RAMMED BY A DESTROYER
It was a critical moment aboard the American submarine. Out of the
darkness the destroyer---speed king of the modern navies---had emerged
just at the moment the _Dewey_ was sending home the shot that laid low
the German cruiser.
Dashing along at a speed better than thirty knots an hour, the greyhound
of the Teutonic fleet was bearing down hard upon the Yankee. Evidently
the lookout on the destroyer had marked the path of the _Dewey's_
torpedo in the dim gray of the night sea, and with his skipper had sent
his craft charging full tilt at the American "wasp."
"If they get to us before we submerge we are done for," gasped
Lieutenant McClure, as he bellowed orders to Navigating Officer Binns
to lower away as fast as the submerging apparatus would permit. Then
the quick-witted commander rang the engine room full speed ahead at
the same time he threw the helm hard to port in an effort to bring his
craft around parallel with the charging destroyer and thus make a
smaller target.
Down, down, down sank the _Dewey_ as her valves were opened and the
sea surged into the ballast tanks. The periscopes had been well out
of water when the destroyer had first been sighted. It was now a race
between two cool and cunning naval officers---the German to hurl his
vessel full upon the American submarine and deal it a death blow; the
American skipper to outwit and outmaneuver his antagonist by putting
the _Dewey_ down where she would be safe from the steel nose of the
destroyer.
Although no word was spoken to the crew, they could sense the situation
by the sharp commands emanating from the conning tower and the celerity
with which the navigating officer and his assistant were working the
ballast pumps.
Great beads of perspiration stood out on the forehead of Officer Binns
as he stood over the array of levers and gave directions, first to ship
ballast in one tank, and then in another, shifting the added weight
evenly so as not to disturb the equilibrium of the _Dewey_ and cause
her to go hurtling to the bottom, top heavy in either bow or stern.
Nearly two minutes were necessary to get the little undersea craft
down far enough to evade the prow of the oncoming destroyer, and even
then the conning tower furnished a target that might be crushed by the
nose of the enemy ship and precipitate an avalanche of water into the
hold---with disaster for the men assembled at their posts of duty.
"They are right on top of us now," screamed Sammy Smith as he hugged
the microphone receivers to his ears.
If the destroyer was going to get the submarine, now was the fatal
moment!
The _Dewey_ suddenly lunged like a great tiger leaping from the limb
of a tree upon its prey. Responding to a signal from his commander,
Chief Engineer Blaine had suddenly shot into the submarine's engines
the full power of the electric storage batteries and hurled the
_Dewey_ forward with a great burst of speed. There was a slim chance
that the swift-moving German warship might be sidestepped by a quick
maneuver, and the crafty McClure was leaving no deep-sea trick unturned.
"Nice place for the Fritzes to swing overboard one of those infernal
depth bombs," muttered Bill Witt.
A depth bomb! Jack and Ted knew all about the latest device being
employed by the warring nations in their campaigns against submarines.
Gigantic grenades, they were, carrying deadly and powerful explosives
timed to go off at any desired depth. One of them dropped from the
deck of the destroyer as it passed over the spot where the _Dewey_
had submerged might blow the diminutive ship to atoms.
With reckless abandon big bluff Bill Witt began to sing:
_"It's a long way to Tipperary, It's a long way to go. It's a long
way---"_
The song was interrupted by a harsh grating sound---the crashing of
steel against steel---and then the _Dewey_ shuddered from stem to
stern as though it had run suddenly against a stone wall.
Hurled from his feet by the fearful impact Jack sprawled on the steel
floor of the torpedo room. Ted, standing close by his chum, clutched
at one of the reserve torpedoes hanging in the rack in time to prevent
himself falling.
For a moment the _Dewey_ appeared to be going down by the stern, with
her bow inclined upward at an angle of forty-five degrees. Above all
the din and confusion could be heard the roar of a terrific explosion
outside. The little submersible was caught in the convulsion of the
sea until it seemed her seams would be rent and her crew engulfed.
From the engine room Chief Engineer Blaine and his men retreated
amidships declaring that the submarine had been dealt a powerful blow
directly aft the conning tower on her starboard beam.
"Any plates leaking?" asked Lieutenant McClure quietly.
"Not that we can notice, sir," replied Blame. "It appears as though
the nose of that Prussian scraped along our deck line abaft the
conning tower."
At any moment the steel plates were likely to cave in under the strain
and the submarine be inundated.
"Stand by ready for the emergency valve!" shouted Lieutenant McClure.
This was the ship's safety contrivance. The Brighton boys had been
wonderfully impressed with it shortly after their first introduction
to the "innards" of a submarine.
The safety valve could be set for any desired depth; when the vessel
dropped to that depth the ballast tanks were automatically opened and
every ounce of water expelled. As a result the submarine would shoot
to the surface. The older "submarine salts" called the safety the
"tripper."
"If they've punctured us we might as well cut loose and take our
chances on the surface," declared Lieutenant McClure to the little
group of officers standing with him amidships in the control chamber.
Not a man dissented. They were content to abide by the word of their
chieftain. It was some relief to know that the nose of the destroyer
had not crashed through the skin of the submarine; but, from the
concussion astern and Chief Engineer Blaine's report, it was very
evident that the _Dewey_ had been struck a glancing blow. Deep-sea
pressure against a weakened plate could have but one inevitable
sequel---the rending of the ship's hull.
"They have gone completely over us," came the announcement from the
wireless room.
Hardly had the electrician concluded the report before the _Dewey_
was rocked by another submarine detonation---the explosion of a
second depth bomb. This time it was farther from the hiding vessel;
however, the ship was shaken until every electric light blinked in
its socket.
"I hope they soon get done with their Fourth of July celebration,"
remarked Bill Witt by way of a bit of subsea repartee.
"That's the way they blow holes in their schweitzer cheese," ventured
Mike Mowrey with a chuckle.
It was decided to submerge a little deeper and then leisurely inspect
the interior hull aft. An observation with the microphones disclosed
the fact that the destroyer was moving out into the North Sea.
"Guess they think they got us that time," suggested Lieutenant McClure
to his executive officer.
"Was rather a close call, come to think of it," smiled Cleary.
The latter went aft with Chief Engineer Blaine for the hull inspection
and returned in a few moments to say that, so far as could be observed
from the interior, she had not been dealt a severe blow. The executive
officer ventured the opinion that the keel of the destroyer had brushed
along the aft deck, thus accounting for the fact that the submarine
had suddenly been tilted downward at the stern.
"We'll not dare submerge too deep," said Lieutenant McClure. "Pressure
against our hull increases, you know, at the rate of four and a quarter
pounds to the square inch for every ten feet we submerge. It may be
our plates were weakened by that collision. We'll go down to one
hundred feet and lie there until these ships get out of the way."
The depth dial showed eighty feet. More water, accordingly, was
shipped and the _Dewey_ slipped away to the desired depth, when the
intake of ballast ceased and the tiny vessel floated alone in the
sea. Determined to take no more chances with the Kaiser's navy
until he had ascertained the true condition of his own vessel, Lieutenant
McClure decided to lie-to here in safety.
When the raiders had departed he would ascend and make a more detailed
external inspection of the hull.
It was half-past two. Jean Cartier superintended the distribution of
hot coffee and light "chow" and the crew made themselves comfortable
in their submarine home.
Half an hour later, when it had been determined by the telephones that
the German ships had moved on westward, the _Dewey_ began again to
ascend the depths.
Early dawn was streaking the sky with tints of orange gray when at last
the submarine poked its periscopes above the waves. Not a ship was in
sight; there was not a trace of the battle cruiser that the _Dewey_ had
sent to her doom during the earlier hours of the night.
"Didn't have a chance, did they?" Ted said to his churn in contemplation
of the fate of the German warship.
Jack felt different about it.
"Sure they had a chance," he answered.
"They would have gotten us if we hadn't landed them first."
"Do the other fellow as you know he would do you," Jack philosophized.
As the _Dewey_ emerged again on the surface with her deck and
super-structure exposed, the ship's wireless aerials were run up and
she prepared to get in touch with the United States fleet. Jack crept
into the wireless room that he might better understand what was going
on. Lately he had been learning the wireless code and familiarizing
himself with the operation of the radio under the kindly instruction
of Sammy Smith.
"You never know when knowledge of these things is going to stand you
in good stead," remarked Jack when he had applied to Sammy for "a bit
in electricity."
Once more the hatches were opened and the crew swarmed out to stretch
their limbs and get a breath of fresh air again. Lieutenant McClure
hastened to examine the deck of the _Dewey_ to ascertain whether any
damage had been done in the collision with the destroyer.
Yes, there was a slight dent---a broad scar---running obliquely across
the deck plates just aft the conning tower within a few inches of the
engine room hatch. The damage, however, appeared to be slight.
"Narrow escape," the lieutenant pondered.
"Zip! zip!" the wireless was sputtering as Sammy Smith flung a code
message into space in quest of other members of the allied navies.
Several times he shot out the call and then closed his key to await
a reply.
Finally it came---a radio from an American warship far out of sight
over the horizon.
"Take this radio to Lieutenant McClure," said Sammy, as he typed it
with the wireless receiver still to his ears, and wheeled to hand it
to Jack. The latter took the flimsy sheet and bounded up the aft hatch
to where his commander stood examining the hull.
"American and English cruisers and destroyers in running fight with
German raiding squadron. Give us your position. U.S.S. _Salem_,"
the message ran.
At once the _Dewey's_ latitude and longitude were rattled off to the
Salem. In reply came another radio from the scout cruiser, giving the
position of the raiding fleet and the pursuers, with this direction:
"Close in from your position. German fleet in full retreat headed
E.N.E. across North Sea. You may be able to intercept them!"