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diff --git a/79261-h/79261-h.htm b/79261-h/79261-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d89b889 --- /dev/null +++ b/79261-h/79261-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9929 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> + <meta name="format-detection" content="telephone=no,date=no,address=no,email=no,url=no"> + + <title> + Under the Yankee Ensign | Project Gutenberg + </title> + + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + + <style> + +/* DACSoft styles */ + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +/* General headers */ +h1, h3 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +/* Part headers */ +h2 { + text-align: center; + font-weight: bold; + margin: .75em 0; +} + +/* Chapter headers */ +h3 { + text-align: center; + font-size: 1.5em; + font-weight: bold; + margin: .75em 0; +} + +div.chapter { + page-break-before: always; +} + +.nobreak { + page-break-before: avoid; +} + +/* Indented paragraph */ +p { + margin-top: .51em; + margin-bottom: .49em; + text-align: justify; + text-indent: 1em; +} + +/* Unindented paragraph */ +.noi {text-indent: 0em;} + +/* Centered unindented paragraph */ +.noic { + text-indent: 0em; + text-align: center; +} + +/* Non-standard paragraph margins */ +.p4 {margin-top: 4em;} + +.p6 {margin-top: 6em;} + +.pad4 { + margin-top: 4em; + margin-bottom: 4em; +} + +.padl6 { + padding-left: 6em; +} + +/* Horizontal rules */ +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.chap { + width: 65%; + margin-left: 17.5%; + margin-right: 17.5%; +} + +@media print { + hr.chap { + display: none; + visibility: hidden; + } +} + +/* Tables */ +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +td { + padding: .25em; +} + +th { + padding: .25em; + font-weight: normal; +} + +/* Table cell alignments */ +.tdl { + text-align: left; +} + +.tdc { + text-align: center; +} + +.tdc1 { + padding-top: 1em; + text-align: center; +} + +.tdrb { + text-align: right; + vertical-align: bottom; +} + +.tdrt { + text-align: right; + padding-right: 0.75em; + vertical-align: top; +} + +.pr { + padding-right: .5em; +} + +/* Physical book page and line numbers */ +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + right: 3%; +/* left: 92%; */ + font-size: x-small; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + text-align: right; + color: gray; +} /* page numbers */ + +/* Text appearance */ +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +/* Small fonts and lowercase small-caps */ +.smfont { + font-size: .8em; +} + +.smfontr { + font-size: .75em; + text-align: right; +} + +/* Illustration caption */ +figcaption { + font-size: .75em; + font-weight: bold; +} + +/* Images */ +img { + max-width: 100%; /* no image to be wider than screen or containing div */ + height:auto; /* keep height in proportion to width */ +} + +/* Illustration classes */ +.illowe6 {width: 6em;} + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 90%; /* div no wider than screen, even when screen is narrow */ +} + +/* Poetry */ +.poetry { + display: block; + text-align: left; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto;} + +.poetry .verse { + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +/* Poetry indents */ +.poetry .indent0 {padding-left: 3em;} +.poetry .indent1 {padding-left: 3.5em;} +.poetry .indent3 {padding-left: 4.5em;} + +/* Transcriber's notes */ +.tnote { + background-color: #E6E6FA; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + padding: 0.5em; +} + +.tntitle { + font-size: 1.25em; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +/* Title page borders and content. */ +.title { + font-size: 1.75em; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +.halftitle { + font-size: 1.5em; + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +.author { + font-size: 1.25em; + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +.works { + font-size: .75em; + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +/* Advertisement formatting. */ +.adauthor { + font-size: 1.25em; + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +/* Hanging indent. */ +.hang { + text-indent: -2em; + padding-left: 3em; +} + + </style> +</head> + + +<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"> </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> </th> +<th class="smfontr">FACING<br>PAGE  </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> + diff --git a/79261-h/images/cover.jpg b/79261-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f11bee0 --- /dev/null +++ b/79261-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/79261-h/images/cover_sm.jpg b/79261-h/images/cover_sm.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e65c28a --- /dev/null +++ b/79261-h/images/cover_sm.jpg diff --git a/79261-h/images/i_fp064.jpg b/79261-h/images/i_fp064.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e4b6ee2 --- /dev/null +++ b/79261-h/images/i_fp064.jpg diff --git a/79261-h/images/i_fp156.jpg b/79261-h/images/i_fp156.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..dca72e7 --- /dev/null +++ b/79261-h/images/i_fp156.jpg diff --git a/79261-h/images/i_fp280.jpg b/79261-h/images/i_fp280.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..595219c --- /dev/null +++ b/79261-h/images/i_fp280.jpg diff --git a/79261-h/images/i_frontispiece.jpg b/79261-h/images/i_frontispiece.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..46d95f8 --- /dev/null +++ b/79261-h/images/i_frontispiece.jpg diff --git a/79261-h/images/logo.jpg b/79261-h/images/logo.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..20c6c0a --- /dev/null +++ b/79261-h/images/logo.jpg |
