank suddenly +downward again into a trough he startledly realized that the _944_ was +almost within arm’s length. Then he was again buried under an avalanche +of water and must needs fight for breath and struggle mightily, and +when next he could blink the drops from his eyes the faint glow was +above him but no farther away. By some strange whim of wind or current, +he thought, he was being borne along with the boat! At another moment +the absurdity of the idea would have followed the thought, but not now. +Now he accepted the miracle and made the most of it. Drawing a deep +breath into the tired lungs, he shouted with all his remaining strength. + +But that cry was whisked away on the gale and never reached the deck. A +deluge of water, breaking over the boat, descended on him and sent him +rolling over and over, gasping and choking. Then a mighty wave caught +him up and again tossed him high in air, and it was then, thrashing +and fighting to get his head above the surface, that one hand collided +with a rope and the miracle was explained. He knew then why he had +been so abruptly pulled from the depths and why he was still alongside +the chaser. In some strange manner a line, probably one that they had +been lashing the small boat with, had fouled itself around him and +caught under his life-vest. At all events there it was, slackening and +tightening, pulling him willy-nilly through the sea. He gripped both +hands about it and held on tightly, while a warm flood of hope and +thankfulness surged through him. Then he began to pull himself, hand +over hand, half drowning under the battering waves. Fear that the line +might come away at the other end before he could reach safety stopped +the beating of his heart once, but he kept on. At moments he was thrown +high above the deck, at other times he wallowed far below it, and as +the line jerked in his grasp he set his teeth and held his breath and +went floundering with it, his hands and arms aching with the strain. +Then, in the black darkness, he knew that the hull was beside him. A +sudden roll of the boat left him dangling for an instant half out of +water. He didn’t shout, for he needed every ounce of his strength for +the task that remained. Twice his body was hurled with terrific force +against the side and what little breath remained with him was hammered +out. But he held doggedly to the rope and waited and after what seemed +long, long minutes wave and boat combined to solve his problem. At the +moment that the _944_ rolled her port rail down a wave lifted him up. +He pulled frantically on the line and then, releasing one hand, groped +for another hold. + +There was a horrible instant of despair during which his eager fingers +encountered only empty air, but then, as the deck swung away and he +felt himself dropping back into the sea, his fingers closed about a +rail stanchion. He found a hold for his left hand, too, as the _944_ +careened to starboard, and he felt his dripping body torn from the +water and left dangling against the hull. For a second of time he hung +there limp and still while the roll of the boat carried him up and up. +Then, summoning what little strength was left in his tired body, he +squirmed and pulled, reaching for new holds, finally working one knee +over the edge and then holding himself there while the boat rolled +back again and a torrent of water, bursting over the stern, tore at +his straining hands. He wanted to gasp for help then, but there was +no breath left, and his appeal was no more than a whisper. His wet +clothing seemed to weigh tons, and he despaired of ever pulling himself +to safety. And perhaps he never would have. But while he clung there +like a limpet, hands fastened under his shoulders and he felt himself +being lifted. Then the deck flung itself up at him and he knew no more. + +When he opened his eyes again he was undressed and between the gray +blankets of his bunk in the dimly lighted fo’c’sle. Figures moved about +him hazily. Some one tried to make him drink something hot, and after +muttered objections he swallowed a few mouthfuls and was horribly sick +at his stomach. He must have slept after that, for when he awoke again +daylight was flooding the quarters. He felt absurdly weak, too tired to +lift the hand that, unconsciously, had braced against the edge of the +bunk while he slept, too weary to keep his eyes open. He dozed again +and awoke a third time to find Pete gently shaking him. + +“Here’s your grub, Kid,” said Pete. “Your orders is to drink this +coffee and eat the chuck. Cook’s made you a fine mess o’ gruel. Want to +sit up?” + +Dave blinked and cast a puzzled look about the fo’c’sle. Yes, it really +was the fo’c’sle, which was a mighty relief to him, since during his +recent doze he had dreamed that he was fighting for life in the sea. +Clothing swayed with every roll and toss and boots slid around the +floor. Clinging to the frame of the bunk, Pete was balancing himself +with difficulty and the coffee by some seemingly superhuman effort. He +was alternately frowning anxiously at the aluminum cup and grinning at +Dave. Dave shook his head, however. + +“I’m not hungry, thanks, Pete,” he said. “What――who――” + +“What――who yourself! Come on now an’ be a sport, Kid. Orders is +orders, you know. An’ say, if you don’t eat this chow cook’ll be in +here with his cleaver. He’s in a nasty temper, anyway, what with makin’ +coffee standin’ on his head. Take it from Pete, Kid, you’d better do as +he tells you.” + +Dave smiled and squirmed higher in the bunk, and, with Pete, braced +against the side, aiding, managed to get nearly as much coffee down his +throat inside as out. And he succeeded ultimately in swallowing some of +the gruel and trying to look grateful, although he secretly thought it +particularly vile. Pete refused him talk until he had made his meal. +Then setting mug and pannikin on the deck, where they at once began +to chase each other to and fro, he staggered to the end of the bunk, +bumped his head resoundingly and sat down very suddenly. + +“Well, now, how does it feel to be drowned an’ come to life again, +Kid?” he inquired. “Say, you’re a lucky guy all right, do you know it? +Jonah ain’t got nothin’ on you. You wasn’t never born to be drowned, I +guess. If poor old Billy――” + +Pete stopped abruptly. + +“Who’s poor old Billy?” asked Dave weakly. + +“Nobody,” growled Pete. “Tell me, Kid, did you tie that line around +you before you went over, or what?” + +“No, I didn’t know it was there at first. I guess I was in the water +five minutes before I happened to find it.” + +“Five minutes!” said Pete, looking queer. + +“Well, something like that. Why?” + +“How long do you think you was gone from our midst altogether?” + +“I don’t know, Pete. It seemed a long time, but I suppose it wasn’t +more than ten minutes, maybe.” + +“Huh! You was gone just about three minutes from the time the wave +struck us till I hauled you in again!” + +“Three minutes,” faltered Dave. “You’re fooling! Why――why, it seemed +like twenty!” + +“Sure, I guess it did, at that. After that sea flattened us out Myers +shouts ‘Who’s gone?’ Well, we didn’t know because we was all pretty +busy pickin’ ourselves out o’ the water. I was jammed so hard under the +boat we was lashin’ I couldn’t scarcely get out again. Then Myers tells +us to call our names, an’ we done so, an’ we seen that――that you wasn’t +there. Leastways we knew it. So some one heaves over a life-buoy and +Myers tries to make the bridge to report, ’cause shoutin’ wasn’t no +good. An’ about that time another wave strikes us an’ we had to hold on +for our lives. That wave was about as fierce as the first one, too, and +Billy――” Again Pete caught himself up. “Anyway, it was after that that +I got to the side, with Mallory holdin’ on to me an’ the life-line, an’ +sort o’ seen you hangin’ to the rail. It wa’n’t more than three minutes +all told, Kid. We thought first you hadn’t never been clear over but +had caught yourself at the rail. Then, when we got you back on deck +there was the line snarled up with your life-vest and twisted around +under your arms. Kid, you ain’t got no kick comin’ against your luck, +take it from Pete!” + +“No,” agreed Dave, gravely. Then, “Wasn’t Billy Groom with us last +night there?” he asked. + +Pete nodded. + +“What――where is he now?” + +“Billy? Oh, Billy’s――Billy’s around, I guess.” Pete spoke carelessly +enough, but his eyes shifted from Dave’s. “Well, we’re glad to get you +back, Kid, an’――” + +“Was Billy drowned, Pete?” asked Dave in a small voice. + +Pete frowned deeply, glanced at the other, looked away again, thrust +out his lower lip and at last nodded silently. + +“Gee!” murmured Dave. + +“He went over in the next wave,” said Pete, scowling. “He never had no +show in that sea. We slung him a ‘doughnut,’ but I guess it never came +near him. I thought I wouldn’t tell you, ’cause it might make you sick +again.” Pete eyed the other anxiously. + +“It does――sort of,” muttered Dave. “I had all the luck, didn’t I? Groom +was a better sailor than I’ll ever be, Pete. He had his rating badge. I +guess it would have been fairer if――if he’d had the rope.” + +“Aw, chase yourself!” growled Pete. “Billy was all right, sure. He +was a corkin’ lad. We’re all sorry about him. But say, things don’t +just happen in this world, if you get me, Kid. I mean”――Pete frowned +deeply――“I mean things is all doped out for us beforehand. You was +meant to have that line an’ poor old Billy Groom wasn’t. I don’t know +why, but there it is. Maybe you was wanted to do somethin’ Billy +couldn’t. I don’t know. Well, I got to beat it. The luff’ll be around +pretty soon to see how you are. If you don’t want to tumble out yet, +don’t you do it. Take it easy, Kid.” + +And so Dave took it easy, lying in the bunk and listening to the creaks +and groans of the little craft and the rush and thud of the green seas +outside, and wondered soberly at the ways of Fate. + + + + + CHAPTER IV + + THE MUTINY + + +The _944_ never picked up her consorts on that trip, for with her +wireless apparatus out of commission for three days she had no means of +locating them even if they had been within range of her radio, which +was doubtful. The day after Dave’s exploit and the drowning of Gunner’s +Mate Groom the gale died out to some extent, and the wind shifted to +the northwest, and the chaser’s course was changed accordingly. The +morning of the seventh day out of New York brought fair weather, but +the seas were still mountainous and the boat’s troubles were not yet +ended, for only by keeping the bilge pump ceaselessly at work could the +water be kept out of the engine room. Temporary repairs were made where +possible, and the boat’s nose headed toward the nearest port. Fuel was +getting low and the opened seams demanded attention. For two more days +the _944_ churned her way up and down the long, green seas, bedraggled +but still game. Then, late one warm, still afternoon, Dave, in the +foretop lookout, picked up land, and before dark the tired little +chaser’s anchor was dropped at Palma, one of the Canary Islands. That +port, however, was only a temporary refuge, for, since it was a Spanish +possession and therefore neutral, their visit was necessarily limited +to twenty-four hours. + +The next day, after getting oil, they set off again for Lisbon. +Those were unfriendly waters and a sharp lookout was kept. But while +they began to meet other craft as they neared the entrance to the +Mediterranean nothing hostile came their way. Once a big Norwegian +freighter exchanged signals with them and once a Portuguese destroyer, +a queer, blue-gray, two-funnel ship, bore down on them and asked many +questions. South of Cape St. Vincent the _944_ passed close to a +string of British transports and hospital ships being convoyed by five +big black cruisers and a diminutive torpedo boat. The _944_ received +her first kind word then when the flagship, after a few fluttered +questions, signaled: “Welcome to these waters!” + +The chaser had the coast of Portugal in sight for most of that day and +finally, picking her way very slowly and respectfully through the mine +fields at the mouth of the Tagus River, crept into Lisbon harbor and +anchored, just at sunset, between a French destroyer and a big gray +Portuguese battleship. + +The _944_ spent eight days at Lisbon, eight blissful, restful days, +during which she was patched and calked and cleaned and painted, and +during which twenty-seven sea-surfeited officers and men made the most +of the opportunity to stretch legs ashore. Liberty was freely granted, +and Dave and Pete, now fairly inseparable, saw the city from end to +end. They rode in a broken-down taxicab for nearly two hours at the +expense of a mere 2,000 reis (which, fortunately for their pockets, +was only two dollars of American money), patronized street cars, which +were so numerous that Pete remarked in a homesick voice that they had +New York in the rush hours lashed to the mast, and they lunched and +dined at numerous cafés in company with soldiers and sailors of several +nations and a scattering of darker-skinned civilians. Lisbon was very +colorful, very gay and very hot, and, save for the presence of the +sailors and soldiers, the latter uniformed similarly to the French, +no one would have surmised that a world war was going on only a few +hundred miles away. But even if Lisbon didn’t seem greatly interested +in that struggle, she proved that war was not outside her philosophy +by staging a small affair of her own. Dave never did hear any very +satisfactory explanation of it, but he had a close view from start to +finish. + +It was the fifth day of the _944’s_ enforced sojourn there. She had +gone onto the ways and had slipped off again and now, once more +respectably gray and spotless, was lying near shore on the Lisbon +side. There had been visits that morning. Officers from a Portuguese +ship had come aboard, been entertained and gone off again. Dave and +Pete with several others were trying to keep cool in the shade of the +after-house, while from forward, where a handful of men were lying +about in the bunks in preference to going ashore, the strains of +“Somewhere in France” came faintly from the phonograph by way of the +open ports. Dutchy sang the words under his voice. It was a quiet, +peaceful scene, bathed in the hot sunlight of an August afternoon. +A dozen or more warships of various sizes and nationalities were +scattered about at anchor and many dozens of merchantmen and smaller +fry swung with the tide or clustered at the docks. And into this +peaceful scene there suddenly obtruded the distant boom of a gun. + +Later, all agreed that an atmosphere of unrest and expectancy had +hung over the harbor that day, but it had been too elusive to deserve +mention. Now, it seemed, whatever had been coming had arrived. Half a +dozen startled and interested American jackies sprang to their feet +and gazed toward the town. Then they gazed across the harbor for, just +short of a big battleship lying near the farther shore, a spout of +water arose from the harbor like a geyser. Within the next two minutes +many things happened. The battleship began to fire broadside turrets, +more geysers appeared and the air overhead was filled with the shriek +of flying shells. Dutchy got half way down the forward companion before +he found his nerve and came sheepishly back. To left and right of the +battleship, destroyers joined in the fray, trying, with no discernible +success, to land shells atop a battery that crowned a hill above the +harbor. The distance was too much for the destroyers’ guns, or perhaps +it was a matter of elevation that worked against them. Or it may be +that, after all, they didn’t try very hard. At all events it was only +the battleship that was able to reply satisfactorily. + +A dozen or more greatly mystified American jackies and one equally +mystified lieutenant thronged to the stern of the _944_ and gazed +spellbound. What it meant no one could even conjecture, although Pete +did finally offer a theory. “They’re crazed by the heat!” he murmured +awedly. The shells from the hill were finding their targets now, and, +although the battleship was doing some lively work, she was getting the +worst of the exchange. Some five ships took part in the battle, four of +them destroyers, and three were receiving hard treatment five minutes +after the trouble started. As the _944_ was not in range no effort was +made to move her. The shells screamed over her, but none came near. +The crew of one of the destroyers took to the boats, and then on the +battleship the flag began to come down. But the shrapnel still burst +about the big ship. By that time machine gun fire had opened from the +arsenal on the harbor-side, and one of the small boats bearing sailors +from the abandoned destroyer was raked, several casualties resulting. +Along the docks interested spectators looked on unexcitedly. Three +destroyers were still firing at the shore battery but with scant +success. That none of the ships returned the fire from the arsenal +puzzled those on the _944_, for the arsenal guns were now dealing +havoc. Lieutenant Hyatt, who had been watching affairs from the stern +of the chaser, suddenly turned and gave orders. The crew scattered and +the lieutenant strode forward and climbed to the bridge. A minute later +the chaser had her anchor up and was swinging slowly around. + +Down the harbor she went unhurriedly and with much dignity until she +lay broadside to the arsenal. As she approached the range of the guns +the firing dwindled and stopped, for the American ensign fluttered +above her, and however eager the troops behind the stone walls may +have been to shoot down the sailors aboard their own ships they had no +intention of starting international complications. The _944_ dropped +anchor once more and began to swing slowly around with the current. On +deck, as the chasers had approached the firing zone, there had been +some uneasiness and a very evident desire to retire to the protection +of deck houses, but on the bridge, in full view, Lieutenant Hyatt, a +cigar in his mouth, had strolled nonchalantly to and fro as though +he had never a care in the world and bullets had never been known to +penetrate a white duck uniform. + +The maneuver had puzzled the men at first, but when Lingard, boatswain’s +mate, pointed across the harbor they saw the reason for it. One of the +destroyers had pulled up her anchor and was slipping down toward the +arsenal. At least two guns were manned, and the ship’s intention was as +plain as a pikestaff. She had meant to run past and let go at the +arsenal with her port guns, a feat that would have caused considerable +havoc. Now, however, evidences of a change of heart were to be seen. The +_944_ had dropped anchor so close under the walls of the arsenal that +the destroyer would scarcely dare to attempt to squeeze past on the +shore side, while, if she attempted to fire from the other, she would +very probably land a four-inch shell somewhere in the American boat. +Lieutenant Hyatt seemed never to so much as glance at the destroyer, but +it is to be suspected that he had a very fair idea of her actions, and +possibly he was quite as much relieved as any one aboard when the long, +gray craft changed her course and swung back toward the farther shore. + +Shrapnel from the hill top followed her, but the aim was poor and there +were no hits and the destroyer returned to her former anchorage and +down came her flag on the run. The battleship and one destroyer had +already capitulated and now the remaining two followed the example. +In five minutes more the battle was over, in ten the sightseers along +shore had returned to their interrupted affairs, and in twenty Lisbon +harbor had settled down again into its wonted peacefulness. + +When the liberty boat came back later the mystery was explained. +The Portuguese navy, or so much of it as was in port, had decided +to mutiny, the sailors concluding that they didn’t care to take any +further part in the war. Seizing a time when many of the officers +were ashore the crews had imprisoned the rest and declared their +independence. It had taken the fort, however, less than twenty minutes +to show them the error of their ways. What happened afterward to the +mutineers those on the _944_ never learned. Several were injured and +many were conveyed later to the arsenal in irons, but their ultimate +fate was not learned. Pete said he didn’t believe they’d shoot any of +them because it was against the law to take the life of a crazy person, +and, he added, “if those poor nuts weren’t crazy I’ll eat my hat! An’ +say, Kid, I’ll be a lot easier in what I call my mind when we pull out +o’ here. I’m feelin’ sort o’ queer in the bean myself. It must be in +the air!” + +Four days later, having received her orders, the _944_ slipped out of +the Tagus and pointed her gray nose due north. No one aboard had any +regrets, for Pete spoke for all when, looking back at the fading city, +he said solemnly: “Them Portugueezers may be all right when you get to +understand them, but they ain’t home folks!” + + + + + CHAPTER V + + “SURRENDER!” + + +The chaser picked up Cape Finisterre the next afternoon and for an hour +or more had the coast of Spain in sight. Then land fell away again and +their course was laid for Ireland, and Pete was jubilant. A second day +without event brought them fairly into the submarine zone and since, +of officers and men, only Kennedy, of the after gun crew, had sailed +those waters during war time, there was a good deal of poorly disguised +excitement aboard. They never got very far from their life-vests +and when any one had nothing else to do he leaned against something +somewhere on deck and strained his eyes for periscopes. And, of course, +with so much looking and so much expectancy something was bound to +happen, and did. + +Just at sunset that evening Stearns, on lookout duty forward, raised +his voice in a shout that was part triumph and part alarm. “Submarine +broad off the port bow!” yelled Stearns. “Submarine, sir! You can see +her plain!” Every one within sound of the lad’s voice flocked to the +rail, while, on the bridge, Captain Cowan already had his glasses to +his eyes. And there she was, as plain as the lookout had promised, some +two miles distant, just awash and apparently motionless. The sun’s rays +showed bright on the curve of her hull, and, while no conning tower was +visible, she was unmistakably a U-boat. Even Kennedy agreed to that. +There were two courses open to the _944_. One was to get away from +that place as quickly as her engines would take her and the other was +to fight. To the credit of the chaser be it said that several seconds +before the order came from the bridge, both bow and after guns had lost +their jackets and two crews were very busy with breech mechanism and +ammunition. + +Captain Cowan put his mouth to the engine room tube, eager hands +fastened on lifebelts, the _944_ swept to port, the engines played a +louder tune and the broad, slanting funnel poured black smoke. Soon the +chaser was doing her best, or perhaps a little better, for down below +engineers and firemen knew what the stake was and were working with a +will. Half a mile was swept astern. The submarine paid them no heed. +At the bow gun the crew watched the bridge imploringly and growled +impatiently over inaction. Finally: + +“Ready, down there?” called the luff. + +“Ready, sir!” + +“Nineteen hundred yards!” + +“Nineteen, sir!” + +“Eighteen-fifty!” + +“Right, sir!” + +Then came a disgusted wail from the foretop: “’Taint a sub, sir! It’s a +capsized boat!” + +A moment of silent dismay followed. The _944_ plowed on, ducking her +bows and spraying the forward gun crew. Then, from the bridge: “The +lookout’s right,” came the disgusted tones of the luff, “But you’ll +never have a better target, men. Fire!” + +Well, there was some satisfaction in that, and the crew made the best +of it. Perhaps it was just as well that the target was not a U-boat, +after all, for the first two shells dropped far short and the third +was only a doubtful hit. But after that that floating hulk never had +a chance. The after gun crew requested to be allowed to join in the +festivities and were given permission, and for a few minutes that +small area of the North Atlantic was noisy indeed. The after crew +claimed the honors later, and the subject afforded animated and even +heated debate all the rest of the evening, but the question was never +settled. The only thing certain was that the hull of a small schooner, +possibly that of a French fisherman, was the recipient of some ten +shells and finally sank gracefully from the scene. + +That night there was a second alarm, but this time it was a glimmering +fish that darted past the bow and caused the cry of “Torpedo!” The +excitement had subsided by the time Dave had reached the companion, +still fumbling with his life-vest. The rest of the night passed +uneventfully, save for the sighting of two patrol boats. + +Morning came with a calm sea and a silvery mist, and Dave was busy with +pail and brush in the lee of the after-house when there came a startled +cry from a lookout in the waist, echoed by others. Dave dropped his +brush, straightened up and gazed about him. On deck everything looked +normal. Then his eyes swept seaward and his jaw dropped. Not fifty +yards away, spectrally visible in the ocean haze, rode a long, low +shape that kept pace with them and drew gradually closer. He had +often and often speculated on what it would be like to find a U-boat +alongside, and now he knew! For the first moment surprise crowded out +all other emotions. He could hear and almost see the water running +from the scuppers, and he did see the sudden appearance of the two +guns, one forward and one aft of the conning tower, that arose as if by +magic from the deck. Then he came to life and stopped being curious. +Already the after gun crew was at stations and the chaser was a small +hive of activity. And just then a voice came across the water through a +megaphone. + +“Surrender, sir, or I’ll blow you out of the water!” + +On the submarine’s deck a blue uniformed officer was dimly visible, his +face hidden by the megaphone. The two guns were now trained straight on +the _944_. The officer spoke in fair English and much to the point. On +the chaser’s bridge there was a moment of hesitation. Then, however, +the captain made his answer. It isn’t printable here. And as he replied +the _944_ swung abruptly on her heel, bringing her stern around, and +her after gun barked. + +That shell missed badly, principally for the reason that the after gun +muzzle could not be lowered far enough, and the U-boat replied instantly +and with effect. Dave, hustling cartridges from the after-house, felt a +blast of air in his face, there was a sharp crackling sound and he was +rolling around in what seemed a world of flying fragments. His progress +stopped under the small boat lashed forward of the house. Bewildered, he +scrambled to his feet. Torn deck planking and splinters of wood met his +gaze. A few feet away lay the box of cartridges he had been carrying. He +felt dizzy and horribly confused. His left sleeve was torn from elbow to +wrist and on his forearm a deep gash was oozing blood. The after gun was +still firing, but the U-boat was no longer in sight. He made his way +back, rescuing the cartridge box. Young Stearns came groping his way +toward him, dragging one leg, supporting himself by the house. + +“What is it?” asked Dave anxiously. “Are you hurt?” + +“Leg,” answered Stearns, trying to smile. “Bust, I guess. I’m all +right, Kid. Don’t mind me.” + +He stumbled on, and Dave, feeling a little sick, made his way for the +stern. Things were messy there, but the gun had escaped damage. Two +of the crew had been hurt, but not badly. One shell, it seemed, had +struck the boat at the stern just above the water line, but the swing +of the craft had to some extent deflected the force of the explosion. +A second, from the submarine’s forward gun, had passed between the +gun crew and the after-house. A third, it was believed, had missed +narrowly, unless it had struck somewhere forward. + +“Do you think we’ve lost them?” asked Dave, ripping off the cover of +the shell box. + +“Don’t know,” replied Kennedy. “We’re zig-zagging and making east, and +if this fog holds we may fool her.” + +“Silence!” commanded Briggs, gun captain, and firing ceased. + +“We’re only wasting shells,” he said. “Keep your eyes open, fellows, +for she may show up again. If she doesn’t put a torpedo into us, I’m +willing to fight her all day with guns.” + +“Sure!” agreed Kennedy. “We’d have got her then if the Old Man had +stuck it out.” + +“Don’t be a chump,” answered Briggs. “She had us broadside and would +have sunk us with two shots. I don’t see yet how we managed to fool +her.” + +“We didn’t,” ventured Dave. “She fooled herself. That captain thought +we were too surprised to know what to do.” + +“That’s right,” some one else agreed. “It’s lucky for us we were doing +a good fourteen, or we’d never have turned in time.” + +“You men that are hurt, beat it forward and get looked after,” said +Briggs. “Don’t be long, for we may be busy again in a few minutes. That +means you, too, Kid. Go ahead, all of you.” + +“Aw, we ain’t damaged,” grumbled one of the wounded. “Suppose she pops +up again?” + +“Do as you’re told,” replied Briggs, shortly. + +Dave followed the other two and, in the fo’c’sle had his arm hastily +bathed and bound up. The _944_ was tearing off a good twenty miles an +hour and still dodging from port to starboard and back again. But as +Dave hurried back to the deck that erratic progress ceased and the +chaser turned in a trail of foam and headed north once more. “If we had +depth charges aboard, as we ought to have,” Dave overheard from the +bridge, “I’d look for her, but as it is I think we’d better mind our +business.” It was the captain speaking, and, although Dave couldn’t +hear what Lieutenant Hyatt said he gathered that the latter was not +approving of running away. + +The mist had amber gleams in it now, for eastward the sun was well out +of the sea. Dave satisfied himself that no damage had been wrought +forward, waved a hand to Pete, who, chewing his gum steadily, was +nonchalantly posed against the bow gun, and returned to his station. +Already it was possible to see a much greater distance, for the sun +was striking through the mist and making the ocean world a glorious +amber mystery. He entered the after-house and picked up another box of +cartridges, and as he stepped back to the deck he heard a short, sharp +yelp from aft, and then Briggs’s voice crying: + +“Carry on!” + +Then so many things happened at once that he could never, in memory, +place them in sequence. The box of cartridges disappeared from his +hands as if by magic, the after-house fairly melted into nothingness, +and for the second time on the voyage Dave found himself going down +through fathoms of roaring water. + + + + + CHAPTER VI + + PETE TO THE RESCUE + + +After a seemingly interminable time Dave came sputtering back to the +surface, breathless, dazed, feeling very much as if he had been shot +from a mortar. His head rang and he was conscious of lameness in his +arms. For a moment, satisfied to keep his head out of water, he trusted +to the buoyancy of his life-vest and tried hard to realize what had +happened. Failing, he took stock of his chances of rescue. At first +they looked very slim. About him nothing was visible save the golden +mist, which, seen from the surface, was slowly writhing under the first +breath of a gentle breeze. Then the sharp bark of a rapid-fire gun +shattered the silence. It came from his left. He started to strike out +in that direction, but after a few strokes stopped. From back of him +had come a second shot, and of the two the latter somehow sounded more +like the bark of the _944’s_ three-inch guns. He swung about and swam +in the new direction, and as he did so a third shot rang out, and then +a fourth, and he thought he could hear the sing of the shells. Two +shots answered from the other gun, which now seemed in a new quarter. +He judged that he was safely out of range and that the chaser and +U-boat were engaged in a running fight. How either could be visible to +the other in the mist he could not understand, not realizing that the +mist, while heavy just above the water, was fast burning off above. The +firing continued briskly for several minutes and then stopped, and by +that time both guns sounded much farther away and he realized with a +sinking heart that the _944_ had abandoned him. + +That knowledge and the fact that it hurt him horribly to use his arms +stopped his labors and he let himself float. Fortunately, the sea was +almost as calm as the proverbial millpond, as though the blanket of +mist was holding it smooth. His life-vest held his shoulders just above +the surface, and, he reflected, as long as the calm lasted, he would +be able to bob about until hunger or exhaustion did its work. Somehow, +the chance of being picked up didn’t enter far into his calculations. +He seemed so absolutely alone and so tiny in that immensity of ocean! +Perhaps, he thought, when the mist cleared off his plight wouldn’t look +so hopeless, but just now he was thoroughly despairing. + +His thoughts jumped from one subject to another in a way that left his +mind tired and confused, and he ended by trying not to think at all. +That, however, was impossible, and he was soon back at it. He wondered +whether his mother would give up the home at Sparrensville and join his +sister and her husband in California, whether the _944_ had escaped +from the submarine, how Tom Stearns’s leg was, what Pete Rooney was +doing, and whether Pete would miss him, whether there were sharks in +those waters, what time it was―― + +Well, he could easily find that out, and he lifted his right arm to +look at the little silver watch that had been strapped about his +wrist. But it wasn’t there, and he remembered taking it off when his +arm was being bandaged because the blood had trickled down and stained +the leather. He had dropped it in a pocket, but he didn’t care enough +now to search for it. Besides, he reflected dismally, the water had +probably stopped it before this. For some reason that seemed the last +straw, and he sniffed a few times and felt tears gathering in his eyes. +Then the absurdity of crying because his watch had stopped struck him +and he laughed aloud, a trifle hysterically, and felt better. After +all he wasn’t dead yet. Lots and lots of folks had been rescued in +mid-ocean, and why not he? Hadn’t Pete declared just the other day that +he was never born to be drowned? He began to take courage again. Things +might have been worse, he told himself, with an attempt at philosophy. +The water might have been much colder and ten times rougher, and it +might have happened at night. Now the sun was making itself felt more +every minute and its warmth was good. He was talking aloud to himself +by this time, and the sound of his own voice was cheering. To prove +that he was not altogether downhearted he pursed his lips to whistle. + +The whistle didn’t come, though, for at that moment he heard a faint +cry from the mist. It sounded so much like his own name that he feared +for a second that his mind was wandering. But there it was again: + +“Ki-i-id!” + +He must be dreaming. Or had he only heard the cry of a gull? But he +answered, putting all his breath in a long shout of “Hello!” Then he +waited, his heart beating so loudly that he feared he would not hear +the response if it came. But he did. From afar trailed the faint thread +of sound: “Shout ... again!” + +He shouted, not only again but many times. They were seeking for him in +a boat. His troubles were over or soon would be. He forgot the pains +in his arms and shoulders and struck out vigorously toward the distant +voice. It was nearer now, and its message was, “Coming, Kid!” It was +Pete. + +Through the golden haze, now fast thinning, the two voices drew nearer +and nearer. Dave listened for the sound of oars, and was puzzled at not +hearing them. Then Pete’s cheerful tones were almost at hand, and Dave, +pausing in his swimming, strained his eyes to find him. + +“Are you all right?” called Pete. + +“Yes. Where are you?” + +“Coming as fast as I can, Kid! It’s slow work, but――” + +And then out of the haze not many yards distant something took shape, +something just above the water that was never in the world a boat! Dave +stared bewilderedly as into his vision floated the grinning countenance +of Pete, freckles and all. He was swimming and pushing ahead of him +one of the chaser’s big life buoys! + +“Get aboard,” called Pete. “Gee, that’s the craziest thing I ever tried +to shove!” + +“Where――where did you come from?” gasped Dave. + +“Oh, I just dropped over for a swim. Lay hold of this, Kid, and rest +yourself. Sure you’re all right? Gee, when I saw you take a backward +flip over the side I thought you was a gonner! ‘Good night!’ says I. +But you came up all right just before the fog hid you an’ I guessed you +wasn’t dead yet. You and the deckhouse sort of went off together, Kid!” + +“What happened?” asked Dave. He put his elbows over the canvas rim of +the buoy and tried to get his breath back. + +“Oh, nothin’ much, except that sub sneaked up on us again an’ exploded +a shell in the after-house. Why you wasn’t killed is beyond me! I was +comin’ along the deck when it happened. There was a bang and the house +sort of melted away an’ I saw you doing a Kellermann into the ocean. +That was some dive, take it from Pete!” + +“But――but I didn’t see the U-boat!” + +“No more did any one until she’d lammed two shots at us. Then Tracey, +in the cage, yelled down that he’d found her an’ we got busy. I didn’t +stay to help, though. I just grabbed this ‘doughnut’ and lit on my +tummy.” + +“You mean you jumped over? What for?” + +Pete viewed him disgustedly across the life buoy. “Ain’t I told you I +dropped in for a swim? Say, what would you have done? Just let me go +floatin’ off to Africa?” + +“Oh! But――but Pete, you oughtn’t to have! Now we’ll both drown!” + +“Drown! Nothin’ doin’, Kid! I ain’t got no intention of drownin’. It’s +too damp. Why, say, this thing’ll float us until the war’s over an’ the +United States Army’s eatin’ breakfast in Berlin!” + +“Well, it was――mighty fine of you,” muttered Dave. “And plucky, but you +oughtn’t to have done it. I suppose they didn’t know I was overboard?” + +“You didn’t say anything to the Old Man about goin’, did you?” asked +Pete, dryly. “Even if they had known, you don’t suppose they’d have +stopped to pick you up, do you? Not with that U-boat hammerin’ ’em to +bits! They’d have dropped a life buoy over an’ let it go at that. Well, +that’s what I did. Only I went over with the buoy. You see, I argued +like this. ‘The Kid’s alive all right,’ thinks I, ‘but he’s sure to +have somethin’ missin’, like a head or a leg or somethin’, an’ he won’t +be much good for swimmin’. So what he needs is a pal to sort o’ aid +his failin’ steps, so to speak.’ Say, you ain’t lyin’, are you? You’re +really all here?” + +“Yes, I am really, Pete. I feel kind of bruised――” + +“That’s funny, too! You was only pushed overboard by a dose of +shrapnel. Some folks is easy hurt!” + +Dave smiled. Then “Are any of the others wounded or――or killed, Pete?” +he asked. + +“None killed, I guess. Not when I left, anyway. Chuck Morgan got a +splinter, and I think some of the guys at the after gun was messed up a +bit, but I ain’t sure. We got away from the Fritz all right, I guess. +Sounded so, anyway. They couldn’t keep up with the old _944_. It seems +sort o’ wrong to run away from ’em, but those subs has got bigger guns +than ours, an’ a nasty way of shootin’ straight! Now the question is, +Kid, what’s the program goin’ to be?” + +Dave shook his head, gazing helplessly about him. The mist was nearly +gone, and what remained was writhing and twisting in the breeze. “I +suppose all we can do, Pete, is sit tight and wait for some one to pick +us up.” + +“Sure, but we might send a radio,” answered Peter. “‘S O S to all +ships, from steamer Doughnut, latitude――.’ What’s our latitude, Kid?” + +“I guess you’d joke if you were dying,” grumbled Dave. Now that Pete +was there to take command, Dave felt privileged to grumble a little. + +“Well, I couldn’t grouch,” replied the other cheerfully. “That’s one +sure thing, Kid. I don’t know whether we could both sit on this thing +an’ paddle it with our feet an’ get anywhere. What do you think?” + +“Would it hold us?” + +There was no reply from Pete. He was staring intently across the water. + +“What is it?” asked Dave eagerly. + +“Well, if I saw what I think I saw,” responded Pete, “we won’t have to +do no paddlin’.” + +“A ship?” + +“Yeah, sort of. A submarine. Maybe I was mistaken, but――no, I wasn’t +neither. There she comes straight for us. See her? No, no, over this +way more. You’re looking too far to the left. Got her?” + +“Yes,” murmured Dave. “Do you――do you think she’s German, Pete?” + +“You bet she’s German, ’cause I know that murderin’ boat like I’d know +my own grandmother if I had one. She’s the one we been scrappin’ with, +Kid.” + +“Maybe she won’t see us.” + +“No fear! She’s spied us long ago. Well, I’d rather go aboard somethin’ +else, but we can’t be choosey.” + +“Maybe it would be better if we just――just slipped off and went down,” +faltered Dave. + +“What for? Think I’m scared of a bunch o’ fat Huns? Not so you’d ever +know, Kid! Only thing botherin’ me is, how’ll I be able to take dinner +with the captain, not speakin’ no German?” + + + + + CHAPTER VII + + PRISONERS ON THE SUBMARINE + + +Silently they watched the U-boat’s approach. At first she had been +only a low, grayish protuberance on the sea, all detail softened and +obscured by the last wreaths of haze, but now, a few hundred yards +distant, she was plain enough. They could see men on the deck forward +of the queerly shaped conning tower and the sunlight glinting on the +bow gun and the water curving away from the knife-like bow. Pete, +watching thoughtfully, said: + +[Illustration: Silently they watched the U-boat’s approach] + +“They’ll be askin’ us questions, Kid, if they take us aboard. They’ll +want to know things it ain’t good for ’em to know. If we don’t say +nothin’ they’re likely to bat us on the bean and drop us overboard +again. I guess the best way’ll be to sort o’ string ’em along, eh?” + +“Lie, do you mean?” + +“Well, I wasn’t callin’ it that, but maybe it is. If you don’t like to +do it, maybe you’d better leave the jollyin’ to me. I ain’t got no +conscience when it comes to deceivin’ a Hun an’ a enemy.” + +“I don’t suppose it will be lying――exactly,” answered Dave. “Deceiving +the enemy is――is different. Why don’t they sheer off a little? Are they +trying to run us down?” + +It did look so, for the U-boat came gliding on as straight for the two +boys as though it meant to thrust its slender nose between them. At the +last moment, however, when Dave was ready to throw himself back into +the water, it swung slightly and its long gray hull passed a few yards +away. On the bow was the inscription _U-H-37_. From the narrow deck a +dozen sailors gazed down on them, mildly curious, while an officer, +whose gold braid was tarnished and worn, stood beside the forward gun +and a second and younger officer leaned against the curving base of +the conning tower. Each, Dave observed, wore on his sleeve the two +stripes and crown of a lieutenant. The submarine’s engines had made a +very perceptible clamor during its approach, but now they were stilled, +and the underwater craft slowed and stopped. It was the officer at the +gun who spoke, and Dave thought he recognized him as the one who had +shouted to the _944_ through a megaphone. He used no megaphone now, +however, nor needed to, since only a dozen yards of water separated +boat and life buoy. + +“What ship you from?” he asked in good English. + +“United States Chaser _944_,” answered Pete. + +“What you do in the water?” + +“Shell knocked us in.” + +“Want to come out?” + +“You bet,” answered Pete, cheerfully. + +The officer frowned mightily. “You talk to your officers like you talk +to me, eh?” he demanded. “Suppose I go away and leave you there?” + +“Sorry, sir,” apologized Pete. But Dave thought he didn’t look very +sorry and feared for a moment that the U-boat commander would act on +his own suggestion. Instead, though: + +“Swim here and we take you on board,” he said. “You Americans have no +manners. You are all pigs.” + +They dropped off the life buoy and started for the submarine, but +the commander stopped them sharply. “Bring with you that buoy,” he +directed, adding grimly: “Maybe you need it again.” + +A moment later, pulled aboard by some of the crew, they stood on +the steel deck and faced the commander. He looked to be about forty +years of age, and had a very round face adorned by a broad nose over a +grizzled mustache that ended in waxed points, and two sharp gray eyes +under heavy, bristling brows. He looked not unamiable, and his first +words were good-natured enough. + +“You go below with this man and he will find you some dry clothing,” +he said. “Then I will have a little talk with you.” A hatch mid-way +between gun and conning tower was open and through this, one of the +sailors, a squat, sullen-faced youth, led the way. A ladder ran +straight down, and having descended it they found themselves in a +surprisingly long white-enameled compartment, lined with bunks on each +side. There was an indescribable odor down there, an odor that seemed +to combine the smell of oil and of stale sea water and damp clothing. +The bunks held only mattresses and tumbled gray blankets, and several +were occupied. From a locker beneath one the sailor pulled out a heap +of clothing which he spread out in silence on the floor of the narrow +passage for their inspection. + +“I don’t want any of the dirty truck,” growled Pete. The sailor looked +up and spoke crossly in German, but neither knew what he said. “Sure, +that’s true enough,” said Pete, “but I ain’t hankerin’ for no disease, +Dutchy.” + +“I guess we’d better put them on until our own things are dry,” said +Dave. “If we don’t they may shoot us or something.” + +“Maybe you’re right,” agreed Pete. “Hello, look here!” He held up a +blue cloth sailor’s cap, bearing the words, “_H. M. S. Owl_” on its +ribbon. “What do you know about that? British, ain’t it?” + +Before Dave could reply the sailor snatched the cap from Pete’s hand +and tossed it into the locker, muttering angrily. Pete’s pale blue eyes +snapped and Dave looked for trouble, but, restraining his resentment, +the former stooped and picked up a suit of stained blue flannel and +proceeded to doff his own wet clothes which were trickling water on +the flooring. Dave followed his example. At that instant a terrific +crashing and clattering assailed their ears and they started in alarm. +But the sound was only that of the big Diesel engines taking up their +task again. There was a perceptible tremor of the frail steel hull and +through the open hatch above a fresh current of air blew into the +unfragrant quarters. + +When they were dressed and their wet clothing had been taken charge of +by the sour-visaged sailor they were led aft along the passage, past +what appeared to be an officer’s stateroom, to the central station +beyond. This was a compartment slightly longer than wide, under the +conning tower. The walls were white, save where yellow rust stains +showed, and were beaded with moisture. A ladder led upward to the tower +and there was a bench at one side, but for the rest the place held only +a vast and confusing array of machinery; huge valves, immense dials, +steering wheels, compass, gauges, controllers, levers, and manifolds. +A periscope terminated here, too, and against one curving steel wall a +round clock ticked unheard above the roar and clatter of the engines. +Pipes and cables and spreading wires were everywhere overhead and +against the walls, and above the steering wheel a chart hung in a metal +frame. There was but one occupant of the compartment when they entered, +a petty officer, whose rating and branch mark, an anchor and cog wheel, +surmounted by a crown, in silver, was unfamiliar to them. + +As the boat was on the surface it was being controlled from the +conning tower. Two electric lamps cast a wan glow over the place, +leaving it in a pale twilight through which the metal instruments +gleamed mysteriously. Fore and aft the passage seemed to continue +interminably, and aft, from which direction the clamor of machinery +came, the big engines were partly visible. Pete strolled across and +seated himself on the bench, but their custodian sprang toward him and +broke into angry growlings. + +“Oh, all right, sport,” sighed Pete. “But if you’d been pushing a life +buoy all over the Atlantic Ocean you’d want to sit down, too.” He got +up, in obedience to the man’s gestures, and interested himself in the +reflector of the periscope, eyed by the sailor in sullen suspicion. +Several minutes passed. Their ears began to ache with the ceaseless +clamor of the engines, and the air, heavy with the odor of crude oil +and battery fumes, was oddly oppressing. Then the hatch above darkened +and the captain descended the ladder. + +“Ah, you feel better now, yes?” he inquired genially. “So we have a +little talk.” He seated himself on the bench and observed them with +every indication of good will. “Your ship is a new ship, eh?” + +“Yes, sir,” replied Pete. “Built two months ago.” + +“And you are both seamen? Not what you call petty officers?” + +“Seamen, sir.” + +“The American navy is a very fine navy, I know. I have been in your +wonderful country. You are building many new ships, I understand, to +make war on us.” + +“Yes, sir, quite a bunch of ’em,” answered Pete cheerfully. + +“Yes, maybe fifty, eh? Maybe a hundred?” + +“I don’t know how many. They ain’t tellin’ us.” + +“So? Well, we know――we in Germany.” He chuckled deeply and winked at +them. “We know much. You were on your way from New York when we met +you, eh?” + +“Yes, sir; Syracuse, New York.” + +“Syracuse?” The captain frowned. “Where is that?” + +“Just south of New Rochelle,” said Pete gravely. + +“So? And you were going to――?” He paused, questioningly. + +“I don’t know, sir. They forgot to tell us that. Somewhere across.” + +“Maybe Queenstown?” asked the officer, slyly. + +Pete shrugged. “Maybe. Or Dover. Or Plymouth. I don’t know.” + +“How happened it that you were by yourself alone?” + +“There was some more of us, but we got lost in a storm.” + +“And the others? They were what you call chasers, like yourself?” + +“Cruisers, sir; seven of ’em.” + +“So? What were the names?” + +Pete hesitated a bare instant. Then: “I don’t know ’em all, Captain. +There was the _Greenwich_ an’ the _Chelsea_ an’ the _Bronx_ an’ the +_Harlem_.” + +“You are lying, eh?” purred the officer. “There are no such ships in +the American navy.” + +“These is all new ones.” + +“Ah, and how large are they?” asked the other, suspiciously. + +“Well, middlin’ big, sir. I don’t know exactly. I guess the _Bronx_ is +about 8,000 tons. An’ the others is about like that.” + +“Where did you part company with them?” + +“Can’t say exactly. About two days out of Syracuse.” + +“Where were they going to?” asked the officer. + +“Same place we was, but I don’t know where that is.” + +“Maybe they carried soldiers. Or maybe you had troop ships with you, +too?” + +“No, sir. Not this time.” + +“How many soldiers have left your country to fight against us?” + +“About a thousand,” answered Pete, unblushingly. + +“A thousand! What you mean?” The captain scowled ferociously. “More, +more than a thousand has come across! Many thousand! Stop your lying to +me or I throw you straight into the ocean!” + +“Well, that’s what I heard,” said Pete, untroubledly. “Maybe two +thousand. You can search me.” + +“Search you? What I search you for? What talk is it that you make?” + +“That’s just a sayin’, Captain. What we call slang.” + +“So? Well, don’t talk with me slang. What is the trouble with this man? +Can he not talk?” + +“Sure, he’s a fine little talker, Captain, but he ain’t all there.” +Pete dropped his voice confidentially and tapped his head and winked. +“He is what we call ‘nutty.’ Get me?” + +“‘Nutty?’ Crazy, you mean?” The captain observed Dave with new interest +and in silence for a long minute. Then he nodded his head. “Yes, he +looks not quite right. What is your name, you?” + +“David Garson,” prattled Dave. “I’m eighteen years old and small for my +age, but they say I’ll grow.” + +“Small! Grow! What is he saying? Never mind. It does not matter.” The +captain lost interest in Dave and returned to his questioning. For +another quarter of an hour he put all kinds of inquiries at Pete and +received all kinds of answers. Occasionally he looked suspicious, but +on the whole appeared satisfied with the information. He asked about +the sentiment in the United States regarding conscription, how many men +were in training, when they were to be sent across, how many United +States ships were operating in French and British waters, what their +armament was, where they were based. And he wanted to know how America +felt toward Germany, and whether she expected to win the war. And, +finally, he asked whether a certain German restaurant was still doing +business in New York! In the end he said: + +“Now I require you to give me your parole, your promise not to attempt +to escape. Then you are treated fine and get plenty of food, and I put +you ashore pretty soon. Well?” + +“Nothin’ doin’, sir,” replied Pete. + +“Eh? What you mean, nothing doing? Much will be doing if you do not do +like I say!” + +“That’s all right, too,” said Pete doggedly, “but you don’t get any +promise like that from us, Captain. If we get a chance to beat it, +we’re goin’ to beat it, take it from Pete!” + +The captain frowned more ferociously than ever, and for a fearsome +moment Dave, who had all through the latter part of the interview tried +to look as vacant and unintelligent as he knew how, was horribly afraid +that he would order them shot or tossed into the sea. But after an +instant the captain’s frown vanished and he chuckled. + +“You are brave, my man. Also you tell the truth, eh? Well, so be it.” +He laughed good-naturedly. “You have my full permission to――what you +say?――‘beat it’――if you can! But since you do not give your parole, +you must work for your living, yes. And if you do not work like you are +told you will be punished. Maybe you like that better, eh?” + +“Sure, we’ll work, Captain. Just as long as you don’t ask us to sink +any of our own ships, we’re right on the job.” + +“So? We shall see.” He spoke in German to the sailor. Then: “Go with +this man,” he directed. “He will show you where are your bunks. You +will go neither forward nor aft from the quarters. You understand?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +The captain waved his hand. “_Vorwärtsgehen!_” he ordered. + +“Meanin’ _heraus mit_ us,” muttered Pete. + + + + + CHAPTER VIII + + UNDER THE SEA + + +The sailor indicated two upper bunks and left them by way of the +forward hatch to their own devices. There was a table where the passage +was widest, a greasy, much-stained affair that evidently came to pieces +when not wanted and was stowed away somewhere. It was the only thing +in the quarters that offered a seat, aside from the bunks, and Pete +perched himself on it and looked about him. + +“Well, here we are, Kid,” he said, cheerfully. “Say, I never expected +to be entertained on board a German sub! What do you think about those +bunks?” He nodded toward the two that had been awarded them. “Not what +you’d call invitin’, eh?” + +Dave shook his head. “I hate to think of sleeping in them,” he +answered. “But I suppose we’ll have to.” + +“I guess so. Others is doin’ it.” The fact was evident from the sounds +that came from several of them. “Well, I’ll try anything once.” + +“I guess they don’t mean to shoot us, anyway,” said Dave. + +“No, they’ll hand us over to their friends on shore and we’ll kick +our heels around one o’ their prison camps for the rest o’ the war, I +guess.” + +“But that’s fierce!” protested Dave. + +“Yeah, ain’t it? Well, then, what we’ve got to do is find a way out o’ +this.” + +Dave looked uneasily about him. The compartment was illy lighted and +the bunks were gloomy caverns, but a number held occupants, and there +was always the chance that one of the latter might understand English. +He reminded Pete of that fact. + +“That’s right, too,” agreed the latter, sinking his voice. “Anyway, +there ain’t anything we can do right now. I wish I had some chow. I’m +starved. Wonder when they eat on this Pullman.” + +“Maybe there’s a buffet on board,” suggested Dave, making a weak +attempt at a joke. + +“Sure, why not?” Pete slid off the wabbly table and went prospecting +forward. The compartment was about forty feet in length and held +twenty-two bunks in two tiers, twelve on one side and ten on the +other. At the forward end, in place of the last two bunks on the port +side, stood an electric range, a cupboard for dishes, a small sink, and +a big coffee tank whose copper surface glowed dimly in the half-light. +There was also, below the cupboard, an ice box. To Pete’s delight the +coffee, although the electric coil beneath the tank was not going, was +still lukewarm, and he found two aluminum cups and held them under the +spigot. There was no milk in the coffee, but it was sickeningly sweet. +They were not fussy, however, and drank two cups of it. Then Pete +discovered another cupboard across the passage and rightly suspected +that it held food. But as it was locked he couldn’t profit by the +discovery. They peered through the forward bulkhead door and were +confronted by gray gloom through which loomed big tanks and huge pipes +and long metal cylinders. + +“Torpedo compartment,” murmured Pete. “If they catch us lookin’ they’ll +shoot us through a tube, I guess.” + +They went back, and finding an unoccupied lower bunk, made themselves +as comfortable as they might against the supporting uprights. From the +tiny round hatch overhead a golden column of sunlight slanted down. +From the engine room, far aft, came the deafening noise of the Diesels. +There was a rather soothing side-to-side motion quite different from +that of an ordinary boat. + +“She must be a pretty big one,” said Pete. “’Most two hundred feet +long, I guess. What was the number on her?” + +“_U-H-37._” + +“What’s the H for, do you guess?” + +“It’s the class number. The U stands for _Untersee_.” + +“They wouldn’t have to tell us that,” jeered Pete. “Any one could tell +it wasn’t a flyin’ machine. Wonder what it’s like when the crazy thing +sinks. Blamed if I see how we’re going to get away from here, Kid. I +talked sort o’ big to the cap., but I guess our chance of makin’ a +get-away ain’t worth a whole lot.” + +“S-sh!” cautioned Dave. There was a stirring in a nearby bunk, and +slowly there emerged the lower body of a sailor. There was a prodigious +yawn and then the rest of the man came into view. He looked to be about +thirty, and was small and thin. The face that turned in their direction +was pale and tired and apathetic. Later they found the same true of +most of the countenances seen on the boat. The man disentangled himself +from a gray blanket, and thrust his feet into a pair of boots. Then, +yawning again, he arose and came toward Dave and Pete. In front of them +he stopped and stared hard. Then: + +“Where’d you fellers come from?” he asked in good English. + +“Your old man pulled us out o’ the water an hour or so ago,” answered +Pete. “Say, I seen you before somewhere, ain’t I?” + +“I don’t know. Maybe so. I lived in New York a good while. You come +from New York?” + +“Sure! Where was you in New York?” + +“All around. I’m a waiter. I worked in ’most a dozen places there. I +was there nine years.” + +“Well, I seen you somewhere, all right. How do you like this job? Beats +waitin’, eh?” + +“It beats everything,” said the German with grim humor. “It is awful.” +He scowled darkly. “Pretty soon I’m going to chuck it. Where did you +live in New York?” + +“All around.” Pete waved a hand vaguely. “Vanderbilt, Astor, Plaza――all +them places.” + +“You’re joking,” replied the other, without a smile. “What has +happened? I went to sleep after we chased a little American yacht. Were +you on that?” + +“We was. Now we ain’t. It’s the fortunes o’ war. Say, what happened to +her? Did you thugs get her?” + +The man shrugged. “I do not think so. It was very foggy.” + +“Fine! What time do we eat here?” + +“Twelve o’clock. It ain’t eating, though. It’s just――just――” He +shrugged his shoulders, at a loss. + +“Don’t sound good to me,” said Pete, shaking his head. “Your captain +told us we’d get treated fine an’ have plenty of food. If the chow +ain’t good, I’ll leave. I give you fair warnin’, friend.” + +The German didn’t seem to have a smile left in him, however. He only +shook his head glumly. “They won’t let you go,” he said. “If you +behave, maybe they’ll take you ashore, and you’ll go to a prison.” + +“If we behave!” ejaculated Dave. “What will happen if we don’t?” + +The German shrugged again. “I don’t know. I guess the captain will +throw you overboard and let you drown.” + +“I don’t think I like your captain,” said Pete. “Drown is what we’d do, +too, for the thief swiped our life-vests.” + +“You mustn’t call the captain a thief. If he heard you he would punish +you. I must go now. I hope all goes well with you. I like Americans. I +have many good friends in New York.” + +“You mean you had,” said Pete, gruffly. “If you like Americans, what in +thunder are you fighting ’em for?” + +“But it is not my country, America. I fight for my country.” + +“Go to it, bo! It won’t get you much!” + +“I hope he chokes,” growled Pete when the sailor had taken himself aft +down the long, dim passage. “They make me tired, that sort. Come over +to the U. S. A. and make a good livin’, an’ then, when trouble starts, +beat it back here an’ try to strafe us. If I had my way I’d dump the +lot of ’em in the harbor before they got a chance.” + +“But there are lots that haven’t done that, Pete. Many German-born men +are now good Americans.” + +“Sure, that’s so. But guys like that gets my goat. Hello, what’s +happenin’ now?” + +“_Tauch station!_” came the command along the passage. + +There was a sudden silence, for the moment more appalling than the +former clamor, followed by a rushing sound of water on all sides. The +light from the hatch was cut off and they heard the latter clanging +shut. A man hurried into the compartment, climbed the ladder beneath +the hatch and secured it with bolts. The rushing of water continued +for a full two minutes and then stopped, and in the ensuing stillness +they heard low voices of command from the central station. What the +words were were beyond them, but the result was soon perceptible, for +there came, instead of the noisy clatter of the oil engines, the low +purr of the motors, the forward end of the submarine tilted downwards, +producing a disconcerting effect on the boys’ stomachs, lights sprang +into brilliancy up and down the compartment and they knew that the +_U-H-37_ was submerging. Somewhere at hand an electric gong rang +loudly. Mutters came from the depths of light-flooded bunks and, one by +one, five occupants crawled forth. + +“We’re diving,” murmured Pete in an awed voice. “I never thought I’d be +scootin’ around under the ocean, Kid. Say, supposin’ they couldn’t get +the blamed thing up again!” + +The newly awakened sailors, a weary-eyed, listless looking lot, viewed +the boys with a mild curiosity that had changed to indifference by the +time they had donned their sea boots and shuffled out. The submarine +was on an even keel now and, save for a slight sidewise motion, they +could not have told whether it was going ahead, astern, or lying still. +But the swing and the hum of the motors suggested progress. Pete’s +countenance bore an uneasy look and he viewed the moist walls with a +striking absence of enthusiasm. + +“I didn’t count on this sort o’ thing when I enlisted,” he demurred. +“Do you guess that captain knows what’s he up to?” + +“Or down to?” suggested Dave. “I guess he’s done this before, Pete. Do +you suppose we’re just under the surface, or way down?” + +“Way down, because she was slanted a long time. Say, it’s sort o’ +wonderful, ain’t it?” Pete grew more reconciled as nothing alarming +followed the plunge. “Think of sailin’ along under the ocean like +this, with electric lights an’ beds――sort o’――an’, I hope, food! You +got to hand it to ’em, Dave, these Germans. They’re cute, all right!” + +“We invented submarines ourselves,” Dave protested, patriotically. + +“Sure, I know that. An’ maybe that guy Napoleon invented war, but +the Germans improved a lot on it, Kid! I guess the trouble with us +fellers is that just as soon as we’ve gone an’ invented a thing we +lose interest in it, an’ some other guy has to take a hold and fix it +up shipshape an’ proper. Look at the flyin’ machine. We invented that, +too, didn’t we? Well, they tell me that all the flyin’ machines we’ve +got you could put in your eye.” + +“But we’re building a lot of them.” + +“Yeah, an’ submarines, too. That’s where the Huns have the edge on us, +see? They ain’t buildin’; they’ve built!” + +Presently another man crawled out of a bunk at the galley end of the +quarters, yawned, and busied himself about the stove and food lockers. +If he saw the prisoners he paid them no attention. Presently he donned +a dirty white jacket that covered him to the knees, and began the +preparation of the midday meal. Pete sniffed approvingly as the odor +of cooking began to permeate the already none too fresh air of the +compartment. + +“Wonder will it be beefsteak?” he said. “What’s it smell like to you, +Kid?” + +“Something horribly German,” replied Dave, disgustedly. “Maybe some of +their beastly sausages.” + +But it proved later to be neither beefsteak nor sausage, but a thin, +watery stew that held many half-cooked vegetables and little meat. With +it there was plenty of grayish bread and some greasy substance that +was used as butter, but that had certainly never seen a cow. There was +coffee, too, and, as dessert, dried pears stewed in molasses. Dinner +was consumed by the crew in relays. The warrant and petty officers ate +first and then the men. No one sat down to the table, although some +perched themselves on the edges of the nearby bunks. There was little +conversation. The men ate methodically and without apparent enjoyment, +drinking cup after cup of the over-sweet coffee, now heated to boiling +temperature. The air in the quarters was hot and stagnant and filled +with all the odors of the boat and of the cooking. + +As none offered food to Dave and Pete, they presently helped themselves +from the bowls on the table and presented their cups to the silent, +phlegmatic cook for coffee. One or two of the sailors tried to talk to +them in German, but soon desisted when Pete replied in English. There +were black looks from some, but for the most part petty officers and +men seemed absolutely indifferent to the boys’ presence there. Perhaps, +thought Dave, prisoners were frequent aboard the _U-H-37_! + +The afternoon passed slowly. The promised work didn’t materialize. +Dave amused himself trying to read a German magazine that he found +under a bunk, but what little he had learned of the language was not +equal to the task. Pete whistled or hummed and frequently expressed a +longing for chewing gum. Once the torpedo crew went forward and busied +themselves mysteriously, but nothing interesting followed, and after +an hour or so they returned, muttering gutturally as they passed. They +didn’t see the English speaking man again until supper time, and then +not to talk with. After washing his pots and pans the cook crawled +back into his bunk and was seen no more until just before the evening +meal. Pete said he guessed that if he had to be on a submarine, he’d +prefer to be the cook. Once or twice water gurgled and rushed through +the pipes and the submarine tilted her nose up or down, but she didn’t +get back to the surface. Dave had removed his watch from a trousers +pocket before relinquishing his own togs, and now he managed to get it +going again, setting it by guess work. It was a long, dull afternoon, +unbroken by any incident of interest. Men crawled in and out of bunks, +snored or read papers, made periodical trips to the coffee tank and +paid no more attention to the prisoners than to so many flies. + +Supper was worse than dinner because there was less of it. The +atmosphere got staler and heavier with every passing hour, and Dave +found that he could hardly keep his eyes open after he had consumed a +small portion of tasteless canned meat. Even the coffee he drank failed +to exert the usual wakeful effect, and after being banished from the +bunk they had perched themselves on by the scowling owner of it, they +climbed to their own dirty mattresses and stretched out. Dave stared a +while at the white arch of steel above him, with its cluster of white +pipes and yellow stains and trickling drops of water, and tried to +realize the strangeness of his circumstances, but his eyes were too +heavy to stay open and his brain too sleep-drugged to work, and in a +very few minutes he was sound asleep. + +It seemed but a few minutes later, although it was in reality many +hours instead, when he was awakened by the tocsin-like alarm gong. +Up and down the long compartment, bunks were emptying. Hurrying feet +echoed in the passage. He caught the word “torpedo” among others. +Another bell rang, this time farther away, and with a tinkling sound. +The junior officer, whom Dave had not seen since they had boarded the +submarine, passed on his way to the forward torpedo compartment. From +that mysterious chamber came strange sounds, the rushing of water in +tanks, the sounding of grating metal, the rolling of heavy wheels, +sharp words of command. He scrambled from his bunk and climbed to where +he could awaken Pete. But Pete was already awake. + +“What’s the silly row?” he demanded, blinking. + +“I don’t know for certain,” answered Dave, excitedly, “but I think +they’re going to make an attack!” + +“Who is?” asked Pete, dazedly. + +“Why――why, the Germans!” + +Pete threw his legs over the side and searched for his boots. “Are, +eh? Well, this is no place for your Uncle Pete, Kid! Gangway!” He +landed on the floor with a thud. “If one of our chasers gets to +droppin’ depth charges around I want to be where I can run!” + + + + + CHAPTER IX + + THE ESCAPE + + +“Do you suppose it’s one of our ships?” asked Dave, anxiously. + +“You can bet it ain’t one o’ their own, anyway. Gee! I wish we could +rock the boat, or somethin’, so they’d miss their shot! We’re slowing +down.” + +“How do you know?” + +“I don’t know, but I sort o’ feel it, just as I sort o’ feel that we’re +running just under, with the periscopes stickin’ out. Listen, Kid!” + +The boat was strangely silent, for the motors were purring more softly +and, with every man at his station, there were no footfalls echoing +against the steel walls. Occasionally a short command came from the +central station and now and then a click or the burr of sliding metal +reached them. Silence and suspense wrapped the gleaming cylinder as it +went gliding slowly and stealthily through the midnight sea. Dave’s +watch, somewhere near correct, showed the time to be shortly before +three. The torpedo compartment emitted few sounds. Dave pictured the +junior officer, finger on button, awaiting the command. Then there came +a sound from the bow like none that Dave had ever heard, a sort of +“_Gr-r-rh!_” such as a contented tiger might make. There was a barely +perceptible shock underfoot and he knew that the death-dealing missile +was on its way. + +He waited, staring with wide eyes at Pete, but no sound reached them +until there was a second growl from the torpedo compartment. Then the +boat awoke to activity. The motors hummed more loudly, men hurried +through the quarters, the submarine’s nose tilted slightly upward. The +torpedo compartment was noisy once more. + +“Whoever she is,” said Pete glumly “they got her. If they hadn’t they +wouldn’t be goin’ up.” Dave nodded agreement, and Pete sunk his voice. +“Kid,” he whispered, “are you game to take a chance?” + +“Do you mean――escape?” + +“Sure. If they get busy with that ship we might get away without their +knowin’ it.” + +“But where to, Pete? How?” + +“I don’t know, but I’d a heap rather be floatin’ around in the ocean +than here! If only we had those life-vests!” + +“Wonder what they did with them.” + +“Those these fellows wear are a lot better,” said Dave. “They blow them +up. Do you suppose we could find a couple?” + +“If we knew where to look.” Pete gazed around. “Trouble is they’re all +wearin’ ’em. Maybe there’s extra ones aboard, though. Where would they +keep ’em?” + +“In the lockers, do you think?” There was a row of lockers under +the berths on each side, and Peter, making certain that no one was +approaching, stooped and pulled one open. But only a litter of clothing +and boots rewarded him. Footsteps in the passage made him close the +locker quickly and the German who had talked to them in English +came toward them. For the first time his countenance held something +approaching a smile. + +“We got her,” he said. “She’s a big one, too.” + +“What’s her flag?” asked Pete, resisting a desire to plant his fist in +the middle of that smirking face. + +“Italian, I think.” Then his lips closed tightly and he glanced +apprehensively behind him. “Maybe I should not tell you,” he muttered. + +“Look here,” said Pete. “Suppose we get in trouble. What are we goin’ +to do, this feller an’ me? Drown, eh? Can’t you find us a couple of +those life preserver things like you got on?” + +“There will be no trouble. The ship is already sinking and they are +getting into the boats.” + +“Yeah. But suppose a destroyer walks in on us? It’s a fine note for all +you guys to have life-vests an’ leave us to sink! What would we do if +we was attacked, eh?” + +Dave always maintained that the sailor suspected their purpose and was +not unwilling to aid them. At all events, after a moment of hesitation +he answered: “All right. I’ll see if I can get some.” + +He went aft and disappeared beyond the bulkhead. By now the submarine +was rolling from side to side and pitching slightly, and it was evident +to the boys that she was on the surface. In a minute the sailor was +back with the desired life-vests. He handed them over with an air of +secrecy. They were, unlike the bulky, cork-filled canvas life-belts +of the United States navy, garments of some finely-woven, waterproof +material that fitted about the upper body beneath the arms and +were held in place by one strap and a buckle which could be quickly +adjusted and secured. A mouthpiece at the front was easily reached for +inflation. Having put them on, the men blew them up sufficiently to +secure buoyancy in the water but not enough to make them cumbersome or +to hinder them at their work. Once in the water, it was possible to +increase the inflation as desired. Having delivered the life-vests, the +German hurried off again, and Dave and Pete quickly slipped them on. + +“That’s better,” muttered Pete. “I ain’t much of a swimmer, an’ I feel +a heap safer if I got one o’ these things on. Now let’s see how the +land lays.” + +They walked back to the central station. Two sailors were standing idly +there, and they viewed the prisoners with scowling suspicion. Pete drew +back. “That won’t do,” he said, as they returned. “If this hatch here +was opened we might have a chance.” + +“But they’ll see us,” objected Dave, viewing the hatch somewhat +dubiously. + +“Sure, but if it’s dark maybe they won’t notice us much. We’ve got the +same togs as the rest of these Huns. Anyway, we can’t get away as long +as we stay down here, that’s sure, ain’t it?” + +Dave acknowledged that it was, and for a minute or two they studied +their predicament in silence. They were still short of a solution when +a sailor entered and started up the hatch ladder. Pete nudged Dave, and +they watched tensely. The sailor began turning the screws that held the +clamps. Then he descended the ladder, said something in German that, +whatever it was, sounded good-natured, and disappeared again. Pete +started forward, but Dave held him back. + +“Wait a minute,” he said. “Maybe they’ll open it from above.” + +They did. The round cover creaked back, and they looked up against +a blue, moon-lighted sky. From the deck came the trampling of feet +and the murmur of voices. Pete led the way up the ladder, Dave close +behind. Gusts of cool, fresh air met them. Then Pete’s head was through +and he looked warily about him. Most of the crew were on deck. The +forward gun had been raised from its housing. Some two hundred yards +distant, right in the path of the moonlight, lay a great black hulk on +which a few lights shone dimly. Pete nonchalantly stepped through the +hatch and Dave, his heart beating hard, followed. No one paid them any +heed. About them on the narrow deck, the crew stood and gazed at the +disabled ship, which, even in the uncertain light of the descending +moon, showed herself to be sinking. There was a distinct cant from bow +to stern. As the boys looked, a smaller object crossed the moon’s path, +evidently one of the ship’s lifeboats drawing away. Suddenly, from the +conning tower at their backs, a stream of white light shot across the +ocean and a great round disc of brilliancy passed along the sinking +steamship from bow to stern, and then slowly moved back to a point just +aft of amidships where a gaping hole had been torn in the hull. Then +the light went out as suddenly as it had appeared and the boys blinked +in the succeeding darkness. + +“Come,” whispered Pete, and tugged at Dave’s sleeve. + +They pushed their way aft toward the conning tower. Once a petty +officer peered closely in their faces as they passed, but the moonlight +was behind them and it is doubtful if he recognized them. At least, he +made no effort to detain them, and they went on. In the conning tower, +as they knew, stood the commander and the junior officer, but they put +their heads down and Pete shuffled along as he had noticed so many of +the crew shuffle, and they squirmed their way past the tower to port, +on the narrow width of deck there, and saw, to their relief, that the +after part of the boat was deserted, save for one dark form near the +stern. As they drew near to him they saw that he had his back turned. +Evidently he was a lookout, intent on searching the moonlit darkness +for such disturbing factors as patrol boats. The submarine was still +floating slowly toward the torpedoed ship, her propellers turning +lazily under the stern overhang. The after gun had not been raised and +the deck was clear, but just beyond where they paused for an instant in +the shadow of the tower to kick off their boots a gleam of light was +thrown upward through the after hatch. As they skirted the opening they +peered down into a maze of engines and got a flare of hot, oily air in +their faces. For some reason the _U-H-37_ was still operating with her +motors. + +In the gloom of the conning tower Pete had whispered: “If he makes any +trouble, kid, leave him to me,” and now, as they went quietly aft, +Dave was hoping that the lookout would not see them. Two-thirds of +the way from tower to stern the deck began to slope. Just short of the +cigarshaped stern a small platform arose above the grade, and beyond +it was what looked to be an auxiliary rudder. It was on the small +platform that the motionless lookout was standing and it was beyond him +that Pete intended to take to the water, since there the deck was but +a scant foot above it and it might be possible for them to slide off +without being heard. But to pass the lookout without being seen was, +of course, impossible, and Dave wished that Pete would risk a splash +rather than an alarm from the sailor. But that wasn’t Pete’s plan. + +He led the way straight to the platform. When they were a few feet +distant the lookout turned slowly, observed them and again turned away. +But as they still approached he became curious and once more faced them. + +“_Was is?_” he growled. + +Pete replied with about all the German he knew. + +“_Heraus mit!_” said Pete. + +Then his fist shot out and up, there was a faint grunt from the lookout +and he dropped to the curving side of the hull and rolled, like a log, +into the sea. + +“Beat it!” warned Pete. He threw himself down, grasped a protruding +ring bolt and slid into the water. Dave was only the fraction of a +second behind. The water was so cold that it took his breath away for +a moment. Then he heard Pete’s voice again. “This way, Kid! Straight +back!” Dave followed. The life-vest held him up wonderfully and yet +left his arms free for swimming. He pulled even with Pete without +difficulty, and side by side they put the yards between them and the +submarine. Not a sound had so far come from the lookout, but now, +behind them there arose a sudden commotion in the water and a wild +shout of alarm. “Swim hard,” panted Pete. “If they come back for that +guy they’ll get us sure!” + +The sea was calm, with small, choppy waves that splashed their faces. +Dave was horribly conscious of the moonlight about him and he imagined +that from the submarine he and Pete must stand out so conspicuously +that those aboard could not fail to see them. But the submarine was +attending to other matters and had already drawn well away. The lookout +continued to cry for help, but when Dave turned to look the U-boat +still had her stern toward them and was apparently not troubling about +him. Probably, as they decided afterwards, the officers thought the +lookout had tumbled overboard and that it would serve him right for his +clumsiness to let him float around awhile. There was no danger of his +drowning so long as he had his life-vest inflated. + +They swam on and on, as straight away from the submarine and her +sinking prey as they could direct their strokes, but it wasn’t long +before it became evident to Dave that Pete was tiring. “I’m――all in,” +panted the latter presently. “Maybe you’d better go ahead, Kid. No use +in their getting both of us. I’m a punk swimmer, anyway.” + +“Let’s rest awhile,” answered Dave. “I’m tired too.” That wasn’t very +truthful, for Dave had swam from the time he was old enough to enter +the water and was not so easily exhausted. “If they decide to come back +and look for us, they’ll get us anyway. All they’ve got to do is throw +that searchlight around.” + +“All right,” agreed Pete. “We’ll float for a few minutes. Swimmin’ gets +my wind somethin’ fierce!” + +They let themselves go, just paddling enough to keep their heads up. +The steamship was no longer in the path of the moonlight, and at first +they couldn’t locate her. Then, however, they did, and saw that she had +tilted one end well out of water. A single dim light still showed. The +submarine was not discernible, probably being lost in the shadow of the +larger craft. Once Dave thought he heard the rattle of oars, but when +he told Pete, and they both listened hard, no sound reached them save +the splash of the waves. + +“It’ll be daylight in an hour or so, I guess,” said Pete after a short +silence. “We’d better get at it again, Kid. Come on.” + +“Which way shall we go?” asked Dave. “If we knew where the life-boats +were――” + +“Yeah, but we don’t. Best we can do is to get as far away as possible. +When daylight comes maybe we’ll see something. Say, an ocean’s a mighty +big body o’ water, ain’t it? Are you wishin’ you was back on the sub, +Kid?” + +“No, I’m not,” answered Dave decisively. “We’re better off here. These +life-vests will keep us afloat for days, I guess, and we’re certain to +be seen by some sort of a ship before long. Spending the next year or +so in a German prison camp didn’t appeal to me a bit, Pete.” + +“Same here. This is a big chance we’ve taken, an’ maybe I was a mut to +get you into it, Kid, but as for myself, why, I’m satisfied so far. +This water ain’t feelin’ so cold as it did, an’ if only I was a decent +swimmer I’d have no kick. If I give out, Kid, you beat it along.” + +“Yes, I’m likely to,” said Dave. “Which direction is east, Pete?” + +“Must be opposite where the moon is goin’ down, or nearly. More that +way, I guess. Think we’d better set our course east?” + +“Well, that’s where the nearest land is, I suppose.” + +“Sure, unless we’re a lot closer to Ireland than we know of. All right, +Kid, let her go! I’m feelin’ fine now.” + +Keeping the moon, now well down toward the horizon, over their left +shoulders, they struck out again, two tiny wisps in a wide, darkening +world of water. + + + + + CHAPTER X + + DAVE FALLS ASLEEP + + +Time passed. They rested at intervals and, having rested, swam again. +Gradually the fear of recapture passed. The moon was gone and the +limitless expanse of ocean was dark and submarine and prey were +swallowed in the gloom. They talked infrequently, conserving their +breath for the struggle for life. Always they listened for the sound of +oars and peered into the gray darkness with straining eyes. The small +boats from the steamship must be within a few miles, they argued, and +they longed for daylight. Gradually the eastern sky paled, then flushed +with rose and the sea became dimly visible in that direction. They +swam straight for the coming day, not hurriedly, but with slow, even +strokes that required a minimum of exertion. Pete had got his second +wind or had discovered a less exhausting way of breathing. Swimming +with life-vests on was more difficult than had at first appeared, for +the garments had a tendency to float them too high in the water. Dave +let some of the air from his, but it didn’t help much. As the sea and +sky lightened they searched anxiously for boats, but, although now and +then the crest of a distant wave, darker than others, set their hearts +leaping, they saw none. Daylight came fast, having once announced +itself. The western rim of the ocean faded from darkness to dusk, +from dusk to pearly gray. In the east the tender tint of rose changed +to yellow and, like a miracle, it was day! The orange rim of the sun +pushed itself above the horizon’s curve and dyed the tips of the little +waves with strange metallic colors. A tern cried overhead and swooped +downward to splash against the water and go beating up again, having +found its breakfast. But save for the bird, daylight came up over an +empty world. + +“Those boats must have gone in the other direction,” said Dave, as they +rested again, with the pale sunlight dazzling their eyes with its long +beams. “But I don’t see why, Pete. The nearest land must be the French +coast, and that’s eastward.” + +“Maybe the Huns sunk the lot of ’em,” replied the other grimly. “That’s +a favorite trick of theirs.” + +“But we’d have heard the guns,” objected Dave. Pete nodded. + +“Yeah, that’s so, too. Well, I don’t know much about this part o’ the +world, Kid. Ain’t there anythin’ but France lyin’ around here?” + +“It depends on where we are, of course. I figure that we must be +somewhere west of France and south of Ireland. Maybe we’re making a +mistake in swimming east, Pete. Maybe we ought to go north. If we’re +nearer Ireland――” + +“I guess it don’t cut much ice which way we swim,” said Pete. “The best +we can do is keep afloat. How you feelin’?” + +Dave considered a moment. Then: “I’m tired,” he answered. “But I guess +I’m good for another hour or two’s swimming.” + +“I’m not. Besides, what good’s it going to do us, Kid? We’re just as +likely to get picked up here as two miles away. Best thing for us is +to take it easy and not get all tuckered. I’m beginnin’ to think we’d +ought to have stayed where we was, Kid. It don’t look good to me.” + +Dave said nothing. It didn’t look good to him, either. It would have +been very easy for him to have given way to panic just then. But he +took a grip on himself and once more raised himself from the water +and stared in all directions over the glinting waves. Something that +was surely not a green crest caught his attention. It looked to be the +better part of a mile away, and, having found it, he straightway lost +it again between the waves. It was fully a minute before it came into +sight a second time, and he saw that it was, if not actually a boat, +at least some floating object that promised aid. They made toward it +with weary muscles. It appeared to be drifting slowly southward, and +presently they had to alter their course in accordance. Gradually it +became clearer, and they could determine that it was not a boat, since +it lay too low in the water. It seemed hours before they at length +reached it. When they did it resolved itself into a hatch cover some +eight feet long by six wide. It was painted buff and had a figure 3 in +one corner in black. It was several minutes before Dave was able to +pull himself over the edge and lie sprawling on the curved surface. +Then he reached a hand to Pete, and the latter squirmed, panting hard, +out of the water. They stretched themselves face down on the wet +surface and lay there silent and motionless for a long time. The hatch +made an unquiet raft, for with their weights on it it lay low in the +sea and tilted and tossed continually. It was never for an instant dry, +since the waves washed across it, but they had no fault to find with +it, you may be certain. + +I think each of them drowsed a little, with the sunlight warming their +chilled bodies, and then Dave sat up cautiously and Pete regarded him +dazedly for a moment and grinned slowly. + +“Not so worse, Kid!” he sighed. “A little damp, but Oh, boy!” + +“If we could only hoist something, Pete,” said Dave. “I’m afraid we +don’t show up very plain.” + +“There’s nothin’ to hoist and nothin’ to hoist it on. We got to keep +our eyes peeled an’ when we see a ship we got to stand up, one o’ us, +an’ wave a shirt. You lie down an’ rest your hands an’ face, Kid, an’ +I’ll be lookout for awhile.” + +“No, you’re more tired than I am,” replied Dave. “You go to sleep and +I’ll do the ‘spotting.’” + +Pete demurred at first, but finally consented. “If I roll off, Kid,” +he muttered, closing tired eyes, “fish me out, but don’t wake me, +see?” In less than a minute he was snoring deeply, sprawled out on +his back. Dave, swaying with the short toss of the hatch cover, +watched for smoke or sail, his own eyes threatening to close every +moment. The sun climbed higher and higher. His watch had stopped again +at a little after four, and he had to guess at the time and guessed +half-past eight. A myriad of tiny black birds swept overheard, rising +and falling, and disappeared against the blue of the sky. A gray mist +hid the horizon now, but there were few clouds in sight. After an hour +or so Pete awoke of his own accord and Dave slept. When he returned to +consciousness the sun was well overhead. + +“You know what’s goin’ to get us, Kid,” observed Pete, soberly, “is +thirst. I could drink a bucket of water this minute and not know I’d +had it.” + +“Shut up,” said Dave. “I was trying to forget it. How long can a fellow +go without water, Pete?” + +“I don’t know. Seven days, is it? No, that’s a camel. Wish I was one o’ +’em! It’s gettin’ mighty hot, too, Kid. That don’t help much, take it +from Pete!” + +Talk lapsed. Thirst increased as the sun beat more hotly upon them. +What breeze there was came from the southeast, and was too faint to +afford much relief. They took turns at lying face-downwards to relieve +their eyes from the incessant glare and glitter of the dancing waves. +The afternoon, between two and four, was more intolerable than the +morning hours. They laved their heads and faces with salt water at +intervals, or held their wrists under. There was no sleepiness now; +only a languor that made movement, or even conversation, distasteful. +After a long, long while their shadows began to lengthen across the +raft and the breeze strengthened. Their mouths were dry and salty, and +talking, when they felt any inclination toward it, was difficult. Peter +said his tongue was getting too big for his mouth. + +They searched the horizon continually, but without result. Once a +faint smudge of something that might possibly have been smoke showed +against the haze to the west, but it was gone almost before Pete had +drawn Dave’s attention to it. Shortly before sunset the breeze dwindled +again to a mere breath. They experienced no hunger, but had queer, +sharp pains inside them. They were beginning to lose hope of rescue +now, although neither said so. About eight o’clock Pete dozed off, and +Dave, feeling very lonely and despondent, sat and watched the shadows +grow in the hollows of the waves. The change from the extreme heat of +the sun to the chill of evening made him shiver in his damp clothes. He +lay down to escape what breeze was stirring and the water that washed +over the curving surface of the hatch seemed warm in comparison. He +closed his eyes for an instant and must have slept, for when he awoke, +startledly, the daylight had almost gone. Pete was leaning above him +and shaking him hard. + +“Wake up, Kid! We’re all right! See who’s here!” + +Pete’s words were thick and difficult to make out, but the tone of +them told enough to make Dave sit up quickly and peer about him in the +gray twilight. Black against the lingering radiance of the western +sky, so close that he could hear voices on deck, floated a long, slim +destroyer, while, halving the distance, was a small boat, heading +straight toward them. + +Dave tried to speak, but for a moment his swollen tongue and dry lips +made no sound. When he did make himself heard his voice was only a +mumble. + +“Is she――German?” he managed to ask. + +“German!” babbled Pete, thickly. “No, sir, she’s good old U. S. A., +Kid! And,” he added with an attempted laugh that sounded like a croak +of a raven, “we’re back home!” + +“Back home?” repeated Dave, confusedly. + +“Sure! A United States deck’s United States territory, ain’t it? And, +listen, Kid, there’s water over there! Fine, wet water! Oh, boy!” + +Ten minutes later their troubles were over. They were heaped under +blankets in two narrow bunks and their parched throats had known the +blessed joy of a few sips of water. A young medical officer with an +ensign’s grade was in stern authority. + +“You can have more presently,” he said. “Keep those blankets up to your +chin, you freckled face fellow! What’s that? Food? Oho, I guess there’s +not much the matter with you, then! Yes, you’ll get some broth after a +while. Now just stow the talk and keep quiet.” + +They must have obeyed, for when Dave opened his eyes again the +destroyer’s engines were clattering and thumping busily and the ship +was swaying at a fine rate. Some one was playing on an accordion +further along the deck, and Dave, smiling contentedly, murmured the +words to the merry tune: “Where do we go from here, boys, where do we +go from here?” Then: + +“Pete!” he called above the clamor of the engines and the creaking of +the hull. + +“Hello?” + +“Awake?” + +“Sure!” + +“How are you feeling?” + +“Dry! Hungry, too! I could eat a raw dog!” + +“So could I,” answered Dave, and was quite convinced that he meant it. +“What time is it, do you think?” + +“Search me! And I don’t care. But if some guy don’t fetch me +somethin’――” + +“Pour this into your lockers,” said a voice. It was the medical +officer again, and with him was a man in a soiled white jacket who +balanced bowls of steaming broth. They ate ravenously――or drank, if you +prefer――and then were allowed nearly a half cup of water apiece. And +after that Pete found his voice again. + +“Gee, but that was great, sir!” he said. “Do I get any more?” + +“Yes, in the morning,” answered the ensign, dryly. “And in the morning +you can tell me how you came to be floating around the sea on a hatch +cover, wearing German uniforms!” + +“Easy, sir! I’ll tell you all about it now.” + +“No, you’ll go to sleep,” laughed the doctor. + +“Yes, sir,” answered Pete very obediently. “But will you tell me what +ship this is that we’re on, please?” + +“This is the _Lothrop_. Where did you drop over from?” + +“We was on Chaser _944_, sir, an’――” + +“The _944_?” exclaimed the ensign. “Why, we convoyed her into +Queenstown day before yesterday. She’d been in a scrap with a Hun, she +reported, and was a bit knocked about. Lost her after-house and had +a hole knocked in her side. Well, we’ll put you back on her in the +morning, for we’re making Queenstown now. We’ve just picked up Fastness +Light. Now you’d better go to sleep, the two of you. Good night, boys.” + +“Good night, sir, and thank you!” + +Presently: “Did you hear that, Dave?” asked Pete. + +But there was no answer from the bunk above. Pete chuckled to himself. +“The Kid’s asleep,” he muttered. “Won’t he be surprised when he wakes +up an’ sees the little old _944_ lyin’ alongside? Some boat, the little +old _944_, take it from Pete! Some Kid, too. Plucky little guy. Him +an’ me showed the Huns a trick, didn’t we, Petey? Huh? An’ we got a lot +more tricks, too, ain’t we? Sure ... we ... have! Lots ... more....” + +Then there was silence in the lower bunk. + + + + + PART II + + SWEEPING THE SEAS + + + + + CHAPTER I + + ON PATROL + + +The next day Dave and Pete were back on the “little old _944_,” a _944_ +much the worse for wear, but displaying an air of consequence perhaps +allowable in one who had in a mere handful of days braved destruction +by the elements and survived two U-boat attacks. Only a few timbers +indicated the former position of her after-house, the bow gun had been +wrecked, there was a first-aid patch aft her beam on the starboard +side, and one of the two small boats resembled a sieve more than +anything else. There were lesser souvenirs of the engagements, besides, +in the shape of broken railing, chipped woodwork, and a dented funnel. + +There had been six casualties, the boys learned, exclusive of Dave, +whose wound in the arm was now showing an intention to heal. Stearns +was ashore in hospital with a fractured leg; one of the after gun +crew, Malloy, was nursing a wound in his thigh from which a nice +big piece of shrapnel had been excavated. Chuck Morgan was wearing a +bandaged head, and there had been three minor injuries to other members +of the crew. The appearance of Dave and Pete had created a genuine +sensation. The _Lothrop’s_ boat had taken them across the harbor to +where the _944_ was lying, awaiting her turn in the dock, and they were +nearly alongside before those aboard the chaser recognized them. Then +an audience of incredulous Jackies lined the rail and stared. Only +the presence in the small boat of a dignified young ensign deterred +them from audible comments on the miracle. But when Dave and Pete +had clambered on deck and the _Lothrop’s_ boat had cast off again +their shipmates swarmed about them and the air was full of questions. +Even Chuck Morgan, looking, with his bandaged countenance, more than +ordinarily unamiable, edged toward the group to listen. + +Things were very confused for a few minutes, for half a dozen +full-voiced fellows talked at once, but Dave gathered that he and Pete +had been given up for good, and that their names had already been +sent in as “missing.” No one, it seemed, had seen either of the lads +go overboard, and the supposition was that they had been done for by +the explosion that had wrecked the after-house. The possibility of +their having been thrown into the water without being killed had been +entertained, but no one had thought well of their chances of rescue. +If being thumped on the back and called perfectly insulting names in +affectionate tones were indications of cordiality, then Dave and Pete +were surely welcome. They broke away as soon as possible and reported +to Lieutenant Cowan. Their appearance in the doorway of the little ward +room caused the lieutenant’s eyes to stand out and left him speechless +for the moment. + +“Come aboard, sir,” said Pete, saluting and grinning. + +“Why――why, hang it, you men; I thought you’d gone!” exclaimed the luff. +“Where――where’d you come from? What happened to you? Come inside and +tell your story.” + +When they had finished, or, rather, when Dave had finished, for Pete +left the narrative to him, the lieutenant shook his head helplessly. +“It doesn’t sound possible, Garson,” he said, “but if you both swear +to it, why, I’ll have to believe it. You certainly had a run of luck, +though! What did you think was going to happen to you when you escaped +from the sub? Were you intending to swim to the Irish coast?” + +“I guess we didn’t have any very special plan,” acknowledged Dave. “We +sort of hoped to get picked up by one of the boats from the steamer, +but we never saw any of them after we were in the water. The main +thing, we thought, was to get away. We thought they’d probably put us +in prison and keep us there for the rest of the war.” + +“That’s what would have happened, of course. Thought you’d be of +more use somewhere else, eh? Well, it was some risk, and you got out +of a bad place pretty neatly when the _Lothrop_ found you. We got a +report this morning that two boatloads from the _Indalia_――that’s the +freighter they sank――were brought into Ventry last evening. About forty +in all. There’s a third boatful still to hear from. Now tell me about +that sub. How big do you think she was?” + +The boys answered the lieutenant’s questions for a good quarter of an +hour before he released them, and their replies were jotted down on a +sheet of paper and ultimately found their way up the hill to Admiralty +headquarters. They were on their way out when the lieutenant stopped +them. “By the way, Rooney,” he said, “there’s just one thing more.” + +“Yes, sir?” + +“The next time a man goes overboard and you see him, if it’s during +action you’re not to go after him. That’s not the game, my lad. Drop +a life-buoy and report ‘man overboard’ to the officer of the deck, +but that’s all. Your duty’s to stick to your station. Remember that +hereafter. You, too, Garson. Attempting a rescue is fine, manly +stuff, but it’s contrary to regulations. You are a necessary unit on +your ship. When you leave your station you are interfering with the +successful conduct of the ship. In time of action that is ordinarily +inexcusable. To put it bluntly, men, it is better to lose one man by +drowning than to have a second man away from his station. If the ship +is not in action or preparing for action this does not apply. At such +times the attempt to rescue a companion is permissible and commendable. +You are still a new man, Rooney, and I shall overlook your――mistake. +But――another time, remember! That’s all. Oh, by the way, get out of +those German togs as soon as you can and sink them in the harbor!” + +“Well, what do you know about that?” asked Pete when they were out of +hearing. “Called down for tryin’ to save another ‘gob’ from drownin’!” + +“I guess he’s quite right, though,” said Dave. “What happens to one man +doesn’t much matter, Pete. It’s the ship we’ve got to keep in mind.” + +“Huh! I wonder would he say the same if it was him that went overboard?” +Pete sniffed. “Well, he’s the boss. Let’s get out o’ these dirty German +uniforms before some one shoots us for spies!” + +Later they told their story to their shipmates, this time Pete rendering +the narrative and doing it much more picturesquely than Dave could have. +The story lost nothing in the telling, and there were times when Dave +had to look away for fear that his expression might cause the audience +to doubt the truthfulness of the yarn. Not that Pete departed far from +facts, however, for the most that he did was embroider his tale, and so +make it slightly more colorful and absorbing. Perhaps it didn’t matter +much, in any case, for few of their fellows believed more than half of +what they were told. + +Dave and Pete remained heroes for several days, and Pete was called on +so frequently to spin the story of their capture, imprisonment and +escape, that ultimately the story resembled the original narrative +only in its underlying structure. On shore he was a welcome addition +to all gatherings because of the yarn he could spin. The _944_ went +into dock two days after they rejoined her, and remained there most +of a week. Even then she was not ready for duty, since a new bow gun +was wanting and was slow in making its appearance. The Old Man and the +junior officer growled impatiently, and watched with frowning brows +the destroyers and chasers come and go. But the men, for the most +part, were well enough satisfied with the entertainment afforded by +Queenstown, especially since the “gobs” from other ships, returning +from their six-day periods of sea duty, reported a discouraging +dearth of German submarines. Dave and Pete saw all that was to be +seen of Queenstown and the nearby countryside, read home papers, +and wrote letters in the Y. M. C. A. hut, witnessed several games +of baseball――there was keen rivalry between various ships for the +supremacy of the make-shift diamond――and mingled with the men of other +ships, British and French, as well as American. Queenstown harbor that +summer was a busy place, with cruisers, destroyers, sweepers, mine +layers, and patrols coming and going at all hours, and a world of +activity ashore consequent on turning a sleepy old port, rimmed with +emerald green hills, into a modern naval base. + +Life was not all liberty ashore, however, for the _944_ had to have a +new dress when her repairs were finished, and Dave learned how to wield +a paint brush with a fair degree of skill. Finally, one showery summer +afternoon the _944_ snuggled up to a quay and a new three-inch gun was +lowered aboard and secured to the bow platform, and Lieutenant Cowan +and Ensign Hyatt smiled their satisfaction, and the crew, weary by now +of the soft ease of life in port, smiled also. And the next morning +the _944_ weighed anchor and dropped down the harbor, past the forts, +picked her way daintily through the hidden perils of mine fields and +left Roberts Head astern. + +The _944_ carried two new men, in place of Groom and Stearns, and a +number of queer looking steel cylinders which had been lowered aboard +very respectfully and stored in the after-house. On the _944_ they +referred to them as “ash cans,” which they greatly resembled, but they +were in reality depth charges containing some two hundred and fifty +pounds of the high explosive familiarly known as “T N T” and cunningly +arranged to explode under water at a certain depth and calculated to +vastly incommode a submarine within a given radius. These depth charges +and a fine array of ammunition for the guns made the after-house a most +undesirable habitation during an action, and it was generally agreed by +the crew of the after gun that while it might serve well enough as a +shelter in time of peace, in time of battle it was not likely to prove +popular. + +The two new members of the crew were both “rubber socks,” which means +that they were inexperienced men on their first sea duty. Both, too, +were reservists, and held seamen’s rating. At that time your regular +navy man looked down rather condescendingly on the naval reservist, to +put it mildly. Since then the latter has proved himself very thoroughly +and the regular accords him respect. But in that first summer of our +war with Germany members of the naval reserve had a rather hard row to +hoe, and the new recruits aboard the _944_, who had journeyed across +in the steerage of a transport, were no exceptions, although in their +case their troubles didn’t last long. They were both youngsters. Dill, +speedily nicknamed “The Pickle,” was short and rotund, with a round, +good-natured countenance, a hundred and eighty pounds of guileless +amiability. Carter was taller and far from stout, with a long, lean +face and a down-east drawl. His overshirt sleeves were too short for +his arms, which gave him an overgrown appearance, to which an unusually +long neck contributed. + +The _944_ was out of sight of land toward evening, jumping about in a +choppy sea, and Carter was groaning unhappily in his upper bunk. Dill +was a better sailor, however, and took his “chow” with the rest of +his watch. He was inclined to be a little bit too sociable, I think, +a little bit too self-assured. It was only his way of letting his new +messmates know that he was ready to be friends, but it didn’t make a +good impression. He was viewed with pitying contempt at first, but as +that failed to have its effect, Kennedy gave him a hint. + +“Say, Jack, no offense, but if I was you I’d feed my face and not try +to lead the conversation.” + +“Why, I wasn’t,” disclaimed Dill, coloring. “What’s wrong with what I +said?” + +“Nothing, I guess; but why say it? You amateurs are all right, but +you want to come in slow; see? Don’t rush it. You’re a reservist, +ain’t you?” The other nodded stiffly. “All right. Then when you’ve got +anything to say, reserve it. Get me?” + +Dill closed up tight then and looked rather unhappy, while the rest of +the mess smiled――all, perhaps, save Dave, who felt sorry for the new +chap. He had the enlisted man’s usual contempt for “amateur gobs” as +they were called, but he wouldn’t have thought of showing it. Besides, +there was something likable about Dill, and Dave surmised that much of +his apparent ease of manner was assumed to hide a very natural feeling +of embarrassment. After chow Dave sought him out and proceeded to get +acquainted. + + + + + CHAPTER II + + THE NEW “GOB” + + +At first Dill, still smarting under Kennedy’s squelching, was +suspicious, but presently he thawed out and they got on famously. As +near as Dave could determine from Dill’s story, the latter had entered +the Naval Reserve principally because he hadn’t wanted to return to +college in the fall. + +“I didn’t do very well last year,” he confided, “and I’d have had to +make up two studies if I’d gone back. Besides, I’m no ‘grind,’ anyway. +Haven’t enough brain, I suppose. So when this thing broke loose I put +it up to my dad. Showed him I’d be more use ‘strafing’ Germans than +faking along for a college degree. He said he guessed I was right. +Said he understood it didn’t take much brain to shoot a gun and that I +might make quite a success of it. Of course, he wanted me to enter the +army. Was keen on having me go to Plattsburg, you know, and learn how +to polish a sword. But, gee, I’d make a peach of an officer, wouldn’t +I? So I heard about the reserves and hiked down to Newport. They gave +me the once over and said ‘Come right along in.’ Dad was mad at first. +Said he didn’t want me to be a common sailor, and a lot like that. I +told him I guessed I’d be a rather uncommon sailor, not knowing whether +salt water was something to gargle with or to put in your eye, and he +finally came around. I had two months of it at the Newport Station, and +it was all to the merry. There were some fine lads there. Then they +shipped a bunch of us to New London, where we bunked on a wharf and +made steel nets. I was there about ten days when they yanked a lot of +us away and shipped us over here on a transport. We were told we were +to fill vacancies on the destroyers, and I was crazy to get on one of +’em, but I lost out. Still, this isn’t bad. I dare say that I’ll see +just as much fun on this boat as on a destroyer, eh?” + +“I think you may,” agreed Dave. “Did the other chap come over with you?” + +“Carter? Yes. I didn’t know him, though. Never really noticed the chap +until we landed on the dock here yesterday. He says he was at the +station when I was, but I don’t remember him. Guess I’ll go and see if +I can do anything for him. He’s horribly sick, poor fellow.” + +“I’ll go along,” said Dave. “Seasickness doesn’t seem to bother you +much.” + +“Me? No, I’ve never been sick yet. I read once that you had to have +imagination in order to be seasick. Don’t know if it’s so, but I never +did have any imagination and I’ve never been sick; and there you are!” + +They found some half dozen men in the fo’c’sle, among them Chuck +Morgan. One or two were reading, but the others were listening to +Chuck and appeared to be amused at his remarks. As Dave and his new +acquaintance entered Chuck was holding forth as follows: + +“Yes, sir, there’s nothing better than a fine mess of salt pork and +greens for seasickness. There’s something about ’em that just reaches +the spot. You take a fine big chunk of pork, good and fat, fellers, and +you put it in a kettle with some water and you let it boil slowly. When +there’s about a half an inch of grease floating around on top the water +you put in your greens and you boil the whole mess for about two hours. +Then you slap a lot of the greens on a plate and cut off three or four +slices of nice juicy fat pork and you get some one to hold your head +up for you――” + +Chuck was interrupted by a heart-rending groan from the upper bunk +behind him. He grinned broadly and winked at the audience. + +“――And then you take one of those nice fat slices of greasy pork,” he +continued, “and sort of chew on it――” + +“Cut it!” Dill pushed his way around the table and confronted Chuck +with blazing eyes. “You big slab-sided, wall-eyed, knock-kneed giraffe, +you! You pin-head! You vitrified lump of paleolithic pulp! Just open +your dirty mouth again, you button-eyed Swede, and I’ll bust you square +open! You’ve got a cheek, anyhow, sitting up and making sounds like a +man, you lacertilian skunk! You ought to be climbing a tree in a glass +case, with a label on, you stuffed anthropoid ape! What do you mean by +getting out and running loose? Back to the museum, you!” + +Chuck Morgan’s face was a study. Blank amazement passed into a sort of +awe as Dill rained words on him without pause. His mouth dropped slowly +open and he gazed up at the fluent youngster in silent, fascinated +bewilderment, as yet too stupefied to be angry. As Dill ended, more +for want of breath than lack of words, there was a brief instant of +silence. Then a veritable howl of laughter arose in the fo’c’sle, in +which Dave joined. Then Chuck’s mouth closed, a flood of red flamed +into his lean, sallow face, and he jumped to his feet, overturning the +bench. + +“Who you calling an ape?” he demanded. He towered over Dill by six +inches, but the recruit held his ground, paying no heed to the big, +clenched hand that Chuck swung back menacingly. + +“You, you arboreal quadrumane! And I’m paying you a compliment, +too! Put that arm down or I’ll break it! You can’t scare me, you +apotheosized protoplasm! You know what you are? Well, you’re a newt, a +plain, ordinary newt! You’re not even a gecko! Just a newt!” + +That was too much for Chuck. With a roar of rage he flung himself on +Dill. “Newt, am I?” he shrieked. “I’ll show you――” + +What happened next was as extraordinary as it was unexpected. Chuck +went backward over the overturned bench and landed with a shock that +for the moment deprived him of the powers of speech or action. Dill +jumped nimbly after and shook a stern finger above his prostrate foe. +“Yes, sir, a newt!” he declared triumphantly. “An aquatic-tailed, +amphibian newt! And don’t you deny it! Don’t you open your mouth to +deny it! Don’t even think of it! You’re a common garden newt, always +was, and always will be! Just newt! That’s you, just newt!” + +The onlookers were holding their sides now, and the little fo’c’sle was +noisy with laughter as Chuck, visibly shaken and perplexed by what had +happened to him, slowly climbed to his feet and subsided on the edge of +a bunk. He stared gloweringly at Dill, but there was profound respect +in his gaze. Then, sensing the ridicule in the laughter, he snarled at +the others: + +“Oh, shut up,” he growled. “I’ll fix this kid all right, and I’ll fix +you guys if you laugh at me! He’s crazy, he is!” He observed Dill +again, wonderingly. “He――he don’t talk sense! But I’ll get him, see if +I don’t!” Chuck arose stiffly and made his way around the further side +of the table, his eyes furtively watching Dill. “No one can call me a +newt and get away with it!” + +“Don’t you dare say you aren’t!” thundered the youngster, shaking a +finger across the fo’c’sle. “Can you look me in the eye and deny it? +You can’t do it! You’ve got every mark of a newt! Look at those ears! +Look at that nose!” Dill’s voice arose triumphantly. “Look at those +feet! Newt’s feet! Newt’s feet, by jiminy!” + +“Aw, shut up, you――you――” Chuck’s voice positively wailed, but the +right epithet failed him and he launched himself up the companion-way +with incoherent sounds of rage. A broad smile enveloped Dill’s round +countenance and he chuckled. Briggs, rubbing a sleeve across his +streaming eyes, said chokingly: “Jack, you’re all right! After this you +talk all you want to, ’cause you’ve certainly got the knack of it! I +wouldn’t have missed Chuck’s face for a million dollars!” + +“Yes, but say, kid, what did you do to him?” asked another. “You didn’t +hit him, did you?” + +“No, I just gave him a leg,” replied Dill, modestly. “I used to wrestle +a bit in college.” + +After that night The Pickle had no more troubles. And, since he let +it be understood that Carter was a particular crony of his, no more +did the second new member of the _944’s_ crew. Carter recovered from +his illness the next day and, while he still looked extremely pale and +shuddered at sight of the morning beans and bacon, was able to go on +duty. Chuck Morgan let The Pickle severely alone, but he was frequently +seen observing the youngster surreptitiously in a puzzled way that +showed he had not lost interest in him. No one aboard took Chuck very +seriously, but Kennedy advised Dill to keep his eyes open. “He’s not +likely to stand up to you, Pickle, but he might drop a cartridge box on +your foot, or some little joke like that. He was asking me yesterday +what a newt was.” Kennedy chuckled. “I didn’t tell him because I didn’t +know. What is it?” + +Dill explained and Kennedy looked disappointed. “Is that all?” he +asked. “Well, Chuck thinks it’s something pretty fierce, I guess. He +didn’t seem to mind the other things you called him, but ‘newt’ got +right under his skin. I saw him looking at his feet to-day, too,” +laughed Kennedy. + +Dave liked Dill――his whole name it seemed was Robert Dunham Dill――and +for a day or two Pete was strangely taciturn and moody. What his +trouble was only appeared when he referred to Dill contemptuously as +“your friend, the Rah-rah Boy.” It dawned on Dave then that Pete was +jealous, and he set about working him out of it. But Pete was not to +be placated at once and it was another day or two before he returned +to good humor. Even then, however, he refused to accept The Pickle on +a friendly footing, and showed a tendency to pick a quarrel with that +youth on almost any provocation. Matters reached a head on the fourth +day of the _944’s_ sea duty. + +Dill had several times amused the men by showing tricks of wrestling. +He was very modest of his prowess and had to be coaxed a bit before he +would perform. Then, with one or another of the men as adversary, he +showed various holds and always deposited the opponent neatly on his +back on the fo’c’sle deck when the time came. On the occasion mentioned +nine or ten of the “gobs” were looking on, amongst them Pete and +Dave. Briggs had managed to stave off defeat for the better part of a +minute, but was eventually landed, to the huge delight of the audience. +Whereupon Pete pushed forward. + +“Come on, Percy,” he challenged. “Try me. I ain’t no Zbyszko, but I +might show you a trick at that.” + +Dill viewed Pete doubtfully, aware of the latter’s unfriendliness. + +“What’s the matter?” sneered Pete. “Ain’t scared, are you?” + +Dill shook his head. “No, but this is fun, and you don’t sound as +though you wanted fun.” + +“Sure, I want fun,” replied Pete, grinning. “I won’t hurt you, son. +Come on an’ show me some o’ them pretty tricks.” + +“All right,” answered Dill quietly, “if you insist.” + +“Yeah, that’s me, Mister Insist,” said Pete flippantly. “Everything +goes, eh?” + +Dill’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded. “Just as you like. Ready?” + +They circled for a moment in the narrow space of the fo’c’sle deck, +eyeing each other warily. Then. Pete sprang in and they grappled. +The audience was quite impartial and for a minute, while the two +struggled for holds, they applauded first one and then the other. Pete +was outweighed by The Pickle, but he soon showed himself a difficult +problem for the latter. Twice Dill tried a fall only to have Pete +squirm free. Then, locked again, heaving and panting, they struggled +without advantage to either for a long two minutes. At last, though, +Dill fairly lifted Pete from his feet, and they crashed together to +the deck, Dill on top. But Pete had managed to land on one hip, and +now, like a human eel, he squirmed over on his face in spite of the +other’s grasp. Twice Dill had him nearly over, but each time Pete +pried himself back. The third effort succeeded, however, and Pete was +being remorselessly flattened, when a shout of protest arose from the +watchers. + +“Foul there, Pete!” “Quit gouging!” “Cut out the rough stuff!” + +But Pete, his right hand in Dill’s face, only grinned. Dill strove to +pull his head away from the fingers that were clutching at eyes and +nose, but failed. Then: “Don’t do that,” he panted. + +“Why not?” answered Pete. “You said――everything went!” + +“All right!” Dill’s response was heard only by his antagonist. But +the others saw The Pickle come nimbly to his knees with arching back. +Pete’s hold broke. Before he knew what was to happen he found himself +turned heels-over-head, and he came slamming to the deck like a bag of +potatoes and with a suddenness and force that bewildered him for just +the fraction of time needed by Dill. Down came that youth with all his +one hundred and eighty pounds, and Pete’s body lay flat with the deck, +both shoulders and hips down. + +A roar of applause greeted the victory, and Dill sprang to his feet. +The marks of Pete’s fingers were still on his face, and unconsciously +he put a hand up to his nose. But he was smiling quite amiably as Pete +arose. Knowing Pete’s quick temper, the audience waited for an outbreak +from that youth. But Pete only pulled his neckerchief into place in +silence. + +“Try again?” asked Dill good-humoredly. + +Pete shook his head, while one of his slow grins came over his freckled +countenance. “I got enough,” he said. “You win, bo. That was some toss, +take it from Pete. An’, say, if I hurt your face I’m sorry, see! Where +I learned what I know about wrestlin’ you can do anything you want to +short o’ usin’ a knife! That all right?” + +“Sure!” agreed Dill. “It was fair. I agreed to it. If you had a bit +more weight, friend, you’d be a mighty good wrestler.” + +“Yeah, I’d be a wonder,” agreed Pete. “But some time you got to show +me how you flipped me over, son. That was too quick for me to take any +notes!” + +“All right,” laughed Dill. “Any time you like.” + +“I guess he ain’t so bad,” announced Pete that night to Dave. “Any guy +that can keep his temper when he’s bein’ gouged is some lad. An’ he +sure is some boy at that mat game, take it from Pete!” + +After that The Pickle became one of them and the three hung very close +together. Sometimes Carter, now known amongst his mates as “Yank,” made +a fourth, but Carter never quite fitted into the small circle for some +reason. Meanwhile I have got far ahead of my story, for all this time +the _944_ has been bucking the seas around “50-10,” and in the Summer +of 1917 no patrol could do that for long without scaring up some sort +of an adventure! + + + + + CHAPTER III + + “CLEAR FOR ACTION!” + + +In August, although the United States was sending across destroyers and +chasers as fast as they came from the ways or could be made from craft +taken over from private ownership, the Allied patrol fleet in British +and French waters was still woefully small for the work it had to +perform. It was not until late in the following winter that it reached +proportions measurable with its task. With several thousand square +miles of sea to be constantly swept for enemy submarines and mines, +troopships and freighters to be convoyed and a sharp watch kept on +neutral shipping, the patrol fleet had its hands full. As a consequence +many tiny boats all too frail for the duty imposed on them did heroic +work that summer all the way from the Shetlands down to the Bay of +Biscay, and when the history of the war is written some of the biggest +feats will be credited to the smallest craft. + +An area roughly triangular in shape containing approximately 170,000 +square miles of sea was the territory assigned to the United States +flotilla under Admiral Sims. This area was plotted into squares and to +each square was allotted one or more patrol units whose duty it was to +guard the ocean contained within its imaginary sides. At the beginning +British and French ships performed fully half of the work there, but as +the United States increased her flotilla the Allies withdrew gradually, +leaving more and more of the sea to the American light cruisers, +destroyers and chasers. But in midsummer the area assigned to one pair +of patrol boats was discouragingly large and getting in touch with an +enemy submarine was more a matter of luck than good management. The +patrols spent usually six days at sea and then returned to port for +three. At all times when on duty each patrol was under orders of the +flagship of the division, and only special duty put her “on her own.” + +Find Black Ball Head, on the southwest coast of Ireland, on your atlas +and follow straight south on the line of the tenth degree of longitude +for slightly over a hundred miles and you will have reached one corner +of that square of tumbling gray-green water assigned to the _944_. A +hundred and seventy miles eastward lie the Scilly Islands; beyond, the +entrance to the English Channel. Northward, nearing the Irish coast, +the ocean bottom rises and in those shallow waters an ordinary gale +raises a considerable rumpus. While there are many days when the ocean +around “50-10” is as still and calm as an inland lake, there are many, +many more when it is a tumbling welter in which a small craft pitches +and tosses all ways at once. + +For three days the _944_ encountered a choppy sea, with alternate +cloud and sunshine and early morning mists. Then the wind died and +shifted half-way around the compass, and a smiling ocean, as blue +as the Mediterranean and as peaceful as a mill-pond, greeted Dave’s +waking eyes. Scrubbing deck that morning was a delight. The chaser +merely courtesied to the waves, the sunlight danced on the water, and +the southerly breeze, scarcely more than a zephyr, whispered of sunny +Spain. Dave, bare of foot, with up-rolled trousers and not over-clean +dungaree, dropped his bucket over the side and whistled gayly as he +lifted it, full and splashing, above the rail. Being alive on such a +morning was a veritable adventure of itself. From the galley came the +heartening odor of coffee, an odor that, somehow, on shipboard will +follow a hungry sailor from billet-head to taffrail and even up to the +crow’s nest. Cleaning deck didn’t take long on the _944_, for there +wasn’t much of it, and in a short time Dave was below doing valiant +work with knife and fork. For once the mess table was down and usable +and morning chow was eaten in quite a Christian manner. One could fill +an aluminum cup almost full and not lose half the contents between +spigot and mouth. Spirits were high this morning and appetites amazing. + +At seven Dave climbed the shrouds and snuggled himself in the gray +canvas cylinder above the bridge, relieving a hungry lookout to the joy +of coffee, bacon and potatoes. In all directions empty sea rewarded +Dave’s attention. The sun was well above the rim of the world and the +dancing waves caught its rays and flashed them about like so many tiny +mirrors. Small birds sped close to the laughing surface, peep-peeping +as they passed, and presently three playful dolphins dashed across the +bow, bringing a gasp to Dave’s lips and a spasm to his heart. A dolphin +appearing so without warning suggests just one thing, and Dave’s lips +were already forming the word “_Torpedo!_” when his second thought +whispered “Dolphin!” They kept the chaser company for longer than +Dave’s trick in the cage, cork-screwing along without apparent effort, +up and down, in and out, keeping their relative places as absolutely as +though on exhibition drill. It may be that dolphins have their troubles +in private, but to watch them one would never suspect it. No denizen of +air or water appears so joyous and care-free. + +An hour aloft, during which not so much as a distant smoke smudge +marred the oyster-gray sky above the horizon, and Dave slid down again +and found Pete and shared a half cake of chocolate in the after-house. +Then came gun drill and when the canvas jacket was once more around +Betsy Ann’s slender form the forenoon was half gone. Why the stern gun +was called Betsy Ann no one seemed to know any more than why the bow +gun was called The Colonel. Guns, like dogs, must have their names. +Later Dave was curled up in the sun perusing a torn two pages of a +month old New York newspaper which fluttered gayly in the breeze that +roamed around the corner of the wheel-house. The _944_ was loafing +along at twelve knots and her engines hardly more than purred through +the open hatch. The splash of waves against the slim bow was soothing +and sleepy. So quiet was the scene that when Mallory, radio man, put +his head out of the tiny hutch and warbled something about his little +gray home in the west Dave jumped alarmedly. Then Mallory’s song ceased +abruptly and his shock head disappeared from sight and Dave heard the +_spit-spit-spat_ of the sparks again. A few seconds later a slip of +paper was borne upward to the bridge and the _944_ sprang into activity. + +“S O S,” explained Briggs, straight from the wardroom. “American cargo +boat fighting off a sub over there.” He waved an arm westward. “We’re +going to have a look-see, Kid. Down on your marrow-bones and pray we +get there before the fun’s over!” + +“How far away is she?” asked Dave eagerly. + +“A hundred and something. I didn’t get that. There she roars!” + +Briggs listened approvingly to the increasing hum of the engines and +cocked an eye funnel-ward. The smoke was coming heavier now, blacker +and greasier. The _944_ was swinging about and the waves were spraying +the forward deck. Eighteen knots――nineteen knots――and the chaser was +off on her mission of rescue. In the wireless hutch Mallory had ticked +off an answer: + +“With you in five hours. Don’t surrender.” + +Twenty minutes later the _Agawam_ spoke again: “Please hurry. Enemy has +range. Shells falling alongside. Course E N E.” + +“It’s dollars to collar-studs,” observed Kennedy fretfully, “that some +one else will get there first. Rotten luck, I say, to raise your first +sub a hundred and fifteen miles away.” + +“It isn’t our first,” denied Farrel, shellman. + +“First since we’ve been on patrol, I mean. Stands to reason there’s +patrols nearer than we are. We’ll fetch up a couple of hours too late.” + +“And a good thing, too,” offered another. “A swell chance we’ve got +with these three-inch pistols against the five-point-nines the Huns +have! They can knock us into a cocked hat twenty minutes before we get +the range.” + +“Don’t worry,” said Kennedy. “They don’t all have those 15 centimeter +guns. Only the big ‘fishes.’ Anyway we can outshoot ’em. Just give me a +sight of a Fritz and I’ll bet a month’s pay that old Betsy Ann’ll have +something to say to ’em!” + +Mallory’s inquiry, “What’s the good word?”, flashed into the air +shortly after eight bells, brought no answer, and gloom descended on +ward room and fo’c’sle. There was but one explanation, which was that +the _Agawam_ had been very thoroughly “strafed” by the submarine. But +there might be small boats to seek and, in any case, the _944’s_ duty +was to hike along at her best speed, which was twenty-three ordinarily, +but to-day, in a calm sea, was nearly a mile better. Chow was eaten +rather perfunctorily and was interrupted with much discussion. None of +them all was very hopeful. All agreed that it was a wild-goose chase +they were on, with mighty little hope of even glimpsing the goose, and +yet, when at shortly after 2 o’clock the foretop lookout called down: +“Smoke dead ahead!” dejection was forgotten. They flocked to points +of vantage, atop the boats, onto the railing, anywhere to lift their +vision over the curve of the sea. But for long minutes only the man in +the cage saw what he babbled of. “Black smoke, sir!” ... “Making east, +north-east!” ... “Might be fire, sir! A lot of it!” The lieutenant +poised impatient glasses to his eyes and waited. Then the cloud became +visible from the deck, and―― + +“Large steamer, sir, afire for’ard!” shouted the lookout. + +“Can you see the enemy?” called the Old Man. + +“No, sir, not visible.” Then, after a long minute: “Enemy spotted, sir! +Can see the flash of her gun about half a mile south of the steamer.” + +“Clear for action!” called the lieutenant. + +Up rose the fleeing steamer above the horizon, smoke clouds pouring +back for leagues against the sky; masts, then funnels and, at last, +long, dark hull. Glasses showed her plainly now. Through the brown +haze of smoke pinkish flashes showed at times. The _Agawam_ was still +fighting bravely as she fled. Six miles lay between now. The Old Man +looked despairingly at the telltale trail of smoke that flattened +out from the _944’s_ funnel. No hope of low visibility with that +advertisement above them! Below decks the engines raved and roared +and a flood of hot, oil-laden air issued gustily from the engine room +hatch and poisoned the deck. On the bridge the officers stood silent, +eyes glued to binoculars, legs astraddle, one hand on the rail with +knuckles showing white. Dave, lugging cartridge cases back to Betsy +Ann, silently prayed for the impossible. Kennedy was muttering as he +swung the gun around until its length almost paralleled the chaser’s +rail. The shell was in and the breech closed, but the lucky beggars +for’ard would get the first chance. Four depth charges trudged out on +the trucks, cards to be left in case the callers arrived too late. + +“Bow gun,” was the call. “Ready down there?” + +“Ready, sir!” + +Into the voice tube then: “After gun. Are you ready?” + +“Ready, sir!” + +Silence and suspense. The distance was four miles now, but rapidly +lessening. The submarine was showing flashes as her deck guns spat, +the steamer fluttering signals and running her best of fourteen miles. +Brown smoke was oozing from the forward hold or thereabouts and +writhing back and down to hang in long, streaming clouds above the +sunlit sea. Three miles! Then two! And the enemy paying as yet no heed +to the interloper charging straight toward her. And now barely a mile +intervened. Chaser, steamer and submarine made the three points of a +triangle. The lookout warned: “They’re sighting on us, sir!” Far ahead +a column of water splashed in the sunlight. + +The Old Man raised his straining hand from the rail beside him and +lowered his glasses. + +“Commence firing,” he said. + + + + + CHAPTER IV + + THE HUN SHOWS HIS TEETH + + +The Colonel barked and a three-inch shell sped across the water to +where the U-boat was curving the waves from her knife-like bow in +stern pursuit of the freighter. The shot was far short, though. Nor +was the shell with which the submarine returned the compliment any +more successful, for it struck the water well ahead of the _944_ and +went ricochetting harmlessly past. Then the submarine showed her +teeth. Around went her stern and she swept down toward the chaser, a +twelve-foot target now instead of a hundred-odd, her one gun firing +fast as the _944’s_ course brought that craft nearly broadside on. But +that was only for an instant, for then the chaser’s helm went over, +too, and the boats drew near on opposite courses. + +“Four thousand yards!” announced the bridge. And then: “Port your +helm! Port! Steady!” Aft, Dave, watching with fast-beating heart, knew +what the lieutenant had in mind to do, and instinctively his hand +went out for something to hold to. But, although the maneuver was well +planned and well timed, the distance was too great, and the U-boat +slewed around, and the _944_, hoping to ram, slid harmlessly past. Not +harmlessly, either, for bow and after gun were busy, and for one short +moment the target lay before them point-blank. + +There was a rending crash as the Betsy Ann scored and the sloping +wave-breaker forward of the conning tower melted from sight, taking +ventilating pipe with it. Dave saw one sailor throw his arms in air, +stagger, fall and roll from sight. A second sank to his knees and +reached gropingly for the deck. Then the conning tower intervened, for +the U-boat was making away, stern-on, pursued by the chaser’s fire. + +“Got her!” Kennedy shouted triumphantly. “Got her! Quick with that +shell!” + +[Illustration: “Got her!” Kennedy shouted triumphantly] + +“Yeah, but she’s not much hurt,” said Pete. “She’ll go down now, take +it from Pete! What did I tell you?” + +The _944_ was turning on her heel in pursuit, but the submarine had +had enough. She was no match for the chaser in speed, even though, as +German submarines went, she was small and fast, and she recognized +the fact at last. The Colonel was spouting the spray around her and +there was one shot that seemed as if it must have been an underwater +hit, and then the conning tower lessened in height above the waves, +the stern lifted and, like a gray turtle sliding off a log, the U-boat +went under. One last shot from The Colonel and the gun fire aboard the +chaser ceased. But she still had a card to play, and at the rail the +little crane was already swinging its burden outboard. Straight over +the swirl of the submerging U-boat shot the _944_. There was a splash +as the depth charge struck the water. The _944_ picked up her skirts +and fled, and from her wake, a hundred yards astern, a great column of +green and sudsy water shot twenty feet in air, hung an instant and fell +in a sunlit cascade of foam. Around on her heel again came the chaser. +Over went a second charge. Again the water columned upward. Twice more, +and then, circling slowly, the _944_ sought signs of victory. + +Foam and bubbles alone marked the site of the explosions, and +disappointment was audible along the deck. Then one of the men called +attention to streaks of oil at a little distance, and a cheer broke +forth. But triumph was short-lived, for the lieutenant called down +from the bridge: “That’s only shell ‘slick,’ boys. She got away.” He +turned to the engine room telegraph, and the _944_ picked up her feet +again and made after the _Agawam_, now some two miles distant. + +“What is shell ‘slick’?” asked Dave of Kennedy. + +“Oil from the gas of an exploding shell,” was the answer. “If it bursts +on the water or near it, it always leaves an oily smudge. In target +practice we can generally tell where the shot’s gone by the ‘slick.’ I +don’t know if these depth bombs would send up oil, but I should think +they might. Half the yarns you hear about subs being destroyed are +just bunk. There’s some oil floating around on the surface, and a lot +of bubbles, and the other fellow shakes hands with himself and reports +that he’s sunk a Fritz. Like as not the oil was from his own shells and +the bubbles are just the bubbles that always rise when anything sinks +carrying air with it. I used to believe all those yarns, but you’ve got +to show me more than a smudge of oil and a few bubbles now.” + +“Then you think we missed her, too?” asked Dave, disappointedly. + +“Don’t think; I know. But at that, I’ll bet she got an awful jar when +that T N T went off down there! Wouldn’t wonder if the boss’s mustache +cup was knocked off the sideboard and all bust to pieces!” + +They kept a sharp lookout, hoping against hope that the U-boat would +come back and again try conclusions, or that a “pal”――for it is very +generally believed that German submarines never operate alone――would +take up the gauntlet. But the episode appeared to be closed, for they +reached the steamer, which had now stopped her engines in response to +the chaser’s signals, without seeing anything more of the foe. The +_Agawam_ had fared rather badly. She was a big cargo boat of some 5,000 +tons displacement and from her depth in the water it was evident that +she was loaded to capacity. She had carried a rifle forward and one +aft, and there was a machine gun amidships. Bow and after guns had +been put out of action by bursting shrapnel and only the machine gun +remained of use, and that had been powerless at the range presented +by the submarine. Those on the _944_ counted six evident hits on +the _Agawam_. Fortunately, only one shell had struck close to the +water-line, due, perhaps, to the fact that the steamer was unusually +low and so presented but a small target vertically. Most of the damage +had been above deck. The rail was torn away in three places for many +yards, the amidship deck structure was a mass of splintered ruins and +two boats were demolished. One of the three funnels was crumpled and +showed daylight clear through it, and the wireless had been wrecked +early in the engagement, which accounted for the _Agawam’s_ silence +after noon. + +The most serious injury was from the one shell which had entered the +hull just at the water and in line with number one hold. The explosion +had set fire to her cargo there and smoke was still pouring forth +in billowing clouds as the _944_, sweeping alongside, hailed. The +captain answered from the remains of a badly treated bridge. The sub +had appeared at shortly after nine o’clock some three miles off the +starboard beam and the _Agawam_ had promptly changed her course and +used all speed. But she was loaded too deep for speed and after a +half-hour the U-boat had fired a shell that fell short. The _Agawam_ +had then returned the fire without success, as the sub was beyond +range of her three-inch guns, and a running fight had ensued, with +the U-boat gradually finding her target. A lucky shot had soon put the +after gun out of commission, and the bow gun had been knocked from +its platform still later. The third mate, two members of the forward +gun crew and one sailor had been killed and six men were wounded. The +fire in the hold could be controlled, he thought, until they made +port, if they could manage a temporary patch of the hull. Fortunately, +the engines had not been damaged, and, more fortunately, a large +consignment of shells, which made up a third of the cargo, was stowed +in the after hold. + +Lieutenant Cowan saluted. “I congratulate you, Captain,” he said +heartily, “on the plucky fight you put up and on your escape. I’m sorry +to say the dogs got away from us, sir. Now, in what way can I be of +service?” + +“Stand by me, sir, to Liverpool. Can you do that?” + +“I’ll convoy you past the cape, Captain, and arrange for you beyond +there. Is there anything else I can do for you?” + +“You might lend me some men to clear up this mess and stick a patch +over that hole. I’m short-handed a bit.” + +“Certainly. Are you all right for medical supplies?” + +“Plenty, thanks. My second mate is a bit of a saw-bones.” + +The _944_ slung over a boat and eight eager men crowded in. Dave was +fortunate enough to be included. They toiled aboard the _Agawam_ until +nearly dark, by which time the deck was cleared of litter, the hole +in the hull was patched with two-inch planking, and the after gun was +restored to service. The bow gun was too badly wrecked for repairing. +Just how badly the steamer had fared was not revealed until the _944’s_ +party had climbed on board. Then a full view of the battered deck lay +before them, and Dave marveled that the loss of life had not been far +greater. There was scarcely a foot of deck aft of the bridge that +did not show shrapnel scars. Dave talked with one of the forward gun +crew, a chap of nineteen, who gave his name as Edmunds, and who was +called Alvin by his pals, with whom he was trying desperately hard to +reconstruct the gun with the spare parts at their command. + +“We tried to get the captain to bear down on the Hun and fight him. We +could have licked the tar out of him easy. But he wouldn’t. Said his +duty was to get his ship and cargo over. Maybe so, but it sure seemed a +shame not to get Fritz’s scalp. That old tin fish stayed out of range +most of the time, and when they gave us a chance they kept zig-zagging, +firing over one bow and then the other. They didn’t make a target big +enough to sight, hang ’em! But we got away, and I suppose we’d ought to +be thankful for that. But, gee! I wish you fellows had ‘strafed’ ’em!” + +“So do we,” said Dave mournfully. “We landed twice and knocked away +their wave breaker, but then they went under and we lost them. And our +depth charges didn’t seem to feaze them any, either. It was tough luck.” + +“Those squareheads are a lucky bunch, anyway,” said Edmunds. “If it +wasn’t for their fool luck the Kaiser’d be breaking stones up-river by +now! Well, I hope we meet up with that particular Hun again some day. +All I’m asking is a fair shot at her before I cash in. I’d give ninety +days’ pay and a week in brig for that!” + +And the rest of the crew growled agreement. + +Shortly after 7 o’clock the boarding party returned to the chaser and +the two craft started on their way again, headed for Cape Clear. The +_944_ suited her speed to the _Agawam’s_, and through a clear, starlit +night and over a calm sea they made their way at a trifle better than +ten knots. Once a patrol blinked at them, but aside from that nothing +transpired until, at sunrise, the green coast of Ireland arose from a +turquois sea. Off Toe Head a small United States destroyer bore down, +signaling, and the _944_ was relieved of her charge. Waving “Good-by +and good luck!” she swung about in a churning wake of foam and sped +southward again. From the stern Dave and The Pickle watched the plucky +_Agawam_ fade from sight, her path marked by a trailing cloud of brown +smoke from the burning cargo. + +“Those Naval Guards on the merchantmen see some excitement, don’t +they?” mused Dill. “I don’t know but what they stand a better show than +we do to get action. Maybe we’d have done better if we’d gone in for +that job.” + +Dave smiled. “Don’t you consider that we managed to scare up a little +action and excitement yesterday?” he asked. + +“That?” The Pickle considered gravely. “Well, yes, I suppose you’d say +so. Still, there wasn’t much to it, now, was there? Look here, Kid, +what I joined this war for was――” + +“To escape college,” laughed Dave. + +“Partly that,” The Pickle acknowledged, with a grin, “and partly to get +a good whack at those――those blamed murderers! And my idea of a good +time is to go after ’em where they live and knock the everlasting tar +right out of ’em! Fight ’em to a fare-ye-well! This snooping around +just waiting for them to stick their heads up so you can hit ’em is +poor business. They don’t give you a show. They peek out, and if +there’s anything bigger than a tugboat in sight they duck again. They +certainly play it safe, don’t they?” + +“I suppose they do. But they’re doing what they’re here for; and +they’re doing it a sight too well to please me. Some one’s got to do +the sort of thing we’re doing, Bob. It may be kind of disappointing, +but it’s necessary, and it’s going to count.” + +“Hope so,” grumbled Dill, “but it isn’t my idea of war. Still, if Uncle +Sam wants it done, why I’m the lad for it. What he says goes!” + + + + + CHAPTER V + + CONVOY DUTY + + +Followed a fortnight of uneventful existence. Back in Queenstown they +made the most of the interims between sea duty, putting in all the +time ashore that they could get, hobnobbing with “gobs” from the other +ships, yarning and listening to yarns, rooting enthusiastically for +this or that baseball team, reading and writing in the Y. M. C. A. hut, +and exploring the neighboring villages and towns, for that was before +the men were restricted to bounds. They found mail awaiting them, and +a multitude of home papers and magazines, and Dave received a box of +comforts from his mother that made him a bit homesick at first, and +then cheered him up vastly. The three of them, Dave, Pete, and The +Pickle, made that box look horribly empty in something under an hour! + +The second period of duty on patrol brought nothing to liven the +monotony. Fair weather held, and the six days outside were deadly +monotonous, or would have been had there not always been the hope of +something happening to keep their spirits up. Gun practice saved the +day for many of them. Dave was trying his best to qualify for seaman +gunner, and to that end studied diligently in what books he could buy +or borrow, and watched Kennedy closely, and asked so many questions +that he threatened to become a nuisance. Chuck Morgan remained +as affable as ever, but he stood in such respect of The Pickle’s +vocabulary that he generally avoided that youth’s society. He tried +picking on Pete once or twice, and Pete good-naturedly let him get away +with it until Chuck ill-advisedly referred to Pete as a Sinn Feiner. +Then the fur flew until friends of the belligerents took their lives in +their hands and parted them just in time to save them from the eye of +the junior officer. Chuck got slightly the worst of the encounter, but, +as Pete pointed out aggrievedly, he hadn’t got nearly what he would +have had the fellows let them alone! After that Chuck remained on good +behavior for some time. + +Their second stay at the base was cut short by one day, and the _944_ +slid out between the nets that guard the harbor entrance one twilight +in company with four destroyers and a second chaser, and turned her +nose west southwest. “Convoy duty,” said Briggs hopefully. “Maybe we’ll +land a scrap this time. Only, if we do,” he added dejectedly, “those +destroyers’ll jump in and hog the show.” + +Still, there was no charge for hoping, and the crew of the _944_ +dreamed beautiful dreams of a stand-up-and-knock-down shindy with a +fine big Fritz. All that night and all the next day the six craft +steamed westward in single-column formation, the gray destroyers in +the lead and setting a sharp pace and the two chasers bringing up the +rear. Behind the _944_ was one of the 110-foot boats, narrow beamed, +low decked, with a square stern. She looked ridiculously small for the +work in hand, but they had to acknowledge aboard the _944_ that she +was certainly able and looked a heap like business. They had squally +weather, with a rough sea, and the _944’s_ deck ran with water most of +the time. As for the destroyers, reaching out in a long, slim, gray +line ahead, they made no pretense of keeping dry. They simply buried +their sharp noses into the chop and flung the seas over the swaying +bridges and asked for more. In the graveyard watch of the second +morning the engines ceased their humming, and it was known that the +convoys had reached the rendezvous. They pitched and slopped around +until dawn, making headway and no more, and then went on again lazily, +the lookouts peering ahead into a gray mist. It was the middle of the +forenoon before smoke was sighted. Then out of the haze crept twelve +big transports, asking hoarse questions with their whistles, and +fluttering a babel of conversation by wig-wag. + +Two of the ships were laden with marines and the rest with army troops, +and as the destroyers and chasers sped past, under the high sides, to +take their positions, the air was filled with cheers and the long decks +fluttered with waving hats. Aboard the little _944_ they clustered at +the rail and grinned and waved back, and felt for some reason a bit +chokey. Tier on tier of olive-drab forms loomed above them, so many +that it seemed to Dave that every camp and cantonment back home must +have been emptied aboard those big ships. Cheer after cheer followed +them as they dashed by in a welter of spray, rather smartly they all +hoped, and ducked across under the frowning bows of a big transport to +take their position on the starboard flank. Signal answered signal, +sirens screeched, and, as Pete said, Donnybrook Fair had nothing on +them. Yet out of the confusion order came swiftly, and an hour after +the junction of transports and convoys big ships and little were on +their way again, the troopships in line of twos and the convoys on each +flank. Westward they set their course, and satisfaction possessed the +fo’c’sle of the _944_. + +“Bordeaux,” guessed Briggs joyfully. “Great! They say it’s some town, +fellows. A chap I met the other day told me you can get regular +back-home pie in Bordeaux. And cake! Say, boy, I’m not eating a thing +till we get there!” + +Meanwhile, you may be certain, no lookout napped at his station. On +convoys and transports sharp eyes combed the sea for the challenge of +an upthrust periscope or the slinking form of a dripping conning tower. +Over the rims of swaying cages, down from lofty crow’s nests, lookouts +peered all hours at a yeasty ocean, while from decks as well spotters +leveled their glasses. The Pickle chuckled as he joined Dave in the lee +of the funnel that afternoon. + +“I know just how those doughboys over there are feeling to-day,” he +said, in answer to the other’s look of inquiry. “I’ve been through it. +You talk such a lot about the danger zone and get to thinking about +it so much that when they pass you the word one night to sleep in your +life-belts, and you know you’ve got there at last, you just naturally +expect a torpedo to come flipping right into your bunk ’most any time. +You don’t sleep a whole lot that first night, either. Maybe it is +because life-belts aren’t as comfortable as pajamas, or maybe because +every time a sailor stubs his toe at the far end of the ship you sit +right straight up in bed and try to remember off-hand which way your +boat is. Lots of us slept on deck that first night. They told us we +mustn’t, but we did. There was something quite a bit cheering in the +thought that when the ‘moldie’ struck us all we had to do was slide +gently into the sea and strike out for Liverpool! Bet you they’re a +nervous bunch over there just now.” He nodded toward the nearest of the +big transports. “If some one drops a plate at mess there’ll be a rush +for the decks that’ll make a subway crush look like a doll’s party.” + +“I suppose you do feel sort of ticklish,” mused Dave. “Think what a +prize one of those ships would be for a Hun. Imagine a torpedo bursting +amidships yonder.” + +“I’d rather not, thanks,” said Dill, dryly. “You’ve got a punk +imagination, Kid.” After a moment he went on. “Funny about that +steamer. When we first ran past her she looked sort of familiar to +me, like an old friend who’s shaved off his mustache or――or parted +his hair different. All daubed up with gray like that, she sort of +puzzled me. Then I borrowed a pair of glasses and read her name on a +lifeboat. She’s the old _Everglades_, and I’ve made three trips on her. +Know her almost as well as I know my frat house. She used to run from +New York to Savannah. See that timber arrangement on the upper deck +almost at the end? Some sort of a signaling effect, I guess. Well, my +stateroom was the one just for’ard of it. One, two, three――six from +the thwartship passage. Seems funny to see her away out here and all +smudged up with gray and filled with soldiers. Gee, war does funny +tricks! I’ve had some mighty good times on that old ship,” he added +with a chuckle. + +Carter joined them, half seated himself on the narrow ledge about the +funnel base without a word and bracing himself to the swing of the boat. + +“How many troops do you suppose she has aboard?” asked Dave. + +“Maybe fifteen hundred,” estimated Dill. “Maybe more than that. They’ve +changed those ships all over inside and can pack ’em away like sardines. +Gee, that’s queer, too! What are they doing there, fellows, all those +guys in khaki? Where’d they come from? What’s it all mean, eh?” He shook +his head in a hopelessly puzzled way. Carter viewed him in mild +surprise, but made no answer. Dave nodded. + +“It is funny,” he said. “Fifteen hundred American kids. Clerks and +college boys and factory hands and day laborers a few months ago. +Didn’t know whether a rifle was something to eat or a new game of +cards. Now look at them! Yes, it’s――it’s mighty queer. What _are_ they +doing?” + +“Making men of themselves,” said Carter evenly. “Going across the ocean +to fight a horde of murdering cowards, and maybe get killed doing it. +Going over to set things right again in this world we’re living in. +Taking their chances for those that will come after them, the kids of +to-day and all the kids to come. That’s what this war seems to me, +fellows, a war for the――the future generation, so they’ll be free and +happy. It doesn’t seem to make such a lot of difference about us folks, +we that are here now, does it? It’s our children and their children +we’ve got to think about, isn’t it?” + +“Blessed if I ever thought of it like that,” said Dill slowly. “But I +see what you’re driving at, Yank. There’s something in it, too. I guess +if we don’t settle this thing now, and for keeps, our kids’ll have +mighty poor pickings. A war for the kids, eh? Well, maybe, Yank, maybe.” + +“It’s wonderful, anyway,” said Dave, “all those boys picked up out +of quiet, everyday, humdrum life and――and sort of melted over into +soldiers and fighters in a jiffy. It――it makes you awfully proud that +you’re an American, doesn’t it?” + +“Sure,” responded Dill, more cheerfully. “Makes you want to flap your +wings a bit and crow. Or――or blink your eyes and swallow!” + +“I guess we’ve all always been proud of being Americans,” observed +Carter quietly, “only we didn’t always know it.” + +“Right-o,” agreed The Pickle. “And there’s only one thing that will +ever make me change my mind about it.” + +“What’s that?” + +“Well, that’s――” He stopped and looked frowningly across the tumbling +water. Then: “Suppose we fall down on this job, fellows. Suppose +that after all the boasting we’ve done, because we have done a lot of +it; too blamed much, and you both know it; suppose that after all our +talk of what we are going to do, we――don’t do it! That would be pretty +sickening, wouldn’t it?” + +“We _will_ do it,” said Carter confidently. “We can’t help doing it. +It’s in us. We do boast, but we don’t mean any harm. It’s just our way +of showing our confidence, of being-what-do-you-call-it, optimistic. +It’s just plain spirits. But we always make good our boasts, and that’s +the main thing!” + +“Hope you’re right,” commented Dill, unconvinced. “Anyway, I’m not +hauling down my flag yet!” + +That night they churned along under dark skies with never a glimmer +showing, and the next day found themselves under a blue heaven again +and bathed in the warm sunshine of early September. There were no +alarms from the lookouts. The submarine might well have been a +prehistoric myth for all the evidence they found. On the transports +drills occupied much of the time, and from the _944_ they watched +the olive-drab figures assemble on the deck of the _Everglades_ for +setting-up drill in the morning and saw them hurrying to the life-boats +later. Toward evening they all slowed down while one of the troopships +made engine repairs. + +Finally, soon after dawn the next day, they raised the French coast and +at noon were passing through the estuary of the Gironde River, picking +their way in single line between the hidden mines and nets, guided by a +diminutive French cruiser with a kaleidoscopic hull. Bevies of trawlers +crawled from their path and big cargo boats churned past them, going +seaward. The ocean breeze had departed and a languorous warmth wrapped +them as they followed the course of the winding channel. Green meadows +descended gently to the river banks and picturesque white plaster +houses with impossibly red roofs peeked at them from under the trees. +Dave’s first glimpse of France was a happy one, for Bordeaux has a +peculiar charm of Old World quaintness and color. + +The convoys anchored below the city, while the transports sailed on +and up and finally out of sight, lost in a forest of roofs and masts. +There was liberty that afternoon for all who wanted it aboard the +_944_, and Dave, Dill, and Pete went merrily ashore and saw the town. +And there was much to see, much that was as unfamiliar as picturesque +and curious. There were squads of German prisoners at work along the +docks, phlegmatic and evidently contented, loading and unloading +transports and merchantmen and guarded by colorful French soldiers with +phenomenally long bayonets fixed to their rifles. The streets were +filled with donkey carts, each presided over by a woman, and women +drove the street cars as well. Soldiers on leave were everywhere, +hobbling about on crutches or bandaged somewhere and always cheerful, +or so it seemed to the boys. They saw all they could crowd into a few +short hours; the markets, and the warm-hued old buildings and the goats +that were driven from door to door and milked and many, many churches, +in one of which they viewed a fine collection of mummies! + +America, however, was fast working a change in the old city, for docks +and warehouses and camps were going up overnight and the khaki-clad +boys from the U. S. A. were everywhere in evidence. Outside the town a +veritable village of wooden buildings was nearing completion, a camp to +which the new troops were marched from the transports and quartered +until they were sent off to the villages behind the lines. The _944_ +lay in the Gironde that night and then, at sun-up, churned off, in +company with the other chaser, and headed for Queenstown. + +Penmarch Point, the easterly tip of France, was abreast at sunset and +some time in the early morning the Scilly Islands were passed. The +other chaser had passed from sight with darkness and the _944_, quite +alone now and swinging along at some fourteen knots with only enough +motion to deepen the slumber of the watch below, was approximately +sixty miles west of Land’s End when the tragedy occurred. + + + + + CHAPTER VI + + FLOATING PERIL + + +Submarine mines are not, contrary to a general belief among folks +ashore, deliberately released on the surface and allowed to float +away in the hope that ocean currents will bear them into the path of +shipping. That is a far too hit-and-miss method for the “efficient” +Germans. Mines are expensive things to manufacture and the enemy does +not knowingly waste them. What she does is release them, either from +mine-laying submarines or from surface boats, with weight and buoyancy +nicely adjusted so that they will anchor themselves and float at a +given depth below water. The anchor, generally of the familiar mushroom +type, is attached to a steel cable which unwinds until automatically +stopped by a hydrostatic valve. The valve may be adjusted at will, +and when the ocean depth is known it is a simple matter to plant the +mine so that it will float at the desired depth below the surface, +usually from eight to twelve feet. Still, errors of adjustment are +sometimes made and frequently the tide is not taken sufficiently into +consideration. The air chamber is filled at a certain pressure in +port, but this pressure frequently changes before the mine is laid, in +which case the mine does not float at the desired depth. In high water +and a strongly running tide the mine rises obliquely from the anchor. +Consequently, when the pull of the tide ceases the mine straightens +perpendicularly and often shows itself above water. + +There are, however, such things as floating mines, as many an +unfortunate ship has discovered to its sorrow; but they are mines that, +in some fashion or other, have become separated from their anchors. +Generally such mines, if picked up unexploded, show the cable to have +been broken, just how is a matter of conjecture, although there are +cases where the mine has become detached from the cable or the cable +has come away from the anchor. Doubtless of the hundreds of thousands +of mines planted by the countries at war, a fairly large proportion +go astray. Scarcely a day passes that many are not found and either +salvaged or blown to pieces, and the marvel is that more destruction +is not caused by these irresponsible weapons. It is only necessary +to exert a nine-pound pressure against one of the several “horns,” +or firing pins, which project from the body of the mine in order +to explode the three, four or five hundred pounds of gun-cotton or +trinitrotoluol within, and the slightest bump of a vessel’s hull is +sufficient. + +Why fate should have brought the _944_ and a floating mine together at +the entrance to St. George Channel is beyond me, but it did. + +Dave was fast asleep in his bunk in that hour before the dawn, curled +up very snugly and peacefully dreaming of―― But he never remembered +his dreams, for his waking was far too abrupt. He was conscious of +a frightful grinding, crashing explosion, of being hurled through +space, and of coming into violent contact with something very hard and +unyielding. Darkness and confusion surrounded him. Succeeding the sound +of the explosion, deep silence held for a long moment. Then cries of +alarm, command and conjecture broke forth. Dave picked himself from the +floor of the fo’c’sle, collided with some one, and made blindly for +the companion. He made out Pete’s voice in the sudden babel of noise. +“They’ve got us!” Pete was saying angrily. “The dirty Huns have got +us!” Dave pushed up the ladder and sprang toward the boats. Orders +were coming now. + +“Cut those lashings! Steady, men! Don’t rush! All together, now, heave! +Make fast to the falls!” + +The deck was canting and the port railing was under water when the boat +on that side was swung outboard on its davits. From the waist clouds +of white steam billowed spectrally in the darkness. After the first +minute or two of confusion silence reigned aboard the chaser, a silence +broken only by the rushing of escaping steam from the boiler room, the +commands of the officers, and the orderly bustle of the men. There was +little time to lose, for it was apparent at once that the explosion had +done for the _944_ and that she would remain afloat but a short while. +Perhaps eight minutes elapsed from the moment of the catastrophe to the +instant that the order “Clear away!” was given. The port boat had no +difficulty, but the starboard, because of the chaser’s cant, was nearly +overturned in lowering. One man went into the water, but was pulled +out again. Having pulled clear, the two boats lay by. The lieutenant +had returned to his quarters to secure the code books and papers, and +those in the boats awaited his return anxiously, the starboard boat +lying close to the stern, ready to take him off. Fortunately, the sea +was fairly calm and the night only moderately chill, for few of the men +were dressed in more than their underclothes and life-vests. The _944_ +was settling rapidly, going down port side under and slightly by the +bow. + +The port boat, minus two of her complement of fourteen, drifted away, +and Ensign Hyatt ordered them to paddle back closer to the other boat. +The two vacancies were caused by the absence of Pruitt and Low, both +of the engine room force. They and one other had been killed, although +whether by the explosion or by escaping steam was not known. Many of +the men on duty at the time had suffered injuries, but none seriously. + +“She’ll sink in a minute now,” said Pete anxiously at Dave’s back. Both +he and Dill were in the port boat and unhurt. “I wish the Old Man would +hurry up.” + +Then, almost before the last word was past his lips, there was a +warning cry from the starboard boat, the oars backed water, and the +gallant little _944_ buried her nose and went from sight. There was +a swirl of water that made the life-boats dance for a minute like +cockles, and then silence, emptiness, and darkness. + +The two boats dashed forward across the spot, and the lanterns were +held to sweep the water. But there was no sign of the lieutenant. Back +and forth they paddled, calling and listening, and at last, when it +seemed certain that the chaser’s commander had perished with his ship, +a faint hail came from the darkness ahead of the port boat. The men +bent quickly at their oars, and the lantern’s rays flickered anxiously. +In a moment they saw him, a darker splotch on the waves, and presently, +nearly exhausted, but clutching his precious papers, the lieutenant was +pulled into the boat. + +“I was half-way up the ladder when she dived,” he gasped. “She took me +down with her and something caught my leg. I think I hurt it a little +getting loose.” They had called to the other boat that the lieutenant +was safe, and now the ensign shouted to them to pull across. + +“You stay here, sir,” he said, “and I’ll change into the starboard +boat. We’d better lay our course for the Scillies, I presume.” + +“Certainly. St. Martin is the nearest. About thirty-four miles, I’d +say. Make it southeast by south, three quarters south. If this breeze +holds we should make land by daylight.” + +“Very good, sir. You’d better do what you can for your leg, hadn’t you?” + +“It can wait, thanks. It’s nothing of importance. We’ll keep together +if possible, I think.” + +The ensign made his transfer to the stern sheets of the starboard boat, +masts were stepped and the lug sails took the breeze and the course was +set for the nearest of the Scilly Islands. In the port boat Lieutenant +Cowan himself took the tiller. There was enough breeze to send the +little boat along at a good four or five miles an hour, and so there +was no need of using the oars. Spray flew in pretty constantly over the +low gunwales and soon they were all shivering, as the water penetrated +their scanty clothing. The wind came from the west, or very near it, +and it was possible to hold her to her course fairly well. The dim +light of the other boat gradually fell away to starboard and finally +vanished, suggesting that she was not making quite as good headway. In +spite of chattering teeth the occupants were cheerful. They all felt +sorry over the loss of the _944_, for they had become attached to her, +and the deaths of their three shipmates weighed on their minds, but +they had had a miraculous escape from a very great danger, and that +fact was enough to counteract on depression. The lieutenant was silent +most of the time, doubtless dejected by the loss of his boat, and the +men respected his feelings. But gradually a low tone of conversation +succeeded the whispering, and at last, just as the first streaks of day +showed in the east, some irrepressible started to whistle softly in the +bow and soon they were all humming and then singing the song. + + “Oh, say, can you see by the dawn’s early light + What so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming, + Whose broad stripes and bright stars thro’ the perilous fight, + O’er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming. + And the rockets’ red glare, the bombs bursting in air, + Gave proof thro’ the night that our flag was still there. + Oh, say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave + O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?” + +Even the lieutenant, his face looking grave and white in the gray +half-darkness, joined in, although the lieutenant’s singing voice +was nothing to boast of. They sang the anthem through to the last +word――something that few, if any, of them would have been able to do +six months before, gaining new fervor as they went on. As one clear +boyish voice started the first note of the final stanza, a flush of +pink mingled with the dull gray of the eastern sky and tinged it with +the soft colors of a dove’s breast, and day lay just below the watery +horizon. + + “Oh, thus be it ever when freemen shall stand + Between their loved home and wild war’s desolation; + Blest with vict’ry and peace, may the heaven-rescued land + Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation. + Then conquer we must when our cause it is just, + And this be our motto: ‘In God is Our Trust!’ + And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave + O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave!” + +As the last lingering note died on the air Kennedy raised a hand and +pointed eastward. + +“That looks like smoke, sir, doesn’t it?” he asked. + + + + + CHAPTER VII + + ON THE MINE SWEEPER + + +An hour later the occupants of the port life-boat were safe aboard +the British steam trawler _Good Venture_. Scalding hot tea had driven +the cold from their bodies, and each had been provided with clothing +of some sort from the slop-chest of the little ship. None of them had +saved anything from the _944_ save the apparel they had had on at the +time, except that the lieutenant had managed to squirm into a pair +of dress trousers and bring off the ship’s papers and the lead-bound +book that held the secret code. Briggs remarked philosophically that +it was a lucky thing pay day was so far past that few of them had +possessed much money to lose! The _Good Venture_ was a Grimsby boat, +a stout-hulled, high-bowed little steamer, once painted gray but now +showing as much red-brown rust as paint. She had two masts and a tall, +slim funnel, forward of which was a high wheelhouse. She carried a mere +handful of men――Grimsby fishermen all before the war, and for some +months after it, too, and now members of the Trawlers’ Naval Reserve. +The master, a square giant of a man with a leather-hued face encircled +by black whiskers, held the official title of skipper. + +“I can’t land you, sir,” he informed the lieutenant, “afore the day +after to-morrow, for I’m on duty; but if there’s the chance I’ll put +you aboard a boat bound for port. There’s room for all and plenty to +eat, and if there’s aught we can do for you ’twill be done with a will.” + +The _Good Venture_ had a rendezvous with a sister trawler further west, +and search for the _944’s_ starboard life-boat was impossible. It +seemed that she must be in sight, and yet, as the day broadened, there +was no sign of her, and the _Good Venture_, which had steamed several +miles from her course to pick up the lieutenant’s boat, swung back +to her path of duty. It was generally agreed that the other boat had +probably held closer to the wind and so got farther south, and that, in +any case, she was in no danger and would, if not picked up beforehand, +make one of the Scilly Islands without difficulty. It was, however, +many months before Dave saw any of the starboard boat’s crew again, +although he learned a few days later of their safe arrival at Trescos. + +The _Good Venture_, it appeared, was a mine sweeper, one of the +Plymouth fleet, and had been across to Brest and was now rejoining her +sister ship, the _Arabella_. The lieutenant was taken in charge by the +skipper and the men were bunked forward in the commodious quarters. +The _Good Venture_ seemed to be something of a family affair, for the +first mate was the skipper’s brother and two of the crew were cousins, +while a third, a yellow-haired boy of surely no more than seventeen, +was the skipper’s nephew. It was he, a shy, slow-spoken lad, who became +Dave’s guide over the ship after all hands had partaken of a generous +breakfast. + +Pete and The Pickle went to sleep, as did most of the others, but Dave +never felt more wide awake in his life as he climbed out on deck at +the heels of the Grimsby lad. At first Dave had some difficulty in +understanding the boy’s speech, as much because of the unfamiliar words +used, as because of his Lincolnshire pronunciation. But by the time +they had visited engine room and wheel house and seen what was to be +seen and had come to rest beside the big winch, which wound and unwound +the steel cable used for sweeping, that slight difficulty had passed. +Tom Garrity had the bluest of blue eyes and the yellowest of yellow +hair, and, with his faded red jersey, made a colorful picture as he +leaned against the winch and answered Dave’s questions. + +“’Tain’t our place to do fighting,” he replied, “but there’s that gun +handy-like and we’ve used it two, three times, an’ once we got a ’Un +with it, too. That was in March o’ this year. We was sweeping with the +_Belle o’ Headon_ off Wight at the time. Admiralty telled of a new nest +o’ eggs just laid thereabouts and us and the _Belle_ set out one fine +blowy day to pull them up. There was a bit o’ sea running an’ it was +fair wet work, but we gets the gear out an’ starts along, the pair o’ +us, an’ works for it might be three, four hours without getting a tug +on the cable. It was a gray, misty day, an’ now and then it drizzles +a bit an’ you can’t see far into it. But of a sudden we gets the +_Belle’s_ ’ooter, three times, which is the signal meaning ‘Submarine!’ +The skipper couldn’t see nothing, though, and no more could us, but +the _Belle_ signals haul in and we hauls, an’ right in the middle off +it pops a sub, not a cable-length off to port. All black and shiny-wet +she was, a drippin’ water, and ’er ’atch opens and out pops a officer, +just like one o’ this ’ere ugly Jack-in-the-Boxes. + +“’E didn’t carry no gun; a lot of ’em didn’t those days: ’twas the +torpedoes as done the business for ’em. ‘Out o’ it,’ says the blighter. +‘Stop your engines and get in your boats afore I puts a torpedo into +you.’ We was caught, do you see, with the cable ’alf in and no chance +to run for it if we’d wanted to. The _Belle_ couldn’t do nothing +because we was between her and the ’Un. So the skipper ’e sings out to +swing the boat over, and then ’e whispers to ’Erbert, that’s the mate, +do you see, and ’Erbert ’e walks aroun t’other side o’ the ’ouse an’ +beckons to the _Belle_ to ease up on the cable. Then ’e tells Will, in +the engine room, to put ’er ahead full steam, an’ so ’twas done. The +skipper ’e makes a jump for the wheel an’ he slings ’er over an’ we +comes around like a bloomin’ tee-totum an’ makes for the ’Un. ’E sees +what we was up to an’ he yells a lot an’ ’e gets out o’ the way by a +matter o’ inches an’ we goes slappin’ past ’is stern. But ’e wasn’t +considerin’ o’ that cable, an’ it comes taut, do you see, an’ whangs +up against the sub abaft the conning tower. The officer ’e ducks just +in the nick o’ time, an’ it slips over an’ takes the after periscope +off short like a match stick an’ catches against the forward one. The +skipper ’e laughs like ’e was ’aving a fit, an’ ’e couldn’t ’ardly slip +the shell in the gun, but ’e did it, an’ ’Erbert ’e sights it an’ away +she blazes.” + +He pointed to the rail further aft. “There’s where she went,” he +continued. “’Erbert had to point ’er so low she took six feet o’ the +rail with ’er, but she done him in all right. Square into the ’ull she +goes, right abaft the tower, an’ the noise was fair deafening. An’ the +’Un opens up till you could see ’er insides an’ turns over a bit an’ +goes straight down like a lump o’ lead.” + +“Golly!” exclaimed Dave. “And then what?” + +Tom Garrity viewed him in faint surprise. “Then we went on sweeping,” +he answered. + +The _Good Venture_ found her consort at five bells, stood close aboard +and tossed a line across. The _Arabella_ was slightly smaller than the +_Good Venture_, but in other respects might have been built in the same +yard and from the same model. This, however, was not the case, since +the _Arabella_ hailed from Lowestoft in time of peace. The winches +rattled and the long wire cable splashed into the water. The two boats +veered apart, the “kites,” which are weighted timber frames to hold +the cable at proper depth, were cast over, and all was ready for the +day’s work. Abreast, keeping their relative positions as though they +had never known another mission in life, the trawlers steamed slowly +northward, between them some sixty fathoms of tough steel wire cable +dragging below the choppy surface. At the bow two men watched intently, +for it is poor policy to strike a mine, and at the winch were two more +hands, ready to wind or unwind, as necessity required, and able to tell +by reason of long months of experience when the cable made a “catch,” +much as a fisherman knows when a fish tugs ever so gently at his line. +Many miles northward steamed the two boats, then turned precisely and +came back on a parallel course. And so it went all that day and never a +mine was caught in the sweep. + +The men from the _944_ watched interestedly and, it must be confessed, +a trifle uneasily. A sweeper must walk straight through a mine field, +trusting to luck to get the “eggs” on the cable and not to bump them +with her hull. The lookouts can seldom see a mine more than a very +few feet under the surface, and then only when the surface is fairly +“glassy,” and so there must be a special providence to watch over the +fortunes of the trawler fleet. Mine sweeping has been said to be the +riskiest work of the war, on land or sea, and the long honor roll of +men who have perished while engaged in it bears out the contention. +Ship after ship has gone down with not one survivor to tell the story +of the sacrifice. + +“Why, it’s like this,” said the skipper in reply to a question from +Kennedy, “if we misses ’em, we goes on. If we ’its ’em, we goes down.” + +A fine, calm philosophy, but not especially reassuring to the _Good +Venture’s_ uninvited guests. + +When darkness came the trawlers anchored within sight of the Irish +coast, doused their lights and waited for morning and another day’s +duty. In the fo’c’sle, an unusually large one, the crew of the _Good +Venture_ and the sailors from the _944_ fraternized and swapped yarns +until six bells. Then, to the lazy rolling of the creaking steamer, +they dropped to sleep and slept hard until, long before daylight, they +were routed out for breakfast. + +The next day’s work was more eventful. Shortly after sun-up there was +a cry from the winch man and the two steamers slowed down and the big +cable was slowly wound in, bringing to the surface not one but two +gray-green objects. Caught by the cable against their anchor wires they +bobbed about within a few feet of each other midway between the two +trawlers and only the fact that one had been snagged further up on its +wire kept them from bumping socially together. + +On the deck of the _Arabella_ a tall, thin man stepped to the rail and +leveled a rifle. He was extremely deliberate and unexcited, it seemed. +On the _Good Venture_ the visitors watched from places of safety. The +marksman’s first shot spat against the nearer mine but failed to strike +a horn. The next shot, however, was immediately followed by a roaring +explosion and a sudden churning of the water. Spray dashed high in the +pale sunlight and when it fell neither mine was visible. The _Good +Venture’s_ skipper waved commendation, the cable was run out once more +and side by side the two steamers went on. Twice again that forenoon +the rifle barked from the _Arabella_, but each time only a solitary +mine was on view. By noon the sailors from the _944_ had lost much of +their uneasiness and had given up haunting the rail and straining their +eyes over the side. Familiarity had bred contempt, or, if not contempt, +a philosophy akin to the skipper’s. If they ’it, they ’it, and that +was all there was to it. + +Dave, Pete, and The Pickle lost interest in mine sweeping after chow +and found a sheltered place amidships and talked. They speculated on +what was to happen to them when they reached Queenstown, if they ever +did. Thus far not so much as a fishing smack had approached near enough +to be hailed and it looked very much as if they would have to remain on +the _Good Venture_ until she returned to Plymouth the next evening. + +“Of course,” said Pete, “they’ll give the Old Man another command right +away; leastways, as soon as they have one for him; but what’s to become +o’ us? ’Tain’t likely we’ll be let lay around with nothin’ to do, is +it?” + +They agreed that it wasn’t, and Dave said: “I hope we can keep +together, we three, but I don’t suppose we can.” + +“Not a hope,” agreed Pete, “not a hope. Say, I wish they’d put me +on a destroyer. That’s the life! Somethin’ doin’ all the time, Kid! +Rampin’ an’ rarin’, that’s them! Skyhootin’ around all over the shop! +A feller’s got some chance to be a hero an’ get his stripes on one o’ +them.” + +“I was hoping for destroyer duty too,” said Dill. “But they tell me +they take only service men. No ‘rubber socks’ need apply.” + +“Don’t you believe it,” Pete denied. “That was the rule, but they take +anything they can get now. Have to. There ain’t enough real ‘gobs’ to +man ’em all. Why, they’re even takin’ Reserves!” And he winked at Dave. + +“They need a few to tone them up,” responded The Pickle untroubledly. +“Guess I’ll run up and see Sims when I get ashore and ask him for a +berth on one of the new destroyers.” + +“Sure,” approved Pete. “Drop in about noon an’ take dinner. He’ll be +tickled to death to have you. An’ you might mention my name to him, +too.” + +“And mine,” laughed Dave. “I’d advise you to get some other togs first, +though, Bob. You wouldn’t make much of a hit at the Admiralty the way +you are!” + +The Pickle observed his attire judicially. He wore a faded brown +sweater, much torn and moth-eaten, a pair of old gray trousers and +shoes at least three sizes too large for him. For that matter, neither +of the others could boast much of their apparel. “How are we going to +get uniforms, Pete?” Dill asked. “Will they give us new ones for the +asking?” + +“Sure! If they don’t I’ll disgrace ’em by sittin’ on the Admiral’s +front doorsteps all day with a sign on me: ‘This is the way Uncle Sam +dresses his sailors!’” + +“They’d think you were a tramp, Pete,” said Dill, “and pull you in for +impersonating a sailor. Say, I wish they’d quit dragging for these +blamed mines and hike out for home. What sort of a burg is Plymouth?” + +“How do we know?” asked Pete. “What do you take us for, perishin’ +Britishers?” + +“Well, how do we get to Queenstown, then?” + +“Walk,” suggested Pete. “Seems to me these fellers might drop us at +Queenstown or some place this side, so long as it’s Ireland. We ain’t +but a dozen miles off now.” + +“It’s a long dozen,” said The Pickle, stretching his neck to look +over the rail. “Hello, there’s the whole English navy coming! Or――or +something! Have a look, fellows!” + + + + + CHAPTER VIII + + PETE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND + + +Southward a dozen columns of smoke showed, but the ships were still +hull-down as the three boys leaned on the rail and watched. They went +forward and found the skipper and “’Erbert” gazing through their +glasses. Lieutenant Cowan joined them, limping slightly from the +effects of the injury to his leg, and took the binoculars the skipper +proffered. Slowly the distant ships came up over the rim of the sea, +bearing northeastward. + +“Cruisers and convoys,” said the lieutenant, returning the glasses, +“and one destroyer. They’re not American, sir.” + +“Nor British,” replied the skipper. + +“French, likely,” offered the mate. “But they’re not making for France.” + +“They’ll pass us well to eastward, Lieutenant,” said the skipper, “and +I’m doubting they’d want to stop, but if you say the word, sir, I’ll +ask them to take you aboard.” + +The lieutenant hesitated. Then, perhaps catching the eager looks on +the faces of Dave and his companions, he smiled and nodded. “Do so, if +you will, skipper. I’d like to get back and make my report as soon as +possible.” + +Followed signals with the _Arabella_, and half an hour later the two +trawlers, having reached the end of their southward journey, parted +company and the _Good Venture_ hurried eastward to intercept the long +line of ships that were now in fair sight. There were seven in all, +four of them medium-sized merchantmen, two light cruisers and one small +destroyer. As they drew near every glass aboard the _Good Venture_ was +in service, for every one was puzzled over the nationality of the ships. + +At length the skipper lowered his binoculars. “Got them now, sir,” he +announced. “Italian. Likely they’re out of their course by reason of +keepin’ wide of the coast along of Spain. There’s been submarines very +active west of Biscay of late. Now then, ’Erbert, look alive with them +signals!” + +“’Erbert” got immediately busy and a few minutes later, by which time +the Italian ships were some two miles away, the ensign and code pennant +were run to the spreader. After a minute or two the second cruiser +answered and the mate bent on his signal flags with practiced fingers. +“We want to speak to you,” announced the _Good Venture_. The cruiser +answered “All right,” and wig-wagged to the destroyer, and the latter +swung out of line and roared down on the trawler. As she came the +skipper’s face was a study. “I say,” he appealed to the lieutenant, +“’ow am I talk to the blighter, eh? It don’t ’appen that you know +Italian, sir?” The lieutenant regretted that he didn’t. But he replied, +“I’ll try him in French if you say so. He will probably understand.” + +“Do that, sir. I speak French myself, in a manner o’ speaking, but it +ain’t the sort an Italian would make out! And as for ’is own blinkin’ +lingo, macaroni’s the only word I know.” + +But, as it proved, the skipper’s alarm was unnecessary, for the young +officer who roared across at them from the bridge of the destroyer +spoke remarkably good English. The skipper sighed relievedly as he took +the megaphone and answered, “We’ve got an American lieutenant and a +dozen men, sir, from a submarine chaser as was blown up by a mine. Can +you take ’em aboard?” + +“With pleasure,” responded the other. “Please ask them to be quick, +sir. Will you use your boat?” + +“Yes, I’ll get them over in ’alf a jiffy. Greatly obliged, sir!” + +Before he went over the side the lieutenant reimbursed the skipper for +the clothes they were wearing away, taking the money from a belt about +his waist. (“Me for one o’ them things,” whispered Pete enviously. +“If I’d had one I’d be in mighty near four dollars right now!”) The +skipper at first refused to accept payment, but at last consented +and the lieutenant followed the men into the small boat. It was, +Dave reflected, a fortunate thing that there was almost no sea, for +that little tender was loaded down to the gunwales and shipped water +whenever any of them took a deep breath. They waved good-by to their +friends aboard the _Good Venture_ and were presently climbing over the +side of the destroyer under the politely curious gaze of four officers +and, it appeared, most of the ship’s crew. They soon discovered that +knowledge of the English language was not general aboard the _Valgrana_ +and until they went ashore at Portishead the next morning they had to +make known their wants and conduct their conversation in the language +of signs. But the petty officers and men with whom they came in +contact were flatteringly cordial and made it clear that they were +anxious to do anything and everything possible for the comfort of the +visitors. One swarthy gunner’s mate was fortunate enough to speak a +scant dozen words of English, and these, to the envy of his companions, +he used incessantly, somehow managing to derive a vast amount of +satisfaction thereby. “Uni’ Sta’es,” “Presidente Veelson,” “Betchoo +life” and “Sure, Mike” were his best efforts. Italian food was strange +but satisfying and the _944’s_ men were served by themselves and with +some ceremony. + +The _Valgrana_ had had a brush with a U-boat on the way north and the +incident was described to them eloquently by waving hands and shrugging +shoulders and expressive grimaces, together with a torrent of strange +words, but, for his part, Dave didn’t get a very clear idea of that +engagement. The destroyer followed her companion ships up the Mersey +the next forenoon and they dropped anchor off Portishead about eleven, +and the lieutenant led his disreputable crew ashore and herded them in +the waiting room of a railway station. And there they stayed, observed +with vast interest by most of the villagers, until they were piled +into a train at about three and conveyed leisurely to Bristol. Owing +to the fact that their mid-day meal had been extremely sketchy, they +descended on a restaurant in Bristol like a horde of ravening locusts, +and didn’t pause until they had worked devastation. How much their +dinner cost the lieutenant Dave never learned, but it seemed to him +that there could not have been much left in that money-belt afterwards! + +They were billeted in a small and none too clean hotel for the night +with permission to spend the evening as they liked but to be on hand at +the station the next morning promptly at seven-thirty. As there wasn’t +a cent amongst them, seeing the city promised to be a dull proceeding. +However, Dave and Pete and The Pickle determined to make the best of +a bad thing, and, if possible, derive some pleasure from an evening +ashore. They were a trifle conscious of their unusual attire at first +and were thankful when they reached a street sufficiently thronged to +allow them to pass unheralded by all the small boys in sight! + +“Being a fishwrecked shiperman isn’t what the stories make it out,” +remarked Dill sadly. “I feel like something awful off a movie screen!” + +“Gee, that would be great!” exclaimed Pete. “A movin’ picture show, eh?” + +“Fine!” jeered Dill, “but just how do you think we’re going to butt in +on a movie without a cent of money? We surely can’t get past on our +good looks!” + +“That’s all right, Pickle. First off, let’s find us a show. Do you +guess these folks’ll understand United States?” + +They did. At least the one Pete addressed himself to did, and he even +walked a block with them to point out the way from the next street +corner. They thanked him and followed the indicated course, Dave and +Dill amusedly wondering what Pete had on his mind. A minute or so +brought them to their destination and they pulled up outside while Pete +looked the situation over. It seemed that in England a “movie” wasn’t +a “movie” but a “cinema,” something that Pete objected to strongly. +He likewise criticized the lamentable lack of flaming and enticing +posters outside the entrance. Except for a few dim lights and a wicket +doubtless indicating the presence of a ticket seller in the darkened +depths beyond, they might easily have imagined themselves outside the +entrance to anything save a “palace of amusement.” Evidently the rush +was over for, save for a few small boys who viewed our friends with +growing interest, the place was deserted. + +“Like the looks of it?” asked The Pickle finally. + +Pete shook his head. “It looks bum to me,” he said, “but you can’t +tell. It might be all right inside. Come on.” + +“Where? What are you going to do?” asked Dave, holding back. + +“See the show,” said Pete. “Put a front on now and follow me up.” + +Pete advanced to the wicket, the others close behind. In the gloom +beyond it sat a girl and Pete made a sketchy bow. “Evenin’ an’ +everything,” said Pete. “Me an’ my mates would like to see the +pictures, Miss.” + +The ticket seller fixed her eyes on the ledge, and then, as nothing in +the shape of money appeared there, she asked sarcastically: “Well? This +ain’t a free show, your Lordship.” + +“Sure, we know that,” replied Pete ingratiatingly; “but you see, Miss, +it’s this way. We’re American sailors and our boat was blown up by a +mine a couple o’ days ago an’ we ain’t got no money. You can search us, +honest! But you just pass us in, Miss, an’ we’ll be back an’ pay you, +sure as shootin’. Or maybe we’ll send it to you.” + +“American sailors, eh? You look it! Clear out before I ring for the +doorman!” + +“Honest, Lady――” + +She must have rung, for the door swung open and a jovial and very +red-faced individual in a white waist-coat and a top hat sidled into +view. + +“Now then,” he said cheerfully, “on your way, boys, on your way! Don’t +be blockin’ the entrance an’ keepin’ the crowds back.” + +“We’re the crowd,” explained Pete, “an’――” He stopped abruptly. Then: +“Hello, Crim!” he blurted. + +The man gazed at him in a puzzled way for a moment. Then recognition +dawned slowly, and: “Why, ’tain’t――’tain’t ‘Rags’ Rooney?” he gasped. + +“You got me, Crim, but lay off the ‘Rags’ stuff. I’m travelin’ first +class now.” The two shook hands warmly. “What you doin’ here?” + +“Showing Johnny Bull what a good cinema’s like, Rags. I’m running +this joint. What’s your lay?” He looked curiously at Pete’s queer +habiliments and then at his companions. Perhaps he was thinking that +his old friend’s objection to the name “Rags” was not sustained by the +evidence! + +Pete explained briefly and airily, and Gus Crimmins’s eyes stood out +further than usual, which means that they became positively protrudent. +“Think of that!” he exclaimed. “You in the navy, Rags. Why, say, the +last time I saw you――” + +“Pipe down!” interrupted Pete sharply. “Ain’t I told you I’m out o’ +that? Don’t you know a swell when you see one?” He swung around on a +heel and struck an attitude, and Mr. Crimmins joined heartily in the +laugh that followed. Introductions followed, and then Mr. Crimmins said: + +“Well, what are we standing here for, boys? Come on in and see the +show.” He held open the door and they passed through into the darkened +theater, Pete bestowing on the young lady in the ticket booth a grave +wink ere he disappeared. “Come in the office,” whispered the proprietor +hoarsely, “and sit down unless you want to see the pictures. They’re +old to you fellows, though, I guess. There’s a good one of Fairbanks +coming on at nine, though; ‘The Mixer,’ ever see it?” + +They followed to the tiny office at one side of the foyer, although, +for his part, Dave would have preferred to have remained outside and +watched the hilarious career of an elongated Frenchman who at the +moment was clearing the roof of a Paris tram car of gendarmes by the +simple expedient of kicking them into the street. Mr. Crimmins closed +the door, found chairs for Pete and Dave, invited Dill to share the top +of a little desk and beamed at his guests. + +“Say, Rags――I mean――what’ll I call you? Pete, eh? Didn’t know in the +old days you ever had a real name. Well, it’s good to see you guys. I +get downright homesick sometimes for a sight of Catharine street and +some of the old boys around there. I been away nearly six years now and +I suppose the old town’s changed, eh? I ran a movie house in Syracuse +and one in Harrisburg for a while and then a fellow told me there was +big money over here and I thought I’d come over and see. Well, I ain’t +done so bad, considering the war came along almost before I’d got +well started. They’ll stand for most anything in this town, so long’s +there’s a laugh in it. It’s the Wild West stuff they like best. They +just eat it up. It don’t matter how old it is――older the better for +that matter. I’m showing them stuff that’s so old the films are moldy! +Now tell me about you. Where’d you cop the swell duds?” + +During the subsequent talk, carried on for the most part by the theater +proprietor and Pete, Dave gathered that Mr. Crimmins at the time of +his acquaintance with Pete had been conducting a dime museum in lower +New York, his attractions consisting principally of a tattoed boy +and a snake charmer. Also, Dave gathered that Pete was a decidedly +“tough” youth, with a propensity for fights, impromptu or arranged. +Mr. Crimmins recalled feelingly a certain occasion when “Rags” had +disposed of the pretensions of one “Feather” Cronin to the east side +championship in seven rounds in the loft of Hennessy’s stable. During +these revelations Pete seemed embarrassed and stole deprecatory glances +at his chums and smiled a bit shamefacedly when he found Dave grinning +at him. + +Afterward they went outside again and saw the inimitable Mr. Douglas +Fairbanks play the part of an acrobatic Providence in a southwestern +mining town. At parting Mr. Crimmins begged them to come back and +accept the hospitality of the Crimmins domicile on the first possible +occasion. “Want you to meet the missis, boys, and see the kids. Say, +those kids are all right, too. Three of ’em. Great little tykes. What +do you say?” + +They said they would, and then Mr. Crimmins shook hands all around, +and they made their way back to their hotel through a darkened city, +and lost their way three times in twenty minutes and might have been +wandering around Bristol yet had they not encountered a gruff “Bobby” +who, seemingly strongly inclined at first to arrest them as tramps, +finally consented to give them the benefit of the doubt and direct them +to their domicile. They slept like logs that night and the next morning +started by train for Holyhead under charge of Quartermaster Barry. +Lieutenant Cowan vanished and was not seen again until they had been +back in Queenstown for several days. Kennedy said he guessed the Old +Man was ashamed to be seen with them. + +By the time the train――it was the fourth one they patronized that +day――pulled unhurriedly into Holyhead they had, it seemed, visited +every nook and corner of England――and parts of Wales! Still, they +enjoyed it, for few of them had ever visited England and their journey +took them past many interesting and picturesque places. At Holyhead +they boarded a small steamer, with some two hundred other passengers, +mostly women and children, and late in the evening stole forth without +lights and breasted the waters of St. George’s Channel. The distance to +Dublin, for that was their destination, was only fifty-odd miles, they +were told, but the _Port Erin_ was old and decrepit and made the worst +of a fairly rough sea. That wasn’t a pleasant night, for there were +only a few berths and most of the passengers had to sit up or sleep +wherever they could find a space in the crowded saloon. Many of the +women were ill and the stewardess had her hands more than full. To Dave +fell the duty of playing nurse to two small children, girls of four and +five, while their mother, a young Irish woman, gave herself up frankly +to the misery of seasickness. The Pickle lent awkward assistance, but +Pete, in his own language, “ducked.” “I might talk to the King o’ +England or the President,” he explained ruefully, “but kids get my goat +right away. I never know what to say to them!” + +The interminable voyage ended in the small hours of the morning, but +no one landed until daylight. The three boys managed to snatch two or +three hours of sleep after the _Port Erin_ reached the harbor, but at +five-thirty they were seeking breakfast, and by seven were entrained +again. They tried to get the quartermaster to miss a train so that +they could look around the town, but he was visibly impressed with the +importance of his duty and hustled them to the station at once. Irish +railways strongly dislike straight lines, perhaps never having learned +that they are the shortest distances between points. And the trains of +Ireland are never bothered by the flight of time. It was pitch dark +when the squad alighted at Queenstown and made their way to the new +barracks, but the satisfaction of getting “home” again made up for +everything. + +The next day they presented themselves for new uniforms and outfits and +received them, and they also, by some miracle of legerdemain on the +part of Quartermaster Barry, received an advance of wages sufficient to +add to the self-respect inspired by new togs. They had, I think, all +been prepared to pose as heroes on their return, but, if so, they were +disappointed, for by September such adventures as theirs had become +unpleasantly common. The Pickle sadly opined that he guessed the only +way to get your names in the papers was to be killed. + +Efforts to discover what disposition was to be made of them were vain. +No one seemed at all interested in them. They took their place among +numerous other unattached “gobs,” with title to bunks in the barracks +and three meals a day. Their companions from the _944_ disappeared one +by one in a most mysterious fashion as the days passed, but the trio +remained to kick their heels about the waterfront until――it was the +fourth day after their return――an orderly appeared with a summons for +Seamen Rooney and Garson to report to the admiral at headquarters. + + + + + CHAPTER IX + + THE ADMIRAL MAKES GOOD + + +At headquarters they waited for some time in an anteroom. Through a +door at one side came the clicking of many typewriters and they could +see a small army of clerks, naval and civilian, busily at work. Others +shared their wait――several officers, an imposing gentleman with flowing +side whiskers and much gold watch chain who had the unmistakable look +of a man who had something to sell; an impatient, gruff looking chief +machinist; a quiet chaplain with the rank of a lieutenant-commander, +and a fussy little Irishman with a pronounced horsey aspect and――or so +said Pete, who was sitting nearest him――atmosphere. Now and then a door +at the end of the room opened and closed, they caught a brief glimpse +of a broad desk-table, a visitor slipped out, and the group in the +anteroom lessened by one. + +Their turn came at last and the door closed behind them and they found +themselves, caps in hand, saluting a pleasant faced, elderly man with +gray mustache and beard who, wearing a white service uniform, was +seated at the broad desk they had glimpsed. At a second desk a younger +man, a lieutenant-commander, was writing. The orderly who had admitted +them awaited instructions and, after acknowledging the boys’ salutes, +the commander of the American naval forces signaled for him to place a +second chair beside the one that faced the big desk. Then, dismissing +the orderly with a nod, he motioned to the chairs. + +“Be seated, please,” he said. “I have some questions to ask you that +will occupy some time.” A buzzer sounded outside and a stenographer +entered, notebook in hand, and seated himself near by. Dave could +have smiled at Pete’s expression of awe and embarrassment had he not +experienced somewhat similar feelings himself. “I believe you men were +on Chaser _944_ before she was lost recently,” said the Admiral. + +“Yes, sir,” answered Dave. It was plainly evident that Pete was not to +be counted on at present for any conversation. + +“And I think you had the somewhat unusual experience of being taken +prisoners by an enemy submarine and of later making your escape. +Suppose you tell me how that happened.” He glanced encouragingly from +Pete to Dave and then nodded at the latter. Dave, twisting his cap +and clearing his throat, began an embarrassed recital of the events +leading up to their capture. He made poor going of it at first, for the +knowledge that his words were being transcribed to paper by the busy +pencil of the stenographer worried him, but presently he managed to +forget that and his tale grew more coherent. Once or twice Pete gulped +and seemed on the point of joining in, but each time his courage failed +him. When Dave had ended the Admiral began to ask questions. By that +time Pete had found his voice and between them they managed to give +more or less satisfactory replies to about half of what was asked. It +dawned on Dave that they had been horribly remiss in not gathering +more information about the U-boat during their presence aboard, and +perhaps the Admiral thought so, too, but if so he was too kind to say +so. He asked about things that neither Dave nor Pete had thought of +observing, and toward the last their constant replies of “I don’t know, +sir,” became discouragingly monotonous in Dave’s ears. Nevertheless the +Admiral seemed to be satisfied with what he had learned, and he nodded +his head frequently with what they hoped was approval, and at last +signed to the stenographer to leave. + +More questions followed then, but they were purely personal. + +The Admiral asked about their homes, their length of service, how +they were getting on, and several other things, and the boys, who had +forgotten their awe by now, answered frankly and interestingly. Then: + +“I think you men showed commendable presence of mind and courage +under the circumstances,” said the Admiral. “Some of the information +you have supplied is useful, and I am glad to have it. Another time, +if there should be another time, which I trust there will not be, it +would be well to remember that no detail of an enemy ship, either of +construction, armament, personnel or operation, is too small to be +of use to our navy, and this is especially true of underwater craft, +of which we know far too little, because of the fact that the enemy +is continually making changes in design and armament. This is not a +criticism, however. You did very well and showed pluck and good Yankee +ingenuity in getting out of a very awkward situation. You are without +a ship at present?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“I’ll see what can be done. I dare say you’d like to hang together, +wouldn’t you?” + +“Yes, sir.” This was Pete, grown quite confident. “An’ there’s another +guy――I mean man――we’d like to have with us, sir, if it could be fixed. +He’s a Reservist, name o’ Dill. He was along when we hit the mine.” + +“I’ll make a note of it,” replied the Admiral gravely, scribbling on a +pad. “The name is Dill, you say? The rest of it?” + +“Pick――” began Pete, but Dave cut in hurriedly. “Robert D., sir,” +he said. The Admiral nodded. Then Pete said: “Beg pardon, sir, but +is there――would there――” He paused, floundering. The Admiral smiled +twinklingly. + +“Yes? Speak up! What else can we do for you?” + +“Well, sir, I was wondering if there was a chance for us on one o’ the +destroyers,” he stammered. “Him an’ me――an’ the other guy, too,――we’d +kind o’ like to get on a destroyer, sir.” + +“Why, I wouldn’t be surprised.” The Admiral looked inquiringly across +at the lieutenant-commander. “The _Conklin_ is short, isn’t she?” he +inquired. + +“I believe so, sir. I’ll find out――” + +“There’s no hurry, thanks.” He turned again to the boys. “I’ll do my +best for you,” he said pleasantly. “Is that all?” + +Pete grinned. “I guess that’s enough, sir,” he replied. “Thank you.” + +“You’re welcome, Rooney. But I had thought of something else. I +like the way you boys slipped out of the clutches of that submarine +commander,” he said quite warmly. “By Jove, that appeals to me. I +suppose you wouldn’t either of you refuse an advance in rating?” + +They shook their heads dumbly. + +“Very well. You’ll get it. Promoted to petty officers of the third +class, Rooney and Garson. My congratulations to you. You’ll get your +assignments in a day or two. That’s all. Good morning and good luck!” + +Both Pete and Dave felt it incumbent on them to say something, but +after a glance at each other they only saluted and made for the door, +conscious of an amused twinkle in the Admiral’s eyes and a broad smile +on the countenance of the lieutenant-commander. + +Outside the building Pete drew himself up haughtily, a wide grin on his +freckled face, and saluted grandly. “Congratulations, Mister Garson,” +he said pompously. + +“Same to you, Mister Rooney,” responded Dave with equal empressment. +Then they began to laugh, and Pete sent Dave staggering with a slap on +the back, and they joined arms and went down to barracks very proudly. + +It took them almost an hour to find The Pickle and the search led them +over half the town, but they did discover him finally and joined him +with set and serious countenances and very stiff backs and acted so +strangely that The Pickle soon lost patience. + +“Say, what’s wrong with you two?” he demanded huffily. “Swallowed a +ramrod or what?” + +“Are you addressing me?” asked Pete haughtily. + +“No, I was speaking to that other donkey over there.” Dill indicated a +patient, moth-eaten animal hitched to a diminutive cart. “But you may +bray if you want to.” + +“What extremely low manners these common seamen have,” observed Dave +to Pete. “To think that one has to associate with them, eh?” + +“Awful!” Pete positively shuddered. “No respect for their superiors +either, the ignorant goats!” + +“Who’s my superior, you?” The Pickle laughed scornfully. “Just because +you’ve been talking to the Admiral’s orderly up there you think you’re +he-men, you pieces o’ gear!” + +“Pieces o’ gear!” exclaimed Pete, horror stricken, appalled. “My word, +Mister Garson. We ought to put him in the brig for that! A common, low +‘rubber sock’ referrin’ in such terms to petty officers of the United +States Na――” + +“Petty officers!” gasped The Pickle. + +Pete nodded condescendingly. + +“Well, what――do you――know――about that?” marveled The Pickle, awedly. +“Petty officers!” + +Dave tried to look unconscious of his new honor, but only succeeded in +smirking. + +“Well, sir, that explains something I never knew before,” mused Dill. +“It sure does.” + +“An’ what might that be, my good man?” inquired Pete, suspiciously. + +The Pickle edged imperceptibly away. “Why they’re called ‘petty,’” he +answered sweetly. + +But The Pickle was honestly very pleased about it, and he had to hear +the whole story from first word to last, for which purpose, now being +the proud possessor of something like seven dollars of English money, +he led them hurriedly away to the best of the small hotels that lie +along the waterfront and seated them at a table. It wasn’t time for any +recognized meal, neither breakfast, dinner, supper nor five o’clock +tea, but that made no difference to them and they ordered a generous +repast of chops and baked potatoes and ginger ale, and while it was +preparing Dave and Pete talked a duet. And when they had reached their +flight from the Admiral’s presence and brought the story down to date +The Pickle filled a tumbler with the sparkling “wine of the country,” +as he called it, and toasted them. + +“To the two pettiest officers in the Service!” he shouted. + +He was, or professed to be, incredulous of being assigned to duty with +his friends, but ultimately he was forced to acknowledge that the +Admiral had “made good,” for two days later Dave and Pete were promoted +to gunners’ mates, third class, and Seaman Rooney, Garson and Dill were +ordered to the destroyer _Conklin_. + + + + + PART III + + STAND BY! + + + + + CHAPTER I + + DESTROYER “GOBS” + + +On the 17th of September, 1917, word reached the British Admiralty to +the effect that the Austrian torpedo boat destroyer _Neusatz_, which +had been interned in the neutral port of Huelva, Spain, since shortly +after the beginning of the war, had secretly refitted and, on the night +of the 15th, slipped out of the harbor. As to her destination nothing +was known, but the Admiralty assumed that she would seek to reach one +of the German naval bases in the North Sea by keeping well to the +westward of the British Isles and north of the Faroes. There was not +the least doubt that the port authorities at Huelva had winked at the +_Neusatz’s_ escape, for Spain was then strongly pro-German. Orders were +broadcasted to all Allied ships and to all agents in neutral ports +warning them of the destroyer’s departure from Huelva and instructing +ships to watch for and capture her and agents to report any news of +her. It was not thought likely that the _Neusatz_ would maintain her +character of an Austrian ship during her flight. Rather, the chances +were that she would pretend to be Italian or Portuguese. But in any +case she must not be allowed to escape, and in consequence there was +much activity in various harbors on the 17th of September. + +At Queenstown the activity especially concerned the two new American +destroyers, _Conklin_ and _Wood_, which had within a few days dropped +their anchors off Spike Island at the completion of the voyage from +the other side. They were sister ships, numbers two and three of the +new _Stockwell_ class, of 1,270 tons displacement, 321 feet in length +and capable of steaming 33.60 knots. Their batteries consisted of four +5-inch .50 caliber and two 4-inch .50-caliber rapid-fire guns and they +carried four triple 18-inch torpedo tubes. They had four funnels and +two masts and were camouflaged with “sun-and-mist” colors, pale yellow +clouding to sea-green and pearl-gray, so that even viewed from the +waterfront a mile away they were scarcely distinguishable from sea and +sky. Had it not been for the grimy lighters snuggled alongside the +_Conklin_ that recent graduate from the shipyard might easily have +remained undetected in the quivering glare of sunlight. + +It was the half-hour after four, and one bell had just tinkled from the +many ships, big and little, at anchor, when the _Conklin’s_ winches +hummed and the two big anchors came dripping from the mud. From two +of the four funnels yellow-brown smoke became visible against the +pale blue of the afternoon sky. Two long blasts of a siren pierced +the comparative silence and the U. S. S. _Conklin_ moved slowly down +the harbor. Many short toots followed her from the _Wood_, and were +answered in kind, and on the decks of the two ships caps waved a +parting. Between the two forts that make a pretense of guarding the +entrance the destroyer slipped, the calm water curving away in two long +symmetrical waves from the high, stiff bow. On the bridge, low but set +well forward, Captain Gannett and his executive officer, Lieutenant +Chapin, stood together at the forward windshield and kept keen watch of +the channel. + +The “gate” of steel nets was open, but the space was narrow and certain +egg-shaped objects were anchored in three depths below the surface to +port and starboard, and the commander of a brand-new ship would do ill +to collide with one of them! The captain held the grade of commander +and was phenomenally old for the destroyer service, having recently +passed his thirtieth year! He had changed the gold leaf on his collar +for the silver less than a month ago and was still a little conscious +of promotion and secretly much concerned with the safety and well-being +of his new command. In appearance he was short, stocky, blue-eyed and +red-haired and held himself so straight that he seemed to lean backward. + +Lieutenant Chapin was a good six years younger, a tall, athletic man +with good-looking, regular features, dark complexion and steady brown +eyes. They were already calling him “Beauty” on the lower deck. The +_Conklin_ carried two other commissioned officers, Lieutenant Penter, +Junior Grade, and Ensign Whittemore, Medical Reserve. The first was +head of the engineer department and the latter was the medical officer. +One hundred and eighteen warrant and petty officers and men completed +the ship’s complement. + +The _Conklin_ left the lighthouse on Roche’s Point to port and swung +her nose toward Old Head. She was rolling a little now, and her high, +knife-sharp bow was tossing the waves away in cream-white foam. +Kinsale and Clonakilty fell astern and presently Clear Island detached +itself from the shore and the _Conklin_ swung more to the west. Fastnet +Rock came into sight, a dark, jagged tooth rising nearly a hundred feet +straight up from the tumbling waters. The destroyer passed close to +it on the seaward side, so close that those on deck could see plainly +the form of the man who, from the lower gallery of the great stone +tower, ran up the answering pennant to the _Conklin’s_ signal. Strong +currents and wicked tides surround the Fastnet Light, while under the +water needle points and ridges of rock lurk treacherously. Four and +a half miles out to sea, it is the first light that the east-bound +mariner raises and the last seen on the westward passage. “Old First +and Last” some call it. Its light, sweeping seaward from a height of +159 feet, can be caught twenty miles away on a clear night, and its sky +reflection is visible much farther. + +Dave, Pete, and Bob Dill, otherwise The Pickle, leaned against a +starboard torpedo tube and looked at the lighthouse with interest. They +had never been so close to it before, and perhaps never would be again, +for the perils that lie in the neighborhood of Roaring Water Bay are +not often courted. “Must have been some job to build that,” observed +Bob. “Took them four years, I think. The little round affair on the top +of the rock is what’s left of the first light.” + +“What happened to it?” asked Dave. + +“Oh, they pulled it down when they built the new one, but it was just +about ready to come down, anyway. It was an iron affair and the waves +played hob with it.” + +“The waves!” exclaimed Pete. “Gee, do the waves get up there?” + +“So they say. How’d you like to ride one of them, Pete, and come down +smack on one of those sharp summit rocks?” + +“Must be some waves!” he grunted. “Does the guy that ran up the signal +have to stay there all the time?” + +“Yes. Want the job?” + +“I do not! Gosh, think o’ bein’ up there in a real storm! I’d be scared +to death!” + +“I read a funny story about a fellow they sent out there to do some +work when they were building it,” chuckled Bob. “He was a plumber and +they took him out one morning and set him to work. He was to live +there till the job was done. During the day it wasn’t bad, because +there were other workmen about with him, but when it came night they +turned in and went to sleep. That was enough for him. He didn’t sleep +a wink, they say, and was scared green, and when morning came he +demanded to be put back on shore. They laughed at him and then they +tried persuasion, but it didn’t do any good. He was going home, and he +was going right off. So, finally, when he simply refused to do another +stroke of work, they had to signal the mainland. It was too rough that +day for the steamer, but there was the distress signal flying on the +rock, and so a lot of huskies jumped into the life-boat and pulled out, +taking a doctor along. When they got out there and found what was up +they wanted to kill the plumber. However, they bundled him in and took +him back, and it wasn’t until he had his two feet set firmly on land +that he got his color back.” + +“Well, I ain’t blamin’ him much,” said Pete. “I guess I’d a lot rather +‘go over the top’ than take that job.” + +There was a faint gleam from the tall tower before it dipped from sight +in the twilight, by which time the _Conklin_ was off Mizzen Head and +rolling a good thirty degrees. They had no use for the tables at chow +that evening, and every one ate as best he could standing, usually +holding tightly with one hand to something stable. They passed a pair +of British torpedo boats wallowing south-eastward just as darkness +closed down and nearly walked into a trawler a few minutes later. Only +the latter’s frantic, gruff protests saved her from a tragic fate, the +_Conklin_ rushing past her close astern as both ships sheered from +course. All night the destroyer hugged the coast, cutting the corner +but letting herself in for some rough going. The life-lines were strung +along deck and one progressed by a series of hazardous rushes, clinging +hard every moment and ducking under the seas that came aboard. Dave had +the first watch, from eight till midnight, on deck, and climbed down at +eight bells dripping water from head to foot. Sleeping was difficult, +for it was his first night at sea on a destroyer and even the tiny +_944_ had never in her maddest moment rolled as did the _Conklin_. The +destroyer drew but nine feet――a few inches under that, to be exact――and +there was twice nine feet above the water line forward, and much weight +on the main deck, and in consequence rolling was the ship’s long suit. +But it wasn’t until Dave spent his first hour in the foretop lookout +cage that he learned what the _Conklin_ was really capable of! But that +night, braced in his bunk on the lower deck, just where he got the +benefit of noise and stench from the engines, he despaired of sleeping, +and it was not until he had rolled and pitched for a good hour that +slumber finally visited him. When morning came he found that every +muscle in his body ached from the efforts he had made, consciously and +unconsciously, to keep in his bunk. + +They were out of sight of land at sunrise, dipping along through long, +even swells at standard speed. There was a blue sky overhead and a +nippy west breeze sang in the stays and aerial. There was gun drill +for all crews that morning and Dave and Pete, assigned to No. 2 and 5 +guns, respectively, were busy. The Pickle was seeking to qualify as +signalman. In the wardroom, at the big table, the officers spent much +time poring over charts and evolving theories as to the whereabouts +of the _Neusatz_, only they were calling her the _Nuisance_ now. The +chance of finding her before she slipped down into the North Sea around +the Faroes or the Shetlands looked pretty slim. Once in the North Sea +her chance for reaching safety was more than fair, for, while a whole +flotilla of patrols and scouts might be watching for her, the fogs were +thickening over that stretch of troublous water these fall days and a +much bigger ship than the _Neusatz_ might run from the Shetlands to +the Frisians, with good luck, and never be sighted. But the Old Man +and the Executive and the Junior, and the medical officer, too, when +he had a moment from his task of decoding the messages thrust in from +the wireless house, pondered and scowled, and planned and kept the +_Conklin_ kicking her way northeast. + +It was an empty ocean they sailed that day, and a big whale disporting +himself in the distance was the only object to bring a flicker of +interest to the lookouts. Toward midnight, though, a darkened cargo +steamer answered their questions and slipped southward into the gloom. +She would have made a fine target, as Pete pointed out, and it seemed +too bad to let her go without a shot, he thought. The fact that, as +Dave pointed out, being Danish made her a neutral had no effect on +Pete. He was much in love with that No. 5 gun and wanted to see what +she could really do. Besides, he complained, Denmark wasn’t really +neutral, she just played at it. + +Life on a destroyer was a good deal different from what either Dave or +Pete had fancied it. It was exciting, even when no excitement offered, +for the _Conklin_ had a fine, hearty way of throwing herself through +the seas at anywhere from fourteen to thirty-three knots that always +promised developments. The men aboard were in nearly every case picked +“gobs,” and a fine, clear-eyed, upstanding lot they were. Most of them +had seen several years’ service, some on destroyers, some on the larger +ships, and not one that Dave ever found was willing to go back to the +“high decks.” The destroyer service is hard and it’s dangerous, but +perhaps those very facts make it attractive. At all events, it is a +fact that your destroyer gob looks with contempt on dreadnoughts and +cruisers and considers submarine work no better than child’s play. +It took Dave many days to get fairly accustomed to being continually +on the lurch. Moving about meant letting go of one thing to clutch +another, and sleep when the _Conklin_ was “rolling fifty” was a fine +art to be attained only by hard experience. But he liked it, and so +did Pete and The Pickle. Even being seasick――and they each had a bout +of that during the first two days at sea――didn’t greatly dampen their +enthusiasm. The _Conklin_ was seldom dry above deck forward of her +second funnel, for she had a contemptuous way of slamming her bows +under and spilling the waves far back along the fo’c’sle break. Even +the bridge was wet in any save the smoothest seas, and the new winter +clothing that had been issued before leaving port was something to +glory in. Three hundred miles off the Hebrides in late September is a +coolish part of the globe, and the apparel that made them look like +Arctic explorers was never too warm for night watch on deck. + +The wireless rained messages into the ward room and the decoding +officer used up many a pencil those three days. But the best news that +reached them was no news. From the fact that the _Neusatz_ was not +reported either captured or sighted it was evident that she was still +at large and, it was fair to assume, as much the _Conklin’s_ game as +any one’s. + +They began a series of east-and-west jaunts that took them a hundred +miles or so back and forth south of fifty-seven. Once they went so +far east that they heard heavy guns and had visions of a battle until +listening told them of target practice. Now and then a scouting patrol +passed and exchanged signals, but a gray destroyer in a hurry, with +three funnels, which was what every eye searched the horizon for, +failed to show up. The _Neusatz_, it seemed, had vanished utterly. In +the small fo’c’sle, two decks under, where, by the light of battle +lanterns set close to the deck, the off-duty men played cards during +first watch, and, safe from eavesdropping, spoke their minds concerning +the officers, a theory was born. It was Nicky, QM2C, who evolved it +somewhat painfully under his auburn thatch as follows: + +“What that _Nuisance_ has done is this, to my way o’ thinkin’, fellers. +She’s gone a-raidin’.” + +“Raiding!” scoffed Mullins, first class fireman. “How long could she +stay at sea with only enough oil to last her three or four days? And +ain’t she an oldish tub, never doing much better than twenty? What sort +of a raider would she make?” + +“She wouldn’t need oil for more’n four days,” answered Nicky. “She’s +likely in the Bay of Biscay, putting in when she likes to one o’ them +Spanish ports and gettin’ all the fuel she needs.” + +“Ain’t Spain nootral?” demanded Mullins. + +“In your eye! The Hun subs have been dodgin’ in and out o’ the Spanish +harbors for months, and every one knows it. They goes in at night and +gets oil and mail and anything they like and slips out afore mornin’. +What’s to prevent the _Nuisance_ doin’ the same, hey?” + +“There’s something in that,” observed Craigthorp, master at arms, third +class, looking up from his cards. “If the _Nuisance_ has such small oil +tanks and can stay at sea only four days, where is she? Unless some +one’s got her and hasn’t reported. Or she’s gone down. If she left +Huelva on the fifteenth she must have run out of oil two days ago.” + +“She could store oil in barrels,” suggested some one else. “She’d have +to, anyway, to make the trip they say she’s making.” + +“She’s raidin’ in the Bay of Biscay,” reiterated Nicky convincedly, +“an’ some day you’ll find I’m right.” + +“You better climb topside and tip off the Old Man,” jeered Mullins. +“Maybe he’d like to know so’s he could beat it back down to Biscay. +Anyway, you oughtn’t to keep valuable information like that to +yourself. It ain’t fair to the Navy! Say, look here, you goat, a +raider’d have about as much chance in those waters as――as you’ll have +of goin’ to heaven. Why, there’s a chaser down there for every ten +miles o’ sea.” + +“All right. You wait.” + +Not being able to do anything else in the matter, they waited. And +twelve hours later the mystery was solved. + + + + + CHAPTER II + + A CHASE INTO THE FOG + + +It was a few minutes after two bells in the forenoon watch when the +foretop spotter called down to the bridge through the voice tube: +“Smoke broad off the port bow, sir!” The _Conklin_ was steaming +north-northwest, gradually coming about on the western end of her +cross-sea patrol. On the bridge the executive and a quartermaster +captain snatched binoculars and swept the hazy horizon. The executive +officer turned to the tube. “Where?” he asked. “Can’t see anything down +here.” + +“Just a mo, sir!” answered the spotter glibly, too interested to be +formal. “Now she’s coming thicker, sir. Broad off the bow, or a point +or so――” + +“Why don’t you say what you mean?” growled the executive fearsomely, +as he turned again toward the indicated quarter. He saw it then, a few +trailing streaks against the misty gray of the morning sky. The QC had +it too and silence reigned for a moment. Then: + +“Better have a look,” muttered the lieutenant. Orders to wheel-house +and engine room followed. The _Conklin_ swung her bow toward the +distant smudge and from her own stacks the smoke poured faster and +blacker. She “picked it up” to twenty-eight and went boiling into +the southwest. Hatches, round coal-holes just big enough to emit a +man if he wasn’t too fat, spouted gobs and the deck grew animated +with conjecture and hope. Gradually the distant smoke took shape and +then the ship stood up out of the sea and mist and glasses searched +her from stem to stern. The Old Man, summoned from below, gestured +disappointedly. + +“She’s not our meat,” he sighed. “Four funnels. The _Neusatz_ has only +three. I thought for a minute we’d found her.” + +“Me, too,” grumbled the executive. “Wonder who she is?” + +“Better ask her,” said the captain. “Looks Italian to me. But I don’t +know what an Italian destroyer’d be doing up here. If it wasn’t for the +four stacks I’d lay you ten to one she was the _Neusatz_.” + +“She’s changing her course, sir,” called down the lookout. “Heading +west’ard.” + +“H’m, looks as though she didn’t want to play with us,” muttered the +Old Man. “Run up your signals, please. Let’s find out about her.” + +Presently the colored flags fluttered from the foremast. Several +miles still separated the two destroyers, but when the bunting on the +stranger broke out it was not difficult to read the signals through +glasses. Nevertheless the lieutenant muttered and the signal men +stared, and: + +“Something wrong,” declared the executive. + +“He’s crazy,” said the Old Man. “That doesn’t make sense. Tell him I +want to see his papers.” + +Again the _Conklin_ spoke. Across the water the stranger kept on her +way, heading straight into the west and losing no time. The _Conklin_ +roared and shook as she answered the challenge. Then tiny bits of +bunting appeared in the distance and eager eyes read their message. + +“Italian destroyer _Sondrio_, eh?” murmured the captain. “Why couldn’t +he say so? I didn’t see any number there. What’s the _Sondrio’s_ +number, Mr. Chapin?” + +“Twenty-four, sir,” replied the lieutenant, referring to the register. +“Seven hundred and fifty tons, length 290 feet, speed twenty-seven +knots, two masts, four funnels.” + +“Sounds all right, but――” + +“There’s something wrong with one of those funnels,” interrupted the +ensign. “It’s got a list to port, sir. Isn’t in line with the others.” + +“You’re right,” agreed the Old Man, staring through his glasses. “Must +have been hit there.” + +“Unless it’s a fine bit of camouflage, sir,” replied the ensign. + +“Eh? By Jove, that’s possible! Guess we’ll have a closer look. Tell him +to stop his engines.” + +But the _Sondrio_ was haughty. Three miles away, she answered that +she was on special duty and in a hurry, and to prove the latter she +straightway proceeded to leave that part of the world at the best +speed she could manage. On the _Conklin_ the Old Man grew red of face +and sprang to the engine room tube, and in another sixty seconds the +American ship was doing every inch of her 33.60 and the foredeck was a +wet place and the bridge scarcely better. But the stranger still had a +fair three-mile lead, and beyond her a bank of fog was moving eastward +and on the _Conklin’s_ bridge uneasiness prevailed. Once in that fog +the _Sondrio_ might yet slip from them. Quarters was sounded and the +gun crews, already hovering at stations, became busy. Ammunition boxes +appeared as if by magic and were broken open, plugs swung back and +bores were examined. The _Conklin’s_ boilers roared and the long, +slender ship plowed through the water at a speed that sent the wind +tearing along her decks and flattened down the great clouds of oily +smoke that poured from the funnels. She was gaining fast on the other +ship, but that fog bank was drawing momentarily nearer and nearer. Ten +minutes passed and the three-mile lead was cut to two. At Number One +gun the crew watched and waited eagerly, for they were to have the +first word when the time came. + +Ten minutes more and the exec. was giving the deflection and ranges: +“Seven thousand, five hundred!... Seven thousand!...” + +The moments dragged. At last: “Are you on?” + +“On, sir!” + +“Fire!” + +Number One spoke sharply and a five-inch shrapnel shell sped on its +mission of destruction. From the bridge they watched intensely. A +column of water sprang up astern of the fleeing destroyer. + +“Short!” muttered the Old Man. From the fire control came the +correction. Number One’s plug closed behind a new charge. Again the +sharp bark and another shell flew whining across the sea. But the other +ship had all the luck that day, for the second shot was another miss, +striking close alongside to starboard and drenching the deck but still +missing. And then, as though by a miracle, the fleeing craft utterly +vanished from sight, swallowed up by the onrolling bank of gray mist! + +A third shell followed, while growls of disappointment arose from +bridge and deck. “Good _night_!” exclaimed the ensign disgustedly. +“Great Scott, what rotten luck! Down there, do you think you got her +the last time?” + +The gun captain turned a sorrowful countenance upward and shook his +head. “No, sir, I don’t,” he answered. + +Silence and suspense followed while the _Conklin_ plunged ahead toward +the oncoming fog. A breath of cooler, damper air rushed across the +bow and then they were in it and, from forward, the after half of the +ship melted into nothingness. The second funnel disappeared and the +first grew dim and spectral. “A regular North Sea particular,” growled +the Old Man in disgust, walking the bridge from side to side. “It’ll +last for days, or I miss my guess. We’ll take her north, gentlemen. +It’s a bare chance that we may pick her up again when this lifts.” To +the engine room went the order to slow down to twenty-seven, to the +gun stations the order to secure. Half an hour later life aboard the +_Conklin_ was back at its former routine flow. But there was plenty +to talk about now, and they didn’t neglect it. Chagrin was deep for +a while, and there were uncomplimentary remarks passed bearing on +the sighting of Number One gun. But hope returned at length. What +had happened might happen again. The morning had proved that the +_Conklin’s_ mission was, after all, something else than merely slapping +the waves, that life was capable of holding tense moments. In short, +the incident, as disappointing as its outcome had been, had supplied a +new zest, and when spirits once began to rise they rose high. By noon +they were convinced that Fortune would lead them back to the _Neusatz_, +for not a man aboard doubted now that the destroyer was in reality +the craft they sought. Word of the suspicious funnel had traveled +below and aft and one of the signal crew averred with every sign of +truthfulness that he had himself seen that funnel flap in the wind! + +Followed a chill afternoon and night, fog-wrapped, mysterious, in which +the destroyer, with “kettles all lit off for twenty-seven,” plunged +recklessly northward. Lookout duty was a grand farce, for one’s own +hand was invisible at the length of one’s arm when night came. The +sea was flat and oily and the _Conklin_ held herself as steady as an +automobile on asphalt. But the fog seeped into every far corner of +the ship and things grew clammy to the touch and the few lights along +the lower deck shone dim and reddish in the haze. But all night the +engines whirred and clanked and dripped oil and the big boilers sang +a frenzied tune, and another day dawned two hundred and fifty miles +nearer the Arctic. But one must take the dawn largely for granted, +for the world was still a gray void, and if there was a sun it was +well hidden. Somewhere east and north were the Faroe Islands, but for +the rest there was only open sea. There was a new chill in the air +to-day, and olive-drab sweaters showed above the V’s of overshirts. +The _Conklin_ was no longer hurrying. Instead, like a man having an +appointment for an hour he was not certain about, she lazed along in +the gray emptiness and changed her course from time to time. Spirits +showed reaction to-day. There was something peculiarly depressing in +that fog. Optimism was no longer rampant. From ward room to aftermost +storeroom you’d not have discovered a man who ever expected to see the +_Neusatz_ again. Life was horribly drear and dull and monotonous, and a +submarine slopping up alongside would have been a heaven-sent relief. +But there was never a periscope built that could penetrate that gloom, +and so even that blessing was denied them. There was much growling, and +chow was poor and a man was a fool to join the Navy, anyway. At least +a hundred normally even-tempered, high-spirited young men rued the day +they had signed enlistments. + +But nothing lasts forever, even fog around 60 north latitude, and Dave, +on graveyard watch that night, saw stars peek dimly down through the +murk before he tumbled into his bunk, and found sunlight and a cold, +fresh breeze awaiting him in the morning. Spirits arose again. Even if +they had missed the _Neusatz_, and it was a safe wager that such was +the case, there were other ships afloat that needed attention, and life +was not nearly so black――or gray――as they had painted it yesterday. +Dave was swinging lazily from side to side in the canvas “bucket” of +the foretop in the morning, viewing an empty sea with longing eyes. +Looking down and back past the simmering funnels he could see the deck +draped with damp garments drying in the sun. Nearer at hand The Pickle +was earnestly wigwagging to an imaginary accomplice in the direction +of Iceland, one of three of the signal crew who had yet to learn. On +the bridge the QC was telling stories to the ensign. Everywhere ports +and hatches were open to sun and wind, and the long four-inch gun on +the fo’c’sle deck had been shorn of its canvas jacket and gleamed +with an oily luster. The _Conklin_ was taking life easy, and even the +gobs lolling about aft had a sort of “nothing to do till to-morrow” +air. Dave yawned and started a new survey of the encircling rim of +the world. There was nothing to expect, only blue water, sunshot and +dazzling in spots, a pale blue sky, and a horizon as clearly defined as +though drawn with a pen. Even birds were absent up here, and flotsam +scarce. A floating deck swab was something to talk of for five minutes +to-day. Northward, emptiness; eastward, emptiness; southward―― + +Dave’s eyes narrowed. He adjusted his glasses again. A moment passed. +It might be a tiny cloud floating up above the ocean edge, but―― + +He ducked to the tube. + +“On the bridge, sir. Smoke two points off the port bow.” + + + + + CHAPTER III + + THE FLAG COMES DOWN + + +The _Conklin’s_ bridge and deck awoke to activity. Men climbed to +vantage points and gazed eagerly into the southwest. It was many +minutes, though, before the little smoke streak was visible from the +bridge, several more before it showed itself to the deck. Even then it +was so faint that indecision held until Dave’s anxious eyes caught the +faint silhouette of a ship’s superstructure above the blue rim of the +sea and his voice carried the news in triumph to the bridge below. + +After that the far-distant craft arose into view with amazing rapidity, +but there followed a long period of suspense during which the lookout’s +eyes ached as he sought to identify her as the destroyer they had lost +in the fog. Meanwhile the _Conklin_ was making straight for her, at +less than half-speed, so that there might be as little tell-tale smoke +as possible to be seen. Bows-on in a sunlit sea, the American ship’s +deceptive hues of hull and masts and funnels rendered her well-nigh +invisible to the approaching craft, and it was not until the distance +between them was less than a half-dozen miles that the latter showed +that she had at last sighted the _Conklin_. As she lengthened in shape, +swinging her nose northward, there were chuckles aboard the _Conklin_, +and many believed that had the latter been able to shut off all smoke +from her funnels the enemy would almost have walked into her arms! For +all doubt as to the other ship’s identity was now dispelled. Bowden, +chief master-at-arms, had taken Dave’s place in the cage and settled +the question speedily. + +“It’s her,” he had reported, with more emphasis than grammar. “It’s the +one we chased Wednesday, sir!” + +As she presented a broadside view it was clear, even at the distance, +that there was something queer about her first funnel. Every one +agreed on that, although none could say where the queerness lay. It +was perfectly spaced with the other three, was of a like size and +height, and yet, somehow, was far from convincing. If it was a dummy, +as they believed, it was cleverly contrived, for the glasses showed +smoke pouring from it as the destroyer sought to show her heels. But +the _Neusatz_ or _Sondrio_, whichever she really was, was not the +only craft with oil to burn, and the _Conklin’s_ boilers answered the +challenge in a trice, and the chase began. + +Possibly the fleeing ship thought her twenty-seven knot speed to be +equal to the steaming ability of her pursuer. If so, she was soon +undeceived. At nine-forty general quarters was sounded on the _Conklin_ +and the battle ensign run up. + +At ten-twelve No. 3 gun opened the engagement. The first shot fell +short, but the range gradually decreased and soon all three bow guns +were hurling projectiles at a distance of about six thousand yards. +First blood went to No. 2 when a five-inch shell landed on the enemy’s +hull just above the water line and slightly aft of her fourth funnel. +By this time the _Neusatz_ had got the _Conklin’s_ range and shells +from two starboard guns were dropping close. The first hit wrought +havoc on the pursuer’s deck amidship, wrecking the torpedo battery and +tearing a deep gash in the thin steel plating. Several of the crew of +No. 4 gun were wounded, but only one seriously. A second hit a minute +later caused slight damage to the _Conklin’s_ port bow. The _Neusatz_ +was armed with four guns of approximately 4-inch bore. The _Conklin_ +was now steaming a quarter of a mile abaft the starboard beam of the +_Neusatz_ and pounding away with three of her five-inch guns with +deadly effect. The battle was too one-sided to remain long in doubt, +for the pursuer was firing three guns to the enemy’s two and serving +them more rapidly and with much better effect. When, shortly after the +_Neusatz’s_ second hit, a shrapnel shell from the _Conklin_ crumpled +the enemy’s first funnel, revealing a wreck of gas pipe framework and +painted canvas, a laugh traveled the length of the American destroyer. +The _Neusatz_ seemed unable to hull her opponent effectively, her shots +at first falling short and then sweeping over the deck. The latter +caused superficial damage to funnels and structure, and one shell burst +just aft the wireless house, carrying it away and wrecking a part of +the wheel-house forward of it and seriously injuring three men. But +that was the _Neusatz’s_ last bull’s-eye, for an instant later her +stern gun was disabled, and almost simultaneously a shell from No. 2 +brought an end to the engagement by smashing its way through the waist +and exploding in the engine room. Clouds of steam rolled upward through +the midship hatches and a cheer arose from the _Conklin_ that deepened +as the red and white ensign which the _Neusatz_ had hoisted at the +beginning of the battle came slowly down. + +The Austrian ship looked very helpless as the _Conklin_ bore down on +her. There were torn gashes in her hull from stem to stern on the +starboard side and her main deck was a litter of twisted or broken +steel. Oddly enough, her bridge, although swept with shrapnel, was +intact, and on it, behind the fluttering remnants of the canvas +shields, her commander impassively watched the American ship swing out +her boats. Beside him was the second in command. The crew was clustered +forward near the shallow break of the forecastle, phlegmatic, silent, +looking across with incurious gaze. From amidship steam clouds still +billowed up from open hatches and at the stern a trailing ribbon of +smoke told of a fire below deck. The _Neusatz’s_ engines were idle +and the crippled destroyer was losing headway as the _Conklin_ ranged +alongside and Commander Gannett, leaning from the side of the bridge, +saluted his conquered adversary. + +“What ship is that, sir?” he called. + +The reply was as expected and in fair English: “The _Neusatz_, sir. To +what ship have I surrendered?” + +“The United States destroyer _Conklin_. Have you any boats you can use?” + +“Not one.” The _Neusatz’s_ captain, whose coat sleeve bore the +two stripes and crown of a German senior lieutenant, betrayed his +nationality by his careful, guttural delivery of the English words. +He appeared to be about thirty-four or -five years old, was of medium +height, rather thick-set and had a square, red-tanned face. “Our +medical officer is killed,” he continued unemotionally, “and we have +many wounded. Will you be so kind as to send a surgeon?” + +“I will do so, sir. Are your engines disabled, Captain?” + +“One is. The other I cannot say of. We are also on fire aft.” + +“Please muster your crew amidship, sir, and I will take them off.” The +captain saluted and turned to give his orders. The _Conklin_ carried +two boats and four rafts, and fortunately the boats had not been +seriously damaged. They were already lowered and awaiting the word to +pull across to the captive ship. Dave and The Pickle watched from the +_Conklin’s_ side as they traversed the fifty yards of water and drew +up beside the _Neusatz’s_ riddled hull. One by one the Austrian crew +climbed down and took their places and when the boats were filled they +pulled back. Possibly the larger part of the prisoners were Austrian, +but there were undoubtedly many Germans among them. As they reached +the deck they were swiftly searched for weapons or papers and then +passed below through the hatch. All told there were sixty-four who had +escaped serious injury. Eleven dead were later given burial, among them +a sub-lieutenant and a warrant officer. Fourteen others were badly +injured and were transferred to the _Conklin_ on stretchers. Counting +the two remaining commissioned officers, who came off in the last boat, +the complement of the _Neusatz_ had been ninety-one, a number largely +in excess of what the _Conklin’s_ officers had suspected. + +Dave and Pete were among the party that, following the transfer of +the prisoners, boarded the _Neusatz_ with fire equipment and spent a +busy three hours fighting a stubborn blaze among the stores. That fire +was too close to the ammunition to make the work comfortable and the +detail experienced anxious moments. The task of fighting the flames +was made more difficult by the fact that only one of the ship’s pumps +could be used. Eventually, however, the smoke-blackened and somewhat +scorched fighters won their battle. Meanwhile artificers from the +_Conklin_ had been busy with the _Neusatz’s_ engines and boilers and +at five o’clock in the afternoon the ship was pronounced able to limp +along in convoy of the victor. Temporary patches were made to the hull +and the litter on deck cleared away. At dusk a crew of twenty-eight of +the _Conklin’s_ men and fourteen of the _Neusatz’s_ went aboard, under +command of Lieutenant Chapin, the engines were started again and the +two destroyers pointed their bows toward Pentland Firth, some three +hundred and eighty miles east-south-east. + +It was then that Dave and Pete had their first parting, for Pete was +among those assigned to the _Neusatz_ and Dave was not. Dave watched +his chum disappear over the side of the captured ship with envious +gaze, for it seemed to him that getting that disabled craft to port was +going to offer some thrilling moments. Pete waved a hand gayly before +he passed from sight, and Dave and The Pickle waved back. The Pickle +had managed to get in the way of a flying fragment of shrapnel and was +rather proud of a bandaged hand and wrist. Dave, who had come through +fifteen minutes of action at No. 2 gun without so much as a scratch, +felt himself lucky, but neglected. There were others aboard who had +fared less fortunately. Three men had been killed outright on the +_Conklin_, and one, First Class Electrician Williams, had since died of +injuries. Besides these, seven men were seriously and several slightly +wounded. The _Conklin’s_ small sick bay was overcrowded and the injured +overflowed into the lower deck passages. At dark the two destroyers +were doing slightly better than nine knots toward the coast of Scotland. + + + + + CHAPTER IV + + HEROES IN PORT + + +“Where’d you get it?” + +That was a pert, black torpedo boat, the next afternoon, jumping across +the _Conklin’s_ bows a half mile ahead and wigwagging flippantly from a +perilous deck. + +“About two hundred miles back,” replied the _Conklin_. “She’s the +_Neusatz_.” + +“Congratulations!” The torpedo boat was visibly impressed. Perhaps a +bit disappointed, too, for she added: “Been looking for her myself.” +Then, wallowing off: “Shall I report you?” + +“Please do,” answered the destroyer. “Am making Wick.” + +The torpedo boat said something more, but distance and intervening +waves hid it. + +They had had calm seas until nearly noon that day, but now, some 180 +miles from the Firth, the northeast wind was tossing the waves high +and the _Neusatz_ was making hard going and the bilge pumps were busy +every moment. Lieutenant Chapin had managed to keep near the _Conklin_ +all night, no mean task in the darkness, and with a starboard engine +continually demanding tinkering, and at dawn was only three miles to +the southwest. The sea got up more toward evening and the sun went +down in a bank of angry-looking purple-red clouds that by four bells +in the first watch had covered the sky and hidden the stars. The wind +freshened considerably and the _Conklin_ rolled and wallowed hard, +and there was much anxiety aboard for the smaller convoy. They picked +up North Rona Island about midnight and left Stack Island to port +shortly after daylight, and when Dave went off morning watch a hazy +streak eastward was said to be the Orkneys. They made Turn Ness before +noon and steamed into Pentland Firth. By that time they were in busy +waters. Suspicious trawlers demanded their business and once a small +gunboat labored near and held a long conversation. Past Stroma Island +mine sweepers were working diligently and the _Conklin_ was warned +to keep well away from Duncansby Head. It was mid-afternoon when the +two destroyers, victor and vanquished, came to anchor in Wick Bay, +enthusiastically welcomed by a small flotilla of patrols and trawlers. + +There the prisoners were landed and the _Neusatz_ handed over to the +British Admiralty officer, and the _Conklin_ took on oil. She laid +at Wick that night, the Old Man, who had scarcely left the bridge a +minute for forty hours, sleeping the clock around, according to rumor. +The next day they were off again, back through the Firth and then down +along the west coast of Scotland, in a blue-gray mist that held the +_Conklin_ to half speed or less until she was in the Minch and hid the +coast from sight. After that the sun came back and there was much to +see; islands that sent them wandering from their course and headlands +that put them back again; glimpses of mist-draped mountains and firths +and lochs stretching inland like broad blue ribbons. + +Dave and The Pickle tried to follow their progress on a folding map +that was eternally flopping itself back on its creases, and almost +got lockjaw attempting to pronounce such words as Ardskinish and +Kilchenichbeg and Maol-na-cala. There were more difficult ones, +too, but they knew better than to attempt those. Pete didn’t take +much interest in geography, preferring to put his back against +something――most anything answered――and fall asleep. For Pete, like all +the others who had spent two nights and the better part of two days +aboard the Austrian destroyer, was so far in arrears as to sleep that +he despaired of ever catching up. Pete had twice attempted to describe +that second night on the _Neusatz_ and had twice been forced to give up +for lack of a sufficient vocabulary. His attempts always ended with a +hopeless shake of his head. + +There was a U-boat alarm as they approached the North Channel, and the +_Conklin_ sounded general quarters and Pete became very nearly wide +awake. But the periscope――if periscope it was that had greeted the +lookout’s gaze――disappeared and Pete went promptly to sleep again, +leaning against Number Five gun. They met a long column of empty +transports off Belfast, American ships of many shapes and sizes, +guarded by four destroyers, and the _Conklin_ was able to talk to some +one again in her own language. The naval guards on the transports waved +their caps and semaphored ridiculous messages to the passing destroyer. +The _Conklin_ rounded Power Head the next afternoon and an hour later +dropped her anchor off Queenstown again, and, oh, but the old town +did look good to her crew! They were heroes of no mean caliber when +they went ashore, and they made the most of it. For three days they +threw their chests out a good two inches beyond normal and put their +shoulders back so far that you could instantly tell a _Conklin_ gob +a block away from his similarity to a pouter pigeon! It is fair to +assume that the Old Man, too, felt a bit cocky as he went ashore to +make his report to the Admiral, and none of the crew blamed him. The +only question in their minds was whether he would be made a captain or +jumped to a commodore. There were some who believed promotion to rear +admiral was the least he could expect. As a matter of fact, all that +did happen was commendation in orders; except that the British Admiral +wrote out a compliment of his own which was posted on the bulletin +board. + +The _Conklin_ underwent repairs and her gobs spent every possible +minute ashore. There was mail for all hands, and many home papers to be +read and not a few boxes to be opened. And there were many meals to be +eaten in waterfront hotels, for it was surely a fine change to sit at +ease in a chair and stretch your legs under a real table and not have +the coffee spill down the front of your shirt. And steak and onions, +and hot, heavy puddings, were a vast improvement on bacon and stews +and canned salmon. A day after the _Conklin_ got into port the _Wood_ +returned empty-handed from her search, and the _Conklin’s_ men lorded +it over the _Wood_ gobs and there was a fine battle behind a warehouse +between husky representatives of the two destroyers in consequence. +When the dust had subsided Conroy, seaman, U. S. S. _Conklin_, was +lifted up tenderly and borne away for repairs, and the _Wood’s_ crew +held up their heads again now that honor was vindicated. + +But the flesh-pots of Queenstown palled at the end of the third day, +which should have been the last day, too, in port, and there were +grumbles to be heard when it was rumored that the _Conklin’s_ repairs +would keep her tied to a dock another forty-eight hours. They watched +the _Wood_ up-anchor and depart jauntily, her men waving derisive +farewells and shouting insulting messages as she steamed past, and they +watched the _Conyngham_ slide up the harbor fairly radiating vanity. +The _Conyngham_ had, to use Pete’s disgusted report, “gone and got her +a little old eighty-foot sub and was so stuck-up you couldn’t talk to +’em!” That was all right, too, but if there were subs to be had it was +time the _Conklin_ was getting hers. And she wouldn’t be satisfied with +any half-portion U-boat, either. If she couldn’t bring in a regular +man-sized boat she’d bring none. So declared the _Conklin’s_ lower deck +with appropriate emphasis, and meant every word of it. In consequence +there was deep joy when the destroyer was at last again ready for sea +duty, and the delight of steaming into Cork Harbor six days before was +as nothing to the delight of steaming out again. + +This time it was patrol duty, and the _Conklin_ was assigned to a +certain numbered square of the North Atlantic Ocean lying some 200 +miles due south of Cape Clear. When their hunting ground was made known +to them there was some disappointment aboard, for it was too far south +for the lanes and too far west for German mine layers. It was felt that +the admiralty was not giving them a fair show. The Pickle, however, +suggested that perhaps as the _Conklin_ was a newcomer she mustn’t +expect the choice locations. “I suppose we have to take what’s left,” +he said. “But we’ve got the satisfaction of knowing that the fellows +who come after us will get worse places.” + +“I’ll bet there’s a lot o’ favoritism in it,” said Pete, darkly. “Look +what we went an’ done. Nabbed the _Nuisance_ when the whole blame +British navy and half of our own was tryin’ for her. An’ the Frenchies, +too, maybe. Ain’t that something? What? Don’t that show we know our +business? Well, then, what’s the idea of shovin’ us away out there +where there ain’t nothin’ to see but whales an’ altroboses?” (Pete +never could say “albatross.”) + +“At that,” remarked Gooding, machinist’s mate, “we might make a find. +Maybe the tin fish are leery of the old routes, now we’ve gone and +cluttered them all up with patrols. Maybe we’ll walk right into a +regular blooming convention of them.” + +“Yeah,” assented Pete, sarcastically, “maybe we will. An’ maybe the +best we’ll get’ll be the worst. Honest, fellers, I don’t believe +there’s a quarter as many subs around here as they think there is. They +see the same Hun two or three times in different places an’ they think +he’s a different one each time. Stands to reason, don’t it, that if +there was as many as they make out we’d see one now and then? I been +fiddlin’ aroun’ here more’n a month an’ never seen but one.” + +“I know fellows who’ve been over here since May and haven’t seen any,” +replied Gooding. “So there you are. Cheer up, though, Pete. The luck +may change.” + +“All I’m afraid of,” Pete grumbled, “is that the war’ll be over before +I have a chance to shoot the daylights out o’ one o’ the murderin’ +things. Bet you if we do find one, Lanky, it’ll be off to port where +I won’t get a whack at it! That old Kaiser’d ought to fix things so’s +we’d a better run for our money. I always said he was a piker!” + +“The best way to find a U-boat,” observed The Pickle wisely, “is to get +on a transport. It isn’t us fellows they’re looking for, it’s the ships +with troops on them, or cargo boats full of grain and ammunition and +stuff. They’re wise owls, those U-boats. They don’t take any chances. +That’s why they live to a ripe old age.” + +“That’s no jest,” agreed Pete. “Safety first’s their motto. I seen in a +New York paper the other day where they’d got twenty-four British ships +one week a while back. That’s fierce, ain’t it? Maybe I’m wrong about +it. Maybe there’s all the subs they say there is.” + +“Those figures the British give out don’t take any account of all +the trawlers and sweepers and small boats that are sunk,” said Dave. +“I guess they think that if they made a clean breast of it we’d get +discouraged and quit.” + +“The dirty, sneakin’, murderin’ scoundrels!” growled Pete. “Know what, +fellers? Well, I’m goin’ to get me one o’ them U-boats before I quit, +take it from Pete! I’m goin’ to get me one if I have to cruise round +this old ocean for ten years! An’ stoppin’ the war ain’t goin’ to make +no difference to me, either. I’ll be right on the job the day the +kaiser and King George sit down to lunch together!” + + + + + CHAPTER V + + “SUBMARINE!” + + +They had the tail end of a southeast gale to buck against on their +way out and the _Conklin_, though a much steadier ship than the +older destroyers, did everything but stand on her stern. Dave put in +a strenuous hour in the foretop between ten and eleven that night. +Whether getting up to the cage or staying there after he was up was the +worst he couldn’t decide. The destroyer was plunging straight into the +huge seas, banging them down on her fo’c’sle deck in tons, slapping +them against the bridge in the shape of blinding spray and even tossing +the spindrift as high as the cage. She slid down into a trough, leaning +far to starboard, climbed up from it, whipping her mast to port, and +then crashed into a wave with a shock that made her tremble all down +her slender steel length. “Rolling forty” she was that night. Dave held +on with every muscle in his body as his roost dipped from side to side +and then leaned sickeningly backward or forward. An hour of it was all +any mortal could stand, and he was longing for his relief before his +trick was half over. Never a light peeked out of the gloom, and the +rushing shriek of the wind drowned even the noise of the waves pounding +aboard. + +But getting below again almost made up for it. A cup of piping hot +coffee in the galley――there had been a time when it would have kept +Dave awake, but that was before he became a destroyer “gob”――warmed his +chilled body, and he clung to a table and chatted with the cook who was +deftly balancing himself while he scraped the dough for to-morrow’s +bread from the great mixer. Then he shed his outer clothes and climbed +into his narrow bunk and, holding himself there by his eyelashes, as +the saying is, heard the water sweeping past beyond a thin steel wall +and the steady hum of the engines and the roar of the big boilers and +the Swedish oiler known as “Yonny” whistling “Pack All Your Troubles +in Your Old Kit-Bag and Smile, Smile, Smile.” Dave heard other sounds, +too, such as Merritt, of his gun crew, giving an unconscious imitation +of a slide trombone in the bunk above, and the tramping of feet on the +steel plates overhead and, finally, the seven quick strokes of the +ship’s clock in the nearer fireroom. After that he must have gone to +sleep. At least he didn’t hear the watch changed, and when he awoke +the daylight was struggling with the electric bulb in the thwartship +passage. + +The first day on patrol was a stiff one, for the gale subsided +slowly and the great, tumbling green seas tossed the destroyer about +incessantly. The life-lines were kept rigged all that day and coffee +was the only hot thing obtainable, since cooking when the range slanted +at forty degrees to port one minute and forty degrees to starboard +the next minute was out of the question. But hot coffee there was +in plenty, and some of the men, foresighted persons who had laid in +supplies at Queenstown, boiled eggs at the steam vents. But nothing +happened. Now and then a porpoise startled a lookout by his famous +impersonation of a “moldie,” which is a torpedo in plain English, and +terns and gulls squawked sorrowfully overhead or splashed at the foamy +summit of a big wave. All day the _Conklin_ ranged back and forth, up +and down, sometimes passing the time of day with a distant patrol, but +for the most part minding her own business very thoroughly, for the +sufficient reason that no other business offered. + +There was less roll that night and sleep was not so much a gymnastic +performance, and the second day broke warmer and stiller, with only +long surges to climb up and down. The sun came out shortly after +morning chow and dried the wet decks and made warm and cosy corners for +idle gobs to re-read their latest home letters in. Life-lines came down +along the deck and one could walk from jackstaff to stern post without +risking life. Dave was hunched on the deck beside No. 2 gun, in a patch +of sunlight, writing to his mother, when a rude interruption came in +the shape of a sharp cry from the bridge above, and a moment later the +sounding of general quarters. As he had his life-vest on already he +had only to thrust paper and pencil into his pocket and climb to his +feet to reach his station. Having done that he leaned from the port and +had a look for the cause of the excitement. Nothing, however, showed +on so much of the ocean as was visible from No. 2 gun port, and it was +the Human Trombone――otherwise Alf Merritt――who supplied the desired +information as he hurried to his station. + +“Periscope about half a mile off the starboard beam,” he explained a +trifle breathlessly, being plainly anxious to tell it before the other +arrived. “We all saw it. They say it’s a big one, the sub, I mean. +There were two ‘sticks’ about twelve feet apart.” + +The rest of the crew interrupted Merritt’s narrative and Dave was too +busy with his duties to ask more. + +The _Conklin_ spouted heavy black smoke from her four funnels, swung +around on her heel and raced westward. But the periscope was gone, +had, in fact, disappeared too soon for a shot to be fired at it, and +even depth charges were of questionable value. Dave had more than half +expected to hear the rending crash of a torpedo, but either the sub had +not discharged one or it had missed its mark. A single depth charge +was dropped when the destroyer had reached the approximate location of +the U-boat, but it was a forlorn hope and brought no reward. For three +hours the _Conklin_ ranged over a twenty-mile radius, the lookouts +never so sharp-eyed, but the submarine refused to show herself again. +Finally the search was given over in disappointment and disgust and the +destroyer returned to her former profitless task. + +Up in the wireless hutch a message was tapped off to the flagship +a hundred miles away announcing the sighting of the U-boat and the +incident appeared closed. Then, at half-past three in the afternoon, +the same thing happened again. + +This time the two periscopes were nearly a mile distant and remained +in sight, moving slowly on a nearly parallel course with that of the +_Conklin_ for some two minutes, during which time the destroyer again +spouted smoke and dashed to the fray. But, as before, the submarine was +coy and dived long before a shell could be fired. The _Conklin_ wasted +four depth bombs and hung around until dark. As the second sub had been +sighted seventy miles southeast of the first the impression aboard the +destroyer was that they had landed in a nest of U-boats. Disgust at +losing two chances in one day was mitigated by what seemed an excellent +prospect of finding a third “fish”; and, as, every one knows, the third +time is successful. The _Conklin_ swept eastward to the edge of her +patrol territory and ranged back again. At midnight a small chaser +signaled from the darkness and asked for the latest news of the enemy. +She, it appeared, had been dispatched to take a hand in the search. +The _Conklin_ replied with her blinker and the chaser disappeared +southward. Dave’s hour aloft came in the “graveyard watch” and he found +more thrill than usual in his task. But his night glasses failed to +show anything more than a far-distant light that flickered for a moment +in the west and went out. It might have been a signal from a patrol +or the stern light on an incautious steamer. At all events, it didn’t +appear again and Dave climbed down the shroud disappointedly. + +The next morning at an hour or so after the half-hearted dawn of a gray +day the foretop lookout again electrified the bridge. + +“Submarine awash broad off the port bow. About two miles, sir.” + +The frenzied general quarters alarm hooted through the ship. Buckets +and swabs, brushes and cloths were stowed and the crew sprang eagerly +to stations. The _Conklin_ swept her sharp nose around and went piling +south southeast, leaving a cream-white path of tumbling foam behind her. + +“She has no conning tower, sir,” called down the foretop spotter. “I +think there’s some one on deck.” + +“One of U-54 class,” commented the Old Man. “I’ve got her now. Yes, +down through the hatch again. Ready with that No. 2 gun? What’s the +range?” + +But even the five-inch was outdistanced as yet, and there was an +anxious period while the _Conklin_ fairly leaped through the sea. +Every instant they expected to see the darker object, that looked like +a sunning whale against the light and shadow of the tumbling waters +ahead, disappear from their sight as mysteriously as it had appeared. + +“Fourteen thousand yards,” announced the fire control. + +“She’s stopped her engines, sir.” + +“What’s your speed?” demanded the Old Man impatiently at the engine +room tube. + +“Thirty-three-forty-five, sir!” + +“Hit her up! Bust her!” + +“Thirteen thousand five hundred!” + +“There’s something on the for’ard periscope, sir! Looks like a flag!” + +“So there is! What do you make of it, lieutenant?” + +“Flag, sir, and――and I think it’s white!” + +“White! White!” sputtered the captain. “What’s it for? Who ever heard――” + +“Yes, it’s white. It’s wet and is half wrapped about the ‘stick.’” + +“Some infernal German trick, I suppose!” + +“Shall we try a shot?” + +“No――no. Hang it, you can’t fire on a white flag!” He called for slower +speed and the _Conklin_ eased up as she split her way through the +dancing waves. The sun shot a long streamer of pale amber light through +the gray clouds to eastward. “We’ll have to see,” muttered the captain. +“She’s broad on, and I don’t think her class carries broadside tubes, +but we won’t chance it.” + +The _Conklin_ swung to starboard and presently back to port and so +continued the journey zig-zagging. The submarine drew nearer and +nearer. She was lying motionless save for the pitching and rolling +caused by the waves, with both periscopes extended and a piece of dirty +wet white cloth fluttering weakly from the forward one. There was no +sign of life aboard, but those on the _Conklin_ realized uneasily that +they were being closely watched through the periscopes. That the Hun +was up to some trick was the general belief on bridge and deck, and +when the _Conklin_ slowed and finally stopped some yards away from the +long, sinister, gray steel hull every available gun was ranged upon +it. The Old Man stepped to the edge of the bridge and put megaphone to +mouth, and at that instant a round hatch opened in the middle of the +slightly raised deck that took the place of a conning tower and a head +appeared. The captain waited. The man climbed through and as he did so +he raised his arms above his head in token of surrender. The _Conklin_ +looked on in surprise not unleavened with suspicion. On the heels of +the first man appeared a second, and then a third, and a fourth, and +each held his arms up and moved out on the unsteady deck to make place +for others. How they managed to keep their feet on that wet, slippery, +heaving surface was a marvel. Man after man appeared until the deck was +clustered with them. Commander Gannett recovered from his amazement and +raised his megaphone again. + +“Where is your captain?” he asked. + +There was no answer for a moment. Then a sailor pushed himself +perilously forward. “Kamerad!” he shouted back. “Kamerad!” + +“There isn’t an officer in the lot,” muttered the executive at the +captain’s shoulder. “Deuced funny, eh?” + +“Speak English?” bawled the captain, raising his voice in the +unconscious way that one does in the circumstances. + +Again silence. The men on the U-boat’s deck seemed to be talking among +themselves. Then a regular chorus of “Kamerad! Kamerad!” floated across +the water. The Old Man shrugged his shoulders. + +“Lower a boat and see what their game is. Pass the word to the lookouts +to keep their eyes peeled. There may be another Hun around. Have we any +one aboard who speaks their rotten language?” + +“Ensign Whittemore, sir.” + +“Ask him to take charge and see what’s the matter over there. Never +heard of a sub insisting on surrender like this. There’s something +wrong somewhere!” + +Over went Number One boat and the ensign and eight husky gobs sprang +into it and were lowered away. “Let go!” ordered the officer in the +stern sheets. “Give way!” The oars dipped and the boat headed for the +submarine. The Pickle pulled an oar in that boat and we’ll let him tell +the story now as he told it to a group on the lower deck afterward. + +[Illustration: The oars dipped and the boat headed for the submarine] + + + + + CHAPTER VI + + THE MUTINY + + +“They were a rum-looking lot, those squareheads,” began The Pickle. +“They looked as if they hadn’t had a square meal for two weeks. +Well, you saw them yourselves, so you know. But lined up on the deck +there, with their hands up and looking down at us as if we were their +long-lost brothers, they were sure a sorry, white-faced bunch. The way +the skin was pulled over their cheek-bones and the way their clothes +flapped around them got me! The ensign and Willet and I went down +through the hatch and the minute we got our heads under we wished we +hadn’t. The smell was frightful. It wasn’t just foul air or battery +fumes; it was――well, we soon found what it was. The ensign took one of +the men down with us, a sort of chief gunner I guess he was, and he was +so weak he fell the last half-way down the ladder, and Willet had to +pick him up and put him on his pins again. + +“There wasn’t any sort of a conning tower, as you saw, but you went +right down straight into the central station. Things were in a fierce +mess down there and it was half dark. On the floor alongside a desk +with charts and papers on it lay the captain, dead as a doornail. He +wasn’t a pretty sight, for some one had bashed his head in. The ensign +turned to the Hun that was with us and pointed. I don’t know much +German, but I managed to get some of what they said. ‘What happened to +him?’ asked the ensign. The fellow shook his head. He was a stolid sort +of chap, about twenty-three or four, I guess. ‘Who killed him?’ asked +the ensign. Then the Hun said he didn’t know, although you could see he +did. ‘That’s the captain,’ said the ensign to Willet and me. ‘They’ve +probably done in the first officer too. We’ll see.’ He was a bit pale, +was the ensign, and I didn’t feel any too good myself just then. The +captain had been dead several days and it wasn’t very pleasant there. +Why they hadn’t got rid of the body I don’t know, unless they were too +weak to get it up the ladder. We found the next thing that the sub was +a mine layer, for there were two wells on her, with mines in each ready +to drop. + +“It was Willet found the first officer. They’d shot him in his +berth while he was asleep.” The Pickle shivered. “Then we lugged the +squarehead into the stateroom and showed him the body and he ’fessed +up. As near as I could make it out his story was something like this. +They’d left Zeebrugge twelve days before with orders to proceed to some +place off France and drop mines. The first day they were out the men +found that she was poorly provisioned. They were most all old U-boat +men and knew what they were up against. So they talked it over and put +it up to the captain. Told him they hadn’t enough grub aboard for a +week, let alone three, and demanded that he return to a base and stock +up proper. But the cap said he’d got his orders and wasn’t going to +turn back and a lot more, and was pretty fairly brutal. + +“Things went on for three days and then they sighted a merchantman +without escort off the east coast of Ireland and they got orders to +give chase. Well, they wouldn’t. They were half-starved already, not +having had more than one day’s rations in four, and were desperate. +So, when the Old Man threatened them with punishment for mutiny they +thought they might just as well be hung――or shot――for mutton as for +spring lamb, and when he drew a revolver one of them laid him out from +behind with a wrench. As he went down they grabbed the revolver and did +for the first officer, who was asleep in his bunk. + +“Then they were in a bit of a pickle, for they knew that if they took +the boat back to Germany they’d get short shrift. They talked it over +and decided that the only thing to do was to surrender to an enemy +ship. So one of them, a sort of chief petty officer, took charge and +they set out to get themselves pinched. But it wasn’t easy, because +you see, just as soon as they’d show themselves the enemy would start +in to plug them without asking any question. They tried the trick by +wireless, but all they got was the merry ha-ha. Every one who picked up +the message thought some one was trying to get gay with him, I suppose. +So yesterday they tried us to see what we’d do. They’d been following +us ever since early morning. Well, we didn’t act friendly and their +courage gave out and they beat it. But they kept us in sight and tried +again in the afternoon. They’d put up that white flag of theirs, but it +was always wet when they came up and wouldn’t do much but wrap around +the periscope. Finally, this morning, they decided that they might as +well get killed as starve to death. What do you know about that for a +sea story?” + +Although The Pickle had guessed at some of his details, he had got +the facts concerning what was perhaps the strangest surrender ever +made on the high seas correct enough. Meanwhile, however, the ensign +had made his report to Captain Gannett and the _Conklin_ got busy. +The submarine’s crew, twenty-eight in all, were taken off, some of +them so weak that they had to be lifted from deck to boat and from +boat to sick bay, and the bodies of the two officers were carried up +and unceremoniously buried at sea. After that, having very casually +reported the capture by wireless, the _Conklin_ made a hawser fast +to the towing-hook at the submarine’s bow, and under orders from the +flagship, set out for Queenstown. + +“Huh,” said Pete that night, “I guess the _Conyngham_ ain’t got +anything on us, Kid! This prize we got’s a regular boat, an’ a mine +layer at that. As our Limie friends say, ‘Wot price mine layer?’ +Only they’d say ‘lyer’ instead of ‘layer,’ wouldn’t they? Guess the +_Conklin’s_ pretty bad, ain’t she? Guess she don’t do much for her +country, eh? Two prizes in a week ain’t anything to be proud of, is it? +Say, Pickle, take a slant overside an’ see if the Hun’s still in tow. +I wouldn’t want to lose her after the trouble she’s cost me.” + +“You, you flat-foot! What did you have to do with it?” asked Dill. + +“What did I have to――Say, didn’t you know that I had the little old +Number 5 trained right on the geometricous center of that tin fish? If +it hadn’t been for me those bloody-minded murderers would have killed +you an’ all the rest of your boardin’ party! What did I do, says he! +Huh!” + +“Maybe you’ll begin to believe that there are such things as German +submarines after all, Pete,” suggested Dave. + +“Sure! I always did believe it. Only I say there ain’t so many as folks +think. Why, look here, now, don’t what happened yesterday and to-day +prove it? When we seen that submarine the second time every one thought +she was a new one, didn’t they? Same thing this mornin’. I heard you +fellers sayin’ ‘Gee, but that’s funny! Three in two days!’ Well, she +was the same little Hun all the time, wasn’t she? Just followed us +around she did. That’s what I was sayin’ the other day. Folks see the +same sub twice an’ put it down for two!” + +“You win,” laughed The Pickle. “What gets me, though, is how they +managed to follow us last night in the dark.” + +“I don’t believe they did,” replied Dave. “They knew we were on patrol +and all they had to do was wait for us to come back on the next course.” + +“That’s it, I guess. Well, anyway, it’s a queer business. What do you +suppose will happen to those poor hoboes?” + +“They’d ought to be shot at sunrise,” answered Pete, unfeelingly, “but +they won’t be. They’ll be put in a nice, steam-heated prison camp an’ +took care of till the row’s over. I don’t know as I blame ’em a whole +lot for killin’ off the officers, if the officers were like what you +hear tales of, but I don’t just admire ’em for it.” + +“The Old Man got a fine lot of papers and books and truck like that,” +said The Pickle reflectively. “He was as pleased as Punch about it and +he and the executive are up in the ward room now having a lovely time +with them. We got a copy of their secret code and a lot of interesting +stuff. Looks to me as if the Old Man would find himself in about right +with the Admiral pretty soon. Wait till we get ashore and rub it into +the _Wood_ crowd.” + +Pete chuckled. “Yeah,” he said. “Wait till I tell Quinn, that +slant-eyed, lantern-jawed cox o’ theirs. Maybe it won’t take the wind +out of his sails.” + +“It would be funny, though, wouldn’t it,” suggested Dave, “if the +_Wood_ got back there with a sub, too.” + +Pete observed him disapprovingly and The Pickle with sorrow. + +“Gee, you can think of more punk things to say, Kid,” remonstrated the +latter. “Gloom must be your middle name.” + +The _Conklin_ glided into harbor the next morning very proudly and +towed her grim, gray prize fairly under the noses of five American and +one British destroyer before she came to anchor. On the main deck every +gob who could get there stood negligently and boredly as congratulatory +messages came from the bridges of the other ships. Their attitude asked +plainly: “Why so much turmoil about a mere U-boat? It’s an old story +with us.” + +That attitude vexed the _Plaisted’s_ gobs and they made derogatory +remarks in voices inaudible to the bridge, but heard on the _Conklin’s_ +deck, and gestured derision. “Where’d you get the old cook stove, +_Conk_?” + +“What’s that you’re towin’, partner? Some new kind of patent log?” “Did +the Kaiser make you a present of it?” “Say, fellers, see what the cat’s +brought in.” But the _Conklin_ men only smiled in serene contempt. They +could afford to let the envious world gibe. + +The _Wood_ wasn’t in port when the _Conklin_ arrived, and so Pete had +to wait two days for the pleasure of crowing over Coxswain Quinn. But +perhaps it was worth waiting for, for if Pete’s condition when he +returned to the ship that afternoon was any sign he must have had a +thoroughly good time. He seemed very desirous of avoiding the gaze of +the officer of the deck and plunged below so rapidly that he scraped +some of the skin from his ribs. But a little more lost skin was of +small moment to one who had already parted with so much! In short, +Pete was a cheerful wreck, and raw beef secured from the galley and +much plaster from his first aid kit failed to make him more than half +presentable. But no questions were asked by the executive, and the +Old Man, catching a glimpse of Pete the next morning from the bridge +ladder, only smiled and went on up. It was by that time generally +known throughout the ship that the _Wood_ would be short the services +of a coxswain for one or two days. Neither Dave nor The Pickle were +witnesses of that encounter, but those who were feelingly pronounced it +the best battle of the war up to date! + +The _Conklin_ spent one more day of idleness and then pulled up her +hooks and set forth again for her mission of “making the world safe for +the democrats,” as Pete phrased it. But this time it was not patrol +duty that called her. “Special and distant service” was the word that +went around below deck. + + + + + CHAPTER VII + + THE START OF AN ADVENTURE + + +The _Conklin_ left Queenstown just at dusk and steamed straight across +the mouth of the channel, and at daybreak was skirting the tip of the +Cornish coast, with the Scilly Islands faint blurs to the westward. +Later they passed Lizard Head in a sea so smooth that it was hard to +believe the tales they had heard all their lives of the treacherous +nature of that coast. The frowning cliffs of Cornwall were in plain +sight for an hour, and then the tall white tower of Eddystone Light +rose off the port bow. The Pickle, who seemed for some reason to be +a walking compendium of lighthouse information, entertained Dave and +Pete with the story of the Admiralty’s attempts, dating back nearly +a hundred and fifty years, to build a beacon on that sinister reef +which, some ten miles from the nearest point of the mainland, stretches +for hundreds of yards across the ship thoroughfare and obstructs the +approach to Plymouth from the channel side. Many vessels have struck +there. At one point the submerged ridge throws a few battered granite +rocks above the eddying waves at low tide, from which fact came the +name of “eddystones.” + +“Away back at the beginning of things,” said The Pickle, gazing across +at the slender tower, “a man whose name I forget got the notion that +there ought to be a light on that reef and that he was the Johnny to +put it there. So they told him to go ahead. Well, he stuck up a queer +Chinese pagoda effect of wood and slathered it all over with carvings +and gilt. Maybe his idea was to scare the waves away. Anyway, they say +it was a fearsome looking contraption when it was done. It took him +three or four years to do it, and when he had the wise guys around here +said it wouldn’t stand the first hard gale. But this Johnny said he +knew better and that he hoped he might be in the tower when that gale +arrived. Every one gets his wish once in a lifetime, and it was this +fellow’s turn to get his. When the gale did come he and five keepers +were out there in the pagoda. When the folks in Plymouth looked out +the next morning to see how the beacon had got through the storm there +wasn’t any beacon.” + +“Gee!” said Pete. “Did they drown?” + +“So they suppose. Anyway, they weren’t around. After that another +wooden tower went up and stayed quite a while; forty years, I think +it was. It was built so well that it might be there yet if it hadn’t +caught on fire from the lantern one day and burned down. They had +trouble in building it that time because England and France were +at war, and the French privateers kept them on the jump. One time +a French boat caught them napping and took off the whole force as +prisoners of war and carried them back to France. But when the king +heard of it――Louis the Somethingth, I guess――he got peeved with the +smart Alecks. ‘What those guys were doing was for our benefit as well +as England’s. I’m at war with the perfidious Albion’――or words to +that effect――‘but not with humanity.’ After which he handed himself a +round of applause, had the smart Alecks put in the stocks and sent the +lighthouse folks back to their little ledge with a lot of presents.” + +“What sort of presents?” asked Dave. + +“I don’t know; a couple of gold chains and a bag of ducats and a +package of ‘fags,’ maybe; the usual thing. Read your history and find +out. That was number two lighthouse. Number three was of stone and +stood up about a hundred and twenty-five years. Then the cement began +to go west and they put up the present light alongside it. This one is +a hundred and thirty feet from base to light. Anything else I can tell +you about lighthouses?” + +“Yeah,” said Pete, “you can tell me how much lighthouse keeping costs +in England compared with light housekeeping in New York.” + +“New York? Lighthouse keep―― Oh, I get you, Pete! And that’ll be about +all from you, son!” + +Soon after they entered the English Channel, and during the day, +keeping well in toward the English coast, passed numerous points of +interest which, unfortunately, were too far distant to be more than +faintly descried. Their course did, however, lead them close to the +Isle of Wight and the entrance to Portsmouth Harbor. Pete made The +Pickle’s life something of a burden to him by demanding information +about every little lighthouse or beacon that they glimpsed. But if +they saw little of the southern coast of England they saw a lot of the +English navy in the shape of mine sweepers and layers, naval tugs, +patrols, torpedo boats, destroyers, and cruisers. And once, off the +Bill of Portland, they passed within a half mile of a super-dreadnought +steaming sedately down channel, a huge and wicked-looking sea mammoth +indeed. + +There was a deal of speculation as to the _Conklin’s_ mission and +destination and all sorts of guesses were made. The favorite one was +that they were to rendezvous with a part of their own or the British +fleet and make an attack on one of the German naval bases in the North +Sea. Consequently, when, at dawn, they found the destroyer snugly +anchored in the Thames estuary, with Taynham on one side and Sheppy +Island on the other, they were a disappointed lot. Only the fact that +London lay but forty miles distant by railway and the rumor that they +were to stay where they were for several days, brought comfort. Nearby +a group of small tugs and big launches were huddled around a stone quay +from which a very busy signal station stuck up like a sore thumb. Now +and then a tug or launch would put hurriedly away toward the sea, or a +bevy of them would start off on some mysterious but evidently vastly +important mission. There was no liberty for the destroyer’s gobs that +day and they spent a rather bored time watching the various craft +coming and going past the point of the island. The next morning they +went on up to Chatham, where there was a considerable British naval +base, and snuggled up to a dock, alongside a small black cruiser. Then +it was made known that the _Conklin_ would remain at Chatham for two +days and liberty was granted for thirty-six hours. Many took advantage +of that to make the trip to London, and Dave and Pete were all for +joining the party until they learned that The Pickle had other plans. + +“You fellows go along,” said Dill. “It wouldn’t be much fun for me. +I’ve seen the old town twice and, besides, I’m pretty nearly broke, and +it costs like thunder to stay around London even over night.” + +“Hadn’t thought of that,” mused Pete. “I’m about stoney myself. How +about you, Kid?” + +“I can lend you a couple of dollars,” answered Dave. “Bob, too, if he +will come. But I’m not horribly rich just now.” + +“Maybe we’ll have another chance to see the place,” said Pete. “It +wouldn’t be much fun without plenty o’ ‘berries.’ Ain’t there some +other place around here?” + +“Come with me,” said The Pickle. “I’ve got some English friends at a +little town called Gradford, about forty or fifty miles from here in +Sussex. I suppose they’re still there, because English folks never move +the way we do, and they’d be mighty glad to see you fellows. What do +you say?” + +Pete looked dubious. “I ain’t much on the society game, Pickle,” he +replied. “Better leave me out, I guess.” + +“Nonsense, the Wylies are just nice plain folks and you’d like them +immensely. We met them in Switzerland one year and they stayed with us +at Westport a couple of weeks summer before last. They made me promise +to visit them the first time I was in England.” + +“Yeah, an’ bring all your friends,” said Pete sarcastically. “I guess +they’d be awfully chawmed, what? Say, you piece o’ gear, don’t you +know folks in this country can’t get enough to eat themselves, without +feedin’ three hungry gobs?” + +“Oh, I guess it isn’t that bad,” laughed The Pickle. “English folks +always have plenty of parsnips on hand.” + +“Parsnips. Gee, I never could eat parsnips. You and the Kid take a +chance. I’m off of it.” + +“No, you’re not. Listen, Pete. I asked a chap on the cruiser about +Gradford and he says there’s a train at eleven as far as Rochester. +Then you change and go to Maidstone, and from there to――I think it was +Turnbridge he said. Anyway, you change again there and go right on to +Gradford.” + +“Well, it would be a change, all right,” chuckled Pete. “How long does +all this take you? Would you get there to-day or to-morrow?” + +“About four this afternoon, he thought.” + +“Gee, forty miles in five hours! I’d be afraid to travel as fast as +that.” + +“I guess the connections aren’t very close,” explained The Pickle. +“Come on! Be a sport, Pete! You’ll go, Kid?” + +“I’d love it, but――it seems sort of cheeky, doesn’t it, Bob? Would we +stay overnight?” + +“Sure! They’d be tickled to death to have us. There’s only Mr. and Mrs. +Wylie and a kid son and a girl about ten. Nice folks, fellows. You’ll +like them. Go on and get into your dress togs and pretty yourselves up. +I’ll find out about the liberty boat.” + +“Yeah,” answered Pete. “I’ll be so pretty you won’t know me. Got any +freckle lotion, Kid?” + +At nine-thirty they were dumped on shore, with an hour and a half +to wait before their train left. That, however, didn’t bother them. +Chatham proved a busy town and they found much to interest them. Not +long before a German air raid had passed over the little city, leaving +death and devastation in its wake, and their wanderings led them to +the marine barracks now in process of reconstruction, which had been +bombed with a loss of over a hundred lives. Pete had a good deal to +say on the subject of that particular kind of warfare, but, while not +uninteresting, it was too emphatic to bear repetition. Their train +crawled out of the station at 11 and they found themselves in a crowded +third-class carriage. English railway travel was novel to both Dave and +Pete, and their frank conversations amused The Pickle all the way to +Rochester. Here they found that they were in for an hour’s wait for the +next train, which was to take them as far as Maidstone. A communicative +official explained that in pre-war times they would have gone right +through, but that nowadays travel was “fair disrupted.” But they were +all in holiday mood and didn’t mind the delay. Rochester appeared a +quiet place after Chatham, but they explored so much of it as was not +too far from the station and found plenty to see. The Maidstone train +was late in leaving and it was one-thirty when they again changed. The +station buffet supplied them with luncheon and at two-twelve they were +on their way once more. There was one more change and one more wait, +and finally, at just before five o’clock, they descended at a tiny +station which the guard assured them was Gradford. + +There was so little in sight from the platform save scenery that Pete +cast a longing look after the disappearing train. An elderly man, who +appeared to combine the duties of station agent, baggage agent and +porter, listened to their inquiry with a hand cupped behind one ear. +Then, in silence, he led them to the back of the station and pointed to +a country road that went winding off toward the west. + +“It be a matter o’ five mile,” he informed them. “Keep to that road +till ’e come to another. Pay no heed to that, sirs, but keep straight +along till ’e comes to a bridge. That be Gradbridge. The Wylies’ place +be a mile beyond. Best ask your way, sirs, if so be you meet folks.” + +“Five miles,” demurred The Pickle. “How about a carriage――I mean a +trap?” + +But the man shook his head, looking, Dave thought, a trifle +disapproving. It appeared that there were no traps to be hired +thereabouts and that the telephone was not yet in general use in that +part of England. Ultimately they set off afoot. After all, as Dave +pointed out, five miles wasn’t much of a walk for three husky “gobs,” +and probably they’d reach their destination in plenty of time for +dinner. Pete, however, showed scant enthusiasm and had a good deal to +say about missing “ahfternoon tea.” Missing his tea, it seemed, always +upset him frightfully. + +It wasn’t a bad road, and it was certainly picturesque until, after a +mile or so, it began to run between high banks that quite cut off any +view. The evening was still and warm and a light mist hung over the +countryside and they walked on into an amber glow from the setting +sun. A forest gave them cooler air and they sat down by the way for a +while and rested. So far they had met no one and when, presently, a +two-wheeled cart rattled into sight it was quite a momentous event. + +“Guess we’d better ask if we’re right so far,” said The Pickle, and +got to his feet. But in spite of his very evident wish to speak, the +occupant of the cart, a heavy, dark-complexioned man with a long brown +coat, applied the whip to the horse and dashed by them without drawing +rein. A dozen yards beyond he glanced back over his shoulder and there +was unmistakable alarm on his face. + +The Pickle laughed. “Bet you a dollar, fellows, he thinks we’re +Germans! Guess he never saw an American gob before in his life. If you +had turned your back, Pete, he might have stopped.” + +“If I looked as much like a Hun as you do,” replied Pete, “I’d drown +myself. Come on an’ let’s get this over. I never could go parsnips +before, Pickle, but these friends o’ yours won’t have half enough for +me to-night!” + +They found the branching road and, following directions, let it +severely alone. There was a prosperous looking farm house a quarter of +a mile back from the junction of the ways, approached by a long, narrow +lane between head-high hedges. Dave was for going there and negotiating +for refreshments, but, as The Pickle pointed out, it was just so much +farther to walk. A dog barked at them from half-way up the lane, and +insects――crickets, Dave said they were――were busy along the roadside. +And once a far-off locomotive whistled shrilly. For the rest, it was a +strangely, almost oppressively quiet world they traveled. At last they +reached the bridge, which was a small affair of stone and timbers over +what looked like a fair-sized brook. The Pickle, however, remembered +that the Wylies had frequently spoken of the River Grad and he guessed +this was it. + +“River, eh?” scoffed Pete. “Then you wait a minute.” + +“Where are you going?” Dave asked. + +“Goin’ to jump it,” was the reply as Pete clambered down a bank. “First +time I ever found a river I could jump across.” + +They dissuaded him from the attempt, pointing out that he couldn’t +possibly do it in less than two and that the first jump would leave +him awfully wet. A little further on――they were traversing an expanse +of rolling country interspersed with copse and hedge-lined lanes that +seemed to Dave typically English――the road branched. There was a +signpost there, but the words were almost obliterated and the early +twilight was scant aid to vision. While they hesitated a boy of perhaps +fourteen appeared mysteriously through a hedge and stopped stock-still +to regard them with amazement and curiosity. + +“Hello, sonny,” said The Pickle. “Where do the Wylies live?” + +The youth shook himself from his trance with an effort and said “Eh?” + +The Pickle repeated the question and the boy shook his head. + +“Come on, kid! Have a heart!” said Pete. “Don’t you live around here?” + +“Ay, over there.” He pointed indefinitely toward the hedge. + +“Then you must know the Wylies’ place?” + +“Ay.” He seemed a most laconic youth. + +“Fine! Where is it, then?” + +“’Tis on this road, sir. ’E can’t miss it. It be a largeish house.” + +“Well, why didn’t you say so?” asked The Pickle. + +“’E asked me where they live.” + +“Sure. They live in the house, don’t they? Why couldn’t you say so?” + +The boy only stared, however. Possibly, they thought, the logic was +too much for him, but later they recalled his silence with better +understanding After they had progressed some fifty yards along the +indicated road Dave glanced back. The boy was following them at a +distance. Finding himself observed, however, he slipped from sight. +“He, too,” thought Dave, “believes we’re Germans!” + +Ten minutes more brought them to the “largeish” house. It stood well +back from the road, a stone residence that thoroughly deserved the +boy’s description. Although only two stories in height, it covered much +ground. It was a most attractive looking house, or would have been save +for a certain aspect that brought a perplexed frown to The Pickle’s +heated brow. They gazed at it in silence for a moment across the top of +a low, well-trimmed hedge. Then Pete said: + +“It don’t look quite right to me, Pickle. It looks――looks――” + +“Nobody home,” murmured Dave. + +“By jove, it looks like it,” muttered The Pickle uneasily. “What a sell +if it’s so!” + +Pete viewed him disgustedly. “What about those parsnips?” he demanded. + +“Well, let’s find out,” suggested Dave. “No use spending the night +here.” + +They set their feet on a graveled drive and passed between clumps of +shrubbery toward the entrance. No light showed, although it was now +dark enough to demand lights indoors, and there was something very +inhospitable about the tightly-closed portal ahead. The Pickle mounted +four wide stone steps and laid hold of an old-fashioned bell-pull. +Somewhere distantly and faintly, a bell tinkled. They waited. The +Pickle rang again. After that he knocked. And still later they made a +circuit of the house and demanded admittance at two other doors with no +better success. Then, standing on a moss-grown brick walk at one end of +the house, they viewed its many darkened windows and its chimney-pots +clustering against the twilight sky in despondent silence until Pete, +with a world of sarcasm in his voice, observed briefly: + +“Parsnips! Huh!” + + + + + CHAPTER VIII + + THE AIR RAIDERS + + +Half an hour later they were tramping back again through the long +English twilight, just able to make out the road ahead. They had sat +despondently for a while on the stone steps of the deserted house and +rested, a somewhat silent trio, while the daylight faded slowly and the +coolness of evening settled over them. At last The Pickle had looked +into a leather pocketbook and selected a small piece of cardboard +bearing the inscription, “Mr. Robert Dunham Dill.” Borrowing a pencil +from Dave, he had added the names of his companions to his and then, +with a ceremonious bow, slipped the card beneath the front door. +Pete had watched the proceeding ironically, and when The Pickle had +remarked: “At least they’ll know we called,” he observed: “Huh! I know +a better way to show ’em: Bust a window!” + +Their plan was to find that farmhouse they had seen, or, failing that, +some other house, and get something to eat. Their luncheon had been +scanty and they were terrifically hungry. Whether the farmhouse was +this side or beyond the bridge no one was certain. Dave said beyond, +The Pickle said this side and Pete refused to commit himself. The +darkness increased slowly, but by the time they had been walking a +quarter of an hour night was fully on them. Dave said there ought to be +a moon, but there wasn’t, and meanwhile the low-lying mist increased +the blackness of a cloudy, starless night. They stumbled on, keeping to +the road by instinct rather than sight. The bridge and the river that +Peter had wanted to jump were a long time in coming, and they had begun +to trouble about the fact when they heard the gurgle of water ahead. +They crossed the bridge and had gone some distance beyond when The +Pickle observed worriedly: + +“Does this road seem right to you fellows?” + +“Yeah, why not?” asked Pete. + +“Well, somehow it doesn’t seem to be going in the right direction. And +it seems rougher than when we came the other way.” + +“Now that you mention it,” said Dave, “it does seem rougher. And +narrower, too. I was almost in a ditch a minute ago.” + +“There wasn’t but one road,” Pete reassured them, “so this must be it. +It’s a punk old road, but I guess it’s the right one.” + +“There were some lanes,” said The Pickle doubtfully. “We might have +got shunted off into one of them. Wait a minute, fellows. Let’s see +what it looks like.” The Pickle lighted a match and tried to view the +surroundings by its weak radiance, but the result was disappointing, +and Pete impatiently bade him come on. + +“Let’s find that farmhouse an’ get some chow,” he said. “You chaps may +look at scenery if you like, but I’m just about starved to death.” + +“Folks in dear old rural England go to bed a bit early, I fancy,” said +The Pickle presently, “and maybe the lights’ll be out and we won’t be +able to see it.” + +“Bet you I’ll be able to smell it!” answered Pete. “If there’s food +within a mile I’ll know it.” + +A minute or two later Dave said: “Hark, fellows! What’s that noise?” +They stopped and listened. Then: “Sounds like waves!” exclaimed The +Pickle. “Great Scott, we must be miles out of our way! We’re going +toward the coast!” + +Followed a dismal silence. Then Pete remarked with forced +cheerfulness: “Fine! You can always find something to eat along the +shore.” + +“Pete,” said Dave earnestly, “if you spring that old one about the +‘sandwiches there’ I’ll kill you.” + +“Wasn’t going to. I was thinking of clams.” + +“What do you say?” asked The Pickle, dubiously. “Shall we go back or go +ahead?” + +“Ahead,” said Pete. “We’ll light a bonfire and maybe a boat’ll come and +rescue us.” + +“I think we might as well go on,” agreed Dave. “There’s likely to be a +village along the shore, don’t you think?” + +“I used to think that you found a village every half mile in England,” +replied The Pickle sadly, “but we seem to have stumbled on the one part +of the country where nobody lives.” + +“Maybe it’s malarial,” suggested Pete. “I ain’t found any mosquitoes, +though. Oh, come ahead, fellows. I’m getting used to it now. I’m +beginning to enjoy it. I could walk forever.” + +“You’re getting light-headed for want of food,” said Dave, as they went +on. “And speaking of food, I’d give anything for a drink of water.” + +“So would I,” said The Pickle. “If you hear anything like a brook sing +out.” + +But all they heard was the subdued sound of the waves. They were +climbing a hill now and it lasted for a long time. They stopped to +recover their breath and then went on again, and suddenly the beat and +swish of the waves was louder and lights twinkled in the blackness and +a rush of cooler air from the Channel smote them. They seemed to be on +top of a hill, with the ocean a scant distance below. As they paused to +peer into the darkness and speculate on the twinkling lights the moon +peered for a moment from behind a cloud bank eastward and the scene was +revealed. + +Before them the road went winding abruptly down to a curving beach, +two or three hundred yards distant. On either side stretched rolling +moorland. The lights were from beacons or ships, all very far away +across the water. To the right a lighthouse shot intermittent white +beams athwart the sea. Then the moon slipped behind a cloud and they +were again plunged in darkness. + +“Well, I don’t know where we are,” said Pete, philosophically, “but I’m +glad we’re here. See that reddish light over there? Well, that’s an +all-night lunch, fellows, an’ I’m goin’ over to it.” + +The Pickle seated himself on the ground and stretched tired limbs. +The others followed the example and for a minute they were silent. The +waves boomed up from the beach and the fresh wind from the Channel blew +in their faces. Finally Dave said: “Now what? We don’t want to stay +here all night, I suppose.” + +“I’m going down to dig me some clams,” said Pete. But he didn’t move. +The Pickle sighed and laid himself flat on the turf beside the road. +“Good night,” he murmured. Dave sat and watched the twinkling lights. +Silence fell again. Presently he peered at the dial of his wrist watch. +The hour was well after nine. Something suspiciously like a snore came +from the darkness where The Pickle reposed. Dave’s head nodded.... + +Perhaps he slept for a moment, perhaps for many minutes. He didn’t +know. He awoke with the sound of a gun in his ears and felt the earth +tremble slightly beneath him. Eastward a long shaft of intensely white +light bored into the heavens from some distant headland. Again the +gun boomed. That, too, was to the east, perhaps three miles away. +Perplexedly Dave’s gaze followed the broadening shaft of light, and +the next instant the searchlight focused itself on the dim shape of an +airplane high up in the heavens. Then a second shadowy shape passed +into its field of radiance, and a third. The shaft of light moved +jerkily, back and forth across the night sky, at every jump revealing +a tiny winged form against the clouds. The gun was firing hysterically +now at intervals of a few seconds, or possibly a second gun had joined +in. From the blackness behind Dave came The Pickle’s voice: + +“An air raid,” it said. “And coming this way, fellows. They’re not more +than a couple of miles off, I guess.” + +“Any one seen a cellar around here?” asked Pete. “Say, those aren’t +Zeppelins, are they?” + +“No, bombing planes, I’d say,” replied The Pickle. “Look at the +searchlights behind us, fellows.” + +Toward the interior shafts of light were springing up from the earth, +sweeping inquiringly hither and thither, waving, crossing in a +wonderful display. The radiance shed a pale glow over the world, a glow +that pulsed, waxing and waning as the light beams swung questioningly +about. The raiders were almost overhead now, or so it seemed, and the +watchers could see the shells from the anti-aircraft guns bursting +below them. The humming of the motors became faintly audible. The +first searchlight had settled fairly on one plane and clung to it +inexorably as it passed above the shore line. Under the white glare the +plane looked like a yellow-gray dragon-fly in the far heights. That +the shells were reaching the enemy seemed doubtful, for the latter +flew straight on Londonward, perhaps nine in all. Inland, other guns +joined the stabbing chorus and soon the firing from the coast toward +the east ended. The humming whirr of the engines died away and the +nearest searchlight swung slowly across the heavens, swept back and +forth watchfully toward the south for a minute and went out. Northward +the distant guns drummed incessantly, but gradually silence returned to +the hill where the boys stood. They could no longer make out the faint +specks speeding toward the great city, and the distant searchlights, +following the foe, withdrew their radiance from the coast. Pete drew a +long breath. + +“Gee, I wouldn’t have missed that for anything!” he murmured. “It was +wonderful!” + +“Do you think they’ll get as far as London?” asked Dave. + +“I wouldn’t think so, judging from the reception they’re getting,” +answered The Pickle dryly. “More than likely they’ll be coming back +pretty soon, but I guess they’ll choose another course. How many――” + +He ceased abruptly and wheeled in the darkness. Then, simultaneously +with his companions, he threw himself to the ground as, out of the +gloom of the night, something vast shot close overhead. They felt the +silent rush of it, the wind of its flight on their faces. It was like +some huge bird skimming close to earth. They saw it, but only as one +sees uncertainly a darker object in the dark, and then it was gone. But +from some distance away came a crackling of bushes where the moorland +rolled westward from the road and with it a sharp snap as of breaking +wood. + +Dave found his fingers clutching The Pickle’s arm. Close beside him +Pete was breathing hard. They stood there for a long moment with +straining eyes and ears intent. Then, faint but unmistakably, came the +sound of a human voice. It spoke cautiously and the words didn’t reach +them, but it told them one thing beyond the shadow of a doubt, and +Dave’s fingers tightened on The Pickle’s arm. + +“Germans!” he whispered. + + + + + CHAPTER IX + + PRISONERS OF WAR + + +Kneeling beside the road there, with heads close together, they laid +their plans. + +“There’ll be two of them,” said The Pickle, “and they’ll be armed. And +we aren’t. I’d give a hundred dollars for an automatic right now, but +never mind. What we’ve got to do is to get near enough to rush them +before they can draw. That oughtn’t to be difficult, because they’ll be +trying to fix the machine. We won’t try it yet, though. Let them alone +for a few minutes. They’ll be suspicious and watchful at first because +they’re probably not sure whether any one’s about. If nothing happens +for a while they’ll conclude that they’re safe.” + +“What did they land here for?” asked Pete in whispers. + +“Had no choice, probably. Engine went wrong or something like that, I +guess. They must have fallen behind the others and probably volplaned +the first chance they got after sighting land. When they came down +they smashed something. You heard it. Maybe a wing. Anyway, it will +keep them longer. Now what about weapons?” + +“What do you mean, weapons?” asked Pete. “I got mine with me, one on +each arm.” + +The Pickle and Dave smiled in the darkness. “All right,” agreed the +former. “That suits me. It would be hard to find clubs or anything, +anyway. My idea, fellows, is to go at them from three sides, but first +of all we’ve got to locate them. If they’re in bushes we’ll have our +troubles, for the pesky things’ll crackle.” + +“Yes, and if the moon comes out again,” murmured Dave anxiously, “we’ll +have more trouble.” + +“I don’t think it will.” The Pickle was silent a moment, listening. +Pete stirred uneasily. + +“If we wait too long they may get away from us,” he objected. + +“All right. Come on, then. We’d better lie flat when we get near them +and crawl. Keep down now and don’t make a sound.” + +Crouching, testing each step before they made it, the three crept back +along the road, which was hardly more than a rutted path thereabouts. +Gradually the voices of the airmen grew plainer in the stillness, +although they never spoke loudly. Nor did they waste many words. With +the voices came the sounds accompanying the unseen task, the soft, +harsh rub of metal against metal and, once, the sharp ring of a tool. +The plane had probably landed on the edge of the road, which might have +been dimly discernible from above, and had “taxied” diagonally off +onto the moor for a distance of twenty or thirty yards, its progress +doubtless impeded by the low bushes. + +Having reached a position on the road opposite the enemy, the boys +paused. At that instant a tiny light stabbed the darkness across the +intervening space and while it glowed the boys made out the position +of the plane and saw the forms of two leather-clad men beside the +nearer of the two outstretched wings. They appeared to be examining the +damage sustained in landing and did much muttering as the little pocket +flashlight was moved back and forth, shining through the varnished +texture of the wing like a candle in a yellow Chinese lantern. The +shadows of the airmen swayed black and monstrous across the ground. +Then the light went out. + +The boys, who had hugged the earth closely and with bated breath, now +eased their positions and whispered softly again. Presently, had the +two visitors from across the water been less absorbed in the task +before them they might have heard faint sounds in the surrounding +blackness not attributable to the breeze amongst the gorse. And +then they might not have, for, after all, those sounds were loudest +to those who caused them and might easily have gone unnoted by the +airmen. Fortunately for the attackers the higher bushes were scattered +and could be avoided, while the gorse was still green enough to bend +beneath their weight without crackling. Ten breathless minutes passed +slowly while the three boys, crawling like snakes, gained their +positions. To Pete had fallen the most difficult task, that of circling +the scene and approaching it from the farther side, and Dave and The +Pickle were ready long before their illuminated watch dials told them +that the time allowed for Pete’s detour was up. + +Followed a few seconds of suspense. + +Then from three different points of the compass came the patter of +running feet, and the Germans snatched for their weapons and wheeled +in alarm. Only their ears could aid them, for no eye could penetrate +that darkness. To shoot at random would have been idle, and so, for +just those few seconds that meant so much to the attackers the airmen +hesitated, and that hesitation was their undoing. With more time after +the first warning they might have fled safely into the darkness, but +the attack was so sudden, so unexpected that there was no time for +escape. It was only when an unseen form leaped upon him from the night +that one of the Germans fired. There was a flash of orange light and +the bullet went whistling past the assailant. Then the German’s head +jerked back as a fist caught him on the point of the chin and that +single flash of his revolver was multiplied a hundred times to his +vision. He stumbled backward against the slanted wing of the airplane +with a grunt, hung there an instant and slipped to the ground. And then +Pete was on him. + +A yard or more away the other German was giving a better account of +himself, for, with Dave and The Pickle both engaging him, he was +holding them off after a fashion. Dave was clinging to a hand that +held a revolver and trying to get an arm around the German’s neck to +pull him to earth, while The Pickle, fighting blindly, stumbling and +tripping, was fearful of striking friend instead of foe. The German +didn’t fight silently. He growled like an enraged dog, and the things +he said would not look well if set down here in English. Being in +German, they sounded horribly enough, but conveyed no meaning. Finally +The Pickle found his bearings and, ducking under the flail-like blows +of their antagonist, wrapped his arms about a heavy form, heaved, +swayed, and then went crashing to the ground. Confusion reigned supreme +for an instant, for the enemy and Dave and The Pickle were badly +mixed up, but Dave managed to roll clear, the revolver at last in +his possession, and The Pickle ended the struggle with a single blow +against the temple of the man beneath him. + +That brought a short, sharp engagement to a close. Two more or +less unconscious Germans lay inert on the ground when Pete, having +discovered the flashlight in a pocket of one of the two, illuminated +the scene. A sailor’s yard-square neckerchief has many uses, and +to-night three of them did excellent duty. With two they tied the hands +of the captured Germans behind them and with the other trussed up one +pair of feet. Two white handkerchiefs, knotted together, sufficed for +the second pair. Then, out of breath, slightly bruised, but triumphant, +they took stock of their victory. + +They had, it appeared, captured a slightly damaged Albatross bombing +airplane, eight small but wicked-looking bombs, certain maps and papers +of uncertain value and two perfectly good lieutenants of the German +Flying Corps. They were perfectly good by reason of the fact that one +was quite unconscious and that both were securely tied. The one who was +not unconscious was doing much groaning as the boys returned from their +inspection of the plane, but was not yet articulate. Seating themselves +on the edge of the wing, the boys faced their next problem, which was, +briefly: What next? + +It dawned on them then that being in possession of an enemy airplane +and in charge of two prisoners of war several miles from the nearest +settlement and with no notion in which direction that settlement lay +was a trifle awkward. And it was not until they had discussed the +problem for a good ten minutes that Dave remembered the maps taken from +the prisoners. By the light of the invaluable flashlight they examined +them and to their joy discovered one to be a very detailed map of the +southeastern counties, showing not only roads, railways, streams and +towns but even detached houses and footpaths! The comprehensiveness of +it fairly staggered them. By finding the Gradford station and then the +road they had traversed to the Wylies’ residence they were soon able to +discover their present whereabouts and learn that by following a path +along the shore they could reach the town of Alburnham in something +under three-quarters of an hour, since the distance, after The Pickle +had translated kilometers into miles, appeared to be just under three +of the latter. And with the flashlight to aid there seemed no reason +why the adventure should not be comfortably terminated in a couple of +hours. It would not do for all three to make the trip to the village, +and one would serve as well as two, and so very gravely they each +produced a coin and, shaking it in a closed hand, slapped it down on a +knee. + +“Odd man goes,” said The Pickle. “Heads!” + +“Heads!” echoed Pete. + +“Tails!” said Dave. “Give me that torch.” + +Not quite two hours later Pete and The Pickle, drowsing at their post, +were aroused to full wakefulness by the chugging of a motor-car coming +up the hill and the dull gleam of its lamps. Then, from the darkness +emerged military and civil authority and Dave Garson, the former very +wide-awake and agog with curiosity and the latter yawning and dull of +eye. The prisoners were placed in the car, the rest followed, there +were many stern questions in English and helpless responses in German, +and the motor shot off down the hill, bumping and swaying over the +rutted road and――every last one of the heroes went to sleep. + +Later the car stopped and all got out in the half-gloom of a village +street. The prisoners disappeared through a doorway and a light +appeared at a window. Then some one took Dave by the arm and impelled +him through a second doorway. Pete and The Pickle stumbled sleepily +behind. There was a dimly-lighted room with cots. Some of the cots were +empty. A fussy little corporal in his shirt-sleeves kept talking and +talking, and The Pickle, trying to unfold a gray blanket, got ensnarled +in it and tumbled over a cot and rolled to the floor beyond. And Dave +couldn’t untie one shoe-lacing and so gave it up. Some one said “Good +night, Yank!” Dave had every intention of answering, but the words got +mixed up and his tongue wouldn’t work. + +A stout major interrupted them at breakfast the next morning and they +had to tell their story from beginning to end while their tea grew +cold. The major told them to go on with their breakfasts, but how +could they when he kept booming questions at them? Afterward two +photographers enticed them out into the early morning sunlight and +posed them against the gray stone wall of a barracks and took pictures +of them. There was much praise for the boys, and the major in command +presented them each with a souvenir of the adventure, Dave and The +Pickle drawing the revolvers and Pete the pocket flashlight. At nine +they were rolled off to a railway station in a motor ambulance driven +by a young woman in khaki uniform, who got them to write their names +in a little book she kept under the leather cushion of the seat. She +explained that she tried to get the autographs of all distinguished +persons she met, and was proudly exhibiting the signature of Lloyd +George when the train came in and they had to hurry off. Pete spent +much of his time during the first part of the journey in talking about +that ambulance driver. + +“When the war’s over I’m goin’ back there,” he said dreamily. “She was +some kid, take it from Pete.” + + + + + CHAPTER X + + “STAND BY!” + + +Two days later the _Conklin_ was steaming at twenty knots through the +shallow waters of the North Sea. It’s a vile stretch of ocean in the +best of weather, and the best of weather did not fall to their lot. The +short, sharp waves drenched the decks, and the destroyer rolled and +staggered and shook. Life that day was, in The Pickle’s phraseology, +“nothing to write home about.” Drenched with icy spray, choked with the +fumes of the black oil smoke that hugged the deck, wrapped in mist, the +lookouts were a cold and unhappy lot. No, not unhappy, though, for big +events impended and spirits were high. + +Ahead and behind eight other destroyer craft were keeping the _Conklin_ +company. Four American and five British ships comprised the little +flotilla that, hidden from each other by the wet and dreary mist, were +speeding eastward toward the enemy’s stronghold. “Heligoland” was the +word on every lip that morning, for, although the bulletin told them +nothing, their destination was no secret. They were off for a raid! + +Of late German destroyers and submarines had been far too active +against allied and neutral shipping in the North Sea, and the enemy +must be taught a lesson. And for the teaching nine of the fastest and +most powerful destroyers had been picked from the two navies and had +rendezvoused the day before off The Helder. And now, lithe grayhounds +of the sea, they were darting eastward for their prey. + +Heligoland, that grim ocean fortress that stands thirty miles off the +German coast, is to-day a veritable Gibraltar. Fortified at a cost of +$50,000,000, it bristles with eleven-inch guns and forms an impregnable +defense to the German bases behind it, and provides on its southward +side a safe harbor for ships. In clear weather it must be given a wide +berth by the enemy, but when the North Sea fogs close down about it, +even its sharp eyes――giant searchlights that range for miles out to +sea from the summit of the great cliffs――are powerless. And hidden by +mist a destroyer may, if she chooses to dare the mines and nets that +surround the rock, creep close under the guns without detection. + +It was still early morning when the attacking ships reached the edge +of the protected area and abandoned formation, for it is in the early +hours of the day that the gray mists are thickest. The plan of the +raid had been prepared beforehand, and now every unit knew its duty. +The _Conklin’s_ nose swung more to the north, in the direction of the +Bight, that twenty-mile channel leading northward from the mouth of +the River Elbe. Once a gray phantom hung on her starboard for a minute +and then was dissolved in the all-encompassing mist. Lookouts strained +their eyes as never before, their life-belts strapped about them. The +engines roared and the seas dashed over the bows, making the decks a +welter of water. Every gun crew was at its station; had been there for +an hour, ever since the order of “Stand by!” had come in the chill +darkness of early dawn. + +Eastward a distant gun boomed and was followed by a second. One of the +raiders had come in contact with the enemy. But from the _Conklin_ not +so much as a flash was to be seen. The firing grew continuous, a steady +roar of sound. The _Conklin_ was going more slowly now, for mines lay +about her and the narrow channel she must keep to was winding and +uncertain. A half hour passed. The firing in the distance diminished. +Then a heavier gun spoke, this time more to the north and nearer. The +foretop lookout saw the rosy flare of it a few miles distant. Smaller, +sharper guns barked in answer and a new engagement began. But the +mysterious fog hid it as it hid aught else from the straining eyes on +bridge and deck of the _Conklin_. + +At the guns men murmured impatience. Were they to be the only ones +without a bid for glory? What was the Old Man up to? Why didn’t he +plunge across there and get a finger in the pie before it was all gone? +But the Old Man was paying scant heed to the fortunes of the consorts. +His eyes were glued to a chart and his lips never moved save to issue +orders to the helmsman. Slowly but inexorably the destroyer crept on +and on through the mist, her sharp nose twitching this way and that as +the steering cables groaned under deck and the rudder moved from side +to side. Eight knots now, and scarcely seeming to have headway in the +tumbling, leaping seas. From a bow lookout came a warning cry: + +“Mine close aport!” + +The _Conklin’s_ nose twitched to starboard and the lookout’s hair +stirred under his woolen cap as the floating engine of destruction was +cleared by a few scant yards. Once more a similar warning came, and +again the destroyer swerved aside just in the nick of time. A spotter +amidships on the starboard side swore afterwards that the mine scraped +the _Conklin’s_ plates! + +Then telegraphs became busy and the destroyer leaped forward again +through sea and fog. Fifteen knots! Twenty! Twenty-six! A darker shape +emerged from the grayness ahead and to port. The _Conklin_ No. 3 gun +broke the long silence. Somewhere a warning siren screamed eerily. +Then a flare of rose-pink gleamed to port and, as the _Conklin’s_ guns +awoke, a shell screamed overhead. They knew then where they were, and +every heart leaped with the thrill of that knowledge. They had crept +through the mine field, and now they were plunging straight for the +anchored ships in the wide-mouthed harbor, straight under the giant +guns of Heligoland! + +It was suicide, and they all knew it, from the Old Man on the bridge +to the last oiler far below the wet, fog-draped deck, and every man of +them gloried in it! Rushing on, firing until the gray shape was lost +in fog, the destroyer kept her course. Other shapes emerged now, ahead +to starboard, aport――shapes small and shapes gigantic, vanishing at the +vagaries of the mist, suddenly looming again. Every gun fired at sight +of a target. The water dashed over the stern as a shell plunged into +the waves. Here and there glares of quick, vivid light broke the gray +wall. The _Conklin_ went on and past, hurling her shells incessantly. +Suddenly, ahead, a big gun spoke from the cliffs. And then another. The +sounds dwarfed all other sounds. The _Conklin_ whirled in a confusion +of churning water and headed seaward again. Fair in her path lay the +grim mystery of a huge cruiser, her funnels and masts high above the +diminutive enemy. Straight on went the _Conklin_――a wasp attacking a +bulldog! The cruiser’s small guns beat a tattoo against the _Conklin’s_ +deck and hull. A great shell from the shore batteries howled past. The +destroyer, every funnel spouting smoke, raced past the cruiser so close +that the dim lights behind open ports showed to the gun crews and they +aimed for them. Roaring, firing, cheering, the _Conklin_ blazed her way +by. At the guns men worked in a sweating frenzy, shouting grimly when a +shell went home, laughing as grimly when the enemy got home on them. +Then they were past, and astern a fearful rending of steel and timber +shook the air and a wild uprush of flame and flying débris was visible +for an instant. And then the gray gloom closed in again, hiding the +tragedy! + +“Lyddite explosion,” said the Old Man, briefly. + +“One cruiser less in the Kaiser’s navy,” exulted the junior. + +Below deck, men groaning from wounds heard and forgot their pain. At +the guns they cheered wildly. They were handling ammunition now in the +dark, for the lighting circuit had been broken. But the shells still +came up and the guns still barked――all save No. 4, which would never +speak again. Shot-riddled, one funnel gone, badly gashed forward above +the water line, and dented in fifty places, the _Conklin_ rushed on +into a new danger. As the anchored ships dropped astern a torpedo sped +across the destroyer’s bow. The submarines were in the game at last! +Zig-zagging from side to side, doubtful of the channel, the _Conklin_ +raced ahead with every boiler roaring. Behind them the big guns boomed, +dropping shells into that narrow path through which they must steer. +Grimly firing from the stern at the fleeting, shadowy shape of an +enemy destroyer, the _Conklin_ sought escape. Behind her a great gray +battle cruiser was slowly settling beneath the waves and many an enemy +ship was nursing her wounds, and only a miracle, it seemed, could +deliver the _Conklin_ from the enemy’s vengeance. + +And yet the moments passed, and the great shells that went moaning into +the sea failed of their mission. If torpedoes were launched from the +skulking U-boats they, too, missed their target. Once, close aboard, +an upheaval of the sea and a dull concussion showed where an anchored +mine had been exploded, perhaps by torpedo, perhaps by shell. The +_Conklin_ held her life in her hands now. Around her lay unseen death, +behind her coursed destroyers and submarines. But it was as the God +of Battles willed it, and the gallant little ship, never slowing her +engines, plunged fearlessly forward, turning and twisting. Sweaty, +smoke-grimed lookouts peered from the bows and shouted hoarse warnings. +On the battered bridge the officers stood tensely and waited. And then, +somehow, she was through the mines and past the nets and the gray mist +was beckoning her to its arms. Back, where the great grim fortress +towered above the sea, the guns boomed and growled with diminishing +fury. And, maimed and scarred, with a toll of dead and dying below the +long, drenched deck, the _Conklin_ sped proudly westward, the Yankee +ensign still fluttering in triumph from the masthead. + + + THE END + + + + + Transcriber’s Notes: + + ――Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_). + + ――Except for the frontispiece, illustrations have been moved to + follow the text that they illustrate. + + ――Printer’s, punctuation, and spelling inaccuracies were silently + corrected. + + ――Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved. + + ――Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved. + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79261 *** |