If the Seacove boys, George Belding and the radio force, found an
interest aside from the general object of the _Colodia’s_ cruise, the
bulk of the crew were not so fortunate. Their keen outlook for the
German raider the _Sea Pigeon_, began to be dulled as the tropical days
dragged by.
The destroyer was running down a westerly course near enough to the
equatorial regions to cause every one to feel the languor that usually
affects the northern-born in southern climes. The boys lolled around the
decks, and found drill and stations hard tasks indeed.
Everybody said: “Is it hot enough for you?” And with the permission of
the executive officer more than half the crew slept on deck instead of
below in their hammocks.
During a part of the afternoon watch the engines of the destroyer were
stopped, a life-raft was lowered on the shady side of the ship, and the
boys in squads were allowed to bathe, the quartermaster’s boat with two
sharpshooters in it, lying off a few yards on the watch for sharks.
The _Colodia_ had an objective point, however, toward which she was
heading without much loss of time. Hour after hour she steamed at racing
speed and through an ocean that seemed to be utterly deserted by other
craft.
In those wartimes the lanes of steam shipping, and sailing craft as
well, had been changed. Ships sometimes sailed far off their usual
course to reach in safety a port, the track to which was watched by the
German underseas boats. The _Colodia_ would ordinarily have passed half
a hundred ships on this course which she followed toward the American
shores.
Cruising the seas, whether for pleasure, profit, or on war bent, is a
very different thing nowadays from formerly. Practically this change has
been brought about by a young Italian who had a vision.
No longer does a ship go blindly on her course, unable to learn who may
be her neighbor, deaf to what the world ashore is doing as long as she
remains out of port.
The wireless telegraph has made this change. The radio furnishes all the
gossip of sea and land. Even in wartime the news out of the air puts
those at sea in touch with their fellowmen.
All day long, and through the night as well, the radio force on the
_Colodia_ might listen to the chatter of the operators on land and sea.
Unnecessary conversation between operators is frowned upon; but who is
going to “listen in” on a couple of thousand miles of wireless and
report private conversations between working radio men?
On the _Colodia_ a man was at the instrument practically every minute,
day or night. Commercial messages, weather warnings, code sendings of
three or four Governments, the heavy soundwaves from Nauem, the German
naval headquarters, flashes from ship to ship--all this grist passed
through the wireless mill of the destroyer.
All the time, too, they were seeking news of the _Sea Pigeon_, the
German raider, which the _Colodia_ had been sent out particularly to
find. Of course, the finish of the submarine One Thousand and One had
been reported to the naval base, and an emphatic, “Well done!” had been
returned. But the sinking of the submarine, after all, was not the main
issue.
As the destroyer had combed the sea for her prey, so she combed the air
by her wireless for news of the raider. And when the news came it was as
unexpected as it was welcome. The men were offering wagers that the
destroyer would end in seeing New York again rather than sighting the
_Sea Pigeon_, when just after the wheel and lookout were relieved at
four bells of the morning watch, the radio began to show much activity.
Messengers passed, running to and fro from the station to the officers’
quarters. There was not usually much radio work at this hour, and the
watch on deck began to take notice.
George Belding slid around to the radio room and showed a questioning
countenance to Sparks who was himself on duty.
“What’s doing, sir?” he asked the radio chief.
“Well, we haven’t picked up your particular S O S; but there is trouble
somewhere dead ahead.”
“I can feel that the engines are increasing speed, sir,” Belding said.
“Does it mean that we may have a scrap with a sure-enough Hun?”
“The message sounds like it,” admitted the radio man softly. “There’ll
be trouble, I reckon. You’ll hear all about it, soon enough.”
Commander Lang himself appeared on the bridge, and this was a
surprisingly early hour for him. Other officers gathered, and there
began a somewhat excited conference. The boatswain’s mates failed to
pipe the clothes lines triced up. Half an hour earlier than usual the
hammocks were ordered stowed. Ikey Rosenmeyer, who loved to sleep till
the last minute, was tumbled out unceremoniously and had to stow his
hammock in his shirt!
The hammock stowers likewise stopped down the hammock cloths early, and
the whole crew had their mess gear served out long before the galley was
ready to pipe breakfast. During the meal hour word was passed to shift
into uniform instead of work clothes.
“It’s extra drill, I bet,” declared one of the boys pessimistically.
“More work for the wicked.”
“There is something doing, sure enough,” Phil Morgan declared. “I think
we shall be piped to stations before long.”
He had not seen George Belding then. When the latter reported what he
had heard at the radio room Whistler was more than ever confident that
there was something of importance about to take place. It was some time,
however, before the real fact went abroad among the members of the crew.
The radio had indeed brought news at last of the raider. She was
supposed to be lurking near a point not more than two hours’ run ahead
of the _Colodia_. A report from a cattleship had been caught, stating
that she was chased just at daybreak by a steamship that was heavily
armed with deck guns, and that she surely would have been overtaken by
the enemy had fog not shut down and given the cattle boat a chance to
zig-zag away on a new course.
The description of the attacking vessel fitted that of the raider, _Sea
Pigeon_. Commander Lang and his officers believed that there was a
chance of meeting the German--of approaching her, indeed, unheralded.
There was a good deal of fog about; but overhead the sky was clear and
there was the promise of a hot day before noon. Having the approximate
latitude and longitude of the cattleship when she sighted the raider,
Commander Lang believed the _Colodia_ had a good chance of overtaking
the German ship while she was lingering about on the watch for her prey.
The fog was growing thinner, but had by no means entirely disappeared
even in the vicinity of the destroyer, when her wireless began to
chatter. Sparks sent a messenger on the run to the bridge. This incident
visibly increased the excitement of both officers and crew. Word was
passed in whispers from the petty officers stationed near the bridge
that the call was another S O S.
A second message followed almost immediately. The _Colodia’s_ engines
were speeded up. The crew was piped to quarters. The gun crews made
ready their initial charges. Everything about the decks was properly
stopped down and the destroyer was quickly put into battle trim.
Message after message came from the radio room. Belding came
breathlessly to Whistler and Al Torrance with the announcement that it
was a sugar ship being attacked, and surely by the raider. Soon the
distant reports of guns could be heard.
“If the _Susanne_ can only hold the Heinies off till we get there,” said
Belding, who had learned the name of the sugar-laden ship, “we will show
them something.”
“We will show them if the German raider isn’t too fast for us,”
responded Al. “They say this _Sea Pigeon_ is mighty fast and a pretty
nifty boat into the bargain.”
“The old _Colodia_ will show her,” said Whistler with confidence. “Just
give us a chance!”
The destroyer plowed on through both sea and fog, while the rumble of
the guns grew in magnitude. Whether much damage was being done or not, a
good many shots were exchanged by the combatants. It might have been a
veritable naval engagement.
The fog swirled about the bows of the _Colodia_, and the lookouts
strained their eyes to catch the first glimpse of the fighting ships. As
the fog was thinning from above, the watchers in the tops had the best
chance of first sighting the sugar ship and the raider that had attacked
her.
A wireless transmitted news of the fight as it progressed. The Germans
had not yet succeeded in putting the merchant ship’s radio out of
commission. In response, the destroyer had assured the _Susanne_ of her
own approach.
“Hold on! We are coming!” the _Colodia’s_ radio had sent forth.
“Enemy half mile off. Steaming two knots to our one,” came the response
from the sugar ship.
“Fight it out! We are coming!” repeated Sparks from the destroyer.
“Shell has burst abaft the afterhouse companion. Two of after gun crew
killed. Volunteers take their places. We have put a shell through
enemy’s upperworks.”
“Great! Keep it up!” chattered the _Colodia’s_ radio.
“Another shell has reached us aft. Women and children sent forward to
forecastle.”
The final sentence, read aloud by an officer from the bridge, excited
the crew of the _Colodia_ to the utmost.
The American seamen were spurred to fighting pitch now. Their only
desire was to get at the raider and her crew.
“It’s a running fight between her and the _Susanne_,” Morgan said to Al
Torrance. “Otherwise the German shells might have reached the sugar
ship’s engines before this.”
“Think of them shelling that merchant ship that has women passengers
aboard!” groaned Al. “What can those Germans be thinking of? What will
happen to them after this war is over?”
“They all believe they are going to win,” Belding said gloomily. “That
is what is the matter. And if they _should_, the whole world will be
treated just as ruthlessly as the Germans please.”
“Don’t talk that way! Don’t talk that way!” shouted Al. “I won’t listen
to such a possibility! They can’t win this war, and that’s all there is
to it!”
“Quiet, there,” admonished the voice of an officer, and the boys
subsided to whispered comments, one to the other.
Again and again the wireless chattered the cry for help. The guns
thundered ahead. Suddenly there arose a rosy light in the sky, spreading
through the fog in a wide wave of color.
“She’s blown up!” was the general and hopeless ejaculation from the crew
of the destroyer.
“Her engines went that time, sure enough--and her boilers, too,” groaned
Ensign MacMasters, who chanced to stand near the gun crew to which
Whistler and Al belonged and where Belding was stationed in reserve.
“She’s helpless now. If we don’t get there soon----”
There were no more radio messages. The calls to the _Susanne_ were not
answered. The melting fog soon gave the lookouts a clearer view ahead.
“Steamship tops and rigging in sight, sir!” was the cry to the bridge.
Then, a minute later: “She’s on fire, sir, and sinking by the stern.”
“Ah!” muttered Ensign MacMasters. “We are too late again!”