CHAPTER XVII
UP FROM THE DEPTHS
Back in the hold of the sunken submarine whence Jack Hammond had madehis miraculous escape, stirring scenes were being enacted. Not a manin the crew but envied Jack in his daring attempt to get away; everyman realized that soon it would be his turn. Either he must followthe example of the one who had gone or face the alternate of a slowand 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 ofsilence that had followed the discharge of the "human torpedo."Gloom pervaded the chamber of steel; every man was at the point ofdespair.
"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 Mcclurethinks we are, then Jack will make it sure as anything."
Chief interest centered in the wireless room where Sammy Smith waslistening at the microphone. If, perchance, Jack had made the surfaceand succeeded in arresting the attention of the passing vessel, thenthe microphones would reveal the approach of the returning ship.
But, as Smith listened intently, the sound of the revolving propellerblades gradually diminished and the commander and crew of the _Dewey_knew only too well that either Jack had lost his life in the ventureor 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 nowthe _Dewey_ had remained under water. Her crew of men, breathing overand over again the same supply of air, were rapidly exhausting thelife-sustaining reserves of oxygen. Little by little the preciousstores had been liberated until now very little remained. Many ofthe men were coughing asthmatically; several were languishing in adumb stupor from the fetid air.
Ted could not help turning his attention to the huge ventilator shaftthat fed fresh air into the _Dewey_ when she was cruising on thesurface. He remembered well that first undersea dive back home inan American port when he and Jack had discussed the possibilitiesof ever being lost on the bottom of the sea with the ship's airsupply 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 braveunder the circumstances.
Jean Cartier, his face blanched and his hair ruffled, appeared in thetorpedo compartment, the picture of dismay.
"It ees ze veery hard thing to breathe back there," he gasped, pointingover his shoulder toward the engine room aft.
Almost immediately the boys forward could hear Commander Mccluregiving orders to open the reserve oxygen tanks. Under the emergencymeasures adopted living conditions were for the time greatly relieved;but every man aboard knew this relief was but temporary and realizedthat in twenty-four hours more at the most the supply of oxygenwould be entirely exhausted.
The morning wore on to noon and mess was served to a crew of men whocared little to eat. Grim disaster stared them in the face.
The meal over, Commander McClure called a council of his aides in thecontrol chamber. It lasted ten minutes, at the end of which time"Little Mack" sent word to Chief Engineer Blaine to assemble all hismen with the remainder of the crew in the torpedo compartment. Oneby one they came forward in response to the call until the entirecrew was assembled. Then the submarine skipper stepped forward.
"Men of the _Dewey_," he began, in slow even tones, "I want first ofall to thank every man here for the splendid work he has done sincewe left God's country. We have established a record that, whetherwe live or die, will become an essential part of the history of theUnited States. The crew that we started with is intact, save forone brave man---Jack Hammond---who, on his own petition, was thefirst to be shot out of our stranded submersible in hopes that hemight bring us succor. What has happened to him it is impossible tosay, but what he has done, you can do, and it is the only thing youcan do." He spoke hopelessly. "I have tried every means I canthink of to float the _Dewey_, and we have been unable to move somuch as an inch. We are helpless---foundered. We are breathingthe last of our reserve stores of fresh air. By to-morrow morningthey 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, inturn, we shall attempt to make our escape while there is yet time.Each man may have his own preference; you may either go out throughthe torpedo tube as did Jack Hammond, or you may go through theconning tower. Each man will please write his name on a slip ofpaper and deposit it in this code book box. Officer Cleary will drawthe names from the box and Officer Binns will read them."
Slips of paper were produced by the ship's executive officer andpassed around the circle. Hardly a word was spoken during thisprocedure, the usual debonair Bill Witt slouching against the hullof the _Dewey_, a picture of abject despair. It took only a fewminutes to prepare the slips and they were collected by OfficerCleary, who in turn deposited them in the code box. Captain McClurestirred them around for a moment and then directed Officer Cleary tobegin drawing.
Every man in the group viewed the proceedings with a tense face. Nota word was spoken as the executive officer thrust his hand into thebox and drew out the first slip and handed it to Officer Binns.
"Joe Sampson," read the navigating officer as he handed the slipto Commander McClure, who, with pencil and paper, was ready to writethe names of his men as they were drawn. Joe was one of theelectricians, a boy of nineteen from New York who had shipped onthe _Dewey_ with Jack and Ted.
The drawing continued until every name had been polled. Mike Mowreywas second on the list, Officer Binns third. Bill Witt was drawn asNo. 7 and Ted as No. 16.
"But where is your name?" asked Executive Officer Cleary, turning tohis chief.
"Little Mack" merely smiled and made no reply.
And then it dawned upon Ted, who suddenly realized that the name ofhis gallant chief had not been called in the lottery. "Little Mack"had purposely withheld his own name and meant to be the last man inthe _Dewey_ after every other man had gone!
There was a commotion in the excited group as various members of thecrew sought to take exception to their captain's voluntary omissionof 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," heannounced bravely. "One man has to stay behind and I reserve thathonor for myself."
He paused for an instant and then added:
"The first man will go out at three o'clock to-morrow morning. Weshall have to get busy at that time before we have exhausted thecompressed air that yet remains in our tanks. It will requireconsiderable pound pressure for this job and we might as well beat it while there is yet time. As near as I can estimate we arenot more than a mile off shore. Once afloat, I would advise eachof 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 mencrouched alone in their quarters, facing in solitude the impendingordeal; others conversed together in low tones debating how they wouldchoose their method of escape. Bill Witt, true to his inherentoptimism, toted out his old banjo.
"Old Black Joe," he sang, and all the old familiar home songs. Andthen, 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. Thusthey 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 onthe bottom of the sea, exemplifying that bravery that has characterizedthe boys of our army and navy in every stage of our history. Not aman in the
_Dewey_ but was inspired by the grand old song and steeledto die bravely for Old Glory if necessary and uphold the fairtraditions of the U.S. Navy.
From that moment the mental atmosphere within the _Dewey_ was cleared.Inspired by the national anthem, every man resolved that now, do ordie, he would perform his part bravely.
"Where do we go from here, boys?" Bill started to play, and immediatelya dozen lusty voices joined in the rag-time refrain.
So the merriment continued over evening mess and into the evening. Tedhad strolled into the torpedo room absent-mindedly and was leaningwith one arm over one of the torpedoes in the starboard rack whensuddenly there flashed through his mind a wild inspiration. Instantlyhe straightened and gazed about him. One at a time he counted thetorpedoes in the hold of the _Dewey_. There were three loaded in thetubes and two more in the port and starboard racks.
"I'll do it, I'll do it," he shouted aloud and raced aft immediatelyto the control chamber where his commander sat writing at an improvisedtable.
Lieutenant McClure turned as Ted stopped and came to a salute.
"If you please, sir," Ted began, "I've been hatching a crazy kind ofa 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 the_Dewey_. It occurred to me that you might load all four tubes. Startthe engines and reverse them and then when we are tugging with all ourmight shoot out the four torpedoes one after the other in rapidsuccession. We'll lighten our load a lot and the kick of the firingmay drag us off. That's all, sir, but it was just an idea and Icouldn't help telling you, sir."
The captain of the _Dewey_ sat 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 hisexecutive officer. In a moment Officer Cleary appeared and the planwas unfolded to him.
In quicker time than it takes to relate it, the _Dewey's_ commanderhad sent orders forward for Mike Mowrey to load the torpedo tubesand for Chief Engineer Blaine to get his engines in motion.
"What's up?" cried Bill Witt as Ted came bouncing into the torpedoroom.
"Wait a moment and you'll see," replied Ted.
From the engine room aft came the purr of the motors as the lastprecious stores of "juice" were turned into the engines and thepropellor shafts began to revolve amid the hum of machinery.
"Reverse and back away at full speed," was the next order flashed tothe engine room.
And then, while the _Dewey_ was straining in every steel sinew, hercommander reached forward and touched off the four torpedoes in rapidsuccession.
The little submersible seemed torn by an internal explosion. As eachtorpedo shot out into the water the vessel shook under the force ofthe explosion, rocking to and fro under the concussion.
"We're off; we're off," shouted McClure as he bent over the depthdial. The hands of the indicator began to spin around and the _Dewey_,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---tolife and freedom!
Brighton Boys with the Submarine Fleet Page 17