The light was yet too faint, and would be for a few minutes, to find such a tantalizingly tiny object as a submarine’s periscope at a distance even of a few hundred yards. Lieutenant-Commander Darrin, therefore, had hit upon a simple trick that he hoped would prove effective. All depended upon the speed with which his ruse could be carried out. Cold perspiration stood out over Darrin as he realized the chances he was taking.
“Bow watch, there! Keep sharp lookout for torpedoes! Half a second might save us!”
Tupper stood with hand on the engine-room telegraph. He already had warned the engineer officer in charge to stand by for quick work.
Dalzell and the officers to whom Darrin had spoken saw to it that nearly all of the men turned out and rushed to the boats. Even the engineer department off watch came tumbling up in their distinctive clothing.
To an onlooker it would have appeared like a real stampede for the boats. Tackle creaked, making a louder noise than usual, but seeming to “stick” as an effort was made to lower loaded boats. The men in boats and at davits were grinning, for their officers had explained the trick.
Dawn’s light streaks had become somewhat more distinct as Dave peered ahead. Mr. Beatty and three men crouched low behind one of the forward guns.
The submarine commander must have rubbed his eyes, for, while he had observed no signs of a hit, he saw the American craft drifting on the water and the crew frantically trying to abandon ship.
Then the thing for which Darrin had hoped and prayed happened. The enemy craft’s conning tower appeared above water four hundred yards away.
“The best shot you ever made in your life, Mr. Beatty!” called Dave in an anxious voice.
The officer behind the gun had been ready all the time. At the first appearance of the conning tower he had drawn the finest sight possible.
The three-inch gun spoke. It seemed ages ere the shell reached its destination.
Then what a cheer ascended as the crew came piling on board from the boats. The conning tower of the submarine had been fairly struck and wrecked.
“Half speed ahead!” commanded Dave’s steady voice, while Dan gave the helmsman his orders. As Tupper sent the signal below the “Logan” gathered headway.
But Darrin had not finished, for on the heels of his first order came the second:
“Open on her with every gun!”
After the wrecking of his conning tower the German commander began to bring his craft to the surface. Perhaps it was his intention to surrender.
“Full speed ahead!” roared Darrin, and Ensign Tupper rang in the signal.
The hull of the submarine was hardly more than awash when five or six shots from the “Logan” struck it at about the same time.
Veering around to the southward the “Logan” prepared to circle the dying enemy. The German craft filled and sank, and Darrin presently gazed overboard at the oil-topped waters through which he was passing.
“A wonderful job! I wonder that you had the nerve to risk it,” muttered Dalzell.
“I don’t know whether it was a wonderful job, or a big fool risk,” Dave almost chattered. “It would have been a fool trick if I had lost the ship by it. I don’t believe that I shall ever try it again.”
“If you hadn’t done just what you did, a second torpedo would have been sent at you,” murmured Dalzell. “You saved the ‘Logan’ and ‘got’ the enemy, if you want to know.”
Grinning, for the responsibility had not been theirs, and the ruse had “worked,” the men of the watch returned to their usual stations, while those off duty returned to their “watch below.” Darrin, however, was shaking an hour later. He had dropped the usual method of defense for once and had tried a trick by which he might have lost his craft. As commander he knew that he had discretionary powers, but at the same time he realized that he had taken a desperate chance.
“Oh, stop that, now!” urged Danny Grin. “If you had steamed straight at the submarine you would have taken even bigger chances of losing the ‘Logan.’ Even had she given up the fight and dived, there wasn’t light enough for you to follow by any trail of bubbles the enemy might have left. The answer, David, little giant, is that the submarine is now at the bottom, and every Hun aboard is now a dead man. In this war the commander who wins victories is the only one who counts.”
Through that day Dave and Dan slept, alternately, only an hour or two at a time. All they sighted were three cargo steamers, two headed toward Liverpool and one returning to “an American port.”
At nine o’clock in the evening Darrin, after another hour’s nap, softly parted the curtains of the chart-room door and peered out. He saw a young sailor standing just back of the open doorway of the radio room. Slight as it was there was a something in the sailor’s attitude of listening that Darrin did not quite like. He stepped out on the deck.
Sighting him, the sailor saluted.
“Jordan!” called Dave, even before his hand reached his visor cap in acknowledgment of the salute.
“Yes, sir!” answered the seaman, coming to attention.
“You belong to this watch?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Your station is with the stern watch?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then what are you doing forward?”
“I left my station, by permission, to go below, sir.”
“Have you been below?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then why are you loitering here?”
Seaman Jordan hesitated, shifted on his feet, glanced down, then hurriedly replied:
“I – I don’t know, sir. I just stopped here a moment. There’s a relief man in my place, sir.”
“Return to your station, Jordan!”
“Aye, aye, sir,” replied the sailor, saluting, wheeling and walking away.
“And I’ll keep my eye on you,” mused Darrin, as he watched the departing sailor. “I may be wrong, but when I first sighted him there was a look on that lad’s face that I didn’t like.”
Even before he reached his station Seaman Jordan was quaking inwardly more apprehensively than is usual with a sailor caught in a slight delinquency.
CHAPTER III – QUICK “DOINGS” OVER THE SHOAL
For several days after that Darrin and the “Logan” cruised back and forth over the area assigned for patrol. During these days nothing much happened out of the usual. Then came a forenoon when Darrin received a wireless message, in code, ordering him to report back at once to the commanding officer of the destroyer patrol.
Mid afternoon found the “Logan” fifteen miles off the port of destination.
“Be on the alert every instant,” was the order Darrin gave out to officers and men. “There have been several sinkings, the last month, in these waters. We are nearing Fisherman’s Shoal, which is believed to be a favorite bit of ground for submarines that hide on the bottom.”
Over Fisherman’s Shoal the water was only about seventy feet in depth – an ideal spot for a lurking, hiding undersea craft.
Five minutes later the bow lookout announced quietly:
“Trail of bubbles ahead, sir.”
Leaving Ensign Phelps on the bridge, Dave and Dan darted down and forward.
A less practised eye might have seen nothing worth noting, but to the two young officers the trail ahead was unmistakable, though Darrin quickly brought up his