THE HUMOROUS ADVENTURE
“Abandon ship, eh?” thought Darrin, springing to complete his toilet.
In his civilian attire he hastened down the passage-way and up to the
spar deck. And here, as he would also have seen had he looked aft, a
remarkable scene was being enacted.
At the first sound of the whistle, which had now begun its wailing anew,
the crew had sprung to clear the boats for launching.
“Will I be in the way on the bridge?” Dave called up.
“Come right up,” Dan nodded.
Darrin was beside his friend in a jiffy.
“Over there,” said Dalzell, nodding.
Off to starboard about a mile distant, a German submarine lay rolling.
In the morning light the tower stood out against the horizon, magnified
in size. The submersible’s deck also showed, with sailors standing by
the forward and after guns.
“We’ll get a shell in a moment,” spoke Dalzell, calmly, as the second
sounding of the whistle signal ended.
Though the “Prince” carried wireless apparatus for installing at need,
no sign of it was visible in the form of aerials and connections, so the
first shell was aimed not at the foremast, but at the single broad, tall
smoke-stack. It missed by only a foot and went screaming to port.
For the third time the “Prince’s” whistle sounded, “Abandon ship.”
Members of the crew sprang up into two of the boats. A few men who
looked like civilian passengers hastily followed. Then a feminine bevy
raced out on deck.
“I thought so,” said Darrin, nodding comprehendingly. “Dan, you’ve
everything here but the children.”
Those who had already entered the boats now turned to help the wearers
of skirts. The two boats were swung out. After that, a third boat,
similarly loaded, was also swung out on the davits. Blocks and falls
creaked as the boats and their human freight were lowered.
Fortunately, the sea was not rough. All of the boats reached the water
safely and rowed away.
From the submarine a puff of smoke at the muzzle of the after gun
announced the rushing departure of another shell. This missile struck
the water barely fifty feet in advance of one of the boats, but
disappeared without doing any harm.
“At their old, dirty tricks of terrorizing and murdering passengers in
the small boats!” muttered Dan Dalzell, savagely. “And yet, at one time,
there were Americans who wondered why we entered this war!”
For a fourth time the “Prince’s” whistle began its serial wail. Now,
however—clever ruse!—the whistle’s sound was feebler, the jets of white
steam smaller and fainter. It looked as though the boilers had been
emptied of steam.
“Heinie von dem Sub has concluded that we’re a dead proposition,”
chuckled Dalzell, as the submarine, instead of firing other shots at
once, moved in closer. On she came, this dirty, gray pest of the sea,
until she was within three hundred yards.
“Abandon completely before we sink you!” was the message signalled from
the enemy. “Your captain and chief engineer must come aboard us with all
ship’s instruments and papers.”
“Shake out the signal, ‘Your message understood,’” shouted Dan from the
bridge.
After a moment the flags composing the signal were started toward the
“Prince’s” foremast head.
As Darrin turned from watching the submarine he beheld naval gunners,
this time in uniform, and with Ensign Peters in charge, taking the range
carefully.
At some signal that Darrin did not catch, a whistle sounded shrilly.
Now, from the deckhouse below a detachment of Uncle Sam’s jackies in
uniform dashed out.
“Open ports!” called Ensign Peters, as some of the men sprang to the
guns.
All in a jiffy the sliding doors in the bulwarks were shoved back and
gun muzzles were run out. Crisply the orders issued. Within a few
seconds the first gun spoke, and right after it the other two.
One of the shots struck the submarine’s hull aft, ripping off several
plates.
“Hurrah!” yelled Dalzell. “Now, let’s see ’em try to dive. But fire fast
and straight, before the Huns take it out of our people in the small
boats!”
One shot the enemy fired, aimed at one of the “Prince’s” guns. Over the
top of the bulwarks it went, missing them by only a few feet.
That was a game at which two could play. Ensign Peters aimed a gun at
the base of the submersible’s forward gun. A cheer of joy went up
forward on the tramp steamer when it was seen that a hit had been
registered as aimed. The enemy now had only his stern gun, and he swung
quickly to bring it to bear.
Ensign Peters now aimed at the base of the stern gun. But he missed it,
for, a second before, one of the other guns in the “Prince’s” battery
had struck the submarine just below the water line.
“Good enough!” roared Dalzell in trumpet tones. “Now, let’s see the
rascal fight!”
Evidently in reply to signal or command all the sailors on the enemy
craft ran to the conning tower and vanished inside.
“Called to see if they can repair the leak and submerge!” guessed
Dalzell, and passing his conjecture down to the gunners on the spar deck
below. “Make submerging a cinch for them!”
Three more shots barked out, almost together. One went a shade wild, one
hit the upper hull, but the third was planted just below the water-line.
“Good-bye!” called Dan, derisively.
Then the “Prince’s” steam whistle, with a sufficiently good head of
steam this time, sent the recall to the small boats, which immediately
put about.
The submarine was sinking fast. Eight or ten men managed to get through
the tower to the deck just before the pest sank out of sight.
“Some of those men are swimming,” Dan shouted. “Stand by with lines!
We’ll give them a chance! More than they’d do for us, though!”
Several of the German swimmers sank at once. Perhaps they preferred to
drown, fearing the tortures that their home papers declared were meted
out to submarine sailors by officers of the Allied Powers.
Two enemy seamen, however, were found afloat as the “Prince” drew closer
and lay to. Lines were cast to them, both catching hold. The swimmers
were then hauled aboard. Dan Dalzell went down to the spar deck in order
to question them.
Both were loutishly stupid in appearance, and plainly were badly scared
as well. Their ragged, oil-stained uniforms gave them the opposite of
smart appearance.
“Do you men speak English?” Dan demanded, eyeing the pair as the deck
watch arraigned them before him.
The duller-looking of the pair shook his head, but the other replied:
“I speak id somedimes, a liddle.”
“What craft was that you came from?” Dalzell queried.
“The U 193.”
“How many ships have you sunk?”
“I vas not by der ship before dis cruise,” replied the German.
“How long had you been out this time?”
“Zwelf (twelve) days.”
“How many ships did you sink on this cruise?”
“You vas der first vun,” said the man, dully.
“I think we’ll survive our misfortune,” smiled Dalzell, grimly. “How
many submarines have you served on?”
“None, in dis var,” was the answer.
“And you won’t serve in any more during this war,” rejoined Dan. “Don’t
you fellows feel like criminals, firing on women and children, and
committing wilful and useless murder all over the high seas?”
“Vat?” demanded the fellow, stupidly. “Vat?”
Dan had to repeat the question in two or three different forms before it
sank in.
“Chermany got to vin by der var,” replied the seaman, with a shrug of
his broad shoulders.
“Why don’t you win, then, by fair fighting?”
“Chermany got to vin der var,” the fellow replied, stolidly. “Der vay,
it makes noddings.”
By which he meant that Germany must win, but that the means by which she
won did not matter.
“Why must Germany win?” Dan demanded impatiently.
“Because Chermany is Chermany; because she is der ruler of der vorld,”
came back the ready answer.
“If Germany is really the ruler of the world, she’ll have to prove it,
and take a century of hard fighting to do it,” Dan clicked. “Has it ever
struck you, my man, that Germany is the bad-dog nation of the world?”
“Chermany is der fine, der great nation of der vorld,” insisted the
prisoner, stubbornly.
“Wouldn’t a fine nation act like a fine nation?” demanded Dalzell.
“Wouldn’t it respect the rights of other peoples? Wouldn’t Germany, if a
fine nation, fight according to the rules of honor and decency, and not
like pirates?”
Again it required repetitions, in other words, to drive the query home.
“Chermany is Chermany,” declared the stolid fellow. “Chermany must vin
der var because Chermany must rule. It is right dot der Chermans should
tell der rest of der vorld vat is. Vat Chermany must do to vin it is
right for her to do, but vat you Amerigans do is wrong. You are only
pigs, und you help der pigs of English. You are all pigs, und Chermany
shall punish you good for vat you do!”
“When?” asked Dan, derisively.
“Negst year! You vait, you see! Den der var vill over be, und der
Amerigans on deir knees shall be!”
“The war end next year?” Dan derided. “Not unless Germany has been
whipped soundly by that time.”
“Chermany cannot be vip’,” insisted the prisoner. “Chermany, she alvays
fight! Blenty in dis var. Den, ven der var stop, she begin get ready
again, she get ready again to fight der negst var. Chermany cannot be
vip’, but Ameriga shall down mit her knees go, und Chermany shall says
vords dot Ameriga does not like to hear. You vait, you see! Chermany is
der von real fighting gountry of der vorld. Not all der rest of der
vorld can vip her! It cannot be done. Chermany over all!”
“And that’s the whole story, from a German point of view,” Dave muttered
in an undertone. “This fellow looks stupid, but his leaders are just
about as stupid. Isn’t it a waste of time to talk with him, Danny?”
“I’m afraid it is,” Dalzell nodded. “But this is the first chance I have
had to get a German’s real view of the war. This fellow is too stupid to
conceal anything, so he has told me the truth as he sees it. Yet, as you
say, Dave, it’s the whole story, and he cannot tell me any more than he
has told if I should question him from now until midnight.”
Then, to a petty officer:
“Take these fellows below and lock them in the brig. Place a guard over
them. See that they have the usual ship ration, and see that sufficient
fresh water is offered them at all times. It’s warm in the brig, so they
can take off their clothes until the garments are dry.”
Stolidly the pair marched along, out of sight and hearing.
“‘Chermany over all! Chermany must rule der vorld,’” Dan mimicked.
“We’ve got their number, David, little giant. Uncle Sam and his
international friends will have to kill, cripple or lock up most of the
men of Germany before we can hope to knock the foolishness out of their
heads.”
“Which we’ll proceed to do so thoroughly,” quoth Dave Darrin, “that,
hereafter, not even a German head will be capable of holding such
foolishness as they now talk!”