To Ted it seemed as though he were following the mandate of some madman as he emerged from the conning tower and, grasping the periscope pole, steadied himself a moment before leaping down on deck. But, being a loyal son of Uncle Sam, and realizing that the first requisite of a sailor was to take orders implicitly from his officers, he sprang nimbly on deck, rushed along the inclined steel plane, and as he came splashing into the water that washed over the bow, flung himself into the sea.
"I'll trust to 'Little Mack'," he said to himself.
Coming up to the surface he veered off sharp to theDewey'sstarboard and with long strokes pulled himself into the shadow of the partially submerged submarine. The life-belt held him secure in the water and he floated at ease.
Ted turned his attention toward theDewey.
There, he saw, his example was being followed by other members of the crew. As their names were called off by their commander a number of the crew leaped overboard.
One stood up on the rim of the conning tower and dived away from the glare of the enemy searchlights into the black shadows of the submarine. Suddenly the aft hatch was thrown open directly above the engine room and in a moment several begrimed members of the engine crew scrambled up the ladder in quick succession and threw themselves into the sea. The enemy had ceased firing.
"What does it all mean?" pondered Ted as he floated, watching the graphic picture.
Unable to solve the problem for himself, he turned his attention to the nearest man in the water. He swam now only a few strokes away. With little effort Ted drew up to him. It was Bill Witt.
"Reckon they rammed a shot into her," yelled Bill as they beheld their ship sinking gradually.
"Looks that way, doesn't it?" answered Ted
The stricken submarine was gradually going down. McClure was there in the conning tower, of course; that old tradition of the sea, about every skipper going down with his ship, held true in the case of a submarine as well. Jack was there, too, in all likelihood; he had been standing by his commander as Ted and Bill hurried up to hurl themselves from the deck. Ted gulped as he thought of his chum. Was it all over with Jack? Would the Germans rescue the American lads bobbing about in the water?
In another moment theDeweywas completely under, leaving many of her crew floating in the open sea, at the mercy of their enemies.
"Tough luck!" stammered Ted as he linked arms with Bill over their life-belts.
Bill was dauntless even in the face of death.
"You never can tell," he said. "I am guessing that 'Little Mack' has another card up his sleeve."
Down in the turret of the submergedDeweyan extraordinary scene was being enacted. McClure, Cleary and Jack were standing together as the vessel glided away under the water.
"It worked—-it worked!" shouted the young lieutenant as he ordered the submerging process discontinued and theDeweyheld on an even keel.
"What worked?" gasped his dazed executive, who had yet to grasp the significance of his commander's action in ordering members of the crew overboard.
"Why, don't you see? Those Germans think they sank us. When they saw our boys leaping into the water they took it for granted one of their shots had landed and we were done for. They think the boys leaped overboard to escape death in the hold of a mortally wounded Yankee. And here we are, safe and sound, under the water!"
"But what about those fellows swimming around up there?" asked Jack in startled tones.
"We'll go back and get them in a few minutes after we've tended to this Prussian gentleman that we hypnotized," shot back his commander, as his jaw squared and his eyes flashed.
Jack and Officer Cleary stared at each other.
"Well, of all the nerve!" gasped Cleary.
"Great Scott, man! it takes a real honest-to-goodness Yankee like you to get away with such a trick."
Veering off to port, the skipper steered a straight course for several hundred yards. Then theDeweycut out into a short half circle and in another moment came to a stop sixty-five feet below the surface.
"Put her up," came the order to the navigating officer at the ship's air pumps.
There was an interval of strained silence as the commander waited until the eye of the periscope had cleared the spray that dashed against the glass.
"There they are!" he announced. "Light still turned on the spot where we went down a minute or so ago. Guess they are waiting to see whether we really are done for."
A signal to theDewey'sengine rooms put the vessel in motion just long enough for her commander to turn the nose of the craft slightly to starboard, and then the submarine rested quietly again.
"Friends, Americans, and fellow patriots: my compliments to the Imperial German Navy," began "Little Mack" as he leaned forward to touch off a torpedo—-and there was a rare smile on his lips.
For an instant theDeweyquivered as the torpedo shot from the bow of the submerged ship and raced away under the water. Her commander hugged the periscope glass and watched for developments.
"Got him!" he shouted excitedly, dancing about wildly on the grating of the conning tower. "It's a hit beyond all doubt. We struck her almost amidships."
The German vessel had been dealt a deathblow. She was sending up distress signals.
"She's afire now and can't last long," mused theDewey'scommander as he continued to survey the ship in distress. "Her magazines will go in a minute."
The chief concern of theDeweynow was the reclaiming of her sailors from the sea.
There was little likelihood of gun fire from the sinking German warship. Her crew were bent on launching lifeboats and getting away before the final plunge that would carry the ship down to the bottom. Accordingly, the Yankee submarine came to the surface and commenced preparations for the rescue of her own crew. Lights were hung at the mastheads fore and aft and a huge searchlight hurriedly adjusted on the forepart of the conning tower and the electrical connections made amidships.
Out of the mist that overhung the sea burst forth suddenly a great glare. Through the fog loomed a white mass of flame like the blast of a thousand furnaces, with tongues of fire piercing the night gloom. The sea was rocked by an explosion that reverberated over the waters like the crash of a million guns and tossed the submarine like a piece of driftwood.
"One less warship for the Kaiser's navy," remarked McClure.
"And all because of your rare cunning, old boy," countered his executive enthusiastically.
Out of the darkness came a shout for help close at hand. Switching the searchlight in the direction of the cry, Commander McClure beheld a head bobbing in the water only a few yards away. It was one of his own crew, one of the electrician's helpers who had gone overboard with the rest in the mad scramble to outwit the Germans. In a few minutes he was hauled aboard, dripping wet, his teeth chattering from the exposure in the water.
"They are all around here," the boy chattered. "We managed to keep pretty close together in the water."
McClure grasped his hand.
"You are a brave lad," he said. "Every man of you has proved his mettle by taking a daring chance. Go below now, son, get into warm clothing and gets something hot to drink."
Coasting to and fro in the water, scanning the sea now to the right, now to the left, theDeweycontinued the search for her crew.
Singly, in twos, and in one case three, men were picked up until it seemed to the commander that every boy who had gone overboard had been reclaimed from the sea.
"Call the roll below decks," the commander instructed his executive officer. Jack and his commander remained in the conning tower still operating the searchlight.
In a few minutes Officer Cleary returned.
"All safe?" asked "Little Mack."
"No; two still missing," was the executive officer's reply.
"Who are they?" McClure queried.
"Ted Wainwright and Bill Witt," came the answer.
Jack's knees sagged for a moment and it seemed his heart stood still.His old Brighton chum and good old Bill Witt still unaccounted for!Out there in the dark and the water somewhere they were floating alone!
Then he heard "Little Mack" speaking.
"We'll stay right here until we find them," he was saying.
Megaphones were brought on deck and theDewey'sofficers began calling into the darkness of the sea. Another searchlight was run up through the stern hatch and affixed aft to sweep the sea from that end of the vessel. For a time there was no response to their calls; then, when it seemed that all hope had fled, there came a hoarse cry, now seeming far away, now closer and louder.
"Something there to starboard just off our bow!" shouted Jack, who had climbed up on the conning tower.
McClure directed that both searchlights be flashed in the direction of the muffled calls and was rewarded by the faint outlines of a small boat buffeted about in the water like a cork.
"Well, they are not our boys," said theDewey'sskipper listlessly.Then, taking Jack's megaphone, he shouted: "Who are you?"
A tail, gaunt figure loomed up in the bow of the lifeboat. He was waving a life-belt frantically with an appealing gesture for aid.
"Survivors from der German gunboat Strassburg," came the reply in broken English.
McClure ordered them to come alongside and cautioned his men to be on guard against any surprise attack.
Out of the gloom came the lifeboat like a weird specter, propelled by the sweeping oars of half a dozen frantically working seamen. It was crowded with a motley crew of bedraggled sailors. They presented a pitiable spectacle as their craft slowly made its way toward theDeweyand into the bright rays from the searchlights.
"We have two of your men in here," shouted the leader of the party, who was evidently an officer of the sunken warship. At the same time two boys well to the stern waved their arms frantically toward the group on the conning tower of theDewey.
"Here I am, Jack, and Bill Witt is right with me," came the familiar voice of Ted Wainwright.
"Hurrah!" the cry arose from the deck of the American submersible. Overcome with joy, Jack could scarce restrain his emotions as he clutched the periscope pole and shielded his eyes with his other hand to make sure that his ears had not deceived him. Yes, it was Ted—-and there was Bill just behind him!
Making its way clumsily forward, the boat finally drew up alongside.Willing hands helped Ted and Bill up the steep side of theDeweyand they were tendered such a reception as they had never known before.Then ensued a parley between the petty officer of the sunken gunboatStrassburg and the commander of theDewey.
"We are very happy to be your prisoners, under the circumstances," began the German officer in his best English.
"I thank you for rescuing my men," said McClure. "Sorry I can't take you aboard, but I'll tow you to the Dutch coast or transfer you to the first inbound trader. Satisfactory?"
"Thank you, sir," said the German.
Before making fast the towline from the lifeboat to the stern of theDeweyfor the journey toward the coast McClure had Jean Cartier and his commissary assistant bring up pots of steaming hot coffee and dole it out to the forlorn Teutons.
Jack went below with Ted and Bill Witt to hear the story of their escape. It appeared that they had floated around together in the dark; had witnessed the sinking of the gunboat Strassburg and, when it went down, had been caught in the swell of the water and carried far from the lights of theDewey. They had seen the submarine when it turned on its powerful searchlights.
"Bill and I thought we were done for," said Ted between gulps of coffee. "We had just about given up for good. We tried to swim, but our clothes and the life-belts weighed us down, and our legs and arms were so cramped we couldn't make any headway. Then while we were trying to keep our eyes on the faint lights of theDewey, what should we see but a boat steering right at us! Without any words, the Germans stooped right down and dragged us into their boat. None of us could see each other very well, but we soon made out they were Germans. They discovered our nationality about the same time and they wouldn't believe us when we told them we were from the U.S. submarine that had sunk them."
"Did they try anything rough on you?" put in Jack.
"No," continued Ted, "they were so thankful to be in that boat instead of floundering in the sea they didn't care much about anything else. When we told them our vessel was somewhere close by they wouldn't believe it until we showed them the faint streaks of light from theDeweythrough the fog. Then Bill Witt told them they would stand a better chance for their lives if they got in touch with the American submarine. They parleyed a while over that and finally decided they would take Bill's tip. That's how we got up within range of you fellows and got back here again. We might have floated around all night and been picked up in the morning and then again we might not."
"Well, I'm glad you're back again, chum," added Jack with an affectionate hug. He now hurried back to the conning tower to be within call of his commanders. TheDeweywas headed due east; running on the surface, with her boatload of prisoners trailing behind.
Two hours' running brought theDeweywithin the ten-mile zone of the Dutch coast, and suddenly she ran into the hail of a huge brigantine that appeared to be becalmed. She lay quiet in the water without a tangible sign of life except her binnacle lights.
Watchful against any deception, McClure ordered the gun crews on deck and the "Twins" ready for action. Then he challenged the sailing craft.
The answer came in German. Likely the watch thought his vessel had been approached by a U-boat of the Central Powers. Challenged again in English, the fellow went below and returned in a moment with an English-speaking companion. Lieutenant McClure briefly made known his desire to turn over the German prisoners.
"But we don't want them," came the reply.
Jack and Ted, standing out on deck together, grinned. This seemed so unlike Dutch hospitality.
"Holland doesn't seem to be so fond of Germans, does she?" joked Jack.
"Can't much blame them," Ted replied soberly. "They have enough mouths of their own to feed without any more outsiders."
Lieutenant McClure insisted, however, on putting the Germans aboard the brigantine and finally won out. The lifeboat went alongside and theDeweystood by until every Teuton had climbed up the side.
"Auf Wiedersehen and thank you, sir," called the German officer as theDeweybacked away and turned her nose out to sea again.
The days that followed were crowded with colorful incidents for the band of Americans aboard the gallant little submarine. With the arrival of Uncle Sam's submarines in the North Sea and their active participation in the warfare against the Imperial German Navy the forages of the cruiser and destroyer raiders out of Wilhelmshaven and other German ports were decreasing in number.
The Belgian coast is but forty-two miles long, extending from Zeebrugge at the northern extremity to Ostend—-the Atlantic City of Belgium—-at the south, but there are a number of tiny harbors along the strip of coastline, and these were infested by the light draft German warships, particularly the destroyers. The American submarines in particular were directing their attention toward these destroyers and seeking to kill them off as they dashed out of their "fox holes" for flying attacks against the allied navies.
One night, after a quiet day on patrol off the Belgian coast, theDeweysettled for the night close to shore at a point about five miles southwest of the Belgian coast town of Blankenberghe, a tiny fishing port with a small and almost land-locked harbor. It was a strategic position directly on the course that would be taken by German destroyers out of Zeebrugge bound for a raid off Dunkirk or Calais. Lying under the sea, theDeweycould hear approaching vessels.
Furthermore, Lieutenant McClure had reason to believe that German destroyers were making a rendezvous of the little harbor of Blankenberghe. He was determined to find out and to "get somebody."
Jack was on duty in the conning tower and Executive Officer Cleary in the control chamber underneath. Floating here at a depth of one hundred and ten feet theDeweywas to spend the night resting and with a vigilant ear for any passing vessels.
Thousands of miles from home, more then a hundred feet deep down in the North Sea, bottled up in a submarine while the rest of his churns slept peacefully as though at home in their beds, the Brighton boy sat alone in the conning tower of the submergedDewey.
"Some difference between where I am now and where I was a year ago this time!" he was reflecting, when he heard the night wireless operator reporting to Executive Officer Cleary the approach of a vessel overhead.
Jack descended into the control chamber and, at Officer Cleary's direction, called Lieutenant McClure, who had turned in for several hours' rest, leaving instructions that he be aroused in case any ships were reported overhead.
Listening for a few moments at the microphones, McClure turned abruptly and rang the crew to quarters.
The engine room was signaled to tune up the motors.
"From the way that fellow is hugging the coast I wouldn't be surprised if he is a Hun raider poking along on a little reconnaissance," observed McClure to his executive officer.
Aroused from his slumber, Sammy Smith took charge of the electrical receiving room and after listening for awhile gave his opinion that the approaching ship was moving south along the Belgian coast and distant from theDeweyabout a mile and a half. From the faint registrations in the microphones he judged it to be a vessel of light draft—-probably a small cruiser or a destroyer.
"Well, we never lose an opportunity to do our duty, be the enemy large or small fry," observed McClure.
After waiting for a few moments longer, and being advised of the continued steady approach of the ship, the young lieutenant decided to move in closer to get within better range, and then rise to the surface and "look her over." It was well on toward four o'clock and soon would be daylight.
Creeping along at half speed, theDeweyveered slightly to starboard and steered a course N.N.W. toward the oncoming craft. After cruising thus for a quarter of an hour the submarine was stopped altogether again and her captain conferred again with his wireless chief.
"She seems to have changed her course," announced Smith after listening intently at both port and starboard microphones. "As near as I can calculate she has turned off abruptly to port and is running due east toward the coast."
"Fine!" exclaimed McClure. "A German for sure. And now perhaps we can track her to her lair."
In a few moments theDeweythrust her periscopes up out of the sea and set out in pursuit of the unknown ship. It was yet too dark to make her out, except for a dim blur that showed faintly against the background of the Belgian coast. By striking theDewey'slatitude and longitude they figured they were at a point five or six miles off Blankenberghe.
"Where do you suppose she is heading for?" asked Cleary. He was plainly puzzled.
"There probably is a canal near at hand that the Germans have dug out since their occupation of Belgium, and which they now are using as a retreat for their light draft vessels—-possibly a submarine base," answered McClure.
For a time theDeweyfollowed steadily on in the wake of the German. It was not long until McClure, at the forward periscope, was able to get a better look at the foe.
"A big destroyer," he announced. "I can make out her four funnels."
It was now apparent to the lieutenant that they were approaching close to the coast and that very shortly the destroyer must turn again to the sea or else take her way into some tortuous channel leading inland.
"Reckon we have gone as far as we can," he declared after a further observation. He had in mind the fact that the approach to the waterway for which the destroyer was headed most certainly was mined and that without a chart of the course he was running the risk of driving into one of the dangerous buoys.
He determined to chance a shot at the destroyer, submerge and go out to sea again. Sighting on the dimly outlined destroyer he released a torpedo and then, without waiting to observe the result of the random shot, gave the signal to dive.
Down went theDewey. And in another moment, as the gallant sub slipped away into the depths, she lurched suddenly with a staggering motion and brought up sharp with an impact that shook the vessel from stem to stern. Officer Cleary was catapulted off his feet and crashed into the steel conning tower wall, with an exclamation of pain. TheDeweyseemed to have run hard against an undersea wall.
"Reverse the engine!" shouted McClure. "We must have run upon a sandy shoal."
Frantically he rang the engine room to back away. But the order came too late. With a slow ringing noise that plainly bespoke the grating of the ship's keel on the bed of the ocean the submarine slid forward and then came to a dead stop, quivering in every steel plate from the tremendous throbbing of her engines.
"Great Scott, we've run aground!" exclaimed McClure as he stood wild-eyed in the conning tower.
Jack was despatched to the engine room for a report from Chief Engineer Blaine. He returned in a moment to say that the ship's engines were reversed and the propeller shafts revolving to the limit of the ship's power. Nevertheless, it was only too evident that theDeweywas enmeshed in a treacherous shoal from which she was unable to extricate herself.
Officer Binns was ordered to throw off all possible ballast.
One by one the tanks were emptied. The air pumps were working valiantly but at each discharge of water ballast the officers of the stranded vessel waited in vain for the welcome "lift" that would tell them the ship was floating free again. The last ballast tank had now been emptied and the depth dial still showed eighty-four feet.
"Looks as though we were stuck, all right," was McClure's solitary comment as he gazed again at the depth dial.
The engines now were shut down, the air pumps had ceased working.There was not a sound throughout the submersible, except the lowdrone of the electric fans that swept the air along the passageways.Every man waited in stoical silence a further word from his chief.
"Jonah had nothing on us," cried Bill Witt grinning, as the group of boys retreated down the passageway leading forward from the conning tower into the main torpedo compartment. Lieutenant McClure and his officers were conferring together over theDewey'sdilemma.
"This ship is no fish," ventured Ted timidly, his mind engrossed in the new danger that threatened.
"Well, it's a whale of a submarine, isn't it?" continued Bill in a brave effort to be funny.
Ted agreed, but was in no humor for joking, and hurried amidships to join Jack, who had remained within call of his commander.
For some moments the boys discussed the predicament of theDewey, the unfortunate circumstances that had led her aground, and the possibilities of being floated again. Jack confided to his chum the fact that he had overheard Lieutenant McClure say theDeweyprobably had ventured too close in shore and had run afoul of a sand bar.
"What's the next move?" queried Ted.
"You've got me, chum; I don't know what they will try next," answeredJack, feeling a bit glum despite his natural cheerfulness.
Lieutenant McClure and his officers—-Cleary, Binns, and Blaine—-were now making an inspection of theDeweyfore and aft. As they returned amidships the boys overheard snatches of the conversation.
"Propeller blades free, aren't they?" McClure was asking.
"Working free and easy or else the shafts wouldn't turn," Blaine was saying.
From what the boys could gather from the conversation it was the belief of the ship's officers that theDeweywas grounded on a heavy sand bar. She had sloughed down deep in the miry sea bottom with her keel amidships firmly imbedded and her bow and stern floating free. The suction of the mud prevented her from rising.
In the wireless room Jack, Ted, Sammy Smith and Bill Witt finally came together and began speculating on the critical predicament of their ship. Cooped up in their cage of steel, shut off from the outside world of fresh air and sunshine, the crew of theDeweywere held prisoners like rats in a trap, dependent for life upon the air they were breathing and the precious stores of oxygen in the emergency tanks!
The next few hours were full of anxiety for the officers and crew of the strandedDewey. Several times during the morning the ship's engines were set in motion and valiant efforts made to drag the ship off the shoal. But each succeeding effort availed nothing, except to eat up the precious electrical energy in the storage batteries.
In the petrol tanks was plenty of fuel for the engines, but it was useless here on the bottom of the sea where only the electric motors could be used in submerged locomotion.
Realizing the futility of these sporadic efforts at escape, Lieutenant McClure decided to wait until one o'clock for another supreme effort. It would be high tide at noon and he decided to make the great effort shortly thereafter on the thin hope that he might get away with the tide running out to sea.
The time passed drearily. Jack and Ted tried to get interested in a game of chess, but with little success. Bill Witt sought with mouth organ and banjo to buoy up the spirits of his downcast mates and succeeded poorly. Noon mess was served at eleven forty-five and even Jean Cartier, as he dispensed canned beans, brown bread, stewed fruit and tea, forgot to smile as usual at his culinary tasks.
"We ought to get away now if we are to get off at all," Jack overheard Lieutenant McClure say to Cleary after mess kits had been stowed and preparations were under way for the "big drive."
In a few minutes more theDeweywas primed for the test. Soon the clatter of machinery aft indicated that the engines were in motion.
"Back away!" was the signal flashed to the engine room. Instantly the full power of the motors was turned into the giant shafts and the propellors threshed the ocean with the fury of a wounded whale. With all the might she possessed the submarine strove to free herself and float away to freedom.
Thrice were the engines stopped and started again. But every time the quivering submarine failed to move an inch!
"Looks as though we were up against it," remarked Executive OfficerCleary to his chief as theDewey'sengines died down into silence.
Lieutenant McClure, his youthful face wrinkled in deep thought, looked up apprehensively.
"A very serious situation," he mumbled.
He spoke with marked gravity now, and there was no response from the executive officer, nor from Navigating Officer Binns, as they stood quietly and rigidly at attention, awaiting orders.
Inquiry in the engine room brought the information that the batteries had been greatly depleted by the tremendous exertions of theDewey. The supply of "juice" certainly could not last much longer.
What next? Instinctively every man aboard the doomed ship was asking himself the question. It was only too manifest that theDeweyhad run hard aground. The best that could be hoped for now was that the shifting currents of the sea might wash the submarine free before death overwhelmed her imprisoned crew.
"Make yourselves as comfortable as possible; we are not done for yet—-not by a jugful," essayed McClure bravely as he sauntered into the torpedo room where Chief Gunner Mowrey and his men were assembled in hushed discussion of theDewey'splight.
Immediately "Little Mack" was surrounded by his men. They asked him all manner of questions.
"Remember first, last, and always that you are Americans and members of the United States Navy," continued their commanding officer. "We have air supply in the reserve tanks sufficient to stay here for many hours yet without danger of suffocation; and in the meantime quite a number of things can happen."
Despite their commander's cheery remarks there was little comfort in his words. Trusting implicitly their gallant chief, every man aboard the stranded submarine was keenly alive to the seriousness of the situation and mentally figuring on the possibilities of escape from the prison ship in case it was found at last impossible to float the vessel. The boys knew their dauntless commander, in a final extremity, would resort to heroic measures of escape rather than allow his men to be suffocated and overwhelmed by a slow death in their trap of steel.
It was now more than twelve hours since theDeweyhad submerged after the exciting events of the preceding night and the air supply was still sufficiently impregnated with oxygen to enable the imprisoned crew to breathe free and normally. The boys knew that theDeweycould continue thus for at least thirty-six hours before her officers would commence drawing on the reserve oxygen tanks.
In an atmosphere of suspense the long afternoon dragged into evening. Every effort to free the vessel had been tried, but to no avail. Evening mess was served amid an oppressive silence varied only by the valiant efforts of bluff Bill Witt to stir a bit of confidence in his mates. Another and final effort to get away was to be tried at midnight with high tide. And then—-if nothing availed—-the boys knew full well that with the morning Lieutenant McClure would resort to some drastic measures.
Efforts at sleep were futile for the most part, although dauntless spirits like Bill Witt and Mike Mowrey turned in as usual and dozed away as peacefully as though no danger existed. Midnight and high tide kindled fresh hopes as "Little Mack" steeled himself for a last try with theDewey'shardworked engines. Jack and Ted had spent the long evening in the wireless room with Sammy Smith, hearing not so much as a trace of a passing vessel. Eagerly they awaited the last herculean effort for freedom. At ten minutes to one the engines were set in motion again and the signal given to back away as before. Lieutenant McClure had resorted to the expedient of shifting everything movable within theDeweyto the bow bulkhead in the hope that the submarine might be tilted forward at the supreme moment. Now he ordered every man aboard ship, except the engineering force necessary to operate the engines, into the torpedo chamber forward.
"Whirr-r-r!" the roar of machinery reverberated throughout the hold.TheDeweystruggled again in mad convulsion—-but all to no avail.The shifted cargo of humans and equipment made no difference; thesubmersible remained fast.
There now was no doubt of theDewey'sserious dilemma. No spoken word was necessary to impress upon the men the critical situation. Sleep was out of the question. Jack rambled into the wireless room, where he tried to calm his restless spirits by rattling away on the key at the code alphabet. Lately he had been giving much attention to mastering the operation of the wireless apparatus and under the direction of Sammy Smith had been making excellent progress.
He nervously fitted the microphone receivers to his ears—-and the next moment sat bolt upright. He was startled to hear the clicking sound in the listeners that indicated the proximity of a moving vessel.
"Quick! Listen here!" he called out to Sammy Smith. The wireless chief dashed down the receivers and hurried to find Lieutenant Mcclure.
"Ship approaching from the southwest," said Smith hurriedly. "Coming up the coast and apparently about two miles away."
"Little Mack" adjusted the receivers and stood listening to the revolving propellers of the craft that approached and passed overhead. For a moment he debated the idea of releasing a torpedo that might be noticed by the crew of the unknown vessel. But such a plan was not feasible, for the ship would think only of being attacked and would stand ready to repel an enemy rather than look for a submarine in distress. Furthermore, such an expedient was out of the question; for, gazing at his watch, he found that it was only four o'clock and hardly light enough for a torpedo to be seen unless it passed very close to the oncoming ship.
"There is one thing we might do," spoke up Jack Hammond. "Lieutenant, I have a plan to suggest. We seem to be in a desperate situation that demands some prompt action. That vessel up there may be an American or British destroyer. It is up to us to find out while there is yet a chance for our lives. Shoot me out the torpedo tube, sir. I'm a good strong swimmer and I may be able to attract their attention. The thing has been done before and I'm perfectly willing to take a chance."
"Your proposal is in good faith, boy," interrupted his commander, "but it strikes me as a foolhardy proposition. We are down here more than eighty feet and, even though you got up to the surface, the chances of your gaining the attention of that vessel are mighty slim."
Jack stepped forward eagerly. "It has been done before and I'm willing to take that chance," he urged. "If we stay here we are done for. Unless we find some way of floating theDeweywithin the next twenty-four hours we've all got to take our chances on getting out of here. Let me go now. It might as well be now as later on. We've got to act quickly."
For a moment Mcclure stood motionless surveying the intrepid youngster. It seemed such a desperate chance, and yet, under the circumstances, something had to be done.
"You are a brave boy, Jack," said Mcclure finally, springing forward and grasping the hand of his aide. "If you are willing I'll let you do it, for, under the circumstances, we are forced to resort to some heroic measures. God bless you, lad! And now let react quickly."
In short order the entire party repaired to the torpedo room forward where Jack was to attempt his hazardous experiment. Taking off his coat and shoes, which he fastened around his neck, Jack stood ready for the ordeal. Mike Mowrey had opened the upper port chamber and with the aid of his crew run out the torpedo that had been placed therein ready for firing. All was in readiness for the youth to crawl through the breech cap and stretch himself out like a human torpedo.
Lieutenant Mcclure was sure that the prow of theDeweylay free of the sand bar on which the vessel was poised, and that there was no obstruction in front of the bowcap. But to make doubly sure he ordered the discharge of a torpedo from the lower starboard chamber. It left the bowcap free and with full power, giving assurance that no obstacle intervened beyond the mouth of the torpedo tubes.
Jack saluted his lieutenant, signifying his readiness to go.
"So longs Ted!" was his jaunty sally as he turned for an instant to his old Brighton chum. For a few seconds the two boys gazed full into each other's eyes, their hands clasped in a farewell.
"Good luck to you, old man!" said Ted, with a gulp in his throat.
"All ready now!" smiled Jack, as he turned first to his commander and then inserted his head in the mouth of the torpedo tube, motioning with his hands for his comrades to thrust him into the chamber.
In less time than it takes to tell, Jack was bundled into the long steel case, his arms stretched over his head well forward toward the bowcap. So tightly was he wedged in the aperture that his shoulders rubbed against both sides of the tube. Before climbing into the chamber he had hastily crammed a handful of waste inside his hat to act as a cushion for the water pressure against his skull that would be inevitable once his body was thrust out into the sea.
"Are you all ready, Mr. Hammond?" called his commander as he bent over the mouth of the breech cap and reached forward to give the boy a friendly tug at one foot.
"All ready, sir," answered Jack.
The breech cap was swung shut and Jack could hear the click of the mechanism as he was locked in by his comrades and they prepared to shoot their human torpedo out of the sunken submarine.
Now he was completely isolated in the dark, cold tube. The voices of his companions were not audible. It was a time to test the nerve of the most callous individual.
Whis-s-s-h! The compressed air came hurtling into the tube with a roar as of a mighty Niagara. It enveloped him and seemed pressing against his body like many tons of steel. Instinctively the lad inhaled deeply and gritted his teeth.
In another moment the bowcap was swung open and then came a rush of air that shot him forward at a dizzy velocity. As though driven by the force of a thousand tornadoes the boy felt himself, catapulted out of the tube and into the cold salt water that closed around him like a great wall.
His senses reeled and his brain was numbed by the terrible roaring that pounded in his ears. But he had the will to live and he began his fight.
He brought his legs into play and swam upward furiously. Would he ever get there? It seemed an eternity as he battled through the mass of the sea. His arms and legs were getting numb now; his lungs seemed torn to shreds and his head throbbed with intense pain.
And then, when he was almost lapsing into unconsciousness, his head shot up out of the waves, and the boy realized that he had reached the crest of the mountain of water!
For a moment Jack felt paralyzed in every muscle. Then, as he breathed again the cold pure air of the outside world, his senses came struggling back through the haze into which he had felt himself drifting and he was invigorated again. With a great effort the boy turned over on his back with his face to the sky and floated luxuriously, with arms and legs limp on the surface of the water.
Resting thus for a time, he turned finally and struck out with a bold stroke, determined at once to make note of his position. It all came back to him in a flash—-the unknown ship that Sammy Smith had heard working its way up along the coast.
Was it near? Was it friend or enemy? Would he be seen?
Jack lifted his head and scanned the horizon. It was early morning and dawn was breaking out of the sky. The first thing that attracted his attention was a heavy pall of smoke that hung over the water. The sea was rough.
Carried up on the crest of a wave he beheld the ship that the microphone had discovered for him in the wireless room. It was now a long way past the spot where theDeweylay submerged and had passed northward, several hundred yards nearer the coast. Carried fifty or a hundred feet forward through the water by the force of the expulsion from the torpedo tube, the youth had emerged in the widened wake of the vessel. Apparently it was a German warship returning to its base in Wilhelmshaven after a night raid off Dunkirk or Ostend. It was hugging the coast fortifications now for protection.
Floating alone in the ocean, a mere speck in the water, Jack turned toward land. It was his only salvation now.
Tearing off his hat and with it the wet waste he had inserted as a cushion for his head, he struck out with long bold strokes. The fresh air and the salt water invigorated him wonderfully after the long confinement in the stifling atmosphere of theDewey.
As he swam he thought of the boys back there in Uncle Sam's submersible and how they, too, would be negotiating this same swim very shortly—-provided they escaped as safely as he had.
Before his mind flashed also the picture of what might happen to him when at last his feet would strike bottom and he would make his way through the surf to shore. He knew full well that practically all of the Belgian seafront was held by the Germans. It was not likely he could go very far without encountering a Hun coast patrol. But he reserved to make the best of the situation and trust to luck.
After a hard swim he found himself in the surf and then his feet touched bottom and he made his way shoreward through the breakers. Fatigued by the trip, he threw himself down on the sand, puffing and blowing from the effects of his fight in the water.
As he rested, he heard the murmur of a skyplane's motors and turned to behold a giant Gotha machine heading up the coast. Stretching himself out quickly, as though to simulate the posture of a drowned man cast up by the waves, he lay wide-eyed watching the German birdman. Undoubtedly, it was one of the aerial coast patrol.
Five hundred feet above, it lazily floated along. It came closer and closer, finally flying almost directly overhead. With bated breath the boy on the sand waited for its passage and heaved a great sigh of relief as it purred onward in the direction of Blankenberghe without giving any indication as to whether its pilot had noted the body on the sand below.
Jack scrambled to his feet.
"Might as well find out what's doing here," he muttered to himself. He peeled off his wet clothes. One at a time he wrung out his garments and shook the water out of his long black hair. Then he turned for a glance around him. In front of him loomed the sand dunes, their weird shifting formations dotted here and there with scraggly underbrush. Down the coast the picture was the same.
Turning, the lad gazed northward in the general direction where he knew lay Holland and her neutral shores.
"That's where I go from here," he said cheerfully.
He had jogged along not more than a quarter of a mile when the coast line veered sharply to right, leaving only the expanse of ocean looming up beyond the stretch of sandy beach. Following along the curve in the coast line, Jack found himself presently on the shore of a small land-locked bay. The mouth of the inlet was barely wide enough to permit the passage of a good-sized vessel.
But neither ship nor human being was in sight.
"Might be one of the secret passageways used by the undersea boats," Jack mused as he followed the curving line of the bay away from the ocean.
Presently he came to an abrupt halt at a break in the beach where the rolling sand dunes fell sheer away to the mouth of another waterway—-this time a small stream that wound its way inland through a tortuous channel. It was no more than two hundred feet across.
Jack realized this must be one of the canals with which the coast was known to be ribboned. For a moment he stood in contemplation of the sight. Now he was more than ever convinced that he had stumbled into a U-boat base. The love of adventure gripped him and he determined to press on.
For the next ten minutes he threaded his way along the canal bank. Suddenly, as he turned one of the snake-like twists in the course of the waterway, he found himself facing an old stone windmill that stood almost directly on the canal bank. It was only a stone's throw away.
Instinctively the boy threw himself upon the sandy loam. There was not a sign of life about the abandoned structure. In the peaceful days before the war it had, no doubt, been used by a Belgian farmer to water his fields.
But now Jack saw something that set his heart a-flutter. From the dome-like crest of the windmill stretched a number of wires tautly drawn and leading away to some point beyond his range of view. For a moment he contemplated the scene in silence with tingling nerves. Satisfied at last that his presence was not yet known—-if any human being was within the stone tower—-he struggled up to a kneeling position and looked beyond the windmill.
What he saw now was a ramshackle farmhouse apparently deserted. Up the side of the dilapidated building ran a great wide stone chimney that reared its head through the gabled roof like a leaning Tower of Pisa. To this chimney led the wires from the windmill.
"A secret wireless station!" exclaimed Jack to himself. "Undoubtedly in the hands of the Germans and being used by them in the direction of their U-boat fleets in the North Sea!" The boy's pulses quickened at the thought.
Like an Indian on the trail he wormed his way forward until he came at last within ten feet of the windmill. There was a window before him. Slowly and cautiously he drew himself up to one side of the casement and then peered in through the latticed shutter.
At a table, on which was spread out the wireless apparatus, was a uniformed figure. A helmet lay on the floor and the man's head was bowed in his arms. He was asleep. A lantern hung on the wall toward the canal side and cast a dim flicker over the cramped interior of the place. Stretching himself up on tiptoe, Jack surveyed the room, but noted not another person in sight.
Quick as a flash the lad withdrew from the window. His plan of action now was clear. He must get control of that wireless key and flash a message to the United States fleet in the North Sea!
Stealthily he began to circle the stone structure. Momentarily he expected to hear the challenge of a sentry; but he was not molested.
In a few moments his foot touched a large flat stone step before a half closed doorway through which the light of the lantern cast its flickering rays. Jack looked about him for a weapon of some kind and noted a long piece of two-by-four that apparently had been used to prop open the door of the wireless station. Stooping over he drew the club toward him and then turned to face the door and the danger that lay beyond it.
Fearlessly but with the lithe movement of the crafty panther Jack stepped across the threshold. As he did so the German wireless operator stirred in his sleep, lifted his head and gazed full upon the American youth. With a snarl of rage and a muttered curse the burly Teuton sprang to his feet and reached for a heavy revolver that lay on the table.
But Jack was too quick for him. With a long leap forward and a smashing blow he brought the heavy stick of wood down upon the head of the surprised operator. The German sank in his chair and slipped to the floor, the revolver rolling off the table with a loud clatter.
Pausing only long enough to note that his captive was completely knocked out by the blow, the Yankee lad sprang to the wireless and opened the key. Now he was grateful for the wireless instruction good old Sammy Smith had given him back there on theDewey.
"Z-z-z-z-z-z!" the wires snapped with their message, as he flashed forth the code call of the United States fleet.
Would he be heard? Was there any vessel within range that would pick up his random call. For five minutes the boy rattled away and then closed the key to listen. What was his joy to get an almost immediate response. It was the U.S.S.Farragut, a destroyer, reporting her position and asking what was wanted.
In rapid-fire reply Jack related the sinking of theDewey, gave her latitude and longitude, and urged immediate assistance.
"But where in the world are you sending your radio message from?" came the query out of the sky.
"In a German wireless station on the Belgian coast just about six miles south——-"
But the message was never finished, for at that moment Jack heard a slight movement behind him and turned to look into the revolver of a bulky German who, in broken English, commanded the American to surrender!
Back in the hold of the sunken submarine whence Jack Hammond had made his miraculous escape, stirring scenes were being enacted. Not a man in the crew but envied Jack in his daring attempt to get away; every man realized that soon it would be his turn. Either he must follow the example of the one who had gone or face the alternate of a slow and horrible death.
Ted Wainwright and Bill Witt were speculating on the fate of their chum.
"I hope he made it all right," sighed Ted after a long period of silence that had followed the discharge of the "human torpedo." Gloom pervaded the chamber of steel; every man was at the point of despair.
"He's a good swimmer; he proved that when he plucked 'Little Mack' out of the sea the day we ran afoul of that floating German mine," countered Bill. "If we are as near the land as Lieutenant Mcclure thinks we are, then Jack will make it sure as anything."
Chief interest centered in the wireless room where Sammy Smith was listening at the microphone. If, perchance, Jack had made the surface and succeeded in arresting the attention of the passing vessel, then the microphones would reveal the approach of the returning ship.
But, as Smith listened intently, the sound of the revolving propeller blades gradually diminished and the commander and crew of theDeweyknew only too well that either Jack had lost his life in the venture or had been unnoticed as he floated in the sea.
"There don't appear to be anything doing up above," ventured MikeMowrey as he glided up alongside the two boys.
"Guess not," faltered Ted. "We seem to be right up against it."
All hope of rescue was abandoned. For nearly thirty-six hours now theDeweyhad remained under water. Her crew of men, breathing over and over again the same supply of air, were rapidly exhausting the life-sustaining reserves of oxygen. Little by little the precious stores had been liberated until now very little remained. Many of the men were coughing asthmatically; several were languishing in a dumb stupor from the fetid air.
Ted could not help turning his attention to the huge ventilator shaft that fed fresh air into theDeweywhen she was cruising on the surface. He remembered well that first undersea dive back home in an American port when he and Jack had discussed the possibilities of ever being lost on the bottom of the sea with the ship's air supply cut off. Now he was face to face with that very situation. The thought chilled his blood and he found it very hard to be brave under the circumstances.
Jean Cartier, his face blanched and his hair ruffled, appeared in the torpedo compartment, the picture of dismay.
"It ees ze veery hard thing to breathe back there," he gasped, pointing over his shoulder toward the engine room aft.
Almost immediately the boys forward could hear Commander Mcclure giving orders to open the reserve oxygen tanks. Under the emergency measures adopted living conditions were for the time greatly relieved; but every man aboard knew this relief was but temporary and realized that in twenty-four hours more at the most the supply of oxygen would be entirely exhausted.
The morning wore on to noon and mess was served to a crew of men who cared little to eat. Grim disaster stared them in the face.
The meal over, Commander McClure called a council of his aides in the control chamber. It lasted ten minutes, at the end of which time "Little Mack" sent word to Chief Engineer Blaine to assemble all his men with the remainder of the crew in the torpedo compartment. One by one they came forward in response to the call until the entire crew was assembled. Then the submarine skipper stepped forward.
"Men of theDewey," he began, in slow even tones, "I want first of all to thank every man here for the splendid work he has done since we left God's country. We have established a record that, whether we live or die, will become an essential part of the history of the United States. The crew that we started with is intact, save for one brave man—-Jack Hammond—-who, on his own petition, was the first to be shot out of our stranded submersible in hopes that he might bring us succor. What has happened to him it is impossible to say, but what he has done, you can do, and it is the only thing you can do." He spoke hopelessly. "I have tried every means I can think of to float theDewey, and we have been unable to move so much as an inch. We are helpless—-foundered. We are breathing the last of our reserve stores of fresh air. By to-morrow morning they will probably be exhausted, and you know what that means."
He paused for a moment amid a death-like silence, and then continued:
"There is but one course open to us. We shall draw lots. Then, in turn, we shall attempt to make our escape while there is yet time. Each man may have his own preference; you may either go out through the torpedo tube as did Jack Hammond, or you may go through the conning tower. Each man will please write his name on a slip of paper and deposit it in this code book box. Officer Cleary will draw the names from the box and Officer Binns will read them."
Slips of paper were produced by the ship's executive officer and passed around the circle. Hardly a word was spoken during this procedure, the usual debonair Bill Witt slouching against the hull of theDewey, a picture of abject despair. It took only a few minutes to prepare the slips and they were collected by Officer Cleary, who in turn deposited them in the code box. Captain McClure stirred them around for a moment and then directed Officer Cleary to begin drawing.
Every man in the group viewed the proceedings with a tense face. Not a word was spoken as the executive officer thrust his hand into the box and drew out the first slip and handed it to Officer Binns.
"Joe Sampson," read the navigating officer as he handed the slip to Commander McClure, who, with pencil and paper, was ready to write the names of his men as they were drawn. Joe was one of the electricians, a boy of nineteen from New York who had shipped on theDeweywith Jack and Ted.
The drawing continued until every name had been polled. Mike Mowrey was second on the list, Officer Binns third. Bill Witt was drawn as No. 7 and Ted as No. 16.
"But where is your name?" asked Executive Officer Cleary, turning to his chief.
"Little Mack" merely smiled and made no reply.
And then it dawned upon Ted, who suddenly realized that the name of his gallant chief had not been called in the lottery. "Little Mack" had purposely withheld his own name and meant to be the last man in theDeweyafter every other man had gone!
There was a commotion in the excited group as various members of the crew sought to take exception to their captain's voluntary omission of his own name. But the young lieutenant held up his hand for silence.
"I am the captain of this ship and take orders, from no man," he announced bravely. "One man has to stay behind and I reserve that honor for myself."
He paused for an instant and then added:
"The first man will go out at three o'clock to-morrow morning. We shall have to get busy at that time before we have exhausted the compressed air that yet remains in our tanks. It will require considerable pound pressure for this job and we might as well be at it while there is yet time. As near as I can estimate we are not more than a mile off shore. Once afloat, I would advise each of you to swim for land and take your chances there. That's all."
And with a wave of his hand he dismissed his men.
The hours dragged on into the afternoon and evening. Some of the men crouched alone in their quarters, facing in solitude the impending ordeal; others conversed together in low tones debating how they would choose their method of escape. Bill Witt, true to his inherent optimism, toted out his old banjo.
"Old Black Joe," he sang, and all the old familiar home songs. And then, while some of the braver spirits were singing he swung into "The Star Spangled Banner."
Instantly every man was on his feet and standing at attention. Thus they stood until Bill picked his way through to "the home of the brave."
Yes, the "home of the brave!" Here were sons of Uncle Sam, wrecked on the bottom of the sea, exemplifying that bravery that has characterized the boys of our army and navy in every stage of our history. Not a man in theDeweybut was inspired by the grand old song and steeled to die bravely for Old Glory if necessary and uphold the fair traditions of the U.S. Navy.
From that moment the mental atmosphere within theDeweywas cleared. Inspired by the national anthem, every man resolved that now, do or die, he would perform his part bravely.
"Where do we go from here, boys?" Bill started to play, and immediately a dozen lusty voices joined in the rag-time refrain.
So the merriment continued over evening mess and into the evening. Ted had strolled into the torpedo room absent-mindedly and was leaning with one arm over one of the torpedoes in the starboard rack when suddenly there flashed through his mind a wild inspiration. Instantly he straightened and gazed about him. One at a time he counted the torpedoes in the hold of theDewey. There were three loaded in the tubes and two more in the port and starboard racks.
"I'll do it, I'll do it," he shouted aloud and raced aft immediately to the control chamber where his commander sat writing at an improvised table.
Lieutenant McClure turned as Ted stopped and came to a salute.
"If you please, sir," Ted began, "I've been hatching a crazy kind of a notion in my mind. I'd like to offer it in the way of a suggestion, if you don't mind, sir."
"Go ahead, lad," said "Little Mack" with a show of interest.
"All right, sir," replied Ted. "There are five torpedoes aboard theDewey. It occurred to me that you might load all four tubes. Start the engines and reverse them and then when we are tugging with all our might shoot out the four torpedoes one after the other in rapid succession. We'll lighten our load a lot and the kick of the firing may drag us off. That's all, sir, but it was just an idea and I couldn't help telling you, sir."
The captain of theDeweysat bold upright in his chair.
"I never thought of trying such a plan. I'll try it—-I'll try it," he shouted.
"Little Mack" jumped to his feet and pressed the buzzer for his executive officer. In a moment Officer Cleary appeared and the plan was unfolded to him.
In quicker time than it takes to relate it, theDewey'scommander had sent orders forward for Mike Mowrey to load the torpedo tubes and for Chief Engineer Blaine to get his engines in motion.
"What's up?" cried Bill Witt as Ted came bouncing into the torpedo room.
"Wait a moment and you'll see," replied Ted.
From the engine room aft came the purr of the motors as the last precious stores of "juice" were turned into the engines and the propellor shafts began to revolve amid the hum of machinery.
"Reverse and back away at full speed," was the next order flashed to the engine room.
And then, while theDeweywas straining in every steel sinew, her commander reached forward and touched off the four torpedoes in rapid succession.
The little submersible seemed torn by an internal explosion. As each torpedo shot out into the water the vessel shook under the force of the explosion, rocking to and fro under the concussion.
"We're off; we're off," shouted McClure as he bent over the depth dial. The hands of the indicator began to spin around and theDewey, relieved of every pound of ballast, shot upward like a rocket.
"Hurrah, hurrah!" the cry reverberated through the ship.
In another two minutes the American submarine had gained the surface, her hatches were thrown open and the men swarmed out on deck—-to life and freedom!