THE ESCAPE
“Do you suppose it’s one of our ships?” asked Dave, anxiously.
“You can bet it ain’t one o’ their own, anyway. Gee! I wish we could
rock the boat, or somethin’, so they’d miss their shot! We’re slowing
down.”
“How do you know?”
“I don’t know, but I sort o’ feel it, just as I sort o’ feel that we’re
running just under, with the periscopes stickin’ out. Listen, Kid!”
The boat was strangely silent, for the motors were purring more softly
and, with every man at his station, there were no footfalls echoing
against the steel walls. Occasionally a short command came from the
central station and now and then a click or the burr of sliding metal
reached them. Silence and suspense wrapped the gleaming cylinder as it
went gliding slowly and stealthily through the midnight sea. Dave’s
watch, somewhere near correct, showed the time to be shortly before
three. The torpedo compartment emitted few sounds. Dave pictured the
junior officer, finger on button, awaiting the command. Then there came
a sound from the bow like none that Dave had ever heard, a sort of
“_Gr-r-rh!_” such as a contented tiger might make. There was a barely
perceptible shock underfoot and he knew that the death-dealing missile
was on its way.
He waited, staring with wide eyes at Pete, but no sound reached them
until there was a second growl from the torpedo compartment. Then the
boat awoke to activity. The motors hummed more loudly, men hurried
through the quarters, the submarine’s nose tilted slightly upward. The
torpedo compartment was noisy once more.
“Whoever she is,” said Pete glumly “they got her. If they hadn’t they
wouldn’t be goin’ up.” Dave nodded agreement, and Pete sunk his voice.
“Kid,” he whispered, “are you game to take a chance?”
“Do you mean――escape?”
“Sure. If they get busy with that ship we might get away without their
knowin’ it.”
“But where to, Pete? How?”
“I don’t know, but I’d a heap rather be floatin’ around in the ocean
than here! If only we had those life-vests!”
“Wonder what they did with them.”
“Those these fellows wear are a lot better,” said Dave. “They blow them
up. Do you suppose we could find a couple?”
“If we knew where to look.” Pete gazed around. “Trouble is they’re all
wearin’ ’em. Maybe there’s extra ones aboard, though. Where would they
keep ’em?”
“In the lockers, do you think?” There was a row of lockers under
the berths on each side, and Peter, making certain that no one was
approaching, stooped and pulled one open. But only a litter of clothing
and boots rewarded him. Footsteps in the passage made him close the
locker quickly and the German who had talked to them in English
came toward them. For the first time his countenance held something
approaching a smile.
“We got her,” he said. “She’s a big one, too.”
“What’s her flag?” asked Pete, resisting a desire to plant his fist in
the middle of that smirking face.
“Italian, I think.” Then his lips closed tightly and he glanced
apprehensively behind him. “Maybe I should not tell you,” he muttered.
“Look here,” said Pete. “Suppose we get in trouble. What are we goin’
to do, this feller an’ me? Drown, eh? Can’t you find us a couple of
those life preserver things like you got on?”
“There will be no trouble. The ship is already sinking and they are
getting into the boats.”
“Yeah. But suppose a destroyer walks in on us? It’s a fine note for all
you guys to have life-vests an’ leave us to sink! What would we do if
we was attacked, eh?”
Dave always maintained that the sailor suspected their purpose and was
not unwilling to aid them. At all events, after a moment of hesitation
he answered: “All right. I’ll see if I can get some.”
He went aft and disappeared beyond the bulkhead. By now the submarine
was rolling from side to side and pitching slightly, and it was evident
to the boys that she was on the surface. In a minute the sailor was
back with the desired life-vests. He handed them over with an air of
secrecy. They were, unlike the bulky, cork-filled canvas life-belts
of the United States navy, garments of some finely-woven, waterproof
material that fitted about the upper body beneath the arms and
were held in place by one strap and a buckle which could be quickly
adjusted and secured. A mouthpiece at the front was easily reached for
inflation. Having put them on, the men blew them up sufficiently to
secure buoyancy in the water but not enough to make them cumbersome or
to hinder them at their work. Once in the water, it was possible to
increase the inflation as desired. Having delivered the life-vests, the
German hurried off again, and Dave and Pete quickly slipped them on.
“That’s better,” muttered Pete. “I ain’t much of a swimmer, an’ I feel
a heap safer if I got one o’ these things on. Now let’s see how the
land lays.”
They walked back to the central station. Two sailors were standing idly
there, and they viewed the prisoners with scowling suspicion. Pete drew
back. “That won’t do,” he said, as they returned. “If this hatch here
was opened we might have a chance.”
“But they’ll see us,” objected Dave, viewing the hatch somewhat
dubiously.
“Sure, but if it’s dark maybe they won’t notice us much. We’ve got the
same togs as the rest of these Huns. Anyway, we can’t get away as long
as we stay down here, that’s sure, ain’t it?”
Dave acknowledged that it was, and for a minute or two they studied
their predicament in silence. They were still short of a solution when
a sailor entered and started up the hatch ladder. Pete nudged Dave, and
they watched tensely. The sailor began turning the screws that held the
clamps. Then he descended the ladder, said something in German that,
whatever it was, sounded good-natured, and disappeared again. Pete
started forward, but Dave held him back.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “Maybe they’ll open it from above.”
They did. The round cover creaked back, and they looked up against
a blue, moon-lighted sky. From the deck came the trampling of feet
and the murmur of voices. Pete led the way up the ladder, Dave close
behind. Gusts of cool, fresh air met them. Then Pete’s head was through
and he looked warily about him. Most of the crew were on deck. The
forward gun had been raised from its housing. Some two hundred yards
distant, right in the path of the moonlight, lay a great black hulk on
which a few lights shone dimly. Pete nonchalantly stepped through the
hatch and Dave, his heart beating hard, followed. No one paid them any
heed. About them on the narrow deck, the crew stood and gazed at the
disabled ship, which, even in the uncertain light of the descending
moon, showed herself to be sinking. There was a distinct cant from bow
to stern. As the boys looked, a smaller object crossed the moon’s path,
evidently one of the ship’s lifeboats drawing away. Suddenly, from the
conning tower at their backs, a stream of white light shot across the
ocean and a great round disc of brilliancy passed along the sinking
steamship from bow to stern, and then slowly moved back to a point just
aft of amidships where a gaping hole had been torn in the hull. Then
the light went out as suddenly as it had appeared and the boys blinked
in the succeeding darkness.
“Come,” whispered Pete, and tugged at Dave’s sleeve.
They pushed their way aft toward the conning tower. Once a petty
officer peered closely in their faces as they passed, but the moonlight
was behind them and it is doubtful if he recognized them. At least, he
made no effort to detain them, and they went on. In the conning tower,
as they knew, stood the commander and the junior officer, but they put
their heads down and Pete shuffled along as he had noticed so many of
the crew shuffle, and they squirmed their way past the tower to port,
on the narrow width of deck there, and saw, to their relief, that the
after part of the boat was deserted, save for one dark form near the
stern. As they drew near to him they saw that he had his back turned.
Evidently he was a lookout, intent on searching the moonlit darkness
for such disturbing factors as patrol boats. The submarine was still
floating slowly toward the torpedoed ship, her propellers turning
lazily under the stern overhang. The after gun had not been raised and
the deck was clear, but just beyond where they paused for an instant in
the shadow of the tower to kick off their boots a gleam of light was
thrown upward through the after hatch. As they skirted the opening they
peered down into a maze of engines and got a flare of hot, oily air in
their faces. For some reason the _U-H-37_ was still operating with her
motors.
In the gloom of the conning tower Pete had whispered: “If he makes any
trouble, kid, leave him to me,” and now, as they went quietly aft,
Dave was hoping that the lookout would not see them. Two-thirds of
the way from tower to stern the deck began to slope. Just short of the
cigarshaped stern a small platform arose above the grade, and beyond
it was what looked to be an auxiliary rudder. It was on the small
platform that the motionless lookout was standing and it was beyond him
that Pete intended to take to the water, since there the deck was but
a scant foot above it and it might be possible for them to slide off
without being heard. But to pass the lookout without being seen was,
of course, impossible, and Dave wished that Pete would risk a splash
rather than an alarm from the sailor. But that wasn’t Pete’s plan.
He led the way straight to the platform. When they were a few feet
distant the lookout turned slowly, observed them and again turned away.
But as they still approached he became curious and once more faced them.
“_Was is?_” he growled.
Pete replied with about all the German he knew.
“_Heraus mit!_” said Pete.
Then his fist shot out and up, there was a faint grunt from the lookout
and he dropped to the curving side of the hull and rolled, like a log,
into the sea.
“Beat it!” warned Pete. He threw himself down, grasped a protruding
ring bolt and slid into the water. Dave was only the fraction of a
second behind. The water was so cold that it took his breath away for
a moment. Then he heard Pete’s voice again. “This way, Kid! Straight
back!” Dave followed. The life-vest held him up wonderfully and yet
left his arms free for swimming. He pulled even with Pete without
difficulty, and side by side they put the yards between them and the
submarine. Not a sound had so far come from the lookout, but now,
behind them there arose a sudden commotion in the water and a wild
shout of alarm. “Swim hard,” panted Pete. “If they come back for that
guy they’ll get us sure!”
The sea was calm, with small, choppy waves that splashed their faces.
Dave was horribly conscious of the moonlight about him and he imagined
that from the submarine he and Pete must stand out so conspicuously
that those aboard could not fail to see them. But the submarine was
attending to other matters and had already drawn well away. The lookout
continued to cry for help, but when Dave turned to look the U-boat
still had her stern toward them and was apparently not troubling about
him. Probably, as they decided afterwards, the officers thought the
lookout had tumbled overboard and that it would serve him right for his
clumsiness to let him float around awhile. There was no danger of his
drowning so long as he had his life-vest inflated.
They swam on and on, as straight away from the submarine and her
sinking prey as they could direct their strokes, but it wasn’t long
before it became evident to Dave that Pete was tiring. “I’m――all in,”
panted the latter presently. “Maybe you’d better go ahead, Kid. No use
in their getting both of us. I’m a punk swimmer, anyway.”
“Let’s rest awhile,” answered Dave. “I’m tired too.” That wasn’t very
truthful, for Dave had swam from the time he was old enough to enter
the water and was not so easily exhausted. “If they decide to come back
and look for us, they’ll get us anyway. All they’ve got to do is throw
that searchlight around.”
“All right,” agreed Pete. “We’ll float for a few minutes. Swimmin’ gets
my wind somethin’ fierce!”
They let themselves go, just paddling enough to keep their heads up.
The steamship was no longer in the path of the moonlight, and at first
they couldn’t locate her. Then, however, they did, and saw that she had
tilted one end well out of water. A single dim light still showed. The
submarine was not discernible, probably being lost in the shadow of the
larger craft. Once Dave thought he heard the rattle of oars, but when
he told Pete, and they both listened hard, no sound reached them save
the splash of the waves.
“It’ll be daylight in an hour or so, I guess,” said Pete after a short
silence. “We’d better get at it again, Kid. Come on.”
“Which way shall we go?” asked Dave. “If we knew where the life-boats
were――”
“Yeah, but we don’t. Best we can do is to get as far away as possible.
When daylight comes maybe we’ll see something. Say, an ocean’s a mighty
big body o’ water, ain’t it? Are you wishin’ you was back on the sub,
Kid?”
“No, I’m not,” answered Dave decisively. “We’re better off here. These
life-vests will keep us afloat for days, I guess, and we’re certain to
be seen by some sort of a ship before long. Spending the next year or
so in a German prison camp didn’t appeal to me a bit, Pete.”
“Same here. This is a big chance we’ve taken, an’ maybe I was a mut to
get you into it, Kid, but as for myself, why, I’m satisfied so far.
This water ain’t feelin’ so cold as it did, an’ if only I was a decent
swimmer I’d have no kick. If I give out, Kid, you beat it along.”
“Yes, I’m likely to,” said Dave. “Which direction is east, Pete?”
“Must be opposite where the moon is goin’ down, or nearly. More that
way, I guess. Think we’d better set our course east?”
“Well, that’s where the nearest land is, I suppose.”
“Sure, unless we’re a lot closer to Ireland than we know of. All right,
Kid, let her go! I’m feelin’ fine now.”
Keeping the moon, now well down toward the horizon, over their left
shoulders, they struck out again, two tiny wisps in a wide, darkening
world of water.