DAN STALKS A CAUTIOUS ENEMY
“Shall we escort you in?”
It was the following morning, and the “Prince” was proceeding eastward.
An American destroyer, roaring along on her way, funnels belching clouds
of black smoke, her engines at full speed, her whole frame quivering,
sent this signal to the “Prince”:
“Do you wish convoy?”
“No, thank you,” Dan signalled back, as the destroyer slowed down for an
answer. “We can look out for ourselves.”
“You don’t look it,” came back the response.
“We’ll get in, all right,” Dan replied by signal.
“Sorry for you,” came the reply. “Think we’d better stick by.”
“Confound him,” muttered Dalzell. “He means well, but if he stands by us
he’ll spoil our good chance of trapping some more of these submarines.”
“Ask him who commands,” Darrin suggested.
Dan ordered the question signalled.
“Preston,” came the reply.
“We know him well enough,” laughed Dave. “He was at Annapolis with us.”
Dan was now quick to see the point of Dave’s original suggestion, for he
signalled:
“Do you remember Dalzell?”
“Danny Grin!” came the prompt response from the destroyer.
“Yes; he commands this tub,” Dan signalled back.
“Oh!” came the comprehending signal from the destroyer.
Then, after a brief interval:
“Danny Grin could always laugh his way into luck. Good-bye, and
success!”
“Thank you,” Dan did not omit to signal back. “More of the same to you.”
The destroyer increased her speed and forged ahead, disappearing in the
distance.
“He knew that Dan Dalzell could take care of himself,” Dave declared.
“At least,” replied the “Prince’s” commander, “he must have realized
that I had some game out here on the water that I didn’t want spoiled.”
“Periscope astern, sir!” called a lookout two hours later.
Dan’s watch officer turned just in time to detect, with his glass, a
tube even then being withdrawn back into the water.
“Twelve hundred yards astern, at least,” he reported to Dalzell. “I
couldn’t have picked it up without a glass, nor could the lookout.”
“Watch for a torpedo,” Dan directed, “although I don’t believe he’ll try
at such a distance in his position.”
This guess proved correct, for the “Prince” continued on her way for
fully five minutes after that without further sign from the submarine.
That very fact made Dalzell impatient.
“Confound the Hun!” he growled. “If he won’t try for me, then I’ll coax
him!”
Accordingly the “Prince’s” engines were stopped. As soon as headway
ceased, the seeming tramp appeared to drift helplessly on the waves.
Dan’s next move was to order men to run over the decks and the
superstructure as though making repairs.
“Just what do you figure the Hun will think has happened to you?” Darrin
asked.
“He’ll have to do his own guessing,” Dan rejoined. “I’m not going to
help him solve the puzzle. But surely something must have happened to
us.”
For a few minutes nothing was seen, in any quarter, of the enemy craft.
At last, however, a glimpse was caught of a periscope to starboard.
“He’s trying to figure us out,” Dan chuckled. “I hope we don’t look good
enough for him to waste a torpedo!”
His hand at the engine-room telegraph, Dan waited, while Ensign Stark
watched that periscope through his glass.
“There goes the periscope out of sight,” announced the watch officer,
presently.
A full ten minutes passed. Then sight of the periscope was picked up
once more, this time closer in.
“You’ve got him guessing, at the least,” Dave smiled.
“Yes, but I’m still hoping he won’t guess ‘torpedo,’” was Dalzell’s
response. “Stand by, gunners!”
“There comes the conning tower,” Stark announced.
“He’s going to gun us, then,” Dan concluded. He waited, standing almost
on tiptoe, until the gray back of the sea monster thrust itself up
through the water.
“Back with the ports! Let him have it, starboard battery!” Dan called to
the waiting naval gunners.
Their officer had the range and all was ready. Two shells splashed in
the sea just short of the submersible, the third just beyond it.
“Second round!” Dan bellowed from the bridge.
Profiting by their margins of error the gunners this time fired so true
that one shell landed on the gray back forward, the other aft. The hits
were glancing, so the enemy was not put out of business.
The next instant a puff of smoke left the enemy’s forward gun. No bad
shooting, that, for the forward gun of the “Prince’s” starboard battery
was promptly knocked from its mounting. Four men went down as the shell
exploded.
“Two killed, sir!” came the swift report from the deck. The others,
wounded, were assisted below. The shell had done further damage, for a
big fragment had knocked to bits one of the sliding port doors.
Dan signalled for speed ahead, swung around, and at the same time
ordered raised for instant work a machine gun that nestled in the bow of
the “Prince.”
“Let the enemy have it!” called Dalzell.
Straight at the submarine Dan dashed, throwing the spray high around the
bows. The machine gunners, quickly getting sight, kept a steady stream
of bullets striking against the enemy’s hull, despite the fact that the
range was constantly shifting. This keeping of the range was not
difficult when shots were fired continuously, for the enemy was near
enough for the officer in charge of the piece to tell by splashes of
water when any of the bullets went wild.
“He won’t dive now, but if he does, it will suit me just as well,” Dan
chuckled. “That old hull must be a sieve now.”
Two torpedoes were discharged at the oncoming “Prince.” One of these
missed the ship narrowly. The other struck, glancingly, on the port
side, forward, and disappeared without exploding.
By now the submarine was doing some maneuvering of its own. Its forward
and after guns were discharged whenever possible, but the shells failed
to land, until the “Prince,” still managing to keep on, was within three
hundred yards, and bent on ramming the enemy craft.
Over the bridge screamed a shell, passing so close that Dan and Dave
ducked involuntarily.
Crash! There was a ripping of metal, a black smudge of smoke soon
settling over everything, and the “Prince’s” smokestack was gone,
clipped off within seven feet of the point where it emerged through the
deck.
Then with a quick turn of the steering wheel the “Prince” was sent
crashing into the long, low, gray hull. From close to the water came the
yells of the Hun crew as they scrambled up through the conning tower
hatchway.
On passed the “Prince,” making a wide sweep and coming back again. The
submersible had already sunk from sight, leaving but few of her men
struggling on the surface of the water.
By the time that the “Prince” had lowered a boat some of the Germans had
sunk. Only three men were rescued and hauled in.
Lined up on the spar deck of the steamship these proved to be the
second-in-command and two seamen.
“It’s an outrage to deceive us in the manner that you did,” angrily
declared the German officer, in English.
“Take that matter up with the Assassins’ Union,” Dan jeered. “On this
cruise I’ve heard other German officers call it an outrage. It appears
to me that you Germans reserve the right to commit all the outrages.”
“Then you’ve met other submarines?” scowled the young officer.
“This part of the sea must be pretty clear of the pests, at the rate
we’ve been going,” Dan announced, cheerfully. “We had a lot of
prisoners, too, but you’ll find the brig empty now, for we transferred
them.”
“The brig?” demanded the German officer. “What have I to do with that?”
“It will be your lodging,” Dan informed him. “Also your play yard.”
“I refuse to go there!” exclaimed the enemy officer, indignantly.
“Oh, well, you’ll be carried there, then,” said Dalzell, carelessly.
“But a ship’s brig is no place to confine officers,” the German went on,
heatedly. “As an officer I demand proper quarters.”
“Take them below,” Dan ordered, briefly.
For the first few steps the German officer had to be dragged. Then,
realizing the hopelessness of resistance, he yielded and walked along in
company with his seamen, though he called back:
“I have helped to sink many ships, and trust that I may have had the
honor and pleasure of sending friends of yours to the bottom.”
Ignoring the fellow, Dan went back to the bridge, thence down to the
hurricane deck. Men were already engaged in removing the wreck of the
smashed smoke-stack.
Emergency repairs were completed in due time, with materials kept on
board for such a case.
And now, when he could safely run at full speed once more, if necessary,
Dalzell gave the order to proceed. He was about to go below, to the
wardroom for luncheon, when a radio operator came running to the bridge.
As has been stated, the “Prince” carried a full radio outfit, that could
be installed rapidly, but Dan’s orders had been to conceal all evidence
of radio equipment until absolutely necessary to use it.
None the less, a small receiving station had been rigged up, and
concealed, so that, though Lieutenant-Commander Dalzell’s sending radius
was short, he could receive messages from any quarter.
The message at which he now glanced read:
“S. S. ‘Prince’: Report.”
It had come in code, but Dan was able to translate it without reference
to his code book.
Instantly, he gave orders to have the radio outfit erected, then
descended to his meal.
Later one of the radio men reported that the equipment was in shape for
signalling. So the young commander sent in his report of work so far
accomplished to the destroyer base at the home port.
“Excellent!” came back the hearty commendation. “Results better than
expected. But ruse will soon be known, so return and report. Darrin’s
new orders will also be ready for him on arrival.”
“Home, James!” said Dan, jovially, to the officer of the deck, when he
had deciphered the coded instructions.
That night he and Dave took an extra long sleep, though both remained
fully dressed, ready for summons at any moment.