JACK GIVES THE ORDER, "FIRE!"
The naval officer, too, had made out a bobbing something on the sea,
ahead, over at port, which he took to be the long sought derelict.
The lieutenant could not say anything, but, with glass still at his eyes,
he leaned back against the conning tower, drawing in his breath sharply.
"Want me to take the wheel?" called out Eph, as he reached deck again.
"Yes. I want to keep the glass to my eyes."
Just one look did Benson take at the supposed derelict. Then he swung
his gaze around upon the "Thor."
"They've seen our speed-burst," cried the young submarine skipper. "I
don't believe they had spotted the derelict, but now they see us shooting
ahead, to cross their course, and that has told them the secret. Yes!
There they go ahead, and pointing straight. They've caught up the old
wreck--through our glasses!"
It was provoking, but the rival boat, besides being nearer at the start,
had also started forward at greater speed.
"This is the 'Thor's' trick," thought Lieutenant Danvers to himself.
"Too bad, too. I'd like to have seen the boys take it."
Jacob Farnum's private view, not expressed, agreed with the naval
officer's.
But Jack Benson? He simply couldn't admit any victory for the
rival--not until it was actually won.
"Swing a half-point off port bow, Eph--steady, now!" breathed the young
skipper, intensely.
Down below, Hal Hastings was performing as near to wonders as was
possible with a gasoline engine. Jacob Farnum stood just inside the
conning tower, prepared to rush below with any other orders.
"Yes, it's the derelict!" shouted Benson, presently. "I can make out
the stumps of two masts now. We'll be there in a few minutes."
"We'll be lucky if we don't get there too late," grumbled Somers. "Shall
I steer direct for the old wreck, or take the course from you?"
"Better take it from me for a time," Benson replied. "My glass will be
more dependable than your naked eye."
The "Thor," also, was heading straight for the derelict. So far, the
Rhinds boat was still nearer.
It began to look, however, as if the "Thor's" engines were not quite as
fast as those of the other Rhinds boat, the "Zelda."
"Are we going to make it?" breathed Eph, the perspiration of sheer strain
standing out on his forehead.
"Yes!" almost barked Jack Benson.
"Sure thing, is it?" persisted Somers.
"Sure--only don't talk too much," growled young Benson.
It was the grit, the dogged determination of the born commander--the
natural leader of men.
A moment later Jack turned a white face toward the shipbuilder.
"Mr. Farnum, tell Hal he'll have to pour the oil in faster. We've got
to have more speed."
Farnum did not even wait for the second sentence. He dived below. All
of a sudden the "Hastings" was seen to take a notable leap forward. Then
she settled down to a more rapid, steady gait.
Just inside the conning tower Jacob Farnum stood again. In his right
hand he clutched a doubled-up handkerchief, with which he made frequent
dabs at his face.
The shipbuilder knew that the present speed, with its dangerous
overheating of the engines, spelled blank disaster if continued for long.
Hal Hastings, down below, standing like a white wraith beside his
engines, realized the same thing.
So, too, did Jack Benson, the young skipper, for whom, in this mad
moment, there was but one word in the language--"win!"
Eph didn't stop to realize it. He was worrying about straight steering,
and he couldn't worry about more than one thing at a time.
Lieutenant Danvers must have known what was patent to every other mind
but he neither said nor did anything. He was a Navy officer, trained
not to display emotion.
"Good!" came from Captain Jack's lips. Yet, in the intensity of his
strain it was a groan, rather than a note of exultation. "We're cutting
into the 'Thor's' water."
A few moments more, and Benson found his craft slantingly across the
Rhinds boat's course, well ahead.
"Now, we'll show you!" quavered Jack Benson, as he briefly shook his fist
back at the wicked rivals.
"If we don't blow the lid off this sea-turtle!" muttered young Somers,
to himself.
At the youthful captain's sharp order Eph swung the course around.
"Now, drive straight toward the derelict, Eph!" breathed the young
commander, his eyes glittering. "I leave the deck in your hands for a
minute. You're broadside on, now. Keep driving, steady, as you are!"
As Farnum saw young Benson dashing his way the shipbuilder understood
and darted down the stairs.
After him plunged Jack Benson. Below, both became cooler, for the task
in hand must not be bungled. On one of the trucks they dragged a torpedo
forward, fitting it in the tube.
As he closed the after port behind the torpedo, Jack bent over to place
Jacob Farnum's hand on the firing lever.
"Stand there, sir, till you've done it!" quavered Captain Jack.
"Will you signal the order?"
"No, sir! You'll get it by voice."
As Benson wheeled, dashing away, he had an instant's glimpse, sideways,
of Hal Hastings's face. Great as Jack's haste was, that look at his
chum's face haunted him.
There was no time for sentiment, now, though. It was literally do or
die!
The "Thor" was now three hundred yards astern, making frantic efforts to
lessen the distance, yet actually losing time.
Ahead, the derelict was now some fifteen hundred yards away. The
half-sunken wreck still presented a broadside, as shown by the positions
of two stumps of masts.
"What range are you going to fire at?" asked Eph Somers.
"The torpedo is set for six hundred yards; we'll fire at three hundred."
Captain Jack's voice was cooler, steadier, now. The first great strain
had subsided. He was cool, tense, now--though not a whit less
determined to win at all hazards.
As there was still some time to spare, and Eph could handle the
"Hastings" as well as any other helmsman on earth, Jack stepped back to
the conning tower.
Lieutenant Danvers was there, though with his gaze astern.
"I can just picture old Rhinds," laughed Captain Jack, a bit harshly.
"He's saying hard things about us, for cutting in on his course and
getting the derelict away from him."
Danvers laughed.
"The old fellow is swearing a blue streak, and threatening himself with
an apoplectic stroke every instant."
"You don't seem to love Mr. Rhinds very noticeably," grimaced the naval
officer.
"If I don't," voiced Jack, "neither do any of our crowd. And the reason
is more than mere business rivalry, too."
Lieutenant Danvers knew nothing whatever of the dastardly attempts
against the Pollard crowd that Rhinds and Radwin had engineered.
It was not a time, however, in which to waste precious moments looking
back at the more tardy rival boat.
Jack wheeled, bracing himself against the conning tower. They were now
within eight hundred yards of the derelict's broadside-on.
How the "Hastings" seemed to crawl over the last of the intervening water
space! Yet Hal realized, if Jack did not, how swiftly the submarine was
racing.
"Five hundred yards!" clicked Jack, and stepped inside the conning tower,
snatching up a megaphone.
Four hundred and fifty--four hundred--three-fifty--three-twenty-five!
"Fire!"
That last word was bellowed below through the megaphone. Jack, his eyes
staring forward, saw something leap near the bow, and saw an upward dash
of spray. The torpedo had left the tube.
"Hard-aport, Eph! Swing her right over. So!"
From his own post in the conning tower Benson signaled for slow speed,
now. It would never do to stop the overheated engines utterly. Besides,
seaway was needed, with the rival craft coming up behind.
His work in the conning tower done, Captain Jack sprang out on the
platform deck, bounding beside Lieutenant Danvers at the starboard rail.
Through the manhole opening of, the tower the shipbuilder soon thrust
his uncovered head.
Was the torpedo, so carefully aimed, going to strike and do its work?