UNDER THE SEA
The sailor indicated two upper bunks and left them by way of the
forward hatch to their own devices. There was a table where the passage
was widest, a greasy, much-stained affair that evidently came to pieces
when not wanted and was stowed away somewhere. It was the only thing
in the quarters that offered a seat, aside from the bunks, and Pete
perched himself on it and looked about him.
“Well, here we are, Kid,” he said, cheerfully. “Say, I never expected
to be entertained on board a German sub! What do you think about those
bunks?” He nodded toward the two that had been awarded them. “Not what
you’d call invitin’, eh?”
Dave shook his head. “I hate to think of sleeping in them,” he
answered. “But I suppose we’ll have to.”
“I guess so. Others is doin’ it.” The fact was evident from the sounds
that came from several of them. “Well, I’ll try anything once.”
“I guess they don’t mean to shoot us, anyway,” said Dave.
“No, they’ll hand us over to their friends on shore and we’ll kick
our heels around one o’ their prison camps for the rest o’ the war, I
guess.”
“But that’s fierce!” protested Dave.
“Yeah, ain’t it? Well, then, what we’ve got to do is find a way out o’
this.”
Dave looked uneasily about him. The compartment was illy lighted and
the bunks were gloomy caverns, but a number held occupants, and there
was always the chance that one of the latter might understand English.
He reminded Pete of that fact.
“That’s right, too,” agreed the latter, sinking his voice. “Anyway,
there ain’t anything we can do right now. I wish I had some chow. I’m
starved. Wonder when they eat on this Pullman.”
“Maybe there’s a buffet on board,” suggested Dave, making a weak
attempt at a joke.
“Sure, why not?” Pete slid off the wabbly table and went prospecting
forward. The compartment was about forty feet in length and held
twenty-two bunks in two tiers, twelve on one side and ten on the
other. At the forward end, in place of the last two bunks on the port
side, stood an electric range, a cupboard for dishes, a small sink, and
a big coffee tank whose copper surface glowed dimly in the half-light.
There was also, below the cupboard, an ice box. To Pete’s delight the
coffee, although the electric coil beneath the tank was not going, was
still lukewarm, and he found two aluminum cups and held them under the
spigot. There was no milk in the coffee, but it was sickeningly sweet.
They were not fussy, however, and drank two cups of it. Then Pete
discovered another cupboard across the passage and rightly suspected
that it held food. But as it was locked he couldn’t profit by the
discovery. They peered through the forward bulkhead door and were
confronted by gray gloom through which loomed big tanks and huge pipes
and long metal cylinders.
“Torpedo compartment,” murmured Pete. “If they catch us lookin’ they’ll
shoot us through a tube, I guess.”
They went back, and finding an unoccupied lower bunk, made themselves
as comfortable as they might against the supporting uprights. From the
tiny round hatch overhead a golden column of sunlight slanted down.
From the engine room, far aft, came the deafening noise of the Diesels.
There was a rather soothing side-to-side motion quite different from
that of an ordinary boat.
“She must be a pretty big one,” said Pete. “’Most two hundred feet
long, I guess. What was the number on her?”
“_U-H-37._”
“What’s the H for, do you guess?”
“It’s the class number. The U stands for _Untersee_.”
“They wouldn’t have to tell us that,” jeered Pete. “Any one could tell
it wasn’t a flyin’ machine. Wonder what it’s like when the crazy thing
sinks. Blamed if I see how we’re going to get away from here, Kid. I
talked sort o’ big to the cap., but I guess our chance of makin’ a
get-away ain’t worth a whole lot.”
“S-sh!” cautioned Dave. There was a stirring in a nearby bunk, and
slowly there emerged the lower body of a sailor. There was a prodigious
yawn and then the rest of the man came into view. He looked to be about
thirty, and was small and thin. The face that turned in their direction
was pale and tired and apathetic. Later they found the same true of
most of the countenances seen on the boat. The man disentangled himself
from a gray blanket, and thrust his feet into a pair of boots. Then,
yawning again, he arose and came toward Dave and Pete. In front of them
he stopped and stared hard. Then:
“Where’d you fellers come from?” he asked in good English.
“Your old man pulled us out o’ the water an hour or so ago,” answered
Pete. “Say, I seen you before somewhere, ain’t I?”
“I don’t know. Maybe so. I lived in New York a good while. You come
from New York?”
“Sure! Where was you in New York?”
“All around. I’m a waiter. I worked in ’most a dozen places there. I
was there nine years.”
“Well, I seen you somewhere, all right. How do you like this job? Beats
waitin’, eh?”
“It beats everything,” said the German with grim humor. “It is awful.”
He scowled darkly. “Pretty soon I’m going to chuck it. Where did you
live in New York?”
“All around.” Pete waved a hand vaguely. “Vanderbilt, Astor, Plaza――all
them places.”
“You’re joking,” replied the other, without a smile. “What has
happened? I went to sleep after we chased a little American yacht. Were
you on that?”
“We was. Now we ain’t. It’s the fortunes o’ war. Say, what happened to
her? Did you thugs get her?”
The man shrugged. “I do not think so. It was very foggy.”
“Fine! What time do we eat here?”
“Twelve o’clock. It ain’t eating, though. It’s just――just――” He
shrugged his shoulders, at a loss.
“Don’t sound good to me,” said Pete, shaking his head. “Your captain
told us we’d get treated fine an’ have plenty of food. If the chow
ain’t good, I’ll leave. I give you fair warnin’, friend.”
The German didn’t seem to have a smile left in him, however. He only
shook his head glumly. “They won’t let you go,” he said. “If you
behave, maybe they’ll take you ashore, and you’ll go to a prison.”
“If we behave!” ejaculated Dave. “What will happen if we don’t?”
The German shrugged again. “I don’t know. I guess the captain will
throw you overboard and let you drown.”
“I don’t think I like your captain,” said Pete. “Drown is what we’d do,
too, for the thief swiped our life-vests.”
“You mustn’t call the captain a thief. If he heard you he would punish
you. I must go now. I hope all goes well with you. I like Americans. I
have many good friends in New York.”
“You mean you had,” said Pete, gruffly. “If you like Americans, what in
thunder are you fighting ’em for?”
“But it is not my country, America. I fight for my country.”
“Go to it, bo! It won’t get you much!”
“I hope he chokes,” growled Pete when the sailor had taken himself aft
down the long, dim passage. “They make me tired, that sort. Come over
to the U. S. A. and make a good livin’, an’ then, when trouble starts,
beat it back here an’ try to strafe us. If I had my way I’d dump the
lot of ’em in the harbor before they got a chance.”
“But there are lots that haven’t done that, Pete. Many German-born men
are now good Americans.”
“Sure, that’s so. But guys like that gets my goat. Hello, what’s
happenin’ now?”
“_Tauch station!_” came the command along the passage.
There was a sudden silence, for the moment more appalling than the
former clamor, followed by a rushing sound of water on all sides. The
light from the hatch was cut off and they heard the latter clanging
shut. A man hurried into the compartment, climbed the ladder beneath
the hatch and secured it with bolts. The rushing of water continued
for a full two minutes and then stopped, and in the ensuing stillness
they heard low voices of command from the central station. What the
words were were beyond them, but the result was soon perceptible, for
there came, instead of the noisy clatter of the oil engines, the low
purr of the motors, the forward end of the submarine tilted downwards,
producing a disconcerting effect on the boys’ stomachs, lights sprang
into brilliancy up and down the compartment and they knew that the
_U-H-37_ was submerging. Somewhere at hand an electric gong rang
loudly. Mutters came from the depths of light-flooded bunks and, one by
one, five occupants crawled forth.
“We’re diving,” murmured Pete in an awed voice. “I never thought I’d be
scootin’ around under the ocean, Kid. Say, supposin’ they couldn’t get
the blamed thing up again!”
The newly awakened sailors, a weary-eyed, listless looking lot, viewed
the boys with a mild curiosity that had changed to indifference by the
time they had donned their sea boots and shuffled out. The submarine
was on an even keel now and, save for a slight sidewise motion, they
could not have told whether it was going ahead, astern, or lying still.
But the swing and the hum of the motors suggested progress. Pete’s
countenance bore an uneasy look and he viewed the moist walls with a
striking absence of enthusiasm.
“I didn’t count on this sort o’ thing when I enlisted,” he demurred.
“Do you guess that captain knows what’s he up to?”
“Or down to?” suggested Dave. “I guess he’s done this before, Pete. Do
you suppose we’re just under the surface, or way down?”
“Way down, because she was slanted a long time. Say, it’s sort o’
wonderful, ain’t it?” Pete grew more reconciled as nothing alarming
followed the plunge. “Think of sailin’ along under the ocean like
this, with electric lights an’ beds――sort o’――an’, I hope, food! You
got to hand it to ’em, Dave, these Germans. They’re cute, all right!”
“We invented submarines ourselves,” Dave protested, patriotically.
“Sure, I know that. An’ maybe that guy Napoleon invented war, but
the Germans improved a lot on it, Kid! I guess the trouble with us
fellers is that just as soon as we’ve gone an’ invented a thing we
lose interest in it, an’ some other guy has to take a hold and fix it
up shipshape an’ proper. Look at the flyin’ machine. We invented that,
too, didn’t we? Well, they tell me that all the flyin’ machines we’ve
got you could put in your eye.”
“But we’re building a lot of them.”
“Yeah, an’ submarines, too. That’s where the Huns have the edge on us,
see? They ain’t buildin’; they’ve built!”
Presently another man crawled out of a bunk at the galley end of the
quarters, yawned, and busied himself about the stove and food lockers.
If he saw the prisoners he paid them no attention. Presently he donned
a dirty white jacket that covered him to the knees, and began the
preparation of the midday meal. Pete sniffed approvingly as the odor
of cooking began to permeate the already none too fresh air of the
compartment.
“Wonder will it be beefsteak?” he said. “What’s it smell like to you,
Kid?”
“Something horribly German,” replied Dave, disgustedly. “Maybe some of
their beastly sausages.”
But it proved later to be neither beefsteak nor sausage, but a thin,
watery stew that held many half-cooked vegetables and little meat. With
it there was plenty of grayish bread and some greasy substance that
was used as butter, but that had certainly never seen a cow. There was
coffee, too, and, as dessert, dried pears stewed in molasses. Dinner
was consumed by the crew in relays. The warrant and petty officers ate
first and then the men. No one sat down to the table, although some
perched themselves on the edges of the nearby bunks. There was little
conversation. The men ate methodically and without apparent enjoyment,
drinking cup after cup of the over-sweet coffee, now heated to boiling
temperature. The air in the quarters was hot and stagnant and filled
with all the odors of the boat and of the cooking.
As none offered food to Dave and Pete, they presently helped themselves
from the bowls on the table and presented their cups to the silent,
phlegmatic cook for coffee. One or two of the sailors tried to talk to
them in German, but soon desisted when Pete replied in English. There
were black looks from some, but for the most part petty officers and
men seemed absolutely indifferent to the boys’ presence there. Perhaps,
thought Dave, prisoners were frequent aboard the _U-H-37_!
The afternoon passed slowly. The promised work didn’t materialize.
Dave amused himself trying to read a German magazine that he found
under a bunk, but what little he had learned of the language was not
equal to the task. Pete whistled or hummed and frequently expressed a
longing for chewing gum. Once the torpedo crew went forward and busied
themselves mysteriously, but nothing interesting followed, and after
an hour or so they returned, muttering gutturally as they passed. They
didn’t see the English speaking man again until supper time, and then
not to talk with. After washing his pots and pans the cook crawled
back into his bunk and was seen no more until just before the evening
meal. Pete said he guessed that if he had to be on a submarine, he’d
prefer to be the cook. Once or twice water gurgled and rushed through
the pipes and the submarine tilted her nose up or down, but she didn’t
get back to the surface. Dave had removed his watch from a trousers
pocket before relinquishing his own togs, and now he managed to get it
going again, setting it by guess work. It was a long, dull afternoon,
unbroken by any incident of interest. Men crawled in and out of bunks,
snored or read papers, made periodical trips to the coffee tank and
paid no more attention to the prisoners than to so many flies.
Supper was worse than dinner because there was less of it. The
atmosphere got staler and heavier with every passing hour, and Dave
found that he could hardly keep his eyes open after he had consumed a
small portion of tasteless canned meat. Even the coffee he drank failed
to exert the usual wakeful effect, and after being banished from the
bunk they had perched themselves on by the scowling owner of it, they
climbed to their own dirty mattresses and stretched out. Dave stared a
while at the white arch of steel above him, with its cluster of white
pipes and yellow stains and trickling drops of water, and tried to
realize the strangeness of his circumstances, but his eyes were too
heavy to stay open and his brain too sleep-drugged to work, and in a
very few minutes he was sound asleep.
It seemed but a few minutes later, although it was in reality many
hours instead, when he was awakened by the tocsin-like alarm gong.
Up and down the long compartment, bunks were emptying. Hurrying feet
echoed in the passage. He caught the word “torpedo” among others.
Another bell rang, this time farther away, and with a tinkling sound.
The junior officer, whom Dave had not seen since they had boarded the
submarine, passed on his way to the forward torpedo compartment. From
that mysterious chamber came strange sounds, the rushing of water in
tanks, the sounding of grating metal, the rolling of heavy wheels,
sharp words of command. He scrambled from his bunk and climbed to where
he could awaken Pete. But Pete was already awake.
“What’s the silly row?” he demanded, blinking.
“I don’t know for certain,” answered Dave, excitedly, “but I think
they’re going to make an attack!”
“Who is?” asked Pete, dazedly.
“Why――why, the Germans!”
Pete threw his legs over the side and searched for his boots. “Are,
eh? Well, this is no place for your Uncle Pete, Kid! Gangway!” He
landed on the floor with a thud. “If one of our chasers gets to
droppin’ depth charges around I want to be where I can run!”