Initial commit of ebook 79261 filesHEAD main

author: www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org> 2026-08-03 16:07:20 -0700
committer: www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org> 2026-08-03 16:07:20 -0700
commit: eb8f8e2782ffbbe97164081936a37f167dd07b14 (patch)
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+    <title>
+      Under the Yankee Ensign | Project Gutenberg
+    </title>
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+
+<body>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79261 ***</div>
+
+
+
+<figure class="figcenter x-ebookmaker-drop" id="cover_sm">
+  <img class="x-ebookmaker-drop" src="images/cover_sm.jpg" alt="book cover" title="book cover">
+</figure>
+
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p class="noi halftitle">UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<figure class="figcenter" id="i_frontispiece">
+  <img src="images/i_frontispiece.jpg" alt="" title="">
+  <figcaption>
+    <p class="noic"><a href="#Page_333">Roaring, firing, cheering, the <i>Conklin</i> blazed her way by</a></p>
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h1 class="nobreak">UNDER THE<br>
+YANKEE ENSIGN</h1>
+
+<p class="noic">BY</p>
+
+<p class="noi author">RALPH HENRY BARBOUR</p>
+
+<p class="noi works">AUTHOR OF “FOR THE FREEDOM OF THE SEAS,” “THE HALF<br>
+BACK,” “THE SPIRIT OF THE SCHOOL,” ETC.</p>
+
+<div class="pad4">
+<figure class="figcenter" id="logo">
+  <img class="illowe6" src="images/logo.jpg" alt="logo" title="logo">
+</figure>
+</div>
+
+<p class="noic"><span class="adauthor">D. APPLETON AND COMPANY</span><br>
+NEW YORK<span class="padl6">&#160;</span>LONDON<br>1919</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p class="noic"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1919, by</span><br>
+D. APPLETON AND COMPANY</p>
+
+<p class="p6 noic">Printed in the United States of America</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS">
+    CONTENTS
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+<nav>
+<table>
+<colgroup>
+  <col style="width: 15%;">
+  <col style="width: 70%;">
+  <col style="width: 15%;">
+</colgroup>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdc smcap" colspan="3">PART I. ACROSS WITH THE FLAG</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <th class="pr smfontr">CHAPTER</th>
+  <th class="tdl"></th>
+  <th class="smfontr">PAGE</th>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">I.</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_I_1">Dave Makes an Enemy and Finds a Friend</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">3</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">II.</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_II_1">Submarine Chaser No. <i>944</i></a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">13</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">III.</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_III_1">Lost Overboard</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">24</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">IV.</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV_1">The Mutiny</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">34</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">V.</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_V_1">“Surrender!”</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">44</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">VI.</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI_1">Pete to the Rescue</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">53</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">VII.</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII_1">Prisoners on the Submarine</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">63</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">VIII.</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII_1">Under the Sea</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">76</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">IX.</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX_1">The Escape</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">91</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">X.</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_X_1">Dave Falls Asleep</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">104</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdc1 smcap" colspan="3">PART II. SWEEPING THE SEAS</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">I.</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_I_2">On Patrol</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">119</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">II.</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_II_2">The New “Gob”</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">130</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">III.</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_III_2">“Clear for Action!”</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">143</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">IV.</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV_2">The Hun Shows His Teeth</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">154</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">V.</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_V_2">Convoy Duty</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">165</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">VI.</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI_2">Floating Peril</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">178</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">VII.</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII_2">On the Mine Sweeper</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">187</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">VIII.</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII_2">Pete Meets an Old Friend</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">199</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">IX.</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX_2">The Admiral Makes Good</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">215</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdc1 smcap" colspan="3">PART III. STAND BY!</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">I.</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_I_3">Destroyer “Gobs”</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">227</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">II.</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_II_3">A Chase Into the Fog</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">242</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">III.</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_III_3">The Flag Comes Down</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">253</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">IV.</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV_3">Heroes in Port</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">262</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">V.</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_V_3">“Submarine!”</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">272</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">VI.</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI_3">The Mutiny</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">283</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">VII.</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII_3">The Start of an Adventure</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">293</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">VIII.</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII_3">The Air Raiders</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">309</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">IX.</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX_3">Prisoners of War</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">318</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">X.</td>
+  <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_X_3">“Stand By!”</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">328</td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+</nav>
+
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS">
+    LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<nav>
+<table>
+<colgroup>
+<col style="width: 90%;">
+<col style="width: 10%;">
+</colgroup>
+<tr>
+<th>&#160;</th>
+<th class="smfontr">FACING<br>PAGE&#160;&#160;</th>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdl hang"><a href="#i_frontispiece">Roaring, firing, cheering, the <i>Conklin</i> blazed
+her way by</a></td>
+<td class="tdrb"><i>Frontispiece</i></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdl hang"><a href="#i_fp064">Silently they watched the U-boat’s approach</a></td>
+<td class="tdrb">64</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdl hang"><a href="#i_fp156">“Got her!” Kennedy shouted triumphantly</a></td>
+<td class="tdrb">156</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdl hang"><a href="#i_fp280">The oars dipped and the boat headed for the submarine</a></td>
+<td class="tdrb">280</td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+</nav>
+
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[1]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">PART I<br>
+ACROSS WITH THE FLAG</h2>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_2"></a>[2]</span></p>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_3"></a>[3]</span></p>
+
+  <p class="noi title">
+    UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN
+  </p>
+
+  <h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I_1">
+    CHAPTER I
+    <br>
+    <small>DAVE MAKES AN ENEMY AND FINDS A FRIEND</small>
+  </h3>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>“Hello, sonny; who let you on board?”</p>
+
+<p>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:</p>
+
+<p>“The quartermaster. Do you know which of
+these bunks are empty?”</p>
+
+<p>“Why, say, you ain’t thinkin’ of bunkin’ for’ard!
+Cabin boys always live aft, sonny.”</p>
+
+<p>“If you mean me, I happen to be a seaman.”
+David Garson moved across the narrow fo’c’sle and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[4]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>“Where you left your manners,” was the quiet
+reply.</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>“What have you got against me?” asked Dave,
+puzzled.</p>
+
+<p>“Not a thing! Not a thing! Only you’re too
+fresh, see? And I’m tipping you off that you want
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[5]</span>to talk civil, or something painful might happen to
+you.”</p>
+
+<p>“I see,” responded the boy, dryly. “Some one
+might mistake me for you.”</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>“Why don’t you let me alone if you don’t like
+my ways?” asked Dave. “I didn’t start anything.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>“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—”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[6]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Lay off the kid, Chuck!” interrupted a peremptory
+voice.</p>
+
+<p>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.”</p>
+
+<p>“What’s it to you, Rooney?” demanded the gunner.
+“You mind your own business, or I’ll hand
+you something, too!”</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>“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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[7]</span>look out he’s going to run into something hard, see?
+And that goes double for you, Rooney!”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“I got enough to put you to sleep, you Bowery
+tough!”</p>
+
+<p>“Tough’s the word, matey! Tough enough for
+you any old day.”</p>
+
+<p>“Is that so?” The gunner edged with exaggerated
+nonchalance to the foot of the companion.
+“I’ll get you, just the same, believe me!”</p>
+
+<p>“Sure you will—if my back’s turned,” was the
+untroubled reply. “But it ain’t goin’ to be turned,
+Chuck.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.</p>
+
+<p>“Ain’t he amusin’?” he asked. “What was he
+ridin’ you for?”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know. He started it. Much obliged
+for—for—”</p>
+
+<p>“Buttin’ in?” laughed Rooney. “That’s all
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[8]</span>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.”</p>
+
+<p>“Suspense?” laughed Dave.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s it.” The tow-headed youth grinned.
+Then: “Say, what’s your name?” he asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Garson,” answered Dave.</p>
+
+<p>“Mine’s Rooney; first name, Pete. I’m
+French.” He winked broadly. “What’s your
+other monicker?”</p>
+
+<p>“Other—oh, David; Dave for short.”</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>“Maryland.”</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>“Sure. Take any you like. If any guy kicks,
+send him to me. What watch you in?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Port,” replied the other. “Are you?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yeah. Stow your duffel and let’s get out o’
+here.”</p>
+
+<p>“I suppose you’ve been in the navy a good while,”
+said Dave.</p>
+
+<p>“Me? I joined a year an’ a half ago. ’Bout
+the time the Huns sunk the <i>Sussex</i>. That got my
+goat, an’ I figured we’d be goin’ into it pretty quick
+after that.”</p>
+
+<p>“Have you been across yet?”</p>
+
+<p>“No; this is my first sea duty, same as you. An’
+say, kid, it’s goin’ to be some voyage, take it from
+Pete!”</p>
+
+<p>“Is it? Why?”</p>
+
+<p>“Why? ’Cause we’re goin’ over, that’s why!”</p>
+
+<p>“Over! You mean this boat’s going to
+France?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yeah, France or Paris or some place like that.
+They ain’t tellin’ it, but we know. We seen ’em
+load supplies, kid.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why, that’s fine, isn’t it?” exclaimed Dave,
+eagerly. “But—but isn’t she awfully small to
+make the trip alone?”</p>
+
+<p>“She won’t be alone. But she is small, all right,
+an’ that’s why I’m tellin’ you it’ll be some trip.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span>Take it from Pete, kid, food ain’t goin’ to be of
+no interest to a lot of us guys for a long time!”</p>
+
+<p>“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—”</p>
+
+<p>“All that time!” marveled Pete, his blue eyes
+atwinkle.</p>
+
+<p>Dave laughed. “Well, for five or six years,
+then, I reckon. But I’ve never been very far from
+land.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“What did you do?” Dave inquired.</p>
+
+<p>“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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span>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.”</p>
+
+<p>“And do you like being in the navy?” asked
+Dave.</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>“And they’re going to get it,” said Dave, grimly.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s the truth, take it from Pete! Now,
+what’s your story?”</p>
+
+<p>“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.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span>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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>“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’.”</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span></p>
+
+  <h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II_1">
+    CHAPTER II
+    <br>
+    <small>SUBMARINE CHASER <i>944</i></small>
+  </h3>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span>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, <i>Meteor</i>; but
+further back, in big black letters and numerals, was
+the legend: S C <i>944</i>.</p>
+
+<p>The <i>944</i> 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 <i>944</i> 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 <i>944</i> enthusiasm took the
+place of hard experience.</p>
+
+<p>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.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span>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 <i>944</i> as the Pride of the Navy, and congratulating
+himself on not having been relegated to the <i>Pennsylvania</i>
+or <i>Arizona</i>! 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,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span>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 <i>944</i>!</p>
+
+<p>Later, Dave and Pete climbed up and made their
+way along the dark deck to the lee of the after-house.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span>
+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 <i>944</i>
+began to dip and roll, and presently they went back
+to the fo’c’sle and turned in.</p>
+
+<p>Dave stood morning watch, and was on deck
+when the first light of day came up over the eastern
+edge of the world. The <i>944</i> 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 <i>944</i>, 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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span>mother duck, and at night, with only stern lights showing
+dimly, they kept their places and dropped
+the miles steadily behind them.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span>of his trick. He had two hours of it up there, and
+then slid down to make way for his relief.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>944</i> soon
+showed her shortcomings as a rough weather craft,
+for her narrow beam and light draught, while excellent
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span>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 <i>944</i> 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 <i>944</i> was swung about, tail
+to the storm, and went plunging and rolling south-westward.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span>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 <i>944</i>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>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.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span>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 <i>944</i> to. He took a
+strangle hold on the lifeline, crouched, and set his
+teeth.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span>on the davit, he must go over the side when that
+weight of water struck him.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span></p>
+
+  <h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III_1">
+    CHAPTER III
+    <br>
+    <small>LOST OVERBOARD</small>
+  </h3>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>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
+<i>944</i> 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!
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span>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 <i>944</i> 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.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span>left hand, too, as the <i>944</i> 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.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m not hungry, thanks, Pete,” he said.
+“What—who—”</p>
+
+<p>“What—who yourself! Come on now an’ be
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span>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.”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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—”</p>
+
+<p>Pete stopped abruptly.</p>
+
+<p>“Who’s poor old Billy?” asked Dave weakly.</p>
+
+<p>“Nobody,” growled Pete. “Tell me, Kid, did
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span>you tie that line around you before you went over,
+or what?”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“Five minutes!” said Pete, looking queer.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, something like that. Why?”</p>
+
+<p>“How long do you think you was gone from our
+midst altogether?”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know, Pete. It seemed a long time, but
+I suppose it wasn’t more than ten minutes, maybe.”</p>
+
+<p>“Huh! You was gone just about three minutes
+from the time the wave struck us till I hauled you
+in again!”</p>
+
+<p>“Three minutes,” faltered Dave. “You’re fooling!
+Why—why, it seemed like twenty!”</p>
+
+<p>“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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span>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!”</p>
+
+<p>“No,” agreed Dave, gravely. Then, “Wasn’t
+Billy Groom with us last night there?” he asked.</p>
+
+<p>Pete nodded.</p>
+
+<p>“What—where is he now?”</p>
+
+<p>“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’—”</p>
+
+<p>“Was Billy drowned, Pete?” asked Dave in a
+small voice.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span></p>
+
+<p>Pete frowned deeply, glanced at the other, looked
+away again, thrust out his lower lip and at last
+nodded silently.</p>
+
+<p>“Gee!” murmured Dave.</p>
+
+<p>“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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span>soon to see how you are. If you don’t want to
+tumble out yet, don’t you do it. Take it easy,
+Kid.”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span></p>
+
+  <h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV_1">
+    CHAPTER IV
+    <br>
+    <small>THE MUTINY</small>
+  </h3>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>The <i>944</i> 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 <i>944</i> churned her way up
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>944</i> passed close to a string
+of British transports and hospital ships being convoyed
+by five big black cruisers and a diminutive
+torpedo boat. The <i>944</i> received her first kind word
+then when the flagship, after a few fluttered questions,
+signaled: “Welcome to these waters!”</p>
+
+<p>The chaser had the coast of Portugal in sight for
+most of that day and finally, picking her way very
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>The <i>944</i> 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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>It was the fifth day of the <i>944’s</i> 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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span>with the tide or clustered at the docks. And into
+this peaceful scene there suddenly obtruded the distant
+boom of a gun.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span>hard. At all events it was only the battleship that
+was able to reply satisfactorily.</p>
+
+<p>A dozen or more greatly mystified American
+jackies and one equally mystified lieutenant
+thronged to the stern of the <i>944</i> 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 <i>944</i> 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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span>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 <i>944</i>, 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.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<i>944</i> 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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span>though he had never a care in the world and bullets
+had never been known to penetrate a white duck
+uniform.</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>944</i> 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.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span></p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<i>944</i> 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,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span>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!”</p>
+
+<p>Four days later, having received her orders, the
+<i>944</i> 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!”</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span></p>
+
+  <h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V_1">
+    CHAPTER V
+    <br>
+    <small>“SURRENDER!”</small>
+  </h3>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span>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 <i>944</i>. 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.</p>
+
+<p>Captain Cowan put his mouth to the engine room
+tube, eager hands fastened on lifebelts, the <i>944</i>
+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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span>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:</p>
+
+<p>“Ready, down there?” called the luff.</p>
+
+<p>“Ready, sir!”</p>
+
+<p>“Nineteen hundred yards!”</p>
+
+<p>“Nineteen, sir!”</p>
+
+<p>“Eighteen-fifty!”</p>
+
+<p>“Right, sir!”</p>
+
+<p>Then came a disgusted wail from the foretop:
+“’Taint a sub, sir! It’s a capsized boat!”</p>
+
+<p>A moment of silent dismay followed. The <i>944</i>
+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!”</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>“Surrender, sir, or I’ll blow you out of the
+water!”</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>944</i>.
+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 <i>944</i> swung abruptly on her heel, bringing
+her stern around, and her after gun barked.</p>
+
+<p>That shell missed badly, principally for the reason
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>“What is it?” asked Dave anxiously. “Are
+you hurt?”</p>
+
+<p>“Leg,” answered Stearns, trying to smile.
+“Bust, I guess. I’m all right, Kid. Don’t mind
+me.”</p>
+
+<p>He stumbled on, and Dave, feeling a little sick,
+made his way for the stern. Things were messy
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you think we’ve lost them?” asked Dave,
+ripping off the cover of the shell box.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t know,” replied Kennedy. “We’re zig-zagging
+and making east, and if this fog holds we
+may fool her.”</p>
+
+<p>“Silence!” commanded Briggs, gun captain, and
+firing ceased.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“Sure!” agreed Kennedy. “We’d have got her
+then if the Old Man had stuck it out.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span></p>
+
+<p>“We didn’t,” ventured Dave. “She fooled herself.
+That captain thought we were too surprised
+to know what to do.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“Aw, we ain’t damaged,” grumbled one of the
+wounded. “Suppose she pops up again?”</p>
+
+<p>“Do as you’re told,” replied Briggs, shortly.</p>
+
+<p>Dave followed the other two and, in the fo’c’sle
+had his arm hastily bathed and bound up. The <i>944</i>
+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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span>that the latter was not approving of running
+away.</p>
+
+<p>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:</p>
+
+<p>“Carry on!”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span></p>
+
+  <h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI_1">
+    CHAPTER VI
+    <br>
+    <small>PETE TO THE RESCUE</small>
+  </h3>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>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 <i>944’s</i> three-inch guns. He swung about and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span>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
+<i>944</i> had abandoned him.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span>ocean! Perhaps, he thought, when the mist cleared
+off his plight wouldn’t look so hopeless, but just now
+he was thoroughly despairing.</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>944</i> 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—</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>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:</p>
+
+<p>“Ki-i-id!”</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span>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!”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“Are you all right?” called Pete.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. Where are you?”</p>
+
+<p>“Coming as fast as I can, Kid! It’s slow work,
+but—”</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span>was swimming and pushing ahead of him one of
+the chaser’s big life buoys!</p>
+
+<p>“Get aboard,” called Pete. “Gee, that’s the
+craziest thing I ever tried to shove!”</p>
+
+<p>“Where—where did you come from?” gasped
+Dave.</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>“What happened?” asked Dave. He put his
+elbows over the canvas rim of the buoy and tried
+to get his breath back.</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>“But—but I didn’t see the U-boat!”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span></p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“You mean you jumped over? What for?”</p>
+
+<p>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?”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh! But—but Pete, you oughtn’t to have!
+Now we’ll both drown!”</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>“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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span>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?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I am really, Pete. I feel kind of
+bruised—”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s funny, too! You was only pushed overboard
+by a dose of shrapnel. Some folks is easy
+hurt!”</p>
+
+<p>Dave smiled. Then “Are any of the others
+wounded or—or killed, Pete?” he asked.</p>
+
+<p>“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 <i>944</i>. 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?”</p>
+
+<p>Dave shook his head, gazing helplessly about him.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span>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.”</p>
+
+<p>“Sure, but we might send a radio,” answered
+Peter. “‘S O S to all ships, from steamer Doughnut,
+latitude—.’ What’s our latitude, Kid?”</p>
+
+<p>“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.</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>“Would it hold us?”</p>
+
+<p>There was no reply from Pete. He was staring
+intently across the water.</p>
+
+<p>“What is it?” asked Dave eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, if I saw what I think I saw,” responded
+Pete, “we won’t have to do no paddlin’.”</p>
+
+<p>“A ship?”</p>
+
+<p>“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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span>way more. You’re looking too far to the left.
+Got her?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” murmured Dave. “Do you—do you
+think she’s German, Pete?”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“Maybe she won’t see us.”</p>
+
+<p>“No fear! She’s spied us long ago. Well, I’d
+rather go aboard somethin’ else, but we can’t be
+choosey.”</p>
+
+<p>“Maybe it would be better if we just—just
+slipped off and went down,” faltered Dave.</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span></p>
+
+  <h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII_1">
+    CHAPTER VII
+    <br>
+    <small>PRISONERS ON THE SUBMARINE</small>
+  </h3>
+</div>
+
+
+<p><a href="#i_fp064">Silently they watched the U-boat’s approach.</a> 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:</p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="i_fp064">
+  <img src="images/i_fp064.jpg" alt="" title="">
+  <figcaption>
+    <p class="noic"><a href="#Page_63">Silently they watched the U-boat’s approach</a></p>
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>“Lie, do you mean?”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, I wasn’t callin’ it that, but maybe it is.
+If you don’t like to do it, maybe you’d better leave
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span>the jollyin’ to me. I ain’t got no conscience when
+it comes to deceivin’ a Hun an’ a enemy.”</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>U-H-37</i>. 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 <i>944</i>
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span>through a megaphone. He used no megaphone
+now, however, nor needed to, since only a dozen
+yards of water separated boat and life buoy.</p>
+
+<p>“What ship you from?” he asked in good English.</p>
+
+<p>“United States Chaser <i>944</i>,” answered Pete.</p>
+
+<p>“What you do in the water?”</p>
+
+<p>“Shell knocked us in.”</p>
+
+<p>“Want to come out?”</p>
+
+<p>“You bet,” answered Pete, cheerfully.</p>
+
+<p>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?”</p>
+
+<p>“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:</p>
+
+<p>“Swim here and we take you on board,” he said.
+“You Americans have no manners. You are all
+pigs.”</p>
+
+<p>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.”</p>
+
+<p>A moment later, pulled aboard by some of the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t want any of the dirty truck,” growled
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span>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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“Maybe you’re right,” agreed Pete. “Hello,
+look here!” He held up a blue cloth sailor’s cap,
+bearing the words, “<i>H. M. S. Owl</i>” on its ribbon.
+“What do you know about that? British, ain’t
+it?”</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span>current of air blew into the unfragrant quarters.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>As the boat was on the surface it was being controlled
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Yes, sir,” replied Pete. “Built two months
+ago.”</p>
+
+<p>“And you are both seamen? Not what you call
+petty officers?”</p>
+
+<p>“Seamen, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, sir, quite a bunch of ’em,” answered Pete
+cheerfully.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, maybe fifty, eh? Maybe a hundred?”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know how many. They ain’t tellin’ us.”</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, sir; Syracuse, New York.”</p>
+
+<p>“Syracuse?” The captain frowned. “Where
+is that?”</p>
+
+<p>“Just south of New Rochelle,” said Pete gravely.</p>
+
+<p>“So? And you were going to—?” He
+paused, questioningly.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know, sir. They forgot to tell us that.
+Somewhere across.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Maybe Queenstown?” asked the officer, slyly.</p>
+
+<p>Pete shrugged. “Maybe. Or Dover. Or Plymouth.
+I don’t know.”</p>
+
+<p>“How happened it that you were by yourself
+alone?”</p>
+
+<p>“There was some more of us, but we got lost in
+a storm.”</p>
+
+<p>“And the others? They were what you call
+chasers, like yourself?”</p>
+
+<p>“Cruisers, sir; seven of ’em.”</p>
+
+<p>“So? What were the names?”</p>
+
+<p>Pete hesitated a bare instant. Then: “I don’t
+know ’em all, Captain. There was the <i>Greenwich</i>
+an’ the <i>Chelsea</i> an’ the <i>Bronx</i> an’ the <i>Harlem</i>.”</p>
+
+<p>“You are lying, eh?” purred the officer.
+“There are no such ships in the American navy.”</p>
+
+<p>“These is all new ones.”</p>
+
+<p>“Ah, and how large are they?” asked the other,
+suspiciously.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, middlin’ big, sir. I don’t know exactly.
+I guess the <i>Bronx</i> is about 8,000 tons. An’ the
+others is about like that.”</p>
+
+<p>“Where did you part company with them?”</p>
+
+<p>“Can’t say exactly. About two days out of
+Syracuse.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Where were they going to?” asked the officer.</p>
+
+<p>“Same place we was, but I don’t know where
+that is.”</p>
+
+<p>“Maybe they carried soldiers. Or maybe you
+had troop ships with you, too?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, sir. Not this time.”</p>
+
+<p>“How many soldiers have left your country to
+fight against us?”</p>
+
+<p>“About a thousand,” answered Pete, unblushingly.</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, that’s what I heard,” said Pete, untroubledly.
+“Maybe two thousand. You can search
+me.”</p>
+
+<p>“Search you? What I search you for? What
+talk is it that you make?”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s just a sayin’, Captain. What we call
+slang.”</p>
+
+<p>“So? Well, don’t talk with me slang. What
+is the trouble with this man? Can he not talk?”</p>
+
+<p>“Sure, he’s a fine little talker, Captain, but he
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span>ain’t all there.” Pete dropped his voice confidentially
+and tapped his head and winked. “He is
+what we call ‘nutty.’ Get me?”</p>
+
+<p>“‘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?”</p>
+
+<p>“David Garson,” prattled Dave. “I’m eighteen
+years old and small for my age, but they say I’ll
+grow.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span>And, finally, he asked whether a certain German
+restaurant was still doing business in New York!
+In the end he said:</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>“Nothin’ doin’, sir,” replied Pete.</p>
+
+<p>“Eh? What you mean, nothing doing? Much
+will be doing if you do not do like I say!”</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span>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?”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>The captain waved his hand. “<i lang="de">Vorwärtsgehen!</i>”
+he ordered.</p>
+
+<p>“Meanin’ <i lang="de">heraus mit</i> us,” muttered Pete.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span></p>
+
+  <h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII_1">
+    CHAPTER VIII
+    <br>
+    <small>UNDER THE SEA</small>
+  </h3>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>Dave shook his head. “I hate to think of sleeping
+in them,” he answered. “But I suppose we’ll
+have to.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span></p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“I guess they don’t mean to shoot us, anyway,”
+said Dave.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“But that’s fierce!” protested Dave.</p>
+
+<p>“Yeah, ain’t it? Well, then, what we’ve got to
+do is find a way out o’ this.”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“Maybe there’s a buffet on board,” suggested
+Dave, making a weak attempt at a joke.</p>
+
+<p>“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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>“Torpedo compartment,” murmured Pete. “If
+they catch us lookin’ they’ll shoot us through a tube,
+I guess.”</p>
+
+<p>They went back, and finding an unoccupied lower
+bunk, made themselves as comfortable as they might
+against the supporting uprights. From the tiny
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>“She must be a pretty big one,” said Pete.
+“’Most two hundred feet long, I guess. What
+was the number on her?”</p>
+
+<p>“<i>U-H-37.</i>”</p>
+
+<p>“What’s the H for, do you guess?”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s the class number. The U stands for <i lang="de">Untersee</i>.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span>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:</p>
+
+<p>“Where’d you fellers come from?” he asked in
+good English.</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know. Maybe so. I lived in New York
+a good while. You come from New York?”</p>
+
+<p>“Sure! Where was you in New York?”</p>
+
+<p>“All around. I’m a waiter. I worked in ’most
+a dozen places there. I was there nine years.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, I seen you somewhere, all right. How
+do you like this job? Beats waitin’, eh?”</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>“All around.” Pete waved a hand vaguely.
+“Vanderbilt, Astor, Plaza—all them places.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span></p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>“We was. Now we ain’t. It’s the fortunes o’
+war. Say, what happened to her? Did you thugs
+get her?”</p>
+
+<p>The man shrugged. “I do not think so. It was
+very foggy.”</p>
+
+<p>“Fine! What time do we eat here?”</p>
+
+<p>“Twelve o’clock. It ain’t eating, though. It’s
+just—just—” He shrugged his shoulders, at a
+loss.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>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.”</p>
+
+<p>“If we behave!” ejaculated Dave. “What will
+happen if we don’t?”</p>
+
+<p>The German shrugged again. “I don’t know.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span>I guess the captain will throw you overboard and
+let you drown.”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t think I like your captain,” said Pete.
+“Drown is what we’d do, too, for the thief swiped
+our life-vests.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“You mean you had,” said Pete, gruffly. “If
+you like Americans, what in thunder are you fighting
+’em for?”</p>
+
+<p>“But it is not my country, America. I fight for
+my country.”</p>
+
+<p>“Go to it, bo! It won’t get you much!”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“But there are lots that haven’t done that, Pete.
+Many German-born men are now good Americans.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Sure, that’s so. But guys like that gets my
+goat. Hello, what’s happenin’ now?”</p>
+
+<p>“<i lang="de">Tauch station!</i>” came the command along the
+passage.</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>U-H-37</i> 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.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span></p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>“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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span>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!”</p>
+
+<p>“We invented submarines ourselves,” Dave protested,
+patriotically.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“But we’re building a lot of them.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yeah, an’ submarines, too. That’s where the
+Huns have the edge on us, see? They ain’t buildin’;
+they’ve built!”</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span>of cooking began to permeate the already none too
+fresh air of the compartment.</p>
+
+<p>“Wonder will it be beefsteak?” he said.
+“What’s it smell like to you, Kid?”</p>
+
+<p>“Something horribly German,” replied Dave, disgustedly.
+“Maybe some of their beastly sausages.”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>As none offered food to Dave and Pete, they presently
+helped themselves from the bowls on the table
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span>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 <i>U-H-37</i>!</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>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,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span>and in a very few minutes he was sound asleep.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“What’s the silly row?” he demanded, blinking.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know for certain,” answered Dave, excitedly,
+“but I think they’re going to make an attack!”</p>
+
+<p>“Who is?” asked Pete, dazedly.</p>
+
+<p>“Why—why, the Germans!”</p>
+
+<p>Pete threw his legs over the side and searched
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span>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!”</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span></p>
+
+  <h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX_1">
+    CHAPTER IX
+    <br>
+    <small>THE ESCAPE</small>
+  </h3>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>“Do you suppose it’s one of our ships?” asked
+Dave, anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“How do you know?”</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>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,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span>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
+“<em>Gr-r-rh!</em>” 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.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you mean—escape?”</p>
+
+<p>“Sure. If they get busy with that ship we might
+get away without their knowin’ it.”</p>
+
+<p>“But where to, Pete? How?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span></p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>“Wonder what they did with them.”</p>
+
+<p>“Those these fellows wear are a lot better,” said
+Dave. “They blow them up. Do you suppose we
+could find a couple?”</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>“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.</p>
+
+<p>“We got her,” he said. “She’s a big one, too.”</p>
+
+<p>“What’s her flag?” asked Pete, resisting a desire
+to plant his fist in the middle of that smirking
+face.</p>
+
+<p>“Italian, I think.” Then his lips closed tightly
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span>and he glanced apprehensively behind him. “Maybe
+I should not tell you,” he muttered.</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>“There will be no trouble. The ship is already
+sinking and they are getting into the boats.”</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>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.”</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>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.”</p>
+
+<p>“But they’ll see us,” objected Dave, viewing the
+hatch somewhat dubiously.</p>
+
+<p>“Sure, but if it’s dark maybe they won’t notice
+us much. We’ve got the same togs as the rest
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span>of these Huns. Anyway, we can’t get away as long
+as we stay down here, that’s sure, ain’t it?”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“Wait a minute,” he said. “Maybe they’ll open
+it from above.”</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>“Come,” whispered Pete, and tugged at Dave’s
+sleeve.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span>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 <i>U-H-37</i> was still operating with her motors.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“<em>Was is?</em>” he growled.</p>
+
+<p>Pete replied with about all the German he knew.</p>
+
+<p>“<i lang="de">Heraus mit!</i>” said Pete.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span></p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>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.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“All right,” agreed Pete. “We’ll float for a
+few minutes. Swimmin’ gets my wind somethin’
+fierce!”</p>
+
+<p>They let themselves go, just paddling enough to
+keep their heads up. The steamship was no longer
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“Which way shall we go?” asked Dave. “If
+we knew where the life-boats were—”</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span></p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I’m likely to,” said Dave. “Which direction
+is east, Pete?”</p>
+
+<p>“Must be opposite where the moon is goin’ down,
+or nearly. More that way, I guess. Think we’d
+better set our course east?”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, that’s where the nearest land is, I suppose.”</p>
+
+<p>“Sure, unless we’re a lot closer to Ireland than
+we know of. All right, Kid, let her go! I’m feelin’
+fine now.”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span></p>
+
+  <h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X_1">
+    CHAPTER X
+    <br>
+    <small>DAVE FALLS ASLEEP</small>
+  </h3>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“Maybe the Huns sunk the lot of ’em,” replied
+the other grimly. “That’s a favorite trick of
+theirs.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span></p>
+
+<p>“But we’d have heard the guns,” objected Dave.
+Pete nodded.</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>“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—”</p>
+
+<p>“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’?”</p>
+
+<p>Dave considered a moment. Then: “I’m
+tired,” he answered. “But I guess I’m good for
+another hour or two’s swimming.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“Not so worse, Kid!” he sighed. “A little
+damp, but Oh, boy!”</p>
+
+<p>“If we could only hoist something, Pete,” said
+Dave. “I’m afraid we don’t show up very plain.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, you’re more tired than I am,” replied Dave.
+“You go to sleep and I’ll do the ‘spotting.’”</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“Shut up,” said Dave. “I was trying to forget
+it. How long can a fellow go without water,
+Pete?”</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>“Wake up, Kid! We’re all right! See who’s
+here!”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“Is she—German?” he managed to ask.</p>
+
+<p>“German!” babbled Pete, thickly. “No, sir,
+she’s good old U. S. A., Kid! And,” he added with
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span>an attempted laugh that sounded like a croak of a
+raven, “we’re back home!”</p>
+
+<p>“Back home?” repeated Dave, confusedly.</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>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:</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Pete!” he called above the clamor of the engines
+and the creaking of the hull.</p>
+
+<p>“Hello?”</p>
+
+<p>“Awake?”</p>
+
+<p>“Sure!”</p>
+
+<p>“How are you feeling?”</p>
+
+<p>“Dry! Hungry, too! I could eat a raw dog!”</p>
+
+<p>“So could I,” answered Dave, and was quite convinced
+that he meant it. “What time is it, do you
+think?”</p>
+
+<p>“Search me! And I don’t care. But if some
+guy don’t fetch me somethin’—”</p>
+
+<p>“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.</p>
+
+<p>“Gee, but that was great, sir!” he said. “Do I
+get any more?”</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Easy, sir! I’ll tell you all about it now.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, you’ll go to sleep,” laughed the doctor.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, sir,” answered Pete very obediently.
+“But will you tell me what ship this is that we’re
+on, please?”</p>
+
+<p>“This is the <i>Lothrop</i>. Where did you drop over
+from?”</p>
+
+<p>“We was on Chaser <i>944</i>, sir, an’—”</p>
+
+<p>“The <i>944</i>?” 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.”</p>
+
+<p>“Good night, sir, and thank you!”</p>
+
+<p>Presently: “Did you hear that, Dave?” asked
+Pete.</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>944</i> lyin’ alongside? Some
+boat, the little old <i>944</i>, take it from Pete! Some
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span>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....”</p>
+
+<p>Then there was silence in the lower bunk.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_116"></a>[116]</span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_117"></a>[117]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">PART II<br>
+SWEEPING THE SEAS</h2>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_118"></a>[118]</span></p>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_119"></a>[119]</span></p>
+
+  <h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I_2">
+    CHAPTER I
+    <br>
+    <small>ON PATROL</small>
+  </h3>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>The next day Dave and Pete were back on the
+“little old <i>944</i>,” a <i>944</i> 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.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span>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 <i>Lothrop’s</i> boat had taken them
+across the harbor to where the <i>944</i> 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 <i>Lothrop’s</i>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>“Come aboard, sir,” said Pete, saluting and grinning.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</span>think was going to happen to you when you escaped
+from the sub? Were you intending to swim to the
+Irish coast?”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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 <i>Lothrop</i> found you.
+We got a report this morning that two boatloads
+from the <i>Indalia</i>—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?”</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</span>out when the lieutenant stopped them. “By the way,
+Rooney,” he said, “there’s just one thing more.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, sir?”</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, what do you know about that?” asked
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span>Pete when they were out of hearing. “Called
+down for tryin’ to save another ‘gob’ from
+drownin’!”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>Dave and Pete remained heroes for several days,
+and Pete was called on so frequently to spin the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span>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 <i>944</i> 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,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>Life was not all liberty ashore, however, for the
+<i>944</i> 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 <i>944</i> 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 <i>944</i>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>The <i>944</i> 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
+<i>944</i> they referred to them as “ash cans,” which
+they greatly resembled, but they were in reality
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<i>944</i>, who had journeyed across in the steerage of a
+transport, were no exceptions, although in their
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>The <i>944</i> 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.</p>
+
+<p>“Say, Jack, no offense, but if I was you I’d feed
+my face and not try to lead the conversation.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why, I wasn’t,” disclaimed Dill, coloring.
+“What’s wrong with what I said?”</p>
+
+<p>“Nothing, I guess; but why say it? You amateurs
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span>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?”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[130]</span></p>
+
+  <h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II_2">
+    CHAPTER II
+    <br>
+    <small>THE NEW “GOB”</small>
+  </h3>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[131]</span>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?”</p>
+
+<p>“I think you may,” agreed Dave. “Did the
+other chap come over with you?”</p>
+
+<p>“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.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span>Guess I’ll go and see if I can do anything for him.
+He’s horribly sick, poor fellow.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll go along,” said Dave. “Seasickness doesn’t
+seem to bother you much.”</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>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:</p>
+
+<p>“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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span>of nice juicy fat pork and you get some one to hold
+your head up for you—”</p>
+
+<p>Chuck was interrupted by a heart-rending groan
+from the upper bunk behind him. He grinned
+broadly and winked at the audience.</p>
+
+<p>“—And then you take one of those nice fat
+slices of greasy pork,” he continued, “and sort of
+chew on it—”</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>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—”</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span>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!”</p>
+
+<p>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:</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t you dare say you aren’t!” thundered the
+youngster, shaking a finger across the fo’c’sle.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[136]</span>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, but say, kid, what did you do to him?”
+asked another. “You didn’t hit him, did you?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, I just gave him a leg,” replied Dill, modestly.
+“I used to wrestle a bit in college.”</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>944’s</i> crew. Carter
+recovered from his illness the next day and, while
+he still looked extremely pale and shuddered at
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[137]</span>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?”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span>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
+<i>944’s</i> sea duty.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“Come on, Percy,” he challenged. “Try me.
+I ain’t no Zbyszko, but I might show you a trick
+at that.”</p>
+
+<p>Dill viewed Pete doubtfully, aware of the latter’s
+unfriendliness.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[139]</span></p>
+
+<p>“What’s the matter?” sneered Pete. “Ain’t
+scared, are you?”</p>
+
+<p>Dill shook his head. “No, but this is fun, and
+you don’t sound as though you wanted fun.”</p>
+
+<p>“Sure, I want fun,” replied Pete, grinning. “I
+won’t hurt you, son. Come on an’ show me some o’
+them pretty tricks.”</p>
+
+<p>“All right,” answered Dill quietly, “if you insist.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yeah, that’s me, Mister Insist,” said Pete flippantly.
+“Everything goes, eh?”</p>
+
+<p>Dill’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded. “Just
+as you like. Ready?”</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[140]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>“Foul there, Pete!” “Quit gouging!” “Cut
+out the rough stuff!”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“Why not?” answered Pete. “You said—everything
+went!”</p>
+
+<p>“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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[141]</span>pounds, and Pete’s body lay flat with the deck, both
+shoulders and hips down.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“Try again?” asked Dill good-humoredly.</p>
+
+<p>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?”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[142]</span></p>
+
+<p>“All right,” laughed Dill. “Any time you like.”</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>944</i> 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!</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[143]</span></p>
+
+  <h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III_2">
+    CHAPTER III
+    <br>
+    <small>“CLEAR FOR ACTION!”</small>
+  </h3>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>An area roughly triangular in shape containing
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[144]</span>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.”</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>944</i>. A hundred and seventy miles
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[145]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>For three days the <i>944</i> 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,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[146]</span>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 <i>944</i>, 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.</p>
+
+<p>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 “<em>Torpedo!</em>” when his second
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[147]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<i>944</i> was loafing along at twelve knots and her engines
+hardly more than purred through the open
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</span>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 <em>spit-spit-spat</em> of the sparks again. A few seconds
+later a slip of paper was borne upward to the
+bridge and the <i>944</i> sprang into activity.</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>“How far away is she?” asked Dave eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>“A hundred and something. I didn’t get that.
+There she roars!”</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>944</i> was swinging about and the waves
+were spraying the forward deck. Eighteen knots—nineteen
+knots—and the chaser was off on her
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[149]</span>mission of rescue. In the wireless hutch Mallory
+had ticked off an answer:</p>
+
+<p>“With you in five hours. Don’t surrender.”</p>
+
+<p>Twenty minutes later the <i>Agawam</i> spoke again:
+“Please hurry. Enemy has range. Shells falling
+alongside. Course E N E.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“It isn’t our first,” denied Farrel, shellman.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[150]</span></p>
+
+<p>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 <i>Agawam</i> had been very thoroughly
+“strafed” by the submarine. But there might be
+small boats to seek and, in any case, the <i>944’s</i> 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—</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Large steamer, sir, afire for’ard!” shouted the
+lookout.</p>
+
+<p>“Can you see the enemy?” called the Old Man.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“Clear for action!” called the lieutenant.</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>Agawam</i> 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 <i>944’s</i> 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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>“Bow gun,” was the call. “Ready down
+there?”</p>
+
+<p>“Ready, sir!”</p>
+
+<p>Into the voice tube then: “After gun. Are you
+ready?”</p>
+
+<p>“Ready, sir!”</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[153]</span>ahead a column of water splashed in the sunlight.</p>
+
+<p>The Old Man raised his straining hand from the
+rail beside him and lowered his glasses.</p>
+
+<p>“Commence firing,” he said.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</span></p>
+
+  <h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV_2">
+    CHAPTER IV
+    <br>
+    <small>THE HUN SHOWS HIS TEETH</small>
+  </h3>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>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 <i>944</i> 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 <i>944’s</i> 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.</p>
+
+<p>“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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[155]</span>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 <i>944</i>, 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.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p><a href="#i_fp156">“Got her!” Kennedy shouted triumphantly.</a>
+“Got her! Quick with that shell!”</p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="i_fp156">
+  <img src="images/i_fp156.jpg" alt="" title="">
+  <figcaption>
+    <p class="noic"><a href="#Page_155">“Got her!” Kennedy shouted triumphantly</a></p>
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+<p>“Yeah, but she’s not much hurt,” said Pete.
+“She’ll go down now, take it from Pete! What
+did I tell you?”</p>
+
+<p>The <i>944</i> 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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[156]</span>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 <i>944</i>.
+There was a splash as the depth charge struck the
+water. The <i>944</i> 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 <i>944</i> sought signs of victory.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[157]</span>lieutenant called down from the bridge: “That’s
+only shell ‘slick,’ boys. She got away.” He
+turned to the engine room telegraph, and the <i>944</i>
+picked up her feet again and made after the <i>Agawam</i>,
+now some two miles distant.</p>
+
+<p>“What is shell ‘slick’?” asked Dave of Kennedy.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then you think we missed her, too?” asked
+Dave, disappointedly.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[158]</span></p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>Agawam</i> 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 <i>944</i> counted six evident
+hits on the <i>Agawam</i>. Fortunately, only one shell
+had struck close to the water-line, due, perhaps, to
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[159]</span>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 <i>Agawam’s</i>
+silence after noon.</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>944</i>, 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 <i>Agawam</i> 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 <i>Agawam</i> had then returned the fire
+without success, as the sub was beyond range of
+her three-inch guns, and a running fight had ensued,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[160]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>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?”</p>
+
+<p>“Stand by me, sir, to Liverpool. Can you do
+that?”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll convoy you past the cape, Captain, and arrange
+for you beyond there. Is there anything
+else I can do for you?”</p>
+
+<p>“You might lend me some men to clear up this
+mess and stick a patch over that hole. I’m short-handed
+a bit.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[161]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Certainly. Are you all right for medical supplies?”</p>
+
+<p>“Plenty, thanks. My second mate is a bit of a
+saw-bones.”</p>
+
+<p>The <i>944</i> slung over a boat and eight eager men
+crowded in. Dave was fortunate enough to be included.
+They toiled aboard the <i>Agawam</i> 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 <i>944’s</i> 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.</p>
+
+<p>“We tried to get the captain to bear down on
+the Hun and fight him. We could have licked the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[162]</span>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!”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>And the rest of the crew growled agreement.</p>
+
+<p>Shortly after 7 o’clock the boarding party returned
+to the chaser and the two craft started on
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[163]</span>their way again, headed for Cape Clear. The <i>944</i>
+suited her speed to the <i>Agawam’s</i>, 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 <i>944</i> 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 <i>Agawam</i> fade from sight, her path marked
+by a trailing cloud of brown smoke from the burning
+cargo.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>Dave smiled. “Don’t you consider that we managed
+to scare up a little action and excitement yesterday?”
+he asked.</p>
+
+<p>“That?” The Pickle considered gravely.
+“Well, yes, I suppose you’d say so. Still, there
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[164]</span>wasn’t much to it, now, was there? Look here,
+Kid, what I joined this war for was—”</p>
+
+<p>“To escape college,” laughed Dave.</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[165]</span></p>
+
+  <h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V_2">
+    CHAPTER V
+    <br>
+    <small>CONVOY DUTY</small>
+  </h3>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>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!</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[166]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>Their second stay at the base was cut short by
+one day, and the <i>944</i> slid out between the nets that
+guard the harbor entrance one twilight in company
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[167]</span>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.”</p>
+
+<p>Still, there was no charge for hoping, and the
+crew of the <i>944</i> 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 <i>944</i> 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 <i>944</i> that she
+was certainly able and looked a heap like business.
+They had squally weather, with a rough sea, and
+the <i>944’s</i> 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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[168]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>944</i> 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,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[169]</span>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 <i>944</i>.</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[170]</span>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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[171]</span></p>
+
+<p>“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 <i>Everglades</i>,
+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.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“How many troops do you suppose she has
+aboard?” asked Dave.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[172]</span></p>
+
+<p>“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.</p>
+
+<p>“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 <em>are</em> they doing?”</p>
+
+<p>“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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[173]</span>here now, does it? It’s our children and their children
+we’ve got to think about, isn’t it?”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>“Sure,” responded Dill, more cheerfully.
+“Makes you want to flap your wings a bit and
+crow. Or—or blink your eyes and swallow!”</p>
+
+<p>“I guess we’ve all always been proud of being
+Americans,” observed Carter quietly, “only we
+didn’t always know it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Right-o,” agreed The Pickle. “And there’s
+only one thing that will ever make me change my
+mind about it.”</p>
+
+<p>“What’s that?”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, that’s—” He stopped and looked
+frowningly across the tumbling water. Then:
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[174]</span>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>“We <em>will</em> 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!”</p>
+
+<p>“Hope you’re right,” commented Dill, unconvinced.
+“Anyway, I’m not hauling down my flag
+yet!”</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>944</i>
+they watched the olive-drab figures assemble on the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[175]</span>deck of the <i>Everglades</i> 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.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>944</i>, and Dave, Dill, and Pete went merrily
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[176]</span>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!</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[177]</span>quartered until they were sent off to the villages
+behind the lines. The <i>944</i> lay in the Gironde that
+night and then, at sun-up, churned off, in company
+with the other chaser, and headed for Queenstown.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<i>944</i>, 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.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[178]</span></p>
+
+  <h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI_2">
+    CHAPTER VI
+    <br>
+    <small>FLOATING PERIL</small>
+  </h3>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[179]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[180]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>Why fate should have brought the <i>944</i> and a floating
+mine together at the entrance to St. George
+Channel is beyond me, but it did.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[181]</span>us!” Dave pushed up the ladder and sprang toward
+the boats. Orders were coming now.</p>
+
+<p>“Cut those lashings! Steady, men! Don’t
+rush! All together, now, heave! Make fast to the
+falls!”</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>944</i> 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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[182]</span>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 <i>944</i> was settling rapidly, going down
+port side under and slightly by the bow.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>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
+<i>944</i> buried her nose and went from sight. There
+was a swirl of water that made the life-boats dance
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[183]</span>for a minute like cockles, and then silence, emptiness,
+and darkness.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“Certainly. St. Martin is the nearest. About
+thirty-four miles, I’d say. Make it southeast by
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[184]</span>south, three quarters south. If this breeze holds we
+should make land by daylight.”</p>
+
+<p>“Very good, sir. You’d better do what you can
+for your leg, hadn’t you?”</p>
+
+<p>“It can wait, thanks. It’s nothing of importance.
+We’ll keep together if possible, I think.”</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>944</i>, for they had become attached to her,
+and the deaths of their three shipmates weighed on
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[185]</span>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.</p>
+
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">“Oh, say, can you see by the dawn’s early light</div>
+    <div class="verse indent3">What so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent1">Whose broad stripes and bright stars thro’ the perilous fight,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent3">O’er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming.</div>
+    <div class="verse indent1">And the rockets’ red glare, the bombs bursting in air,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent3">Gave proof thro’ the night that our flag was still there.</div>
+    <div class="verse indent1">Oh, say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave</div>
+    <div class="verse indent3">O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?”</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[186]</span>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.</p>
+
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">“Oh, thus be it ever when freemen shall stand</div>
+    <div class="verse indent3">Between their loved home and wild war’s desolation;</div>
+    <div class="verse indent1">Blest with vict’ry and peace, may the heaven-rescued land</div>
+    <div class="verse indent3">Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.</div>
+    <div class="verse indent1">Then conquer we must when our cause it is just,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent3">And this be our motto: ‘In God is Our Trust!’</div>
+    <div class="verse indent1">And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave</div>
+    <div class="verse indent3">O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave!”</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p>As the last lingering note died on the air Kennedy
+raised a hand and pointed eastward.</p>
+
+<p>“That looks like smoke, sir, doesn’t it?” he
+asked.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[187]</span></p>
+
+  <h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII_2">
+    CHAPTER VII
+    <br>
+    <small>ON THE MINE SWEEPER</small>
+  </h3>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>An hour later the occupants of the port life-boat
+were safe aboard the British steam trawler <i>Good
+Venture</i>. 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
+<i>944</i> 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
+<i>Good Venture</i> 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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[188]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>The <i>Good Venture</i> had a rendezvous with a sister
+trawler further west, and search for the <i>944’s</i> 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 <i>Good Venture</i>, 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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[189]</span>he learned a few days later of their safe arrival at
+Trescos.</p>
+
+<p>The <i>Good Venture</i>, 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 <i>Arabella</i>. The lieutenant was taken in
+charge by the skipper and the men were bunked
+forward in the commodious quarters. The <i>Good
+Venture</i> 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.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[190]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>“’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 <i>Belle o’ Headon</i> off Wight at the time.
+Admiralty telled of a new nest o’ eggs just laid
+thereabouts and us and the <i>Belle</i> 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 <i>Belle’s</i> ’ooter, three
+times, which is the signal meaning ‘Submarine!’
+The skipper couldn’t see nothing, though, and no
+more could us, but the <i>Belle</i> 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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[191]</span>pops a officer, just like one o’ this ’ere ugly Jack-in-the-Boxes.</p>
+
+<p>“’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 <i>Belle</i> 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 <i>Belle</i> 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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[192]</span>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.”</p>
+
+<p>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.”</p>
+
+<p>“Golly!” exclaimed Dave. “And then what?”</p>
+
+<p>Tom Garrity viewed him in faint surprise.
+“Then we went on sweeping,” he answered.</p>
+
+<p>The <i>Good Venture</i> found her consort at five bells,
+stood close aboard and tossed a line across. The
+<i>Arabella</i> was slightly smaller than the <i>Good Venture</i>,
+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 <i>Arabella</i> 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,”
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[193]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>The men from the <i>944</i> 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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[194]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>A fine, calm philosophy, but not especially reassuring
+to the <i>Good Venture’s</i> uninvited guests.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<i>Good Venture</i> and the sailors from the <i>944</i> 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.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[195]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>On the deck of the <i>Arabella</i> a tall, thin man
+stepped to the rail and leveled a rifle. He was extremely
+deliberate and unexcited, it seemed. On
+the <i>Good Venture</i> 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 <i>Good
+Venture’s</i> 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 <i>Arabella</i>, but each time only
+a solitary mine was on view. By noon the sailors
+from the <i>944</i> 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.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[196]</span>If they ’it, they ’it, and that was all there
+was to it.</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>Good Venture</i> until she returned
+to Plymouth the next evening.</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>They agreed that it wasn’t, and Dave said: “I
+hope we can keep together, we three, but I don’t
+suppose we can.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[197]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I was hoping for destroyer duty too,” said Dill.
+“But they tell me they take only service men. No
+‘rubber socks’ need apply.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[198]</span>apparel. “How are we going to get uniforms,
+Pete?” Dill asked. “Will they give us new ones
+for the asking?”</p>
+
+<p>“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!’”</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>“How do we know?” asked Pete. “What do
+you take us for, perishin’ Britishers?”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, how do we get to Queenstown, then?”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[199]</span></p>
+
+  <h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII_2">
+    CHAPTER VIII
+    <br>
+    <small>PETE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND</small>
+  </h3>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“Cruisers and convoys,” said the lieutenant, returning
+the glasses, “and one destroyer. They’re
+not American, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>“Nor British,” replied the skipper.</p>
+
+<p>“French, likely,” offered the mate. “But
+they’re not making for France.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[200]</span></p>
+
+<p>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.”</p>
+
+<p>Followed signals with the <i>Arabella</i>, and half an
+hour later the two trawlers, having reached the end
+of their southward journey, parted company and
+the <i>Good Venture</i> 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
+<i>Good Venture</i> was in service, for every one was puzzled
+over the nationality of the ships.</p>
+
+<p>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!”</p>
+
+<p>“’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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[201]</span>second cruiser answered and the mate bent on his
+signal flags with practiced fingers. “We want to
+speak to you,” announced the <i>Good Venture</i>. 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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>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?”</p>
+
+<p>“With pleasure,” responded the other. “Please
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[202]</span>ask them to be quick, sir. Will you use your
+boat?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I’ll get them over in ’alf a jiffy. Greatly
+obliged, sir!”</p>
+
+<p>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
+<i>Good Venture</i> 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 <i>Valgrana</i>
+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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[203]</span>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 <i>944’s</i> men were served
+by themselves and with some ceremony.</p>
+
+<p>The <i>Valgrana</i> 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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[204]</span>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!</p>
+
+<p>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!</p>
+
+<p>“Being a fishwrecked shiperman isn’t what the
+stories make it out,” remarked Dill sadly. “I feel
+like something awful off a movie screen!”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[205]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Gee, that would be great!” exclaimed Pete.
+“A movin’ picture show, eh?”</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s all right, Pickle. First off, let’s find us a
+show. Do you guess these folks’ll understand
+United States?”</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[206]</span>amusement.” Evidently the rush was over for,
+save for a few small boys who viewed our friends
+with growing interest, the place was deserted.</p>
+
+<p>“Like the looks of it?” asked The Pickle finally.</p>
+
+<p>Pete shook his head. “It looks bum to me,” he
+said, “but you can’t tell. It might be all right inside.
+Come on.”</p>
+
+<p>“Where? What are you going to do?” asked
+Dave, holding back.</p>
+
+<p>“See the show,” said Pete. “Put a front on
+now and follow me up.”</p>
+
+<p>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.”</p>
+
+<p>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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[207]</span>in, Miss, an’ we’ll be back an’ pay you, sure as
+shootin’. Or maybe we’ll send it to you.”</p>
+
+<p>“American sailors, eh? You look it! Clear out
+before I ring for the doorman!”</p>
+
+<p>“Honest, Lady—”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“Now then,” he said cheerfully, “on your way,
+boys, on your way! Don’t be blockin’ the entrance
+an’ keepin’ the crowds back.”</p>
+
+<p>“We’re the crowd,” explained Pete, “an’—”
+He stopped abruptly. Then: “Hello, Crim!” he
+blurted.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>“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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[208]</span>thinking that his old friend’s objection to the name
+“Rags” was not sustained by the evidence!</p>
+
+<p>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—”</p>
+
+<p>“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:</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>They followed to the tiny office at one side of the
+foyer, although, for his part, Dave would have preferred
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[209]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[210]</span>tell me about you. Where’d you cop the swell
+duds?”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[211]</span>kids. Say, those kids are all right, too. Three of
+’em. Great little tykes. What do you say?”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[212]</span>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 <i>Port Erin</i>
+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!”</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>Port Erin</i> reached the harbor,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[213]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>Efforts to discover what disposition was to be
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[214]</span>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 <i>944</i> 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.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[215]</span></p>
+
+  <h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX_2">
+    CHAPTER IX
+    <br>
+    <small>THE ADMIRAL MAKES GOOD</small>
+  </h3>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>Their turn came at last and the door closed behind
+them and they found themselves, caps in hand,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[216]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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 <i>944</i> before she was lost recently,”
+said the Admiral.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, sir,” answered Dave. It was plainly evident
+that Pete was not to be counted on at present
+for any conversation.</p>
+
+<p>“And I think you had the somewhat unusual experience
+of being taken prisoners by an enemy submarine
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[217]</span>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[218]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>More questions followed then, but they were
+purely personal.</p>
+
+<p>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:</p>
+
+<p>“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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[219]</span>out of a very awkward situation. You are
+without a ship at present?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll see what can be done. I dare say you’d
+like to hang together, wouldn’t you?”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>“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.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes? Speak up! What else can we do for
+you?”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why, I wouldn’t be surprised.” The Admiral
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[220]</span>looked inquiringly across at the lieutenant-commander.
+“The <i>Conklin</i> is short, isn’t she?” he inquired.</p>
+
+<p>“I believe so, sir. I’ll find out—”</p>
+
+<p>“There’s no hurry, thanks.” He turned again
+to the boys. “I’ll do my best for you,” he said
+pleasantly. “Is that all?”</p>
+
+<p>Pete grinned. “I guess that’s enough, sir,” he
+replied. “Thank you.”</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>They shook their heads dumbly.</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[221]</span>broad smile on the countenance of the lieutenant-commander.</p>
+
+<p>Outside the building Pete drew himself up haughtily,
+a wide grin on his freckled face, and saluted
+grandly. “Congratulations, Mister Garson,” he
+said pompously.</p>
+
+<p>“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.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“Say, what’s wrong with you two?” he demanded
+huffily. “Swallowed a ramrod or what?”</p>
+
+<p>“Are you addressing me?” asked Pete haughtily.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“What extremely low manners these common
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[222]</span>seamen have,” observed Dave to Pete. “To think
+that one has to associate with them, eh?”</p>
+
+<p>“Awful!” Pete positively shuddered. “No respect
+for their superiors either, the ignorant goats!”</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>“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—”</p>
+
+<p>“Petty officers!” gasped The Pickle.</p>
+
+<p>Pete nodded condescendingly.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, what—do you—know—about that?”
+marveled The Pickle, awedly. “Petty officers!”</p>
+
+<p>Dave tried to look unconscious of his new honor,
+but only succeeded in smirking.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, sir, that explains something I never knew
+before,” mused Dill. “It sure does.”</p>
+
+<p>“An’ what might that be, my good man?” inquired
+Pete, suspiciously.</p>
+
+<p>The Pickle edged imperceptibly away. “Why
+they’re called ‘petty,’” he answered sweetly.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[223]</span></p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“To the two pettiest officers in the Service!” he
+shouted.</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>Conklin</i>.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_224"></a>[224]</span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_225"></a>[225]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">PART III<br>
+STAND BY!</h2>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_226"></a>[226]</span></p>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_227"></a>[227]</span></p>
+
+  <h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I_3">
+    CHAPTER I
+    <br>
+    <small>DESTROYER “GOBS”</small>
+  </h3>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>On the 17th of September, 1917, word reached
+the British Admiralty to the effect that the Austrian
+torpedo boat destroyer <i>Neusatz</i>, 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 <i>Neusatz’s</i> 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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[228]</span>news of her. It was not thought likely that the
+<i>Neusatz</i> 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.</p>
+
+<p>At Queenstown the activity especially concerned
+the two new American destroyers, <i>Conklin</i> and
+<i>Wood</i>, 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 <i>Stockwell</i> 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 <i>Conklin</i>
+that recent graduate from the shipyard might easily
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[229]</span>have remained undetected in the quivering glare of
+sunlight.</p>
+
+<p>It was the half-hour after four, and one bell had
+just tinkled from the many ships, big and little, at
+anchor, when the <i>Conklin’s</i> 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. <i>Conklin</i> moved
+slowly down the harbor. Many short toots followed
+her from the <i>Wood</i>, 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.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[230]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>Conklin</i> 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.</p>
+
+<p>The <i>Conklin</i> 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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[231]</span>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 <i>Conklin</i> 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 <i>Conklin’s</i> 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.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[232]</span>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.”</p>
+
+<p>“What happened to it?” asked Dave.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“The waves!” exclaimed Pete. “Gee, do the
+waves get up there?”</p>
+
+<p>“So they say. How’d you like to ride one of
+them, Pete, and come down smack on one of those
+sharp summit rocks?”</p>
+
+<p>“Must be some waves!” he grunted. “Does
+the guy that ran up the signal have to stay there all
+the time?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. Want the job?”</p>
+
+<p>“I do not! Gosh, think o’ bein’ up there in a
+real storm! I’d be scared to death!”</p>
+
+<p>“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.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[233]</span>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.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, I ain’t blamin’ him much,” said Pete.
+“I guess I’d a lot rather ‘go over the top’ than take
+that job.”</p>
+
+<p>There was a faint gleam from the tall tower before
+it dipped from sight in the twilight, by which
+time the <i>Conklin</i> was off Mizzen Head and rolling a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[234]</span>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
+<i>Conklin</i> 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 <i>944</i>
+had never in her maddest moment rolled as did the
+<i>Conklin</i>. 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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[235]</span>Dave spent his first hour in the foretop lookout cage
+that he learned what the <i>Conklin</i> 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.</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>Neusatz</i>,
+only they were calling her the <i>Nuisance</i> 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,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[236]</span>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 <i>Neusatz</i> 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 <i>Conklin</i> kicking her way northeast.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>Life on a destroyer was a good deal different from
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[237]</span>what either Dave or Pete had fancied it. It was
+exciting, even when no excitement offered, for the
+<i>Conklin</i> 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 <i>Conklin</i> 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 <i>Conklin</i> was seldom dry
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[238]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>Neusatz</i> 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 <i>Conklin’s</i> game as any one’s.</p>
+
+<p>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,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[239]</span>which was what every eye searched the horizon
+for, failed to show up. The <i>Neusatz</i>, 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:</p>
+
+<p>“What that <i>Nuisance</i> has done is this, to my
+way o’ thinkin’, fellers. She’s gone a-raidin’.”</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“Ain’t Spain nootral?” demanded Mullins.</p>
+
+<p>“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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[240]</span>oil and mail and anything they like and slips out
+afore mornin’. What’s to prevent the <i>Nuisance</i>
+doin’ the same, hey?”</p>
+
+<p>“There’s something in that,” observed Craigthorp,
+master at arms, third class, looking up from
+his cards. “If the <i>Nuisance</i> 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.”</p>
+
+<p>“She could store oil in barrels,” suggested some
+one else. “She’d have to, anyway, to make the
+trip they say she’s making.”</p>
+
+<p>“She’s raidin’ in the Bay of Biscay,” reiterated
+Nicky convincedly, “an’ some day you’ll find I’m
+right.”</p>
+
+<p>“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’
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[241]</span>to heaven. Why, there’s a chaser down there for
+every ten miles o’ sea.”</p>
+
+<p>“All right. You wait.”</p>
+
+<p>Not being able to do anything else in the matter,
+they waited. And twelve hours later the mystery
+was solved.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[242]</span></p>
+
+  <h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II_3">
+    CHAPTER II
+    <br>
+    <small>A CHASE INTO THE FOG</small>
+  </h3>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>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 <i>Conklin</i> 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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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—”</p>
+
+<p>“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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[243]</span>sky. The QC had it too and silence reigned for
+a moment. Then:</p>
+
+<p>“Better have a look,” muttered the lieutenant.
+Orders to wheel-house and engine room followed.
+The <i>Conklin</i> 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.</p>
+
+<p>“She’s not our meat,” he sighed. “Four funnels.
+The <i>Neusatz</i> has only three. I thought for
+a minute we’d found her.”</p>
+
+<p>“Me, too,” grumbled the executive. “Wonder
+who she is?”</p>
+
+<p>“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 <i>Neusatz</i>.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[244]</span></p>
+
+<p>“She’s changing her course, sir,” called down the
+lookout. “Heading west’ard.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>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:</p>
+
+<p>“Something wrong,” declared the executive.</p>
+
+<p>“He’s crazy,” said the Old Man. “That
+doesn’t make sense. Tell him I want to see his papers.”</p>
+
+<p>Again the <i>Conklin</i> spoke. Across the water the
+stranger kept on her way, heading straight into the
+west and losing no time. The <i>Conklin</i> roared and
+shook as she answered the challenge. Then tiny
+bits of bunting appeared in the distance and eager
+eyes read their message.</p>
+
+<p>“Italian destroyer <i>Sondrio</i>, eh?” murmured the
+captain. “Why couldn’t he say so? I didn’t see
+any number there. What’s the <i>Sondrio’s</i> number,
+Mr. Chapin?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[245]</span></p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“Sounds all right, but—”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’re right,” agreed the Old Man, staring
+through his glasses. “Must have been hit there.”</p>
+
+<p>“Unless it’s a fine bit of camouflage, sir,” replied
+the ensign.</p>
+
+<p>“Eh? By Jove, that’s possible! Guess we’ll
+have a closer look. Tell him to stop his engines.”</p>
+
+<p>But the <i>Sondrio</i> 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 <i>Conklin</i> 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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[246]</span>eastward and on the <i>Conklin’s</i> bridge uneasiness
+prevailed. Once in that fog the <i>Sondrio</i> 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 <i>Conklin’s</i> 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.</p>
+
+<p>Ten minutes more and the exec. was giving the
+deflection and ranges: “Seven thousand, five hundred!...
+Seven thousand!...”</p>
+
+<p>The moments dragged. At last: “Are you
+on?”</p>
+
+<p>“On, sir!”</p>
+
+<p>“Fire!”</p>
+
+<p>Number One spoke sharply and a five-inch shrapnel
+shell sped on its mission of destruction. From
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[247]</span>the bridge they watched intensely. A column of
+water sprang up astern of the fleeing destroyer.</p>
+
+<p>“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!</p>
+
+<p>A third shell followed, while growls of disappointment
+arose from bridge and deck. “Good
+<em>night</em>!” exclaimed the ensign disgustedly. “Great
+Scott, what rotten luck! Down there, do you think
+you got her the last time?”</p>
+
+<p>The gun captain turned a sorrowful countenance
+upward and shook his head. “No, sir, I don’t,” he
+answered.</p>
+
+<p>Silence and suspense followed while the <i>Conklin</i>
+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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[248]</span>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
+<i>Conklin</i> 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 <i>Conklin’s</i>
+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 <i>Neusatz</i>, for not a
+man aboard doubted now that the destroyer was in
+reality the craft they sought. Word of the suspicious
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[249]</span>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!</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>Conklin</i> 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 <i>Conklin</i> was no
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[250]</span>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
+<i>Neusatz</i> 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.</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>Neusatz</i>, and it was a safe wager that
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[251]</span>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 <i>Conklin</i> 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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[252]</span>minutes to-day. Northward, emptiness; eastward,
+emptiness; southward—</p>
+
+<p>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—</p>
+
+<p>He ducked to the tube.</p>
+
+<p>“On the bridge, sir. Smoke two points off the
+port bow.”</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[253]</span></p>
+
+  <h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III_3">
+    CHAPTER III
+    <br>
+    <small>THE FLAG COMES DOWN</small>
+  </h3>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>The <i>Conklin’s</i> 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.</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>Conklin</i>
+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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[254]</span>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 <i>Conklin</i>.
+As she lengthened in shape, swinging her nose northward,
+there were chuckles aboard the <i>Conklin</i>, 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.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s her,” he had reported, with more emphasis
+than grammar. “It’s the one we chased Wednesday,
+sir!”</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>Neusatz</i> or <i>Sondrio</i>,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[255]</span>whichever she really was, was not the only
+craft with oil to burn, and the <i>Conklin’s</i> boilers answered
+the challenge in a trice, and the chase began.</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>Conklin</i>
+and the battle ensign run up.</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>Neusatz</i> had got the <i>Conklin’s</i> 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 <i>Conklin’s</i> port bow. The <i>Neusatz</i>
+was armed with four guns of approximately 4-inch
+bore. The <i>Conklin</i> was now steaming a quarter of
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[256]</span>a mile abaft the starboard beam of the <i>Neusatz</i>
+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 <i>Neusatz’s</i> second hit, a shrapnel
+shell from the <i>Conklin</i> 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 <i>Neusatz</i> 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 <i>Neusatz’s</i> 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 <i>Conklin</i>
+that deepened as the red and white ensign which the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[257]</span><i>Neusatz</i> had hoisted at the beginning of the battle
+came slowly down.</p>
+
+<p>The Austrian ship looked very helpless as the
+<i>Conklin</i> 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 <i>Neusatz’s</i> engines
+were idle and the crippled destroyer was losing
+headway as the <i>Conklin</i> ranged alongside and Commander
+Gannett, leaning from the side of the bridge,
+saluted his conquered adversary.</p>
+
+<p>“What ship is that, sir?” he called.</p>
+
+<p>The reply was as expected and in fair English:
+“The <i>Neusatz</i>, sir. To what ship have I surrendered?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[258]</span></p>
+
+<p>“The United States destroyer <i>Conklin</i>. Have
+you any boats you can use?”</p>
+
+<p>“Not one.” The <i>Neusatz’s</i> 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?”</p>
+
+<p>“I will do so, sir. Are your engines disabled,
+Captain?”</p>
+
+<p>“One is. The other I cannot say of. We are
+also on fire aft.”</p>
+
+<p>“Please muster your crew amidship, sir, and I
+will take them off.” The captain saluted and
+turned to give his orders. The <i>Conklin</i> 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 <i>Conklin’s</i> side as they traversed the fifty yards
+of water and drew up beside the <i>Neusatz’s</i> riddled
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[259]</span>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 <i>Conklin</i> on stretchers. Counting the
+two remaining commissioned officers, who came off
+in the last boat, the complement of the <i>Neusatz</i> had
+been ninety-one, a number largely in excess of what
+the <i>Conklin’s</i> officers had suspected.</p>
+
+<p>Dave and Pete were among the party that, following
+the transfer of the prisoners, boarded the <i>Neusatz</i>
+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,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[260]</span>the smoke-blackened and somewhat scorched
+fighters won their battle. Meanwhile artificers
+from the <i>Conklin</i> had been busy with the <i>Neusatz’s</i>
+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 <i>Conklin’s</i>
+men and fourteen of the <i>Neusatz’s</i> 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.</p>
+
+<p>It was then that Dave and Pete had their first
+parting, for Pete was among those assigned to the
+<i>Neusatz</i> 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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[261]</span>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 <i>Conklin</i>, and one, First Class Electrician
+Williams, had since died of injuries. Besides
+these, seven men were seriously and several
+slightly wounded. The <i>Conklin’s</i> 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.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[262]</span></p>
+
+  <h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV_3">
+    CHAPTER IV
+    <br>
+    <small>HEROES IN PORT</small>
+  </h3>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>“Where’d you get it?”</p>
+
+<p>That was a pert, black torpedo boat, the next afternoon,
+jumping across the <i>Conklin’s</i> bows a half
+mile ahead and wigwagging flippantly from a perilous
+deck.</p>
+
+<p>“About two hundred miles back,” replied the
+<i>Conklin</i>. “She’s the <i>Neusatz</i>.”</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>“Please do,” answered the destroyer. “Am
+making Wick.”</p>
+
+<p>The torpedo boat said something more, but distance
+and intervening waves hid it.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[263]</span><i>Neusatz</i> was making hard going and the bilge pumps
+were busy every moment. Lieutenant Chapin had
+managed to keep near the <i>Conklin</i> 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 <i>Conklin</i> 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 <i>Conklin</i> 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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[264]</span>welcomed by a small flotilla of patrols and
+trawlers.</p>
+
+<p>There the prisoners were landed and the <i>Neusatz</i>
+handed over to the British Admiralty officer, and
+the <i>Conklin</i> 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 <i>Conklin</i> 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.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[265]</span>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
+<i>Neusatz</i> 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.</p>
+
+<p>There was a U-boat alarm as they approached the
+North Channel, and the <i>Conklin</i> 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 <i>Conklin</i> 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 <i>Conklin</i>
+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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[266]</span>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
+<i>Conklin</i> 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.</p>
+
+<p>The <i>Conklin</i> 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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[267]</span>shirt. And steak and onions, and hot, heavy puddings,
+were a vast improvement on bacon and stews
+and canned salmon. A day after the <i>Conklin</i> got
+into port the <i>Wood</i> returned empty-handed from
+her search, and the <i>Conklin’s</i> men lorded it over the
+<i>Wood</i> 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. <i>Conklin</i>, was lifted
+up tenderly and borne away for repairs, and the
+<i>Wood’s</i> crew held up their heads again now that
+honor was vindicated.</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>Conklin’s</i> repairs
+would keep her tied to a dock another forty-eight
+hours. They watched the <i>Wood</i> up-anchor
+and depart jauntily, her men waving derisive farewells
+and shouting insulting messages as she
+steamed past, and they watched the <i>Conyngham</i>
+slide up the harbor fairly radiating vanity. The
+<i>Conyngham</i> 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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[268]</span>was all right, too, but if there were subs to be had
+it was time the <i>Conklin</i> 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 <i>Conklin’s</i>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>This time it was patrol duty, and the <i>Conklin</i>
+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 <i>Conklin</i> 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.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[269]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I’ll bet there’s a lot o’ favoritism in it,” said
+Pete, darkly. “Look what we went an’ done.
+Nabbed the <i>Nuisance</i> 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.”)</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[270]</span></p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“Those figures the British give out don’t take
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[271]</span>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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[272]</span></p>
+
+  <h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V_3">
+    CHAPTER V
+    <br>
+    <small>“SUBMARINE!”</small>
+  </h3>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>They had the tail end of a southeast gale to
+buck against on their way out and the <i>Conklin</i>,
+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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[273]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[274]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>Conklin</i> 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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[275]</span>sufficient reason that no other business offered.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“Periscope about half a mile off the starboard
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[276]</span>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.”</p>
+
+<p>The rest of the crew interrupted Merritt’s narrative
+and Dave was too busy with his duties to ask
+more.</p>
+
+<p>The <i>Conklin</i> 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 <i>Conklin</i> 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.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[277]</span></p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>Conklin</i> 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 <i>Conklin</i> 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 <i>Conklin</i> 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 <i>Conklin</i> replied
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[278]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>The next morning at an hour or so after the half-hearted
+dawn of a gray day the foretop lookout
+again electrified the bridge.</p>
+
+<p>“Submarine awash broad off the port bow.
+About two miles, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>Conklin</i> swept her sharp nose
+around and went piling south southeast, leaving a
+cream-white path of tumbling foam behind her.</p>
+
+<p>“She has no conning tower, sir,” called down the
+foretop spotter. “I think there’s some one on
+deck.”</p>
+
+<p>“One of U-54 class,” commented the Old Man.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[279]</span>“I’ve got her now. Yes, down through the hatch
+again. Ready with that No. 2 gun? What’s the
+range?”</p>
+
+<p>But even the five-inch was outdistanced as yet,
+and there was an anxious period while the <i>Conklin</i>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>“Fourteen thousand yards,” announced the fire
+control.</p>
+
+<p>“She’s stopped her engines, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>“What’s your speed?” demanded the Old Man
+impatiently at the engine room tube.</p>
+
+<p>“Thirty-three-forty-five, sir!”</p>
+
+<p>“Hit her up! Bust her!”</p>
+
+<p>“Thirteen thousand five hundred!”</p>
+
+<p>“There’s something on the for’ard periscope, sir!
+Looks like a flag!”</p>
+
+<p>“So there is! What do you make of it, lieutenant?”</p>
+
+<p>“Flag, sir, and—and I think it’s white!”</p>
+
+<p>“White! White!” sputtered the captain.
+“What’s it for? Who ever heard—”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[280]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Yes, it’s white. It’s wet and is half wrapped
+about the ‘stick.’”</p>
+
+<p>“Some infernal German trick, I suppose!”</p>
+
+<p>“Shall we try a shot?”</p>
+
+<p>“No—no. Hang it, you can’t fire on a white
+flag!” He called for slower speed and the <i>Conklin</i>
+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.”</p>
+
+<p>The <i>Conklin</i> 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 <i>Conklin</i>
+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 <i>Conklin</i> slowed and finally
+stopped some yards away from the long, sinister,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[281]</span>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
+<i>Conklin</i> 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.</p>
+
+<p>“Where is your captain?” he asked.</p>
+
+<p>There was no answer for a moment. Then a
+sailor pushed himself perilously forward. “Kamerad!”
+he shouted back. “Kamerad!”</p>
+
+<p>“There isn’t an officer in the lot,” muttered the
+executive at the captain’s shoulder. “Deuced
+funny, eh?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[282]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Speak English?” bawled the captain, raising his
+voice in the unconscious way that one does in the
+circumstances.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>“Ensign Whittemore, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>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!” <a href="#i_fp280">The oars dipped and
+the boat headed for the submarine.</a> 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.</p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="i_fp280">
+  <img src="images/i_fp280.jpg" alt="" title="">
+  <figcaption>
+    <p class="noic"><a href="#Page_282">The oars dipped and the boat headed for the submarine</a></p>
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[283]</span></p>
+
+  <h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI_3">
+    CHAPTER VI
+    <br>
+    <small>THE MUTINY</small>
+  </h3>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>“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.</p>
+
+<p>“There wasn’t any sort of a conning tower, as
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[284]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>“It was Willet found the first officer. They’d
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[285]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[286]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[287]</span>get killed as starve to death. What do you know
+about that for a sea story?”</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>Conklin</i> 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 <i>Conklin</i> made a hawser
+fast to the towing-hook at the submarine’s bow, and
+under orders from the flagship, set out for Queenstown.</p>
+
+<p>“Huh,” said Pete that night, “I guess the <i>Conyngham</i>
+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 <i>Conklin’s</i> 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?
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[288]</span>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.”</p>
+
+<p>“You, you flat-foot! What did you have to do
+with it?” asked Dill.</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>“Maybe you’ll begin to believe that there are
+such things as German submarines after all, Pete,”
+suggested Dave.</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[289]</span></p>
+
+<p>“You win,” laughed The Pickle. “What gets
+me, though, is how they managed to follow us last
+night in the dark.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s it, I guess. Well, anyway, it’s a queer
+business. What do you suppose will happen to
+those poor hoboes?”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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 <i>Wood</i> crowd.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[290]</span></p>
+
+<p>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.”</p>
+
+<p>“It would be funny, though, wouldn’t it,” suggested
+Dave, “if the <i>Wood</i> got back there with a
+sub, too.”</p>
+
+<p>Pete observed him disapprovingly and The Pickle
+with sorrow.</p>
+
+<p>“Gee, you can think of more punk things to
+say, Kid,” remonstrated the latter. “Gloom must
+be your middle name.”</p>
+
+<p>The <i>Conklin</i> 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.”</p>
+
+<p>That attitude vexed the <i>Plaisted’s</i> gobs and
+they made derogatory remarks in voices inaudible to
+the bridge, but heard on the <i>Conklin’s</i> deck, and gestured
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[291]</span>derision. “Where’d you get the old cook
+stove, <i>Conk</i>?”</p>
+
+<p>“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 <i>Conklin</i> men only smiled in
+serene contempt. They could afford to let the envious
+world gibe.</p>
+
+<p>The <i>Wood</i> wasn’t in port when the <i>Conklin</i> 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,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">[292]</span>only smiled and went on up. It was by that time
+generally known throughout the ship that the <i>Wood</i>
+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!</p>
+
+<p>The <i>Conklin</i> 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.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[293]</span></p>
+
+  <h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII_3">
+    CHAPTER VII
+    <br>
+    <small>THE START OF AN ADVENTURE</small>
+  </h3>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>The <i>Conklin</i> 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.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">[294]</span>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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[295]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Gee!” said Pete. “Did they drown?”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“What sort of presents?” asked Dave.</p>
+
+<p>“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.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">[296]</span>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?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yeah,” said Pete, “you can tell me how much
+lighthouse keeping costs in England compared with
+light housekeeping in New York.”</p>
+
+<p>“New York? Lighthouse keep— Oh, I get
+you, Pete! And that’ll be about all from you,
+son!”</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">[297]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>There was a deal of speculation as to the <i>Conklin’s</i>
+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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">[298]</span>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 <i>Conklin</i>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“Hadn’t thought of that,” mused Pete. “I’m
+about stoney myself. How about you, Kid?”</p>
+
+<p>“I can lend you a couple of dollars,” answered
+Dave. “Bob, too, if he will come. But I’m not
+horribly rich just now.”</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">[299]</span></p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>Pete looked dubious. “I ain’t much on the society
+game, Pickle,” he replied. “Better leave me
+out, I guess.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, I guess it isn’t that bad,” laughed The
+Pickle. “English folks always have plenty of parsnips
+on hand.”</p>
+
+<p>“Parsnips. Gee, I never could eat parsnips.
+You and the Kid take a chance. I’m off of it.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">[300]</span></p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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?”</p>
+
+<p>“About four this afternoon, he thought.”</p>
+
+<p>“Gee, forty miles in five hours! I’d be afraid
+to travel as fast as that.”</p>
+
+<p>“I guess the connections aren’t very close,” explained
+The Pickle. “Come on! Be a sport, Pete!
+You’ll go, Kid?”</p>
+
+<p>“I’d love it, but—it seems sort of cheeky, doesn’t
+it, Bob? Would we stay overnight?”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yeah,” answered Pete. “I’ll be so pretty you
+won’t know me. Got any freckle lotion, Kid?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">[301]</span></p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">[302]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“Five miles,” demurred The Pickle. “How
+about a carriage—I mean a trap?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">[303]</span></p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">[304]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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!”</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">[305]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>“River, eh?” scoffed Pete. “Then you wait a
+minute.”</p>
+
+<p>“Where are you going?” Dave asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Goin’ to jump it,” was the reply as Pete clambered
+down a bank. “First time I ever found a
+river I could jump across.”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">[306]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Hello, sonny,” said The Pickle. “Where do
+the Wylies live?”</p>
+
+<p>The youth shook himself from his trance with an
+effort and said “Eh?”</p>
+
+<p>The Pickle repeated the question and the boy
+shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>“Come on, kid! Have a heart!” said Pete.
+“Don’t you live around here?”</p>
+
+<p>“Ay, over there.” He pointed indefinitely toward
+the hedge.</p>
+
+<p>“Then you must know the Wylies’ place?”</p>
+
+<p>“Ay.” He seemed a most laconic youth.</p>
+
+<p>“Fine! Where is it, then?”</p>
+
+<p>“’Tis on this road, sir. ’E can’t miss it. It be
+a largeish house.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, why didn’t you say so?” asked The
+Pickle.</p>
+
+<p>“’E asked me where they live.”</p>
+
+<p>“Sure. They live in the house, don’t they?
+Why couldn’t you say so?”</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">[307]</span>following them at a distance. Finding himself observed,
+however, he slipped from sight. “He, too,”
+thought Dave, “believes we’re Germans!”</p>
+
+<p>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:</p>
+
+<p>“It don’t look quite right to me, Pickle. It looks—looks—”</p>
+
+<p>“Nobody home,” murmured Dave.</p>
+
+<p>“By jove, it looks like it,” muttered The Pickle
+uneasily. “What a sell if it’s so!”</p>
+
+<p>Pete viewed him disgustedly. “What about
+those parsnips?” he demanded.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, let’s find out,” suggested Dave. “No
+use spending the night here.”</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">[308]</span>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:</p>
+
+<p>“Parsnips! Huh!”</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">[309]</span></p>
+
+  <h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII_3">
+    CHAPTER VIII
+    <br>
+    <small>THE AIR RAIDERS</small>
+  </h3>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>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!”</p>
+
+<p>Their plan was to find that farmhouse they had
+seen, or, failing that, some other house, and get
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">[310]</span>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:</p>
+
+<p>“Does this road seem right to you fellows?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yeah, why not?” asked Pete.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, somehow it doesn’t seem to be going in
+the right direction. And it seems rougher than
+when we came the other way.”</p>
+
+<p>“Now that you mention it,” said Dave, “it does
+seem rougher. And narrower, too. I was almost
+in a ditch a minute ago.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">[311]</span></p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“Bet you I’ll be able to smell it!” answered Pete.
+“If there’s food within a mile I’ll know it.”</p>
+
+<p>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!”</p>
+
+<p>Followed a dismal silence. Then Pete remarked
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">[312]</span>with forced cheerfulness: “Fine! You can always
+find something to eat along the shore.”</p>
+
+<p>“Pete,” said Dave earnestly, “if you spring that
+old one about the ‘sandwiches there’ I’ll kill you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Wasn’t going to. I was thinking of clams.”</p>
+
+<p>“What do you say?” asked The Pickle, dubiously.
+“Shall we go back or go ahead?”</p>
+
+<p>“Ahead,” said Pete. “We’ll light a bonfire and
+maybe a boat’ll come and rescue us.”</p>
+
+<p>“I think we might as well go on,” agreed Dave.
+“There’s likely to be a village along the shore, don’t
+you think?”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“So would I,” said The Pickle. “If you hear
+anything like a brook sing out.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">[313]</span></p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>The Pickle seated himself on the ground and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">[314]</span>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.”</p>
+
+<p>“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....</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_315">[315]</span>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:</p>
+
+<p>“An air raid,” it said. “And coming this way,
+fellows. They’re not more than a couple of miles
+off, I guess.”</p>
+
+<p>“Any one seen a cellar around here?” asked
+Pete. “Say, those aren’t Zeppelins, are they?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, bombing planes, I’d say,” replied The
+Pickle. “Look at the searchlights behind us, fellows.”</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_316">[316]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>“Gee, I wouldn’t have missed that for anything!”
+he murmured. “It was wonderful!”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you think they’ll get as far as London?”
+asked Dave.</p>
+
+<p>“I wouldn’t think so, judging from the reception
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_317">[317]</span>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—”</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>“Germans!” he whispered.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_318">[318]</span></p>
+
+  <h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX_3">
+    CHAPTER IX
+    <br>
+    <small>PRISONERS OF WAR</small>
+  </h3>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>Kneeling beside the road there, with heads close
+together, they laid their plans.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>“What did they land here for?” asked Pete in
+whispers.</p>
+
+<p>“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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_319">[319]</span>they came down they smashed something. You
+heard it. Maybe a wing. Anyway, it will keep
+them longer. Now what about weapons?”</p>
+
+<p>“What do you mean, weapons?” asked Pete.
+“I got mine with me, one on each arm.”</p>
+
+<p>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.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, and if the moon comes out again,” murmured
+Dave anxiously, “we’ll have more trouble.”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t think it will.” The Pickle was silent a
+moment, listening. Pete stirred uneasily.</p>
+
+<p>“If we wait too long they may get away from
+us,” he objected.</p>
+
+<p>“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.”</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_320">[320]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>The boys, who had hugged the earth closely and
+with bated breath, now eased their positions and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_321">[321]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>Followed a few seconds of suspense.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_322">[322]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_323">[323]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>They had, it appeared, captured a slightly damaged
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_324">[324]</span>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?</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_325">[325]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>“Odd man goes,” said The Pickle. “Heads!”</p>
+
+<p>“Heads!” echoed Pete.</p>
+
+<p>“Tails!” said Dave. “Give me that torch.”</p>
+
+<p>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,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_326">[326]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_327">[327]</span>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.</p>
+
+<p>“When the war’s over I’m goin’ back there,” he
+said dreamily. “She was some kid, take it from
+Pete.”</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" aria-hidden="true">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_328">[328]</span></p>
+
+  <h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X_3">
+    CHAPTER X
+    <br>
+    <small>“STAND BY!”</small>
+  </h3>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>Two days later the <i>Conklin</i> 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.</p>
+
+<p>Ahead and behind eight other destroyer craft
+were keeping the <i>Conklin</i> 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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_329">[329]</span>lip that morning, for, although the bulletin told them
+nothing, their destination was no secret. They were
+off for a raid!</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_330">[330]</span></p>
+
+<p>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 <i>Conklin’s</i> 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.</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>Conklin</i> not so
+much as a flash was to be seen. The firing grew
+continuous, a steady roar of sound. The <i>Conklin</i>
+was going more slowly now, for mines lay about
+her and the narrow channel she must keep to was
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_331">[331]</span>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 <i>Conklin</i>.</p>
+
+<p>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:</p>
+
+<p>“Mine close aport!”</p>
+
+<p>The <i>Conklin’s</i> nose twitched to starboard and the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_332">[332]</span>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
+<i>Conklin’s</i> plates!</p>
+
+<p>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
+<i>Conklin</i> 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
+<i>Conklin’s</i> 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!</p>
+
+<p>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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_333">[333]</span>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 <i>Conklin</i> 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 <i>Conklin</i> 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 <i>Conklin</i>—a wasp attacking a
+bulldog! The cruiser’s small guns beat a tattoo
+against the <i>Conklin’s</i> 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. <a href="#i_frontispiece">Roaring, firing, cheering, the <i>Conklin</i> blazed
+her way by.</a> At the guns men worked in a sweating
+frenzy, shouting grimly when a shell went home,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_334">[334]</span>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!</p>
+
+<p>“Lyddite explosion,” said the Old Man, briefly.</p>
+
+<p>“One cruiser less in the Kaiser’s navy,” exulted
+the junior.</p>
+
+<p>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 <i>Conklin</i> 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 <i>Conklin</i> 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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_335">[335]</span>the stern at the fleeting, shadowy shape of an enemy
+destroyer, the <i>Conklin</i> 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 <i>Conklin</i> from the enemy’s vengeance.</p>
+
+<p>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
+<i>Conklin</i> 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
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_336">[336]</span>guns boomed and growled with diminishing fury.
+And, maimed and scarred, with a toll of dead and
+dying below the long, drenched deck, the <i>Conklin</i>
+sped proudly westward, the Yankee ensign still
+fluttering in triumph from the masthead.</p>
+
+
+<p class="p4 noic">THE END</p>
+
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap">
+<div class="tnote">
+<p class="noi tntitle">Transcriber’s Notes:</p>
+
+<p class="smfont">Except for the frontispiece, illustrations have been moved to
+   follow the text that they illustrate, so the page number of the
+   illustration may not match the page number in the List of
+   Illustrations.</p>
+
+<p class="smfont">Printer’s, punctuation, and spelling inaccuracies were silently
+   corrected.</p>
+
+<p class="smfont">Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.</p>
+
+<p class="smfont">Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.</p>
+</div>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79261 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
+
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author	www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org>	2026-08-03 16:07:20 -0700
committer	www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org>	2026-08-03 16:07:20 -0700
commit	eb8f8e2782ffbbe97164081936a37f167dd07b14 (patch)
tree	94b3ffa8ca600138896edbf45131713d2eb8ccdd /79261-h