Phil Morgan, on thinking over the conversation with Franz Eberhardt, was
not at all sure that he should have discussed the wreck of the other
Zeppelin so freely with the prisoner. Yet Eberhardt was a prisoner, and
was not likely to be in a position to use any information he might have
gained to benefit his nation for a long time to come. If Eberhardt’s
cousin was a spy, perhaps this young chap was one too.
The hint Franz had dropped about the man who had escaped from the
Zeppelin that had been brought down on land, Whistler passed on, through
the proper channels, to the commander of the destroyer. He could do no
more than that. Possibly the man who had tied up George Belding and
escaped in the latter’s clothes, might be the “Cousin Emil” of whom
Franz was so proud.
The _Colodia_ steamed into the port at which she was stationed to find
the convoy and most of the naval vessels cleared out to accompany the
merchant craft. The American destroyer would be held for any emergency
call and there would be no present shore leave for her crew.
Phil received a long letter, one long delayed, from his sister Alice.
The whole story of how the Beldings had come to invite Whistler’s two
sisters to accompany them to Bahia was here set forth, and the young
fellow’s mind was much relieved when Alice assured him that even the
suggestion of the voyage had so delighted Phoebe that she already showed
improvement in her health.
Kind words from many neighbors and friends were included in the letter
for the other Seacove boys. Of course, Alice did not know at the time of
writing that George Belding was booked for a billet on the _Colodia_,
too, or she would have sent a message to him.
No thought that the _Redbird_ might come to grief on her voyage to the
South American port seemed to trouble Alice Morgan’s mind when she wrote
to her brother. At that time it was thought all German raiders and
U-boats were driven from the Western Atlantic waters.
However that might be, the Huns were active enough in the waters through
which the _Colodia_ plied. It was only two days after Whistler and
George Belding had saved the living remainder of the Zeppelin crew when
an S O S call was picked up by the port wireless station and transmitted
to the destroyer. It was possible that the ship in peril was too far
away for the _Colodia_ to be of service; nevertheless she started out of
the harbor within ten minutes of the reception of the aero plea for
help.
The weather was rough, and the ship barely dropped the headlands below
the horizon at sunset. They were bound, doubtless, on a useless night
trip. And yet, such ventures were a part of the work of the destroyers
and must be expected by their crews.
When night had fallen there was only a pale radiance resting on the sea
while broken wind clouds drove athwart a gray and dreary sky. No stars
were visible. From behind the weather screen of the bridge, where the
two watch officers were stationed, nothing could be seen ahead but the
phosphorescent flash of waves otherwise as black as ink. These flashes,
where the waves broke at their crests, decreased rather than aided the
powers of vision.
The crew of the _Colodia_ were by this time so well used to their work
that there were few false alarms as the ship tore on through the dark
seas. Such errands as this were part of the expectation--almost of
routine. The destroyers at night fairly “smelled” their way from point
to point.
Now and then a porpoise shot straight toward the _Colodia_, leaving a
sparkling wake so like that of a torpedo that the lookout might be
excused for giving a mistaken warning. But the men knew the real thing
now, and the gunners did not bang away at fish or floating débris as
they had in the beginning.
“Why, even Isa Bopp has not for a long time raised a flivver,” said Al
Torrance, discussing this matter with George Belding and Whistler. “And
Ikey has stopped straining his eyes when he’s off duty. One time he
would have hollered ‘wolf’ if he’d seen a dill pickle floating three
hundred yards off our weather bow.”
“That’s all right,” said Whistler. “But Ikey won the first gold piece
for sighting a German sub when he first went to sea on this old
knife-blade. He’s got eyes for something besides dill pickles, has
Ikey.”
The crackling radio was intercepting messages from other ships--all
kinds of ships. The S O S call was no longer being repeated; but the
_Colodia’s_ officers had learned the position of the vessel that called
for help at the start, and the destroyer did not swerve from her course.
She roared on through the dark sea directly for the spot indicated.
“There’s nothing fancy in this job, George,” Phil Morgan said to their
new chum. “Nothing like a good, slap-dash battle with the Hun fleet,
such as we had a few weeks ago, or even chasing a Hun raider out of
Zeebrugge, or Kiel. But the old _Colodia_ has had ‘well done’ signaled
her by the fleet admiral more than once.”
“You bet!” Al Torrance put in. “We’ve sunk more than one of the U-boats.
We’re one of ‘the terrors of the sea,’ boy--like the song tells about.
That is what they call our flotilla.”
“Ah! I’ve heard all that before,” Belding said, in some disgust. “I want
to see action!”
As it chanced, he saw action on this very cruise. First, however, came
the conclusion of the incident that had brought them out of port,
chasing a phantom S O S.
A light burning low on the water was spied about ten o’clock. It could
be nothing but an open boat, and the _Colodia’s_ prow was turned more
directly toward it. The sea was really too rough for a submarine to be
awash, yet the Huns had been known to linger in the vicinity of their
victims so as to catch the rescuing vessel unaware. A sharp lookout was
maintained as the _Colodia_ steamed onward.
The torch in the open boat flared and smoked, while the boat pitched and
tossed--seemingly scarcely under command of its crew. There was no sign
of any other craft in the vicinity. The signal from the attacked ship
having stopped hours before, without much doubt she had sunk.
And but one boat remained!
The destroyer sped down within hailing distance of the open boat,
burning signals of her own meanwhile. Getting on the weather quarter of
the castaways, the latter were ordered to pull to the _Colodia_.
The boat held only nineteen survivors of the _Newcastle Boy_, a collier
that had been torpedoed by a submarine. There had been a second boat,
and both had been shelled after the collier sank, and the mate, who was
in command of these rescued castaways, feared his captain’s boat was
utterly lost. Had the sea not been so rough, he said, the Germans would
have succeeded in sinking his boat, too.
Whistler was on duty amidships and he overheard much of the report made
by the collier’s mate to Lieutenant Commander Lang and the conversation
among the officers thereon.
He was particularly impressed by the inquiries the destroyer’s commander
made regarding the nature of the attack, the type of U-boat that did the
deed, and similar details.
A close track was kept of all these submarine attacks. The methods of
certain submarine commanders could usually be traced. These reports were
kept by the British Admiralty and were intended, at the end of the war,
to assist in identifying U-boat commanders who had committed atrocities.
Those men should, in the end, not escape punishment for their horrid
crimes.
This attack upon the _Newcastle Boy_ had been particularly brutal. There
were four wounded men in the mate’s boat. If the captain’s boat were
lost, the missing would total twenty-six.
The _Colodia_, swinging in wide circles through the rough sea, remained
near the scene of the catastrophe until morning. They discovered no
trace of the sunken ship, although the mate declared she had gone down
within a mile of the spot where the destroyer had picked up the
survivors.
But at daybreak the watchful lookouts did spy a broken oar and part of
the bow of the captain’s lifeboat--its air-compartment keeping it
afloat. No human being was there to be seen, and the conclusion was
unescapable that the Hun had done his best to “sink without trace”
another helpless boat’s crew.
It was mid-afternoon, however, before the _Colodia_ left the vicinity of
the tragedy. There was a desire in the hearts of her crew and officers
to sight the submarine that had committed this atrocity.
Finally, however, the American naval vessel was swung about for port and
began to pick up speed. These destroyers never seem to go anywhere at an
easy pace; they are always “rushed” in their schedule.
Having given up hope of catching the particular submarine that had sunk
the _Newcastle Boy_, the _Colodia’s_ lookouts did not, however, fail to
watch for other submersibles. Men stationed in the tops, on the bridge,
and in both bow and stern, trained keen eyes upon the surrounding sea as
the destroyer dashed on her way.
Ikey Rosenmeyer and his special chum, Frenchy Donahue, were in the bows
on watch. Even those two “gabbers,” as Al Torrance called them, knew
enough to keep their tongues still while on duty; and nobody on the
destroyer had keener vision than Ikey and Frenchy.
Almost together the two hailed the bridge:
“Off the port bow, sir!” while Ikey added “Starboard your helm!”
A great cry went up from amidships. The _Colodia_ escaped the object
just beneath the surface by scarcely a boat’s length. Men sprang to the
depth-bomb arms and the crews to their guns.
But it was not a submarine. A great wave caused by the swift shifting of
the _Colodia’s_ helm, brought the object almost to the surface.
“A mine!” roared the crew.
The destroyer’s speed was slackened instantly. She swung broadside to
the menace. A few snappy commands, and two of the deck guns roared.
Instantly a geyser of water and smoke rose from the sea. The explosion
of the mine could have been seen for many miles. Had the destroyer
collided with it----
“We’d have gone to Davy Jones’ locker, sure enough, fellows,” said Al
Torrance. “Those mines the Huns are sowing through these seas now would
blow up the Brooklyn Bridge. Suppose the _Leviathan_, troop ship,
scraped her keel on that thing?”
There was much discussion all over the destroyer about the mine. It
suggested that the submarine that had sunk the _Newcastle Boy_ might be
a mine-sower. That fact would help identify the submarine, for all types
of German submersibles are not fitted with mine wells.
“You see how it is, George,” said Phil Morgan to their new chum. “These
seas around here are just as safe as a powder factory--just about! How
does it make you feel?”
“Pshaw!” returned Belding, “didn’t I tell you we almost caught a sub
when I was out on the _Sirius_? I don’t believe the Heinies have got so
many of ’em, after all.”
“Never you mind,” said Whistler. “They’ve got enough if they have but
one, believe me! Just think how we fellows used to gas about submarines
and all that. Before the war, I mean! We never dreamed any country would
use them as the Germans have.”
The tone of the whole crew after the narrow escape from the mine was
intense. They were on the lookout for almost anything to happen. Before
mid-afternoon, while still out of sight of land, the top hailed the deck
officers.
“Steamer in sight, sir!”
The position and course of the stranger was given, and immediately
everybody who had glasses turned them in the indicated direction. The
destroyer’s course was changed a trifle, for everything that floated on
the sea was examined by the Allied patrol.
Soon the high, rusted sides of an ancient tramp steamship hove into the
view of all. She was a two-stack steamer, and despite her evident age
and frowsiness she was making good time toward the Thames.
“Taking a chance,” Ensign MacMasters said to Whistler and his friends.
“That is what she is doing. She’s not even camouflaged. Her owner has
found some daredevil fellows to run her and will make a fortune in a
single voyage--or lose the ship, one or the other. Great gamblers, some
of these old ship owners.”
“Gamblers with men’s lives,” said George Belding. “I should know. My
father is in the business; but he does not take such chances as that.”
“Not even with the _Redbird_?” whispered Whistler anxiously. “I don’t
know about Phoebe and Alice sailing on her.”
“Oh, pshaw! there’s no danger over yonder,” declared George. “We’ve
driven all the Huns from the Western Atlantic.”
“Hope so,” returned Whistler.
Just then a cry rose from some of the men on deck. The destroyer was
near enough to the tramp steamship now to observe what went on aboard of
her. They saw men running about her deck. Then followed the “Bang! Bang!
Bang!” of her deck guns.
The guns were aimed for the far side of the tramp--the object they were
aiming at being out of sight. But the destroyer’s crew knew what that
fusillade meant.
“A sub! She’s got a sub under her guns!” was the yell that rose all over
the _Colodia_.
Swift orders from the bridge and instantly the destroyer shot ahead like
a mettlesome horse under spur and whip.