When the four Navy Boys and their friends came over the summit of the hill behind the English seaport which the Zeppelin had so recently raided and where it had come to grief, the bomb-set fires in the town had become controlled. Even the conflagration at the point where the Zeppelin had fallen was now entirely smothered.
Fortunately neither the marine hospital nor the port admiral’s headquarters had been hit by the Hun bombs. The first named was crowded with refugees from merchant ships sunk by the Hun submarines or blown up by floating mines. Almost daily the remnants of the unfortunate crews were brought in; for by this time the Germans had begun shelling the boats as they escaped from sinking ships, striving to carry out their master’s orders, “that no trace be left” of such breaking of the international law agreed to long since by all civilized nations.
But if the hospital was not hit, damage enough had been done in all good conscience. The crowds were gone from about the wrecked Zeppelin and from the bombed schoolhouse. The shelling of open boats at sea was not a greater crime than the indiscriminate dropping of bombs on this unfortified town; and the wiping out of that school teacher and her pupils could never be forgotten. Phil Morgan turned his eyes away from the place, shuddering as he thought of the horror.
“Let’s go down to the admiral’s station—there where his white ensign flies—and report about the spy escaping from us,” Whistler said.
“And explain how he’s dressed,” Al Torrance added. “For let me tell you, that chap, speaking English and all, and dressed like one of us Yanks, will cause a lot of trouble.”
“I’d like to get something decent to put on myself,” grumbled George Belding.
“Tee, hee!” giggled Ikey Rosenmeyer. “You don’t look any more like one of these farmers than nothin’ at all!”
“Must say,” grinned Whistler, “the clothes don’t become you, George.”
“You go fish!” snapped the unfortunate. “I hate to show up aboard and face—who’s your boss, Lieutenant Commander Lang, isn’t it?”
“Cracky! Yes,” Al said. “And you are billed for the oldColodia? Say, the boys will give you a welcome!”
“How did you come to get billeted to theColodia?” Whistler Morgan asked curiously. “You came over on your father’s yacht?”
“No,” said Belding, quietly. “I didn’t say that. I joined the crew of the one-timeSiriusbecause when I arrived in England your oldColodiawas out scrapping with the part of the Hun fleet that tried to make a break.”
“Oh, yes,” said Whistler. “We were in that fight; but we were on theKennebunk.”
“And our gun made the first hit and we sunk a Hun battleship!” cried Al.
“Huh!” scoffed Frenchy, “you listen to Al and Whistler, and you’d think their old gun fought the whole battle.”
“Did you fellows really help work a gun in that fight?” cried George Belding, in amazement and admiration. Even the giant British seaman gazed at the Navy Boys with increased respect.
“We were in the fight, and we belonged to one of the gun crews,” admitted Whistler. “But we are willing to agree that we did not do it all. Frenchy and Ikey were there.”
Belding laughed. “Well, let’s go along to the admiral’s, and I’ll tell you how I came to get billeted on theColodia. Uncle Sam is training more men than he has boats for—yet. But theColodia’slost several of her crew, hasn’t she, from one cause or another?”
“Of course. And are you a ‘filler-in’?” said Whistler.
“Guess so. I came over expecting to go right aboard the destroyer, as I say. But I had to wait for her to come back from the North Sea. And there was the oldSirius, with a chap in command that I knew. So I got a chance to take a trip. We took out a convoy bound westward; and on the way back we had a scrap with a sub.”
“Did you sink her?” asked Frenchy eagerly.
“We did something to it. The boys said they knew she was a goner. Oil and litter rose to the surface after we dropped a depth bomb. I’m sorry for her crew; but they are in bad business.”
“Don’t yuh be too bloomin’ sorry for the filthy ’Uns,” growled Willum Johnson.
“Say, Big Bill,” sang out Frenchy, “don’t you be so bloodthirsty. You are a regular tiger—to hear you talk.”
“Don’t forget them school kids down there,” replied the man, shaking his head.
Whistler had hoped to put the memory of the innocents butchered by the Zeppelin out of his memory for a few minutes. He shuddered, and led the way into the head of one of the steep streets, lined on either side by white painted cottages.
The streets leading down to the harbor were so steep that Al said he always felt like putting out his hands to brace himself against the walls of the little houses as they went down.
The boys grew silent when they heard the weeping and wailing from inside the houses. Here the children had lived who were so mangled in the explosion of the Hun bomb. The destruction below in the middle of the town could not have been so bad, for there were few women and children there. This was not market day.
It scarcely seemed possible that the raid should have been accomplished and done so much damage ashore three hours before. The harbor lay peacefully enough now in the last light of the setting sun. The ships of the merchant fleet, all camouflaged most fantastically, lay swinging at their moorings. There were several gray cruisers and a number of destroyers, for this was a busy port. Both foodstuffs and troops were landed here. The destroyers were all so painted that one could scarcely be distinguished from another. Only the four Navy Boys knew just where theColodiawas anchored.
The party arrived at the admiral’s station and were stopped by the sentinel at the gate. The admiral was not at his desk, for he was out viewing the damage the bombs had done, and to interview the prisoners brought in.
But there was an officer who heard the boys’ report and thanked them for what they had tried to do. George Belding gave a complete description of the daring spy who had landed from the Zeppelin. It was pretty sure that he and Whistler Morgan would know the fellow if they ever came face-to-face with him again.
The ex-coster would have to face punishment when he got aboard his ship.
“Hit’s me for the dungeon,” was the way he expressed his expectation of spending some time in the ship’s brig. “Good-bye, lads,” he said on parting from the Americans. “Yuh’re a bloomin’ bunch o’ sports, that’s wot’ yuh his. There’s no manner o’ doubt you Hamericans is hall right.”
“And you are all right, Bill, when you are sober,” George Belding said rather grumpily. “I hope I’ll never meet you again when you have been indulging in liquor.”
He said this with feeling; but Big Bill only grinned. “You’ll ’ave to visit me haboard ship, lad,” he said, shaking his head. “Wot’s bred hin the bone his bloomin’ ’ard to change, hand don’t yuh forget hit!”
George Belding merely grunted. He was in no pleasant mood because of the “hick” costume, as Frenchy called it, which he was obliged to wear aboard ship. The ridiculous garments and shoes occasioned much hilarity when they reached theColodia’slaunch.
“Hey! what you got there? Going to bring a cow along for him to milk?” was the jocular demand.
Isa Bopp, who would never be anything but a greenhorn himself, no matter how long he was at sea, demanded:
“Where did you fellers pick up that farmer?”
“Farmer yourself!” whispered Ikey behind the sharp of his hand. “It’s the port admiral in disguise. He’s going aboard to see Commander Lang on a secret mission. Something big’s coming off, Isa.”
“There’ll be something big come off when he shucks them shoes,” chuckled Bopp.
Meanwhile Phil Morgan was explaining to the petty officer in charge of the launch just who George Belding was, and how he came to be without a uniform. Belding would otherwise have had trouble getting aboard theColodia, without his papers that the spy had run away with.
The loiterers were soon brought in by the guard and the launch put off for the destroyer. It was dark when they arrived at theColodia. Ensign MacMasters, the Navy Boys’ very good friend, was at the gangway, and he passed Belding on Whistler’s word. Phil and the new boy went at once to Commander Lang.
It was eight bells, and the anchor watch was just being mustered. There was no searchlight or signal drills on this evening because of the air raid. There might be other Zeppelins in the fog that hung over the sea.
The boys coming aboard at once swung their hammocks and had a chance before the first call at 8:55 to visit around with their friends and swap experiences. Of course, everybody was excited over the air raid; but nobody had been in the thick of it as had Philip Morgan and his chums.
As there is no smoking allowed below the main deck after 7:30 p. m. the lads could gather on the berth deck and talk until the first anchor watch was set. Then the thrill of the boatswain’s pipe called for silence on the berth deck and the boys that were not on watch or already in their hammocks prepared swiftly to be under covers when taps was sounded at five minutes past nine.
But on this night, almost immediately after nine o’clock, there was a chattering of the wireless. The boys on watch saw the messenger dash along the deck from the wireless station with the message for the commander.
A murmur passed from group to group about the main deck of the destroyer. It even seeped below, and the boys who were not yet asleep heard the whisper.
Orders! Something of moment afoot that had not been expected; for theColodiawas not supposed to leave port till the next day.
Whistler, whose watch it was, almost stumbled against Ensign MacMasters in the waist of the ship. It was the ensign’s own fault, for he was on the starboard side.
“Hello, my boy!” he said to Phil. “Heard the news?”
“I know there is news, sir,” said Whistler. “But I don’t know what it is.”
“You’ll all know soon. We’ll up anchor and sail in half an hour. Orders from the port admiral. He has got information from the prisoners that there may be another Zeppelin fallen in the sea outside. They saw her fall, and it may be possible for us to rescue some of her company.”
“More of the baby-killing Heinies?” exclaimed Whistler.
“Ah, well, we have to be merciful,” said the ensign. “They were obeying their orders. We must obey ours.”
“But you know, Mr. MacMasters,” said Morgan earnestly, “if our superiors ordered us to commit the crimes the Huns commit, there would be mighty few of us who would obey orders.”
“Aye, aye, my lad,” sighed the older man. “But remember we have not lived under Prussian masters all our lives. We have different teaching and different ideals, thank God!”
In ten minutes the whole ship’s company was making ready for departure.
For the most part the American destroyers on duty in British and French waters were doing patrol service, scouting over designated areas in quest of enemy submarines, meeting and escorting troop and merchant ships into port, and on occasion, when the S O S calls came, rushing to the aid of torpedoed or of mined craft.
Even during the short experience Philip Morgan and his chums had had on theColodia, they had often seen the wreckage-littered waters where ships had gone down and men and women had suffered exposure in lifeboats.
The destroyer had roared through the grey seas, in fog and gale and darkness, in answer to the tragic calls for help. Never, since men went down to the sea in ships, had there been such adventure on the waves as in those years of the World War.
For never before had the sharklike submarine abounded nor the airplanes swept overhead, both carrying death and destruction. When theColodialeft port her crew had small surety that they would return. This present night call was a new one for them.
The crew of the supposedly wrecked Zeppelin had been possibly five hours in the sea when the captured Germans told of their comrades’ fate. The British port admiral had communicated with Commander Lang within a few minutes of his hearing the tragic tale.
There was perhaps a particular reason why the order to find the wreck of the Zeppelin and her crew (if they were not drowned) was given to one of the American destroyers instead of to a British patrol boat.
After all, the Yankees could not feel the same degree of bitterness and hatred of the Hun and his works as the British sailor did. The murder of the school children and their teacher was known to every British sailor in the port. To their horror was added personal bitterness. And this order sent theColodiaon a mission of mercy!
“The best I can hope for them,” said Morgan to George Belding, who had been placed in Whistler’s watch and had donned such uniform as the master-at-arms could supply him, “is that they will all be comfortably drowned before we find any trace of the Zep. That maybe is wicked; but it is the way I feel.”
“That would be better than they deserve,” Belding agreed. “Just think what that spy did to me!”
He was still very much disturbed in his mind regarding the loss of his letters and valuable papers.
“Why, you can’t tell, Phil,” said he, “what the Huns might try to do. If they read father’s letters and learned about all that gold——”
“You really mean theRedbirdwill take out treasure to Bahia?” asked Whistler in great concern.
“Yes. More gold coin than there is any use talking about,” whispered Belding. “Father knew I would be interested in all the details, so he told me.”
“And my sisters and your mother and Lilian going along!” sighed Whistler.
“Nice mess, isn’t it?” groaned the other. “That spy will make use of the information sure!—if he can.”
“When will theRedbirdsail?”
“Next month, some time. Of course, I’ll try to send father word about this. But you know what the censor does to a fellow’s letters. And to cable would be worse.”
“Wait a minute!” cried Whistler. “That spy couldn’t benefit very well by the information himself. He’s here in England and your father’s ship will sail from New York, won’t it?”
“I suppose so. From ‘an Atlantic port.’ You know, that’s as near as they would let him tell in a letter. And don’t worry about the Huns not being benefited by the information. They’ll find some way. They have wireless stations along our United States coast. And every U-boat carries a wireless.”
“So do our subs,” Whistler rejoined. “But they are of small radius. The English coast is cleaned out of Hun radio stations.”
“They have ’em on the islands off Ireland and Scotland,” returned Belding. “That spy is some smart chap, Phil. I’m awfully worried. I’ll write father, of course, as clearly as the censorship will allow. But it may be too late. TheRedbirdmay have sailed—or a U-boat may sink the mail ship.”
“You don’t want to lose your courage over it,” advised the Seacove youth. “We mustn’t expect the worst. Of course, with Phoebe and Alice aboard I shall be worried until we hear that they have arrived safely at Bahia.”
“And it takes a long time for a sailing ship to reach that place from our North Atlantic seaports,” responded Belding.
They talked thus in whispers while hanging to a wire stay. TheColodiawas running without lights, every inboard lamp carefully screened, although the night was black. Before Whistler and Belding went off watch it had begun to rain, and a fierce, chill wind was blowing. The sea was beginning to kick up, and a sailor had to be a good acrobat to get into his hammock on the destroyer.
The new watch went on deck in rubber boots and slickers, and the gun crews, who were always on duty at sea, day or night, sought such cover as they could find. It was a nasty voyage, and they were not inspired with the thought that they might be able to save the Germans’ lives.
The bearings of the spot where the second Zeppelin had fallen had been given to the port admiral and by him transferred to Commander Lang with precision. It was a long run to this point, the boys knew. The destroyer could not possibly make the point indicated before daybreak.
Yet most of the younger members of the crew, whether it was their call or not, were up in season for five o’clock coffee. The excitement grew as the light became stronger and more could be seen of the gray, tossing sea.
It was a bad lookout for rescuing anybody. To put out a boat in such a sea would be a task that the hardiest of theColodia’screw shrank from. Now and then a comber rose over the destroyer’s rail and tried to wash her deck. But the thousand-ton fast steamer escaped most of these “old he waves” as Boatswain Hans Hertig called them.
Hertig was from Seacove, too, and was a particularly good friend of Whistler and his chums. “Seven Knott” was his nickname aboard theColodia, and the boys had had many adventures afloat and ashore in his company.
“I ain’t got much use for them squareheads,” Hans declared, “and after what they done back there, I dunno as these fellers, what would have done the same had they reached land, should be helped yet.”
“Not much likelihood of our finding them at all,” one of the other men said. “Ten hours in the water now! And the bag of the Zep is bound to fill with water and sink the whole framework. Those Heinies will be kicking about in pretty wet water.”
This was the attitude of most of the crew; yet there was great curiosity among them to see what was left of the Zeppelin that had fallen into the sea. Commander Lang conferred with the navigation officer and his other chiefs. TheColodiahad reached the spot indicated in their orders from the port admiral.
Now all they could do was to sweep in circles about the designated place and keep an extra sharp lookout.
In fact, every man who could get on deck was watching the tumbling seas for any sign of wreck or castaway. After all, as the minutes passed and nothing at all was descried where they had expected to find survivors of the Zeppelin, even the roughest members of the crew stopped growling about “the Heinies.”
It was one thing to give vent to the bitterness they felt against the Germans in speech, it was another thing to think of those fourteen or sixteen men struggling for so many hours in the icy water, and finally being drowned so miserably.
The hammock stowers had just stopped down the hammock cloths and the boys had got their mess gear preparatory for breakfast at 7:30 A. M. when there came a hail from the mast. One of the lookouts had descried something in the east. He pointed, and excitedly yelled his directions to the watch officer.
TheColodia’sengines began to speed up. When she went her full thirty-odd knots her hull shook as though she would rattle to pieces. The life of a destroyer in such work as theColodiahad been doing since she was launched, can be only a few months. Commander Lang was already talking to his officers of the time when she would have to be scrapped.
Meanwhile her record would amply repay the Navigation Bureau for building her. There was no doubt of that.
Now she pounded away at top speed for the point where the lookout had seen something afloat on the tumbling seas. All through this trip, not only the destroyer’s commander, but many of the more thoughtful members of the crew, had half suspected a German trick.
It would not be outside of possibility, or probability, for the crew of the Zeppelin brought down ashore to send a rescue ship to sea into a trap arranged with the usual German ruthlessness. It was possible that there had been no second Zeppelin at all, but that theColodiawas steaming at her best pace to a rendezvous with a U-boat prepared to torpedo her.
Tricks quite as vile had been played before by the Hun. Commander Lang, with his binoculars to his eyes, got the spot on the sea that the lookout had observed and kept his glasses trained there. It certainly was not a periscope they saw, yet it might be some wreckage held together for the special purpose of masking a periscope.
The gun crews were at their stations and the men handling the depth bombs were ready on either side, and fore and aft, to drop the deadly explosives if it was found that theColodiahad run into a trap.
The sharp hull of the three hundred foot destroyer cut through rather than rode the waves. She was seaworthy enough, but in a cross sea like this, she rolled and dipped tremendously, as well as bucking right through the combers after the fashion of a pilot fish. One had to be well seasoned to her habit to stand such a tumbling about as theColodiagave her crew.
If George Belding felt any qualms, he was able to repress them. He was a good sailor anyway, and having just come from a stiff cruise in the Bay of Biscay in his father’s transformed yacht, he proved himself to be a tolerable seaman.
Belding was a manly fellow without being as rough as many of the sailors. Like the four Navy Boys, he was greatly interested by the view they all acquired very soon of the floating débris that had first been spied from the mast. The distance being so great, they could not immediately be sure whether the wreck was that of a boat or an airship. It was at first merely a blotch of darker color on the tumbling grey sea.
“Looks more like a dead whale with a framework of scantling about it than anything else,” Ensign MacMasters told the boys.
“It might be a whale at that,” commented Al Torrance eagerly. “They say that many a whale has been killed by depth bombs.”
“Hi!” ejaculated Frenchy Donahue. “There’s a flag flying from a staff. I can see it.”
“No dead whale would be likely to fly a flag,” Whistler said, smiling.
“Commander Lang had better have a care,” grumbled George Belding. “This may be a trap, after all.”
TheColodiasteamed on at undiminished speed. The outlines of the wreckage grew clearer despite the raging rainstorms that swept now and then across the gray waves.
The vast hulk of a collapsed bag of silk cloth—it was never canvas—could have belonged to nothing but one of the German airships.
“Half sunken Zep, sure as you are a foot high!” declared Al Torrance.
“No argument on that score,” admitted another of the boys. “Do you suppose any of the poor chaps can be alive?”
“‘Poor chaps’ is good!” growled Al. “Like Willum, the coster, I don’t believe in wasting sympathy on ‘the ’Un.’”
The dashing rain and spray almost blinded at times theColodia’sboys, but they searched the remains of the wrecked dirigible keenly as the destroyer drew nearer.
Now and then a great wave dashed completely over the twisted framework and sprawling bag of silk cloth. And, yes! over several specks that were apparently lashed to the wreckage. These specks were bodies of men, whether dead or alive could not at first be decided with the wind driving the spindrift head-on.
Commander Lang discussed the situation with his chief officers amidships. How could they reach the wreck of the Zeppelin under such weather conditions as these? Scarcely could a boat live in such a sea!
“I’ll order no boat’s crew out into such a mess as that,” said the commander, with a gesture indicating the gray, leaping waves. “And I hate to ask for volunteers when those people out there are what they are. It is hardly possible for the boys to think of them as human beings. They are set aside from us; they belong to another race—a race that has shown neither mercy nor compassion.”
“It will have to be volunteers, if anybody,” said one of the other officers. “But I’ve a wife and children. If I am ordered, I’ll go. But no volunteering to get those Huns, for me!”
Among the crew the indications were that they felt about the same as the officers. Said Hans Hertig:
“Who would volunteer to save them squareheads yet? Not me!”
“What would they do if they were in our place?” another of the seamen asked. “They can watch women and babies drown! Why should we worry about them?”
“Because we’re Americans, I suppose,” said Al Torrance gravely. “It’s not done any more—not by real folks. Yankees to the rescue, old man! Somebody’s got to go and pick those Heinies off like ripe blackberries off the vine.”
But more than a few of the seamen shook their heads and said “Not me!”
Of course, volunteers had not yet been asked for, nor did anybody seem to know just what course should be pursued in striving to rescue the crew of the Zeppelin. Whistler Morgan and George Belding, standing well forward, looked long and earnestly at the imperiled men on the wreck, then they looked into each other’s faces.
“What do you think?” Belding asked, his lips making no sound that Phil Morgan could hear, but his words easily read by Whistler.
“If theColodiashoots beyond the wreck?” asked Whistler, moving his lips in the same way so that George could read what he said. “I could drift down to it with the current.”
“In a boat?” asked Belding doubtfully.
“With life buoys,” Whistler explained.
Belding understood the scheme and nodded. Whistler said:
“I’ll speak to Mr. MacMasters.”
He went aft immediately to find the ensign. Finding Belding close at his shoulder, Whistler said:
“You don’t need to get into this, George. What would your folks say?”
“Just about what yours will say if you chuck your life away for the sake of a lot of Heinies,” returned Belding briefly. “You can’t do it alone. It will take two of us to fasten each Heinie into the buoy so he can be dragged back to the ship.”
“You’ve got the right idea,” agreed Phil, and turned to speak to Mr. MacMasters.
“What do you two chaps want to do—throw your lives away for scum like them?” was the ensign’s first comment upon Whistler’s proposal.
MacMasters had risen from the forecastle himself, having won his billet by hard work. He was apt to look upon most things from the sailor’s standpoint. The crew of theColodiahad already seen enough of the despicable work of the Hun to hate almost with the intensity of Willum Johnson.
“They have to be saved, haven’t they?” Whistler asked quietly and respectfully.
“But why should you do it?” rejoined MacMasters, who really loved the lad and feared for his safety. “Those men over there are not worth it.”
“Weare worth it, sir,” put in George Belding with earnestness. “Phil has the right idea, and I want to help him. One fellow can’t do it alone, anyway.”
MacMasters threw up his hands in a helpless gesture. “Of course,” he grumbled, “I’ll take your proposal to Commander Lang,” and strode away toward the bridge.
Whistler’s suggestion was in line with what the chief officers had already seen must be done. “If those lads demand the privilege, I will not stop them,” said the Commander. “They are both smart and well set-up boys. But I wish some of the older men had come before them. In a case of this kind, it’s ‘first come, first served.’ Tell them to make ready, Mr. MacMasters. And I adjure you to take care that they have proper help.”
When Mr. MacMasters brought back the word Whistler Morgan and George Belding at once prepared to put their idea into practice. But theColodiahad yet to steam past the mass of wreckage that had been the Zeppelin. There were nine men lashed to the half sunken framework. Feeble gestures from some of the figures showed they were alive.
As the destroyer drew so near and the sorry state of the Germans was made apparent, the Americans grew silent. There were no more curses for the Huns. The most bitter suddenly thought of the castaways in different mood. Those were dying men lashed there to the sorry wreck of the Zeppelin.
Word swiftly passed all over the ship that Morgan and Belding were about to make an attempt to rescue those of the castaways who were still alive. Al Torrance came raving to his chum and wanted to know what it meant—why he was left out of it? If Whistler Morgan was going to risk his “fool neck to rescue a parcel of Huns, (so he put it) why couldn’t he be in it?”
“You can, old man,” said the wise Whistler. “You are just the fellow I want to hang on to the life buoy line and pay out for me. My life will be in your hands. Catch hold here!”
Al grumbled some, but did as he was bid. Cold as it was, the two boys making the attempt to reach the wrecked Zeppelin stripped to their underclothes. TheColodiahad passed the wreck, and now swerved so that the current would carry the two venturesome lads straight down upon the wreck.
The two buoys were flung overboard, and Morgan and Belding slipped down the ropes and plunged into the sea. The first shock of it was tremendous. It seemed as though the water would freeze the blood in their veins and the marrow in their bones.
But they cheered each other, each diving and coming up within the ring of the buoyant life buoy assigned him. Al and others payed out carefully but swiftly. All realized how icy the waters were. This rescue—if it was to be successful—must be made in quick time.
The two rescuers whirled down upon the wreck. The framework was raised high upon first one wave and then another. There was danger of its parting and carrying away the men lashed to it. Phil Morgan and Belding knew that they had to do their work swiftly if they would accomplish the task they had set out upon.
TheColodiawas drifting more than a cable’s length from the wreck of the German airship that had fallen into the sea. Philip Morgan and George Belding were some minutes in dropping down to the wreck, each upborne by his life buoy, the lines of which were payed out by their comrades on the destroyer’s deck.
The ropes soon grew very heavy and had the ship been much further away the two boys would have found the life rings of little aid to them. However, when the waves swept them against the twisted framework of the Zeppelin, they were still held well above the surface of the sea and were able to seize parts of the wreckage.
Whistler signaled those on theColodiato cease paying out. Then he turned to look up at the struggling men above his head. George Belding cried:
“All right, Phil?”
He bawled the query so loud that Whistler heard him above the noise of the sea and the creaking of the wreckage.
“Hunky-dory!” he returned. He pointed above, and Belding could easily read his lips: “Which of these Heinies shall we get first?”
One man was already letting himself down toward the rescuers. By the trimming on his uniform the American boys were positive he was an officer—perhaps the commander of the Zeppelin.
“Tell that fellow to pass down those who are injured,” Whistler yelled so that his friend could hear him. “I believe he’s going to try to hog one of these buoys!”
Belding put up a hand to stop the German. The latter addressed the two American lads in English.
“I am Herr Hauptman von Hausen. I am in command. Will your comrades draw me aboard in the bight of that rope?”
“Not now, mein Herr,” shouted Whistler. “You’ve got gall to want to leave your comrades who may be helpless! Get some of them down here—and have a care that you do help them, too, or I’m not so sure that you will ever get to the destroyer at all!”
“Impudence! I shall report you to your commanding officer,” declared the Zeppelin’s captain fiercely.
“Believe me!” exclaimed Whistler, “that will do you a lot of good. Look out for this fellow, George! Let’s see that he is hauled in last just for that.”
“I’m with you,” agreed the other American. “Can you reach that young chap just above your head? I believe he’s got a broken arm.”
Whistler had managed to climb out of the sea and stood upon one stay, clinging to another. Now he reached up to aid the fellow George Belding had spoken of. The German was no older than the lads from the destroyer—a thin, pale fellow, his face drawn with pain, and his left arm strapped clumsily to his side.
“He’s got a broken arm, all right,” Whistler shouted. “When I pass him down, George, do you unbuckle his belt and fasten him with it to the ring. Then he won’t be swept away, even if he has but one hand to cling with. All ready?”
“Here, you!” exclaimed Belding, addressing the “Herr Hauptmann” in no respectful tone. “Lend a hand, will you? If you don’t I’ll cut you adrift.”
Belding had out his knife to cut a lashing and he looked as though he would carry out his threat. The Zeppelin commander slid down the stay and aided in lowering the younger German out of the wreck.
In five minutes they had him lashed as Whistler suggested to the life buoy, and the young German was on his way to the destroyer. A third inflated ring had been floated down to the tangle of débris drifting in the rising sea. Both Morgan and Belding were aware that they must work rapidly if they would save those of the Germans who were still alive. The wreckage was shifting from moment to moment. One body suddenly plunged beneath the tossing waves, but the Americans knew that the victim was already dead.
The men beside the captain had cut themselves loose and crawled down to the level of the sea. These two the rescuers sent away clinging to one of the inflated rings, for they could both handle themselves pretty well. But they kept Commander von Hausen until the first life buoy was emptied and was sent back again,
The four bodies left above were not all of live men; the boys were sure of that. And when they had got the first quartette of castaways started for the destroyer, Belding climbed up to cut away the nearest man. He was very weak, and after he was loosened from the stays he proved to be unable to help himself.
The situation of the two boys from the destroyer was now becoming very precarious indeed. They could not hang on here for much longer themselves.
“One of us will have to go back with this fellow,” declared Belding. “You take him, Phil. I am in better shape than you are.”
“Who told you so?” demanded the Seacove boy. “You take him. I’ll get that other fellow up there and follow you. Al and the others are floating another buoy down to us.”
“No,” said Belding. “I’ll lash this fellow here and he’ll have to take his chance until we get his mate. Those two beyond are dead, aren’t they?”
“Sure,” returned Whistler. “Poor things! Just think of their hanging on here for so long.”
“Oh, yes,” growled Belding, but with some scorn. “You can see just how much good it’s done that captain.”
They were close together or they could not have heard each other speak. The wind shrieked and the waves roared, making a chorus of sounds that well nigh drowned their voices.
With great difficulty they brought the second man down. Then, having lashed each sufferer to a life buoy, Whistler Morgan and Belding set out to swim beside them to the destroyer.
The waves were much higher now and the two lads were not so strong as when they had come out to the Zeppelin. They never could have reached theColodiawithout help, and, withal, they were pretty well exhausted when they were drawn to the side of the pitching destroyer.
Cheers greeted them. The crew was generous always in acknowledging the individual bravery of its members. However, when it was all over and Phil and Belding had been treated by the doctor and were between blankets, Frenchy was inclined to “josh” a little.
“By St. Patrick’s piper that played the last snake out of Ireland!” he cried, “it will keep you broke for polish to shine up all your medals, Whistler. If Commander Lang reports this to the port admiral, you and Belding will get some junk to wear on the proud young chests of yez! And there’s the medal ye got, Whistler, for grapplin’ wid the depth bomb and sub chaser Three Eights!”
Whistler tossed a boot at his tormentor’s head, but Frenchy dodged it and escaped from the sick bay where the doctor had ordered Morgan and Belding to remain for the time being. They were kept there with the German lad with the broken arm until the next morning, when the friends were ordered to appear before Commander Lang. The latter said with a quizzical smile:
“I hear a bad report of you young chaps on one point. The Herr Hauptman Frederich Wilhelm von Hausen says you were not sufficiently respectful to him.”
“We weren’t, I guess,” admitted George Belding. “How about it, Phil?”
“I am afraid we did not pay sufficient attention to his High Mightiness, sir,” rejoined Morgan. “You see, sir, we sent the wounded boy over first. That captain was in too big a hurry.”
“Yes. Well,” drawled the commander, “I suppose I shall have to pass this complaint along to the proper authorities. But I believe I can congratulate you two lads on drawing down the United States gold life saving medal for your act.
“You, Belding, have made an excellent mark for yourself on joining theColodia. We already knew what sort of metal Morgan was built of. Thank you, my lads! If the surgeon gives you a true bill, you may turn to with your watches.”
The boys saluted and departed for their stations. The destroyer was making for port and the headlands were visible. But the storm had not blown over and the ship was rolling forty-five to fifty degrees. If an ordinary merchant ship rolls forty degrees her crew think that the end has come and they will be wrecked; forty degrees is ordinary for a destroyer to roll in the sea. Often moving about theColodiawas almost like climbing a sheer wall.
The two boys who had done so brave an act the day before were commended on all sides; but their mates’ approbation took the form of good natured joking, for which both Morgan and Belding were thankful.
They heard much comment regarding the German captives from the other members of the crew. Especially did they learn certain things about the youth with the broken arm whom they had first sent off to the destroyer from the wreck of the Zeppelin.
He was named Franz Eberhardt, and he was in the sick bay instead of being confined with the other prisoners. Hear Hans Hertig rail about him:
“That feller is a schmardie—one o’ them German schmardies what you hear about. I would like to have him workin’ on thisColodia. We would work some of the schmardness out of him yet.”
“What’s the matter with him, Boatswain?” demanded Al Torrance.
“Huh! He tells me the Germans ain’t begun to fight yet! Sure! They will lick all the world—let him tell it. He iss one Prussian.”
Phil Morgan got a chance to go down to the sick bay and interview the young prisoner. The latter knew that Morgan was one of those who had rescued him and his mates; but there was a certain arrogance about his manner and speech that was not likely to make him friends among his captors.
“Aren’t you worried about your position at all?” asked Whistler, when they had talked for some time.
“Me?” repeated the German in very good English. “Why should I fear? I am an Eberhardt. My uncle lived long in England and has friends there. I shall make friends. The English do not dare treat us Germans badly, for they know that in the end they will be beaten and we will punish them severely if they treat prisoners unkindly. Oh, yes!”
“Say!” drawled Whistler, “where do you get that stuff? You must have caught it from that von Hausen. He wanted to push you out of the way and take your place in the life buoy.”
“Yes,” admitted the German youth simply. “He isHauptman. Why not?”
“Good-night!” growled Whistler. “Our officers don’t do that. They would consider it beneath them to be saved before their crew.”
Eberhardt, who was sitting up, shrugged his shoulders. “Yes?” he repeated. “But of course, they are notgnädige Herren.”
“That means ‘noble sirs’,” scoffed Whistler. “No, thank heaven, we do not have such a caste as that in America!”
“You have some very rich men—very rich. I have heard my cousin Emil say. He knows many of them. Many are from German blood. Of course,whenwe finish the war, they will create a caste, as you call it, in your United States. Cousin Emil says——”
“Who is your Cousin Emil?” demanded Phil Morgan more amused than angered after all, by this kind of talk. “Is he in the States now?”
“Not yet,” said young Eberhardt, slyly looking at his inquisitor. “But he is going.”
“Before the war ends? Not much chance of that.”
“Poof!” rejoined the German youth. “You cannot stop Emil. What he wants to do, he does. He is a great man. He has been decorated by the Emperor.”
“What department does he fight in?”
“Ah, he is greater than a fighter,” said young Eberhardt, shaking his head. “He goes hither and yon—where he chooses. In France, England, Italy, and now to your country, America.”
“A spy?” growled Morgan.
“Call him as you like. Cousin Emil is a wonderful man. Why, to fly from our bases in Belgium to this England is nothing to Cousin Emil. He has so traveled a dozen times. But this was my first trip.”
“You were not traveling with your cousin in that Zep, were you?”
“Ah, no. You say our sisterLuftshiff—she is fallen?”
“Smashed all to pieces,” declared Whistler with satisfaction. “And her crew prisoners—all but one.”
“Ah!” breathed Eberhardt, slyly smiling again. “And he who escaped?”
“What do you know about him?” asked Whistler in surprise. “That fellow is a spy I bet! He was not a regular member of the Zep’s crew.”
“No? You saw him?”
“Yes.”
“Is he a man with a very sharp eye, a moustache like our Emperor, a tiny beard here?” touching his lower lip.
“That’s the fellow!” cried Whistler. “Do you mean to say he is your cousin Emil, and a spy?”
“Oh, no, my friend,” chuckled the “schmardie.” “Oh, no. I do not say that. I merely say that man with the little beard on his lip—a goatee, do you call it?—plays the cornet. You know, most cornet players wear the little goatee, isn’t it so?”
Eberhardt laughed again and wagged his head, refusing to say more. As for thanking Whistler for what he and Belding had done toward saving his life, such a thought never seemed to enter the German youth’s mind.
Phil Morgan, on thinking over the conversation with Franz Eberhardt, was not at all sure that he should have discussed the wreck of the other Zeppelin so freely with the prisoner. Yet Eberhardt was a prisoner, and was not likely to be in a position to use any information he might have gained to benefit his nation for a long time to come. If Eberhardt’s cousin was a spy, perhaps this young chap was one too.
The hint Franz had dropped about the man who had escaped from the Zeppelin that had been brought down on land, Whistler passed on, through the proper channels, to the commander of the destroyer. He could do no more than that. Possibly the man who had tied up George Belding and escaped in the latter’s clothes, might be the “Cousin Emil” of whom Franz was so proud.
TheColodiasteamed into the port at which she was stationed to find the convoy and most of the naval vessels cleared out to accompany the merchant craft. The American destroyer would be held for any emergency call and there would be no present shore leave for her crew.
Phil received a long letter, one long delayed, from his sister Alice. The whole story of how the Beldings had come to invite Whistler’s two sisters to accompany them to Bahia was here set forth, and the young fellow’s mind was much relieved when Alice assured him that even the suggestion of the voyage had so delighted Phoebe that she already showed improvement in her health.
Kind words from many neighbors and friends were included in the letter for the other Seacove boys. Of course, Alice did not know at the time of writing that George Belding was booked for a billet on theColodia, too, or she would have sent a message to him.
No thought that theRedbirdmight come to grief on her voyage to the South American port seemed to trouble Alice Morgan’s mind when she wrote to her brother. At that time it was thought all German raiders and U-boats were driven from the Western Atlantic waters.
However that might be, the Huns were active enough in the waters through which theColodiaplied. It was only two days after Whistler and George Belding had saved the living remainder of the Zeppelin crew when an S O S call was picked up by the port wireless station and transmitted to the destroyer. It was possible that the ship in peril was too far away for theColodiato be of service; nevertheless she started out of the harbor within ten minutes of the reception of the aero plea for help.
The weather was rough, and the ship barely dropped the headlands below the horizon at sunset. They were bound, doubtless, on a useless night trip. And yet, such ventures were a part of the work of the destroyers and must be expected by their crews.
When night had fallen there was only a pale radiance resting on the sea while broken wind clouds drove athwart a gray and dreary sky. No stars were visible. From behind the weather screen of the bridge, where the two watch officers were stationed, nothing could be seen ahead but the phosphorescent flash of waves otherwise as black as ink. These flashes, where the waves broke at their crests, decreased rather than aided the powers of vision.
The crew of theColodiawere by this time so well used to their work that there were few false alarms as the ship tore on through the dark seas. Such errands as this were part of the expectation—almost of routine. The destroyers at night fairly “smelled” their way from point to point.
Now and then a porpoise shot straight toward theColodia, leaving a sparkling wake so like that of a torpedo that the lookout might be excused for giving a mistaken warning. But the men knew the real thing now, and the gunners did not bang away at fish or floating débris as they had in the beginning.
“Why, even Isa Bopp has not for a long time raised a flivver,” said Al Torrance, discussing this matter with George Belding and Whistler. “And Ikey has stopped straining his eyes when he’s off duty. One time he would have hollered ‘wolf’ if he’d seen a dill pickle floating three hundred yards off our weather bow.”
“That’s all right,” said Whistler. “But Ikey won the first gold piece for sighting a German sub when he first went to sea on this old knife-blade. He’s got eyes for something besides dill pickles, has Ikey.”
The crackling radio was intercepting messages from other ships—all kinds of ships. The S O S call was no longer being repeated; but theColodia’sofficers had learned the position of the vessel that called for help at the start, and the destroyer did not swerve from her course. She roared on through the dark sea directly for the spot indicated.
“There’s nothing fancy in this job, George,” Phil Morgan said to their new chum. “Nothing like a good, slap-dash battle with the Hun fleet, such as we had a few weeks ago, or even chasing a Hun raider out of Zeebrugge, or Kiel. But the oldColodiahas had ‘well done’ signaled her by the fleet admiral more than once.”
“You bet!” Al Torrance put in. “We’ve sunk more than one of the U-boats. We’re one of ‘the terrors of the sea,’ boy—like the song tells about. That is what they call our flotilla.”
“Ah! I’ve heard all that before,” Belding said, in some disgust. “I want to see action!”
As it chanced, he saw action on this very cruise. First, however, came the conclusion of the incident that had brought them out of port, chasing a phantom S O S.
A light burning low on the water was spied about ten o’clock. It could be nothing but an open boat, and theColodia’sprow was turned more directly toward it. The sea was really too rough for a submarine to be awash, yet the Huns had been known to linger in the vicinity of their victims so as to catch the rescuing vessel unaware. A sharp lookout was maintained as theColodiasteamed onward.
The torch in the open boat flared and smoked, while the boat pitched and tossed—seemingly scarcely under command of its crew. There was no sign of any other craft in the vicinity. The signal from the attacked ship having stopped hours before, without much doubt she had sunk.
And but one boat remained!
The destroyer sped down within hailing distance of the open boat, burning signals of her own meanwhile. Getting on the weather quarter of the castaways, the latter were ordered to pull to theColodia.
The boat held only nineteen survivors of theNewcastle Boy, a collier that had been torpedoed by a submarine. There had been a second boat, and both had been shelled after the collier sank, and the mate, who was in command of these rescued castaways, feared his captain’s boat was utterly lost. Had the sea not been so rough, he said, the Germans would have succeeded in sinking his boat, too.
Whistler was on duty amidships and he overheard much of the report made by the collier’s mate to Lieutenant Commander Lang and the conversation among the officers thereon.
He was particularly impressed by the inquiries the destroyer’s commander made regarding the nature of the attack, the type of U-boat that did the deed, and similar details.
A close track was kept of all these submarine attacks. The methods of certain submarine commanders could usually be traced. These reports were kept by the British Admiralty and were intended, at the end of the war, to assist in identifying U-boat commanders who had committed atrocities. Those men should, in the end, not escape punishment for their horrid crimes.
This attack upon theNewcastle Boyhad been particularly brutal. There were four wounded men in the mate’s boat. If the captain’s boat were lost, the missing would total twenty-six.
TheColodia, swinging in wide circles through the rough sea, remained near the scene of the catastrophe until morning. They discovered no trace of the sunken ship, although the mate declared she had gone down within a mile of the spot where the destroyer had picked up the survivors.
But at daybreak the watchful lookouts did spy a broken oar and part of the bow of the captain’s lifeboat—its air-compartment keeping it afloat. No human being was there to be seen, and the conclusion was unescapable that the Hun had done his best to “sink without trace” another helpless boat’s crew.
It was mid-afternoon, however, before theColodialeft the vicinity of the tragedy. There was a desire in the hearts of her crew and officers to sight the submarine that had committed this atrocity.
Finally, however, the American naval vessel was swung about for port and began to pick up speed. These destroyers never seem to go anywhere at an easy pace; they are always “rushed” in their schedule.
Having given up hope of catching the particular submarine that had sunk theNewcastle Boy, theColodia’slookouts did not, however, fail to watch for other submersibles. Men stationed in the tops, on the bridge, and in both bow and stern, trained keen eyes upon the surrounding sea as the destroyer dashed on her way.
Ikey Rosenmeyer and his special chum, Frenchy Donahue, were in the bows on watch. Even those two “gabbers,” as Al Torrance called them, knew enough to keep their tongues still while on duty; and nobody on the destroyer had keener vision than Ikey and Frenchy.
Almost together the two hailed the bridge:
“Off the port bow, sir!” while Ikey added “Starboard your helm!”
A great cry went up from amidships. TheColodiaescaped the object just beneath the surface by scarcely a boat’s length. Men sprang to the depth-bomb arms and the crews to their guns.
But it was not a submarine. A great wave caused by the swift shifting of theColodia’shelm, brought the object almost to the surface.
“A mine!” roared the crew.
The destroyer’s speed was slackened instantly. She swung broadside to the menace. A few snappy commands, and two of the deck guns roared.
Instantly a geyser of water and smoke rose from the sea. The explosion of the mine could have been seen for many miles. Had the destroyer collided with it——
“We’d have gone to Davy Jones’ locker, sure enough, fellows,” said Al Torrance. “Those mines the Huns are sowing through these seas now would blow up the Brooklyn Bridge. Suppose theLeviathan, troop ship, scraped her keel on that thing?”
There was much discussion all over the destroyer about the mine. It suggested that the submarine that had sunk theNewcastle Boymight be a mine-sower. That fact would help identify the submarine, for all types of German submersibles are not fitted with mine wells.
“You see how it is, George,” said Phil Morgan to their new chum. “These seas around here are just as safe as a powder factory—just about! How does it make you feel?”
“Pshaw!” returned Belding, “didn’t I tell you we almost caught a sub when I was out on theSirius? I don’t believe the Heinies have got so many of ’em, after all.”
“Never you mind,” said Whistler. “They’ve got enough if they have but one, believe me! Just think how we fellows used to gas about submarines and all that. Before the war, I mean! We never dreamed any country would use them as the Germans have.”
The tone of the whole crew after the narrow escape from the mine was intense. They were on the lookout for almost anything to happen. Before mid-afternoon, while still out of sight of land, the top hailed the deck officers.
“Steamer in sight, sir!”
The position and course of the stranger was given, and immediately everybody who had glasses turned them in the indicated direction. The destroyer’s course was changed a trifle, for everything that floated on the sea was examined by the Allied patrol.
Soon the high, rusted sides of an ancient tramp steamship hove into the view of all. She was a two-stack steamer, and despite her evident age and frowsiness she was making good time toward the Thames.
“Taking a chance,” Ensign MacMasters said to Whistler and his friends. “That is what she is doing. She’s not even camouflaged. Her owner has found some daredevil fellows to run her and will make a fortune in a single voyage—or lose the ship, one or the other. Great gamblers, some of these old ship owners.”
“Gamblers with men’s lives,” said George Belding. “I should know. My father is in the business; but he does not take such chances as that.”
“Not even with theRedbird?” whispered Whistler anxiously. “I don’t know about Phoebe and Alice sailing on her.”
“Oh, pshaw! there’s no danger over yonder,” declared George. “We’ve driven all the Huns from the Western Atlantic.”
“Hope so,” returned Whistler.
Just then a cry rose from some of the men on deck. The destroyer was near enough to the tramp steamship now to observe what went on aboard of her. They saw men running about her deck. Then followed the “Bang! Bang! Bang!” of her deck guns.
The guns were aimed for the far side of the tramp—the object they were aiming at being out of sight. But the destroyer’s crew knew what that fusillade meant.
“A sub! She’s got a sub under her guns!” was the yell that rose all over theColodia.
Swift orders from the bridge and instantly the destroyer shot ahead like a mettlesome horse under spur and whip.
If action was what George Belding craved, he was getting it. Everybody aboard the United States destroyerColodiawas on the alert as the craft leaped ahead to full speed for the spot where the rusty-sided tramp steamship was popping away with her deck guns at some object as yet not in view from the destroyer.
The merchant ship was being conned on a zig-zag course, evidently in an attempt to dodge an expected torpedo. Her hull hid whatever she was shooting at from the crew of theColodia; but the latter did not doubt the nature of the big ship’s erratic course.
At top speed theColodiarushed to the fray, and on suddenly rounding the stern of the tramp, a great shout rose from the boys ranged along the destroyer’s rail:
“There she is!”
The cry was drowned by the salvo of guns discharged at the conning tower of the German submersible not more than a thousand yards from the tramp ship. The position of the German craft had been excellent at first for a shot at the merchant vessel; but her first torpedo had evidently missed its objective. Now with the destroyer in view, the Hun let drive a second missile and then began to submerge.
The torpedo’s wake could be seen by the lookouts on theColodiathe instant it left its tube. The tramp vessel evaded the explosive; but the destroyer was directly in the torpedo’s path.
There was real danger at this moment. Quickly swerved as she might be, it was not at all sure that theColodiacould escape the torpedo. Every man and boy aboard was at his station; among them Al Torrance was placed at the starboard rail. He was armed, like many of his mates, with a rifle.
As the destroyer shot across the path of the torpedo Torry fitted the butt of his rifle into the hollow of his shoulder, huddled his cheek against the stock, and brought the cross-sights of the rifle full upon the sharklike projectile.
The rifle report was almost instantaneous with the roar of the torpedo. The latter blew up not twenty yards from the destroyer’s rail!
“Hi! Hi! Hi!” yelled the mates of the keen-sighted Torrance.
“Well done!” called the officer of the watch through his megaphone. “Well done, Torrance!”
The whole crew cheered again, and Al’s flaming face acknowledged their appreciation. Mr. MacMasters came quickly to wring the lad’s hand in appreciation.
“Good for you, Torrance,” he said. “Your name goes down on the log for that.”
“Aw, she wouldn’t have hit us anyway,” said Al, quite overcome by so much praise.
“Never mind. It showed accurate marksmanship and good work, too. Those autoprojectiles are dangerous to leave drifting about the seas. You get a good mark, my boy.”
Meanwhile theColodia, swerving not a hair from her course, reached and overran the spot where the submersible had sunk. The order rang out and the depth bomb was dropped. Then the destroyer scurried out of the way to escape the effect of the deep-down explosion.
Up from the depths rose a mound of muddy water. It rose twenty feet above the surface, and the spray shot twice as high. The thundering explosion shook the running destroyer in every part. The effect of the discharge upon what was under the sea must have been terrible.
Half a mile away theColodiaswerved and circled, to pass again over the spot where the bomb had been dropped. The boys leaned over the rails to watch for anything in the water that might prove that the submarine had been wrecked. There was not a bit of wreckage; but suddenly Ikey Rosenmeyer shrieked:
“Oil! Oil! Oh, bully! Oil!”
A roar of other voices took up the cry. Great bubbles of oil rose to the surface. TheColodiapassed over a regular “slick” of fluid that could mean nothing but that the tanks of the submersible had been ripped open by the explosion of the depth bomb.
Morgan found George Belding standing beside him and looking back at the oil-streaked waves with a very serious visage.
“What’s on your mind?” asked the Seacove lad.
“It seems terrible, doesn’t it, Phil?” said Belding. “All those fellows! Gone likethat!” and he snapped his fingers.
“Well,” returned Whistler, “you wanted action, didn’t you? Now I guess you’ve had enough for a while.”
“I believe you,” agreed his friend solemnly.
But the work and life of the boys on the destroyer was not altogether made up of such scenes and incidents as these that have been related. Just at this time the troop ships were coming across from America in great convoys and theColodiasometimes had less than half a day in port between trips. Four or five hours ashore in the English port, or at Brest where the greater number of ships from America landed their freight and human cargoes, was the utmost freedom that the Navy Boys and their mates secured.
There were extra calls, now and then, like these which have been related herein. When an S O S call is picked up by shore or ship radio, every Naval vessel within reach is sure to make for the point of peril.
The life was not altogether exciting, however, for there were many days of tedious watching and waiting in which it seemed that the Hun boats had all scurried back to their bases and the patrols scarcely raised a porpoise, much less one of the “steel sharks of the sea.”
At Brest, well along in the month following the introduction of George Belding to theColodia, the young fellow from New York got a cablegram from his father mentioning the date of theRedbird’ssailing for Bahia with his own family and Philip Morgan’s sisters aboard.
Whether the treasure of gold coin was to be part of the ship’s burthen or not, the cablegram did not state. George had written his father about his lost letters and papers and of the probability that the knowledge of the treasure would reach those Germans who would consider the ship bound for South America, and all she carried, their legitimate prey.
If information of the treasure of gold coin had been sent by the spy from the Zeppelin to his associates in the United States, there might be already afoot a plot to get possession of Mr. Belding’s gold. The boys of theColodiahad not heard of the capture of the spy who had disappeared in George Belding’s uniform. Much as they had inquired in England, they had been able to learn absolutely nothing.
Phil Morgan had even been to see Franz Eberhardt at the port hospital where the young German was confined while his arm was being skilfully treated by the English surgeons. Later the German youth had been taken to an internment camp in one of the back shires. Before he had gone Whistler had tried to get him to talk again about “Cousin Emil.” But Franz had become wary.
He was no longer acting “the schmardie,” as Hans Hertig had called him. He had begun to see something of England and had learned something of the character of the English. To be a prisoner, and well treated as he was, was a much more serious situation than had at first appeared.
But he refused to say anything at all of Cousin Emil. Whether it really was Franz Eberhardt’s cousin with whom the Navy Boys and “Willum” Johnson had had their adventure, the fact remained that as far as the boys knew, a German spy was at large in England, And he had information in his possession that might possibly injure Mr. Belding and his affairs.
The Seacove boys were all now interested in the sailing of theRedbird. If Whistler’s two sisters alone had been sailing for Bahia the others would have felt a personal anxiety in the matter.
“Wish the oldColodiawas going to convoy thatRedbird,” Al Torrance said. “Eh, fellows?”
“By St. Patrick’s piper that played the last snake out of Ireland!” declared Frenchy Donahue, “’twould be the foinest of luck if she was.”
“Oi! oi! Ain’t it so?” murmured Ikey. “And that Alice Morgan such a pretty girl! I hope thatRedbirdgets to Bahia safe.”
“As far as we can hear,” said Whistler cheerfully, “there are neither submarines nor raiders now in the Western Atlantic. They seem to have been chased out, boys.”
This supposition, however, did not prove to be founded on fact; for on the very next occasion that theColodiawas in the French port, Brest, there was much excitement regarding a new German raider reported to have got out of Zeebrugge and run to the southward, doing damage on small craft along the French coast. This was before the British Captain Carpenter with theVindictivebottled up that outlet of German ships.
Some denied that it was a raider at all, but a big, new submarine that was built with upperworks to look like a steam carrier when she was on the surface. However, she had a name, it being theSea Pigeon, instead of a letter and number. The whole fleet of destroyers was soon on the lookout for this strange vessel, and the American commanders offered liberal rewards to the owners of the sharp eyes who first spotted the new Hun terror of the seas.
TheColodiawent to sea to meet a new convoy from America, “all set” as the boys said, to make a killing if they ran across theSea Pigeon.
“Well, we got theGraf von Posen,” Ikey Rosenmeyer said, with cheerful optimism, “so why not this herePigeonship? We’re the boys that bring home the bacon, aren’t we?”
“Aw, Ikey!” groaned Frenchy Donahue. “Can’t you ever forget you were brought up in a delicatessen shop? ‘Bring home the bacon,’ indade!”