INTO THE DANGER ZONE
There was one part of the ship forbidden to passengers and all but
forbidden to crew, where Archibald Archer disported and which was a spot
of fascination to Tom in his numerous leisure hours. This was the
railed-off stretch of deck astern where Billy Sunday and the gun crew
held constant vigil. This enticing spot was irresistible to the ship's
boys, and they lingered at the railing of the hallowed precinct, the
bolder among them, such as Archer, making flank movements and sometimes
grand drives through the rope fence, there to stand and chat until they
were discovered by the second officer on his rounds.
The members of the gun crew who were not occupied in scanning the water
with their glasses were glad enough to beguile the tedium of the days
before the danger zone was reached in banter with these youngsters.
The next day after Tom's promotion Archibald Archer came running
pell-mell to the wireless room where he was reading in the berth.
"A submarine! A submarine!" he shouted at the top of his voice. "Come
ahead, Slady!"
The regular operator did not seem in the least concerned, but Tom,
roused out of his usual calm, followed Archer up the steps and to the
rope railing where several of the ship's boys were congregated.
"Let him see," commanded Archer.
Tommy Walters handed the marine glass to Tom. "Over there to the west,"
he said.
"It's just a periscope," said Archer. "See? See it sticking up?"
Looking far out over the water, Tom could see through the long glass a
dark, thin upright object which seemed to move as he looked at it.
"O-o-oh, ye-e-es!" he exclaimed, gazing intently. "It's a periscope,
sure!"
"Look over there to the west!" shouted Archer suddenly. "Is that another
one?"
Tom turned the glass to the westward, and sure enough, there was another
one.
"We're surrounded! There's a whole fleet of 'em! Oh, joy!" exclaimed
Archer. "Look there to the south!"
Tom looked, and to his great excitement there was another periscope.
"Now turn the glass upside down," said Archer.
Tom did so, and perceived to his amazement that the periscope stuck out
of the sky instead of out of the water.
By this time everybody was laughing, and Tommy Walters leaned against
the gun, shaking with glee.
"Now look on the other end of the glass," said Archer, dodging behind a
stanchion.
Tom, in bewilderment, obeyed, and pulled out a match-end.
"Tag; you're it," said Archer delightedly; "don't throw it away."
"Why not?" said Tom, laughing sheepishly.
"Because you have to wear it with a ribbon," said the irrepressible
Archer, fastening it to Tom's buttonhole with a piece of baby ribbon.
"You're easy, Slady!"
"I always was," said Tom.
"You should worry," laughed Walters. "They all have to stand for that."
When Tom got back to the wireless room, Cattell, the operator, looked at
the badge with a knowing smile.
"Stung, eh?" said he. "I thought you were on to Archer by this time."
"It's always easy to jolly me," said Tom.
"That's an old trick," said Cattell. "Don't you know we won't be in the
danger zone until Monday?"
"I never thought about that," said Tom.
"You're easy," laughed Cattell. "When we get into the Zone, you'll know
it."
And so Tom found, for early Monday morning, as he went along the deck on
his way to breakfast, he noticed several persons wearing life
preservers. They looked clumsy and ridiculous, and if the occasion had
been less serious even Tom's soberness must have yielded at their funny
appearance.
As he passed along he noticed members of the crew in the life-boats
removing the canvas covers, and as these were taken off he could see
that the boats were already stocked, each with a cask and a good-sized
wooden case. A member of the crew patrolled the rope rail which shut off
the guncrew's little domain, and no one could trespass there now. From a
distance Tom could see Billy Sunday fully revealed without any vestige
of canvas cover, and the boys in khaki scanning the waters in every
direction with their glasses. All day long this continued, and once or
twice when he met them hurrying along the deck they hardly recognized
him.
Cattell, calm as usual, sat all day at the instrument shelf with the
receivers on, and ate his luncheon there. Tom forsook his berth, where
he was wont to spend his spare time reading, and remained close to the
telephone where open connection was kept with the bridge.
It was a day of suspense. Ship's officers hurried back and forth with
serious faces and looks of grave responsibility. Twice through the day
the emergency drill was gone through, the boats occupied and vacated and
the tackle tested, to the dismal voice of the megaphone on the bridge.
And as night came on the more constant callings of the lookouts from
their wind-swept perches and the answering call through the darkness had
an ominous and portentous sound which shook even Tom's wonted stolidness
and made him feel apprehensive and restless.
Not a light was there upon the ship as she plowed steadily upon her
course, and little knots of people stood here and there in the darkness
looking grotesquely ill-shapen in their cumbersome life-belts.
Along the deck, as he came back from supper, which had been served
behind closed portholes and with but a single dim light, Tom met Mr.
Conne sauntering along at his customary gait, with no sign of life-belt,
but with his companionable cigar dimly visible in the darkness.
"H'lo, Tommy," said he cheerily.
Something, perhaps the tenseness which had gripped the spirits of all on
board and affected even him, prompted him to pause for a moment's chat
with Tom. He leaned against the rail in the black solitude, his easy
manner in strange contrast to the portentous darkness and rising wind,
and the general atmosphere of suspense.
"Where's your life-belt, Tommy?"
"I don't want to be bothered with one," said Tom. "I'll grab one if
there's one handy when the time comes."
"Ain't you 'fraid old Uncle Neptune'll get you?"
"I've risked my life before this," said Tom; "I just as soon put one on,
though," he added; "only I never thought about it."
"Hmmm," said Mr. Conne, looking at him sharply. "There was a fellow
last trip put one on before we got outside Sandy Hook," he added.
"Why don't _you_ wear one?" Tom asked.
"Me? Oh, I don't know--I don't think I look real well in a cork sash....
I bet you wouldn't have your photograph taken in one of those things,"
he added, after a moment's pause.
"Is Mr. von Stebel all right?" Tom ventured to ask.
"Oh, yes, he's all right; but glum as a rainy Sunday."
"Did he have any papers?" Tom asked, encouraged by the detective's
agreeable manner.
"Well, he had a passport. Of course, it was forged. He had a trolley
transfer from Wyndham, Ohio, 'bout a hundred miles west of Cleveland,
and, let's see, a hotel bill of the Hotel Bishop in Cleveland. He has a
suite there, I guess. I'd like to rummage through his trunk. I tripped
him up two or three times, enough to find that he's got a lot of
information about army places. Seems to have more of it in his head than
he had in his pockets."
"You'll take him back, won't you?" Tom asked.
"Yes, or maybe send him back on the first ship across. They'll turn him
inside out in New York. I don't believe he'll leave you anything in his
will, Tommy."
Tom laughed. "It would be bad if he got to Germany, wouldn't it?" he
asked. "I mean with all the information he's got."
"It would be worse than bad," said Mr. Conne. "It might be disastrous."
He moved on, clinging to the hand-rail along the stateroom tier to
steady himself, for the wind was rising to a gale and driving the sea in
black mountains which burst in spray upon the deck, wetting Tom through
and through as he scurried back to the wireless room for the night's
long vigil.