UP FROM THE DEPTHS
Back in the hold of the sunken submarine whence Jack Hammond had made
his miraculous escape, stirring scenes were being enacted. Not a man
in the crew but envied Jack in his daring attempt to get away; every
man realized that soon it would be his turn. Either he must follow
the example of the one who had gone or face the alternate of a slow
and horrible death.
Ted Wainwright and Bill Witt were speculating on the fate of their chum.
"I hope he made it all right," sighed Ted after a long period of
silence that had followed the discharge of the "human torpedo."
Gloom pervaded the chamber of steel; every man was at the point of
despair.
"He's a good swimmer; he proved that when he plucked 'Little Mack'
out of the sea the day we ran afoul of that floating German mine,"
countered Bill. "If we are as near the land as Lieutenant Mcclure
thinks we are, then Jack will make it sure as anything."
Chief interest centered in the wireless room where Sammy Smith was
listening at the microphone. If, perchance, Jack had made the surface
and succeeded in arresting the attention of the passing vessel, then
the microphones would reveal the approach of the returning ship.
But, as Smith listened intently, the sound of the revolving propeller
blades gradually diminished and the commander and crew of the _Dewey_
knew only too well that either Jack had lost his life in the venture
or had been unnoticed as he floated in the sea.
"There don't appear to be anything doing up above," ventured Mike
Mowrey as he glided up alongside the two boys.
"Guess not," faltered Ted. "We seem to be right up against it."
All hope of rescue was abandoned. For nearly thirty-six hours now
the _Dewey_ had remained under water. Her crew of men, breathing over
and over again the same supply of air, were rapidly exhausting the
life-sustaining reserves of oxygen. Little by little the precious
stores had been liberated until now very little remained. Many of
the men were coughing asthmatically; several were languishing in a
dumb stupor from the fetid air.
Ted could not help turning his attention to the huge ventilator shaft
that fed fresh air into the _Dewey_ when she was cruising on the
surface. He remembered well that first undersea dive back home in
an American port when he and Jack had discussed the possibilities
of ever being lost on the bottom of the sea with the ship's air
supply cut off. Now he was face to face with that very situation.
The thought chilled his blood and he found it very hard to be brave
under the circumstances.
Jean Cartier, his face blanched and his hair ruffled, appeared in the
torpedo compartment, the picture of dismay.
"It ees ze veery hard thing to breathe back there," he gasped, pointing
over his shoulder toward the engine room aft.
Almost immediately the boys forward could hear Commander Mcclure
giving orders to open the reserve oxygen tanks. Under the emergency
measures adopted living conditions were for the time greatly relieved;
but every man aboard knew this relief was but temporary and realized
that in twenty-four hours more at the most the supply of oxygen
would be entirely exhausted.
The morning wore on to noon and mess was served to a crew of men who
cared little to eat. Grim disaster stared them in the face.
The meal over, Commander McClure called a council of his aides in the
control chamber. It lasted ten minutes, at the end of which time
"Little Mack" sent word to Chief Engineer Blaine to assemble all his
men with the remainder of the crew in the torpedo compartment. One
by one they came forward in response to the call until the entire
crew was assembled. Then the submarine skipper stepped forward.
"Men of the _Dewey_," he began, in slow even tones, "I want first of
all to thank every man here for the splendid work he has done since
we left God's country. We have established a record that, whether
we live or die, will become an essential part of the history of the
United States. The crew that we started with is intact, save for
one brave man---Jack Hammond---who, on his own petition, was the
first to be shot out of our stranded submersible in hopes that he
might bring us succor. What has happened to him it is impossible to
say, but what he has done, you can do, and it is the only thing you
can do." He spoke hopelessly. "I have tried every means I can
think of to float the _Dewey_, and we have been unable to move so
much as an inch. We are helpless---foundered. We are breathing
the last of our reserve stores of fresh air. By to-morrow morning
they will probably be exhausted, and you know what that means."
He paused for a moment amid a death-like silence, and then continued:
"There is but one course open to us. We shall draw lots. Then, in
turn, we shall attempt to make our escape while there is yet time.
Each man may have his own preference; you may either go out through
the torpedo tube as did Jack Hammond, or you may go through the
conning tower. Each man will please write his name on a slip of
paper and deposit it in this code book box. Officer Cleary will draw
the names from the box and Officer Binns will read them."
Slips of paper were produced by the ship's executive officer and
passed around the circle. Hardly a word was spoken during this
procedure, the usual debonair Bill Witt slouching against the hull
of the _Dewey_, a picture of abject despair. It took only a few
minutes to prepare the slips and they were collected by Officer
Cleary, who in turn deposited them in the code box. Captain McClure
stirred them around for a moment and then directed Officer Cleary to
begin drawing.
Every man in the group viewed the proceedings with a tense face. Not
a word was spoken as the executive officer thrust his hand into the
box and drew out the first slip and handed it to Officer Binns.
"Joe Sampson," read the navigating officer as he handed the slip
to Commander McClure, who, with pencil and paper, was ready to write
the names of his men as they were drawn. Joe was one of the
electricians, a boy of nineteen from New York who had shipped on
the _Dewey_ with Jack and Ted.
The drawing continued until every name had been polled. Mike Mowrey
was second on the list, Officer Binns third. Bill Witt was drawn as
No. 7 and Ted as No. 16.
"But where is your name?" asked Executive Officer Cleary, turning to
his chief.
"Little Mack" merely smiled and made no reply.
And then it dawned upon Ted, who suddenly realized that the name of
his gallant chief had not been called in the lottery. "Little Mack"
had purposely withheld his own name and meant to be the last man in
the _Dewey_ after every other man had gone!
There was a commotion in the excited group as various members of the
crew sought to take exception to their captain's voluntary omission
of his own name. But the young lieutenant held up his hand for silence.
"I am the captain of this ship and take orders, from no man," he
announced bravely. "One man has to stay behind and I reserve that
honor for myself."
He paused for an instant and then added:
"The first man will go out at three o'clock to-morrow morning. We
shall have to get busy at that time before we have exhausted the
compressed air that yet remains in our tanks. It will require
considerable pound pressure for this job and we might as well be
at it while there is yet time. As near as I can estimate we are
not more than a mile off shore. Once afloat, I would advise each
of you to swim for land and take your chances there. That's all."
And with a wave of his hand he dismissed his men.
The hours dragged on into the afternoon and evening. Some of the men
crouched alone in their quarters, facing in solitude the impending
ordeal; others conversed together in low tones debating how they would
choose their method of escape. Bill Witt, true to his inherent
optimism, toted out his old banjo.
"Old Black Joe," he sang, and all the old familiar home songs. And
then, while some of the braver spirits were singing he swung into
"The Star Spangled Banner."
Instantly every man was on his feet and standing at attention. Thus
they stood until Bill picked his way through to "the home of the brave."
Yes, the "home of the brave!" Here were sons of Uncle Sam, wrecked on
the bottom of the sea, exemplifying that bravery that has characterized
the boys of our army and navy in every stage of our history. Not a
man in the _Dewey_ but was inspired by the grand old song and steeled
to die bravely for Old Glory if necessary and uphold the fair
traditions of the U.S. Navy.
From that moment the mental atmosphere within the _Dewey_ was cleared.
Inspired by the national anthem, every man resolved that now, do or
die, he would perform his part bravely.
"Where do we go from here, boys?" Bill started to play, and immediately
a dozen lusty voices joined in the rag-time refrain.
So the merriment continued over evening mess and into the evening. Ted
had strolled into the torpedo room absent-mindedly and was leaning
with one arm over one of the torpedoes in the starboard rack when
suddenly there flashed through his mind a wild inspiration. Instantly
he straightened and gazed about him. One at a time he counted the
torpedoes in the hold of the _Dewey_. There were three loaded in the
tubes and two more in the port and starboard racks.
"I'll do it, I'll do it," he shouted aloud and raced aft immediately
to the control chamber where his commander sat writing at an improvised
table.
Lieutenant McClure turned as Ted stopped and came to a salute.
"If you please, sir," Ted began, "I've been hatching a crazy kind of
a notion in my mind. I'd like to offer it in the way of a suggestion,
if you don't mind, sir."
"Go ahead, lad," said "Little Mack" with a show of interest.
"All right, sir," replied Ted. "There are five torpedoes aboard the
_Dewey_. It occurred to me that you might load all four tubes. Start
the engines and reverse them and then when we are tugging with all our
might shoot out the four torpedoes one after the other in rapid
succession. We'll lighten our load a lot and the kick of the firing
may drag us off. That's all, sir, but it was just an idea and I
couldn't help telling you, sir."
The captain of the _Dewey_ sat bold upright in his chair.
"I never thought of trying such a plan. I'll try it---I'll try it,"
he shouted.
"Little Mack" jumped to his feet and pressed the buzzer for his
executive officer. In a moment Officer Cleary appeared and the plan
was unfolded to him.
In quicker time than it takes to relate it, the _Dewey's_ commander
had sent orders forward for Mike Mowrey to load the torpedo tubes
and for Chief Engineer Blaine to get his engines in motion.
"What's up?" cried Bill Witt as Ted came bouncing into the torpedo
room.
"Wait a moment and you'll see," replied Ted.
From the engine room aft came the purr of the motors as the last
precious stores of "juice" were turned into the engines and the
propellor shafts began to revolve amid the hum of machinery.
"Reverse and back away at full speed," was the next order flashed to
the engine room.
And then, while the _Dewey_ was straining in every steel sinew, her
commander reached forward and touched off the four torpedoes in rapid
succession.
The little submersible seemed torn by an internal explosion. As each
torpedo shot out into the water the vessel shook under the force of
the explosion, rocking to and fro under the concussion.
"We're off; we're off," shouted McClure as he bent over the depth
dial. The hands of the indicator began to spin around and the _Dewey_,
relieved of every pound of ballast, shot upward like a rocket.
"Hurrah, hurrah!" the cry reverberated through the ship.
In another two minutes the American submarine had gained the surface,
her hatches were thrown open and the men swarmed out on deck---to
life and freedom!