SERVING IN THE CAUSE OF PEACE, NOT WAR
"It seems almost a shame to have to go below," sighed Lieutenant McCrea.
It was evening, the time about nine o'clock. For nearly an hour the
"Pollard" had been running out to sea at something below her full speed.
She was now something like a dozen miles off the coast.
Commander Ennerling had just decided that it would be a good time to test
the diving capabilities of the submarine.
Ventilators were shipped, and all other preparations had been made for
going below the surface.
Eph was left in the conning tower, Lieutenant McCrea with him.
"How far do you want the dive to be made, sir?" asked Jack Benson.
"A depth of forty feet ought to serve the purpose," stated the president
of the board.
"Then, sir, we will make a sloping dive to that depth, then complete the
curve until we strike the surface again," proposed the submarine boy.
"How will that suit you, sir?"
"Excellently," agreed the Navy commander.
"Do you want to take the record with your stop watch?"
"Yes?"
"All ready, sir."
As Captain Jack gave the word he threw open the forward water tanks, so
that water rushed in, tilting the bow of the craft downward. The
"Pollard" moved on a decided slant until Captain Jack read the depth of
forty feet on the gauge. Then, with a barely perceptible rest. On an
even keel, the young submarine expert threw compressed air into the
forward tanks, expelling the water, at the same time admitting water to
the tanks aft.
Gracefully, and with, the precision of a trained living being, the
submarine craft curved upward until Lieutenant McCrea shouted down:
"We're awash, sir"
Benson drove the water from the tanks aft, and the boat rode the waves.
"Now, let us see you run a little lower than awash, with just enough of
the conning tower in the air for the helmsman to see where he is
steering," proposed the president of the board.
Jack went above to relieve Eph at the wheel, while Commander Ennerling
stationed himself beside the boy.
"You may use your searchlight, of course," proposed the commander, "and
proceed just as though you were trying to pick up a battleship of the
enemy without much exposing yourself."
As the broad, bright beam of the searchlight shone out over the waters
ahead, Captain Benson called down for the best speed.
Commander Ennerling watched the boat's performance, and the work of the
young captain for some minutes before he said:
"Benson, I'll admit that the more I see of this craft the more anxious
I am to see her under our Navy flag."
"I'm glad to hear you say that, sir," cried Jack, his face glowing.
"Yet I'm a bit puzzled, after all."
"How so, sir?"
"Why, the more I think about it, the more I wonder just how much of my
delight and interest are due to the boat itself, and how much to the
splendidly expert way in which you young men handle her."
"You call us experts, sir?"
"Don't you believe, yourselves, that you are?"
"We hope that some day we shall be," was Jack's slow response.
"Benson," went on the Navy officer, earnestly, "if you're not now
experts, you never will be."
"Does that mean, sir, that we shall never know much more about such craft
than we do now?"
"By no means. You'll know more every year that you stick to the work.
What I intended to convey is that you three are the best experts in this
line I have ever seen, considering, of course, the amount of time you
have already given to this work. Give you three lads time enough, and
the United States appears destined to possess the three greatest
submarine experts in the world."
"That's great praise, sir," said Jack, quietly, his cheeks tingling.
"I mean all I've said," rejoined Commander Ennerling, gravely.
They had run some miles by this time. Captain Jack, reaching up to swing
the searchlight about over the course ahead, suddenly uttered:
"Look over there, sir--two points off starboard. What do you make out?"
Commander Ennerling instantly became absorbed as he caught sight of a
steam yacht something more than a mile away.
"Going under full power, but shooting rockets," added Jack. "They've
just sent up two from aft."
"Distress sign, without a doubt," mused the Naval officer. "Wonder what
it means?"
Jack had reached for a pair of night glasses, which he now handed
Commander Ennerling.
Already the "Pollard" had swung to a bow-on course and was making
straight for the steam yacht.
"Mutiny, by Jove!" murmured the Naval officer. He did not speak
excitedly, but with a certain grim dryness. "Catch up with them as soon
as you can, Captain Benson."
"There they go, heading away from us," muttered Captain Jack.
"From her present performance she doesn't look to be over a fourteen-knot
boat," declared Ennerling. "You won't be long in running alongside."
"What do you make out, sir?"
"A white-haired old man, in a yachting suit, and another man in white
duck. They are aft, and both appear to be holding pistols. There are
two women, one middle-aged, I should say, and the other barely more than
a girl. Excellent glasses, these, Benson."
"Can you make out any mutineers?"
"There are some men, pressing back astern, yet seemingly not wholly
liking to risk revolver fire," went on Commander Ennerling. "I don't
believe I can make out all the mutineers, from this point of view."
"What shall we do, sir, when we get alongside?"
"Quell the mutiny," retorted Commander Ennerling, with emphasis. "It's
the one choice a Naval officer has in a case of this sort. Briscoe!
McCrea!"
The two junior officers came hastily up the spiral stairway. Commander
Ennerling told them as rapidly as he could what had happened.
"There's something wholly wrong on that yacht," he wound up, "and we've
got to get alongside and look into it."
"Want to get out on the platform deck?" inquired Captain Jack.
"Yes, by all means."
More of the water was expelled from the tanks until the platform deck
was two feet above the surface. Then the manhole was opened, and an
interested crowd hurried out on deck. Only Eph remained below, he, to
his disgust, being sent to the motor.
Jack Benson now stood at the deck wheel, while the others gathered at
the rail to watch the progress of the pursuit.
Even as they looked, the older man aft on the yacht fired his revolver
twice, aiming forward. The flashes could be distinctly made out, though
the reports of the weapon were borne away by the breeze.
"Have either of you gentlemen a revolver?" demanded Commander Ennerling
of his subordinate officers.
Neither of them had. Nor had any of the submarine's own people.
"Hm!" muttered the commander, grimacing. "This is a fine Naval outfit
to lay alongside of a craft that has a mutiny aboard!"
"Do you want to hail, or try to board the yacht?" inquired Jacob Farnum.
"I think we'd better run alongside and hail that crowd," answered
Commander Ennerling. "Yet, if it comes to it, we'll have board!"
Three shots flashed out, amidships, on the yacht, showing that the fire
was directed towards the stern. Two shots from the two men aft replied.
No one appeared to have been hit.
"We'll have to fight if we're to be of any use," muttered Ennerling.
"With our fists, too, confound the luck!"
They were now rapidly overhauling the yacht. It was with throbbing
pulses that Captain Jack Benson steered the "Pollard" up alongside.