Dave Darrin and the German Submarines

by H. Irving Hancock

  CHAPTER XI

  A TRAP AND ITS PREY

  Not that he was hit. Oh, no! Beatty's last shot had done its work well.In the enemy's hull, at the water-line, a great, jagged hole hadappeared.

  Responding to the inrush of water the submarine heeled. And then astrange sight was witnessed. Just as the breathless sailors on the"Logan" looked for the underseas craft to plunge under the waves she didsomething very different.

  How it happened no one can ever tell; the cause none can guess withanything like certainty.

  Did a chorus of despairing shrieks come from the bowels of that dyingsea monster? There were those on the "Logan" who were sure they heardcries of terror.

  The last shot.]

  Instead of sinking, the submarine continued on over--and turned turtle.Her dripping hull glistened in the forenoon sun!

  It was too much for the tensed nerves of the American sailor men.

  "Hurrah!" they let loose. "Hurrah! Hur--"

  "Stop that cheering!" rose Darrin's heaviest tones over the tumult. "Theenemy are dying."

  "They're only Huns!" answered a voice from below.

  But the cheering died away and Dave's voice carried far as he answered:

  "I know they're only Huns, and a bad lot, but they fought us well. We'llcheer for the victory later, but not for the fate of men who are dyingthere."

  Darrin then gave the order to steam in close and to stand by to rescueany swimmers who might appear in the water.

  Twice the "Logan" circled the overturned enemy. Save for two of the menwho had been shot away from the submarine's gun platform, and who weredead, none of the enemy were to be found.

  Now it was that the young commanding officer had an opportunity to turnabout and see how it was faring with the other American vessels.

  All firing had ceased. The fleet was proceeding on its way. Darrin wassome distance astern of the rearmost ships of the troopship fleet.

  "Men, it looks as if our fight were over for the present," Dave calleddown in hearty cheery tones. "From the bridge we cannot see the head ofthe fleet, nor can we hear the sound of firing."

  Accordingly all speed was jammed on. The "Logan," saluting the rearmostscout of the destroyer flotilla, steamed on to return to her ownposition in the line. As he passed a sister ship Darrin signalled:

  "How many transports lost?"

  "Only the 'Castle City,' we understand," came the response.

  "Any lives lost?"

  "We don't know."

  "We lost two men."

  "Condolence," signalled the rearmost rear-guard craft.

  "Any naval vessels lost?" Dave inquired.

  "None that we know about."

  "How many enemy submarines sunk?"

  "Several; don't know the number," replied the other destroyer.

  "Now you may cheer in earnest, if you want to," Darrin shouted down fromthe bridge as the news was passed around.

  And right royally did those jackies cheer. The rescued soldiers were nowpermitted on the "Logan's" deck, and contributed their own quota ofcheers.

  Dan came up to the bridge with a paper in his hand.

  "The commanding general of the Army division will be asking for thenames of soldiers on the various ships of the naval fleet who wererescued from the 'Castle City,'" Dalzell explained. "So I've taken thenames of all the Army people we have aboard the 'Logan.' Here's thelist. It foots up seventy-seven enlisted men, with two officers."

  "Good enough," rejoined Dave. "Keep the list until called for."

  No sooner was the destroyer within signalling distance of the transportthat carried Major-General Burton, than a wigwagged demand came for thatlist. It was received and checked up.

  The American loss, to the Army, had been one troopship, one officer andfive enlisted men; to the Navy, with no ships lost, four men had beenkilled, including the two on the "Logan," and one seaman had beenwounded.

  The German loss in officers and men could only be guessed at. But it wasdefinitely known that thirteen of the Kaiser's submarines had been sentto the bottom.

  "However," Lieutenant-Commander Darrin observed, when he and hisexecutive officer had considered the report, "we are not yet through theDanger Zone. We may have another battle stiffer than the one justconcluded."

  "Tell me something!" begged Danny Grin, his eyes gleaming. "Out of thethirteen pests sunk four are placed to the credit of the 'Logan.' Are wethe people--or something like it--in this morning's job?"

  "Now run along," Dave advised laughingly, "and don't allow your head tobe enlarged, either on your own account or your ship's. The best we canclaim, Danny-boy, is that we were very fortunate. As officers and menwe're no better than are to be found all through the Navy."

  "There's one question I'd like to ask you before I trot," Dan insisted,with one of his famous grins.

  "What is it?"

  "It may have some bearing on future fight engagements," Dalzellcontinued, his grin slowly fading.

  "When will you find time to tell me what the question is?" Darrin askedsmiling.

  "How many submarines were probably engaged this morning?"

  "I haven't any more idea than you have. I was too fully occupied withour own affairs to be able to watch the whole field."

  "But that document led us to believe that about sixty would be engaged,"Dalzell continued. "The question is, how many submarines were pittedagainst the fleet this morning?"

  "I don't know how many," Dave admitted. "But I see your point. If theentire sixty were not engaged--and I doubt if any such numberattacked--then we must look for a second mass attack."

  "Yes, sir," nodded Dalzell, now wholly the serious, subordinate navalofficer.

  "The thing is worth taking up," said Dave. "I'll signal Captain Rhodeson the flagship of the destroyer flotilla and find out what he has tosay."

  Back came Captain Rhodes' answer within a minute:

  "No accurate figures at hand. Believe enemy numbered something likethirty craft. Extreme vigilance needed until we reach port."

  "There you are," Dave said, when the signal had been read. "Takecommand, Mr. Dalzell, and be the sharpest little sailor on the ocean.I'm going below on another matter."

  Once at his desk in the chart-room Dave sent for Seaman Ferguson.

  "Does Seaman Jordan smoke cigarettes?" asked Darrin.

  "Yes, sir."

  "Is he really addicted to them?" Dave continued.

  "Is he, sir?" exclaimed Ferguson. Then: "Pardon me, sir, for answeringlike that. Jordan smokes his head off when he can get the chance and hasenough of the pesky things."

  "Thank you," Dave nodded. "That is all, except the caution to saynothing to any one about my question. Send Reardon here."

  Big, red-faced, with huge hands, a deeply bronzed skin and a sly, merrytwinkle in his eyes, Reardon was a sailor of the best type. Dave knewthe man's loyalty and shrewdness, as well as Reardon's great faculty forholding his tongue at need.

  "Reardon," directed Dave, "place a chair here at the desk and write anote at my dictation with this pencil."

  "Aye, aye, sir! Ready," announced Reardon, taking his seat and pickingup the pencil in his big right hand.

  "Write this," said Dave. "'Sorry for you. Looks like you got a raw deal.I'll be glad to help you, if you want cigarettes or anything. Don't nodor speak to me, but wait for your chance to slip this paper back to me.Write on it what you'd like.'"

  "Now," Darrin resumed, as the sailor looked up, "go below and standwhere the guard at the brig can see you, but don't let your shoes makeenough noise for Jordan, who's in the brig, to hear you. Signal to theguard to stroll slowly in your direction. When he reaches you tell himthat you are ordered by me to slip a note to Jordan, but that the guardis not to mention the fact to any one. Tell the guard, from me, to standso as to give you a chance to slip the note. Then, twenty minutes later,you are to get down there again and give Jordan a chance to hand you hisreply. Slip this pencil in with the note."

  "Aye, aye, sir."

>   Not even his eyes expressing any question or curiosity, Reardon left thechart-room. Going below he stepped into the passage-way that led to thebrig. Cat-footed he walked along until he caught the eye of the marineguard. From the point where he halted Reardon was not visible to any onestanding at the grated steel door of the little, cell-like brig in whichserious offenders against discipline were confined until tried orreleased.

  Reardon's first signal was to place a warning finger over his lips. Thenhe brought his hand up to a smart salute, next pointing above, which themarine at once understood to mean that Reardon was there on an errandfor some officer. Next by stepping softly, and motioning with his handto the floor, and then to his own position, he signified that he wishedthe marine to come to him.

  No fool was Fitch, private in the Marine Corps, which contains few ifany fools. So well did he understand that the occupant of the brig hadno suspicion that his guard was looking at any one beyond. Then PrivateFitch took a few turns in the passageway, after which, yawning slightly,and humming softly to himself, he strolled along the passageway until hereached the big sailor.

  "I've orders from Lieutenant-Commander Darrin to slip a note and apencil to Jordan in the brig," whispered Reardon. "You're not to see me.Bye and bye you're to give Jordan a chance to write an answer, whichI'll come back and get."

  "Lieutenant-Commander Darrin's orders, eh?" whispered the marine, eyeingthe big sailor keenly.

  "Which the lieutenant commander gave me himself," nodded Reardon. "Andyou're not to say anything about the matter."

  "Go ahead, when you're ready," nodded Private Fitch, turning andstrolling back.

  A full two minutes Reardon waited. Then, making no further effort towalk softly, the big fellow stepped down the passage way.

  "Looking for a berth in the brig?" asked Fitch, jocosely.

  "Now, why should I?" demanded Reardon. "And me a good conduct man. 'Tismore likely you'll get a place there yourself."

  "Not me," returned the marine. "There are only six of us and a corporalon board, and we're all needed. You know, Reardon, marines are importantpeople, since one marine is the fighting equal of three sailors."

  "Is it so, now?" demanded Reardon, in an amused tone, as he haltedbefore the brig door. "What time did ye get up this morning, MisterFitch?"

  Pacing the floor behind the barred door with the restless step of acaged animal, Seaman Jordan only scowled at the bantering pair. ButReardon had halted with his back close to the steel bars. In one handbehind him was a pencil with a scrap of paper folded around it.

  Jordan hesitated. He was afraid of some trap, but his position wasdesperate. He was accused of treason. Perhaps this big sailor was afriend in need. After a moment or two of hesitation, Jordan prolongedhis walk until it brought him close to the bars. Then, while PrivateFitch was glancing down at the lock of his rifle, Jordan stealthilygrasped note and paper and dropped them in a pocket.

  Reardon remained for a few moments more, bantering the marinegood-humoredly. Soon after Reardon had gone, the marine strolled slowlyout of sight. In the brief interval before he was back Jordan hastilyscanned the note. It looked utterly innocent. Turning the paper over,Jordan hurriedly wrote:

  "Cigarettes and matches, as soon as you get a chance. There are timeswhen the guard isn't here. When in action, and all hands at quarters,there's a long chance to smoke."

  Twenty minutes later Seaman Reardon returned, "joshed" the marinebriefly, and secured pencil and paper from the prisoner.

  Seaman Jordan waited a long time for his cigarettes and matches. ForDave Darrin, as soon as he had received the paper and Reardon hadsaluted and gone out, went to the safe and took from it the paper thathad been fished out of the bottle rescued from the deep. For someminutes Darrin compared the writing on the two pieces of paper.

  "Of course, one is in German script, and the other in English," Davecommuned with himself. "But let us see what Phelps thinks of it."

  Ensign Phelps, who was a bit more than an amateur handwriting expert,came at request and scanned both papers. Then he went out, returningwith a magnifying glass with which he examined both writings.

  "Of course the two different styles of script make the comparisondifficult," Mr. Phelps declared. "Still, I am certain a better qualifiedexpert than I will say that the same hand executed both writings."

  "Then Jordan's last chance is gone, I'm afraid," replied Dave gravely,as he took the two sheets and filed them carefully in the safe. "Before,there was a chance for Jordan to get off at his trial by court-martial,for, while Seaman Ferguson was morally certain that Jordan dropped thebottle overboard, he would not be able to swear positively to it. Ifthis note given by him to Reardon, however, proves Jordan of being thewriter of both sheets, then his conviction as a traitor looks prettycertain. Phelps, these are the most serious days in the history of ourgreat country. If any man in the American uniform is a traitor to ourFlag and cause, then I want to see him punished."

  "That would mean death at the hands of a firing squad," mused EnsignPhelps.

  "Death before a firing squad," Darrin assented gravely. "It is the onlypunishment for such a crime!"