THE STARS AND STRIPES
The salt water worked its way into the batteries of the _Monitor_ the
deadly acid was generated and the gas permeated the air. Gasping for
life, half the engine crew retreated forward, covering their eyes and
noses to escape the asphyxiating vapor. With bloodshot eyes Chief
Engineer Blaine stumbled into the control chamber.
"Impossible to stay back there longer!" he exclaimed brokenly, addressing
himself to Hammond.
"Any chance of putting a bilge pump on the water?" asked Jack.
"Not a chance in the world; no man can work back there," replied
the engineer.
By now the gas had increased in such volume that every man in the
conning tower base was choking and coughing. The only thing to do in
such an emergency was to roll shut the steel partition shutting off
the engine room from the remainder of the vessel. To make matters
worse the lights throughout the _Monitor_ went out, leaving the vessel
in utter darkness.
"Every man out of the engine room?" asked Jack.
"I'll find out," answered Blaine.
In the darkness the chief engineer called off the names of his men,
getting a response, one by one, from the electricians, oilers and
machinists who composed his crew. Not a man was missing, but many of
them were suffering from the effects of near-strangulation. Jack
ordered the opening of the reserve oxygen tanks, and this gave the
sufferers temporary relief.
"Come here, Ted!" called Jack out of the darkness.
Groping his way to where his chum sat propped against the side of the
conning tower, Ted bent over the prostrate form of the ship's executive
officer.
"I'm growing weak, chum," said Jack feebly. "My limbs are numb and I
feel so cold. In case I go under keep the _Monitor_ down here about
half an hour and then take your chances on going up. Better to be
taken prisoners than die here like a lot of rats in a trap. Do you
understand, Ted?"
His teeth chattering with mingled fear and cold---fear for the life
of his old Brighton roommate and cold because of the falling temperature
due to the cutting off of all electrical energy---Ted answered in the
affirmative.
"I guess that's about all we can do, chum," he added.
Ted and Navigating Officer Binns conferred together in the control
chamber.
"Better to go up and take our chances on the surface than to remain
here under these conditions," counseled Binns.
"I agree with you, Mr. Binns," replied Ted.
And so, after another ten minutes' wait, the two decided to empty
the ballast tanks.
In another moment the weight of water filling the ballast tanks was
being thrown off under the force of the compressed air and the
_Monitor_ lifted off the bed of the harbor. Striking a match, Binns
leaned over the depth dial, watching the fluctuating hand that marked
foot by foot the progress of the _Monitor_ upward. To lighten the
load as much as possible and counterbalance the weight of water in
the wrecked conning tower Ted released the torpedoes remaining in
the tubes. In a few minutes the indicator hand pointed to zero and
the _Monitor's_ officers realized that now their craft was riding
awash with her deck fully exposed.
Making his way forward through the gloom, Ted sprang to the hatch and
raised the lid. As the morning light streamed in through the opening
a muffled cheer resounded from the interior of the sub. Vaulting up
the ladder, Ted leaped on deck and looked around him. There to
starboard, not more than five hundred feet away, loomed a giant
cruiser. From her stern tailrail trailed a familiar emblem.
"The Stars and Stripes!" exclaimed the youth as his comrades swarmed
up about him from the hold of the prison ship.
A glorious victory had been won by the allied fleets. All about the
_Monitor_ were warships of the American, English, and French nations.
Reducing the land fortifications after a terrific bombardment, the
combined fleet had "rushed" the harbor in the wake of their
mine-sweepers, engaged and overwhelmed the larger units of the German
fleet there assembled, and driven some of the smaller craft into
the Zeebrugge Canal. Thousands of marines and blue-jackets, formed
into landing parties, had been set upon shore and were now taking
formal possession of the German stronghold.
"Hurrah for the _Monitor_!" the cry reverberated over the waters as
the plucky American submarine was made fast alongside the U.S.S.
_Chicago_ and the story of her night's exploits became heralded
about. Willing hands assisted in reclaiming the wounded and gas
victims from the hold of the ship. Jack and his captain, the latter
still unconscious, suffering from a severe concussion of the brain,
were lifted over the side and carried to the cruiser's sick bay
for their wounds to be dressed. It was found upon examination that
the ligaments and muscles in Jack's limbs had been severely torn
and the flesh lacerated, but that his injuries, while painful, were
not serious.
Great jubilation reigned on all the ships. A band on the forward
deck of the Chicago was playing "Stars and Strips Forever," while
from a nearby British battleship came the strains of "Rule Britannia."
Their last rendezvous on the Flemish coast wrested from them, the
backbone of the German U-boat campaign was broken by the concerted
land and sea attack. Several of the allied warships had gone down
in the spectacular engagement of the night, but a notable victory
had been won, and the boys of the navy were in raptures over their
successful engagement.
Later in the day Jack was transferred to a hospital ship. All the
allied wounded from the sea battle off Zeebrugge were to be sent to
England. Captain McClure was grievously wounded. Jack would not be
able to resume active service for some time, so his surgeon said, and
would probably be invalided home.
In due time Jack arrived in London, where for a time he was a patient
in one of the American-endowed hospitals. Within a week he was joined
by Ted. The latter had been granted a leave of absence. Together the
two young lieutenants took passage on a steamship bound for New York,
and, braving the perils of the submarine-infested sea, crossed to
their own dear old U.S.A.---"the home of the free and the land of the
brave."
And now we shall leave them. Suffice to say that after a several
months' sojourn at home they returned again to the field of activity
to resume their places in the U.S. fleet and continue in service
until the end of the war, reaping new honors for themselves, their
alma mater and their country.
Of course, before they went back to rejoin "Little Mack," Bill Witt,
Mike Mowrey and all their old seafaring mates, they visited Brighton.
It was late afternoon of an October day when the young lieutenants,
spic and span in their uniforms, walked briskly up old Pine Street to
the campus of Brighton. Many of the students were loafing about the
campus awaiting the ringing of the dinner gong when the boys arrived.
Hardly had they climbed the gray stone steps leading to the campus,
however, before they were recognized.
"Hurrah for Jack Hammond and Ted Wainwright!" the cry resounded. Word
of their arrival spread through the dormitories and soon a mob of
chattering schoolboys surrounded the two young officers. As the dinner
gong sounded, the heroes were hoisted to the shoulders of their old
chums and carried into the dining room. There they met all the
"profs" and were compelled to hold an impromptu reception while the
dinner waited.
The study period that night at Brighton was set back an hour. Brighton
had her heroes at home, and she was doing them full honor. Many of
the boys had enlisted in the various branches of service and were now
"over there." But those who remained held a joyous reception in honor
of the two whose stirring deeds had brought such signal honor to the
school that had sent them forth.
A few minutes after ten o'clock, when all the boys had been rung to
their rooms and lights were out, two young naval lieutenants stood at
the foot of the campus, gazing back at the facade of the familiar
old dormitory, its windows framing the heads of many youths who were
shouting a farewell to their old friends.
The boys stood in silence contemplating the picture---listening to the
chorus of good-bys.
Ted was first to speak.
"I guess it was worth while, chum---our going away to serve our country
and coming back to get a reception like this," he faltered.
"And then some!" came Jack's answer. "For Brighton and for Uncle Sam!
That's us!"
THE END