Dave Darrin and the German Submarines. Or, Making a Clean-up of the Hun Sea Monsters

“It is a lie!” foamed Sparnheim. “A lie, a lie, a lie, I tell you! What I have done, I have done as a loyal and patriotic German. What I have done was for my country and my sovereign!”

“To be sure,” Dave agreed, “but you can never shift your part of the burden from yourself. Your life will be one of misery.”

Others of the passengers had crowded forward to share with the frenzied woman the storm of reproaches that she visited upon these Germans, but Dan felt that matters had gone far enough.

“All rescued survivors will please step inside,” he called out. “We will register your names and make the best possible provision for you.”

Having gotten the rescued ones well aft, Dan turned to the petty officer in charge of the prisoners.

“March them down to the brig,” he ordered.

Sparnheim drew himself up, then indicated a younger man at his side.

“Me? You know who I am. And this is Lieutenant Witz. When you send my men to your brig, what do you do with us?”

“We won’t separate you,” Dan assured him, with a smile.

“I demand to know where you will send us. That is, if we are not to have the freedom of the deck?”

“You will both go to the brig with your men,” Dalzell answered.

“But we are officers and gentlemen!” cried Sparnheim, indignantly.

“Gentlemen!” repeated Dan Dalzell, a world of irony in his tone.

Then to the petty officer:

“To the brig, with the whole lot of them!”

Sparnheim struck at a sailor who took hold of his arm and the sailor promptly felled him to the deck.

“I am insulted and treated outrageously because I am helpless,” yelled the German, sitting on the deck.

“I am sorry that violence was necessary,” Dan replied, raising him to his feet. “You have only to obey, and you will not be handled roughly.”

“I will not go to the brig with common sailors!” roared Sparnheim.

“It is rough on the sailors,” Dan agreed, “so I shall have to apologize to your ‘common sailors’ and ask them to endure your company. If they maltreat you, you can make complaint, you know.”

It required two husky sailors to drag Sparnheim below. Witz, who was more tractable, went as ordered, head down, and eyes lowered.

“The air is sweeter now that they’re gone,” Dan confided to his chum.

“Much!” Dave agreed, dryly.

Soon after that the last of the survivors from the sunken steamship were picked up and made as comfortable as possible.

It was not until the following morning that these survivors, and the German prisoners as well, were transferred to an in-bound destroyer.

Then the “Prince,” with a farewell toot of her whistle to the destroyer, turned her nose about and steamed off in search of such further enterprise as the broad sea might hold in store for her.

CHAPTER XX – DAN STALKS A CAUTIOUS ENEMY

“Shall we escort you in?”

It was the following morning, and the “Prince” was proceeding eastward. An American destroyer, roaring along on her way, funnels belching clouds of black smoke, her engines at full speed, her whole frame quivering, sent this signal to the “Prince”:

“Do you wish convoy?”

“No, thank you,” Dan signalled back, as the destroyer slowed down for an answer. “We can look out for ourselves.”

“You don’t look it,” came back the response.

“We’ll get in, all right,” Dan replied by signal.

“Sorry for you,” came the reply. “Think we’d better stick by.”

“Confound him,” muttered Dalzell. “He means well, but if he stands by us he’ll spoil our good chance of trapping some more of these submarines.”

“Ask him who commands,” Darrin suggested.

Dan ordered the question signalled.

“Preston,” came the reply.

“We know him well enough,” laughed Dave. “He was at Annapolis with us.”

Dan was now quick to see the point of Dave’s original suggestion, for he signalled:

“Do you remember Dalzell?”

“Danny Grin!” came the prompt response from the destroyer.

“Yes; he commands this tub,” Dan signalled back.

“Oh!” came the comprehending signal from the destroyer.

Then, after a brief interval:

“Danny Grin could always laugh his way into luck. Good-bye, and success!”

“Thank you,” Dan did not omit to signal back. “More of the same to you.”

The destroyer increased her speed and forged ahead, disappearing in the distance.

“He knew that Dan Dalzell could take care of himself,” Dave declared.

“At least,” replied the “Prince’s” commander, “he must have realized that I had some game out here on the water that I didn’t want spoiled.”

“Periscope astern, sir!” called a lookout two hours later.

Dan’s watch officer turned just in time to detect, with his glass, a tube even then being withdrawn back into the water.

“Twelve hundred yards astern, at least,” he reported to Dalzell. “I couldn’t have picked it up without a glass, nor could the lookout.”

“Watch for a torpedo,” Dan directed, “although I don’t believe he’ll try at such a distance in his position.”

This guess proved correct, for the “Prince” continued on her way for fully five minutes after that without further sign from the submarine.

That very fact made Dalzell impatient.

“Confound the Hun!” he growled. “If he won’t try for me, then I’ll coax him!”

Accordingly the “Prince’s” engines were stopped. As soon as headway ceased, the seeming tramp appeared to drift helplessly on the waves. Dan’s next move was to order men to run over the decks and the superstructure as though making repairs.

“Just what do you figure the Hun will think has happened to you?” Darrin asked.

“He’ll have to do his own guessing,” Dan rejoined. “I’m not going to help him solve the puzzle. But surely something must have happened to us.”

For a few minutes nothing was seen, in any quarter, of the enemy craft. At last, however, a glimpse was caught of a periscope to starboard.

“He’s trying to figure us out,” Dan chuckled. “I hope we don’t look good enough for him to waste a torpedo!”

His hand at the engine-room telegraph, Dan waited, while Ensign Stark watched that periscope through his glass.

“There goes the periscope out of sight,” announced the watch officer, presently.

A full ten minutes passed. Then sight of the periscope was picked up once more, this time closer in.

“You’ve got him guessing, at the least,” Dave smiled.

“Yes, but I’m still hoping he won’t guess ‘torpedo,’” was Dalzell’s response. “Stand by, gunners!”

“There comes the conning tower,” Stark announced.

“He’s going to gun us, then,” Dan concluded. He waited, standing almost on tiptoe, until the gray back of the sea monster thrust itself up through the water.

“Back with the ports! Let him have it, starboard battery!” Dan called to the waiting naval gunners.

Their officer had the range and all was ready. Two shells splashed in the sea just short of the submersible, the third just beyond it.

“Second round!” Dan bellowed from the bridge.

Profiting by their margins of error the gunners this time fired so true that one shell landed on the gray back forward, the other aft. The hits were glancing, so the enemy was not put out of business.

The next instant a puff of smoke left the enemy’s forward gun. No bad shooting, that, for the forward gun of the “Prince’s” starboard battery was promptly knocked from its mounting. Four men went down as the shell exploded.

“Two killed, sir!” came the swift report from the deck. The others, wounded, were assisted below. The shell had done further damage, for a big fragment had knocked to bits one of the sliding port doors.

Dan signalled for speed ahead, swung around, and at the same time ordered raised for instant work a machine gun that nestled in the bow of the “Prince.”

“Let the enemy have it!” called Dalzell.

Straight at the submarine Dan dashed, throwing the spray high around the bows. The machine gunners, quickly getting sight, kept a steady stream of bullets striking against the enemy’s hull, despite the fact that the range was constantly shifting. This keeping of the range was not difficult when shots were fired continuously, for the enemy was near enough for the officer in charge of the piece to tell by splashes of water when any of the bullets went wild.

“He won’t dive now, but if he does, it will suit me just as well,” Dan chuckled. “That old hull must be a sieve now.”

Two torpedoes were discharged at the oncoming “Prince.” One of these missed the ship narrowly. The other struck, glancingly, on the port side, forward, and disappeared without exploding.

By now the submarine was doing some maneuvering of its own. Its forward and after guns were discharged whenever possible, but the shells failed to land, until the “Prince,” still managing to keep on, was within three hundred yards, and bent on ramming the enemy craft.

Over the bridge screamed a shell, passing so close that Dan and Dave ducked involuntarily.

Crash! There was a ripping of metal, a black smudge of smoke soon settling over everything, and the “Prince’s” smokestack was gone, clipped off within seven feet of the point where it emerged through the deck.

Then with a quick turn of the steering wheel the “Prince” was sent crashing into the long, low, gray hull. From close to the water came the yells of the Hun crew as they scrambled up through the conning tower hatchway.

On passed the “Prince,” making a wide sweep and coming back again. The submersible had already sunk from sight, leaving but few of her men struggling on the surface of the water.

By the time that the “Prince” had lowered a boat some of the Germans had sunk. Only three men were rescued and hauled in.

Lined up on the spar deck of the steamship these proved to be the second-in-command and two seamen.

“It’s an outrage to deceive us in the manner that you did,” angrily declared the German officer, in English.

“Take that matter up with the Assassins’ Union,” Dan jeered. “On this cruise I’ve heard other German officers call it an outrage. It appears to me that you Germans reserve the right to commit all the outrages.”

“Then you’ve met other submarines?” scowled the young officer.

“This part of the sea must be pretty clear of the pests, at the rate we’ve been going,” Dan announced, cheerfully. “We had a lot of prisoners, too, but you’ll find the brig empty now, for we transferred them.”

“The brig?” demanded the German officer. “What have I to do with that?”

“It will be your lodging,” Dan informed him. “Also your play yard.”

“I refuse to go there!” exclaimed the enemy officer, indignantly.

“Oh, well, you’ll be carried there, then,” said Dalzell, carelessly.

“But a ship’s brig is no place to confine officers,” the German went on, heatedly. “As an officer I demand proper quarters.”

“Take them below,” Dan ordered, briefly.

For the first few steps the German officer had to be dragged. Then, realizing the hopelessness of resistance, he yielded and walked along in company with his seamen, though he called back:

“I have helped to sink many ships, and trust that I may have had the honor and pleasure of sending friends of yours to the bottom.”

Ignoring the fellow, Dan went back to the bridge, thence down to the hurricane deck. Men were already engaged in removing the wreck of the smashed smoke-stack.

Emergency repairs were completed in due time, with materials kept on board for such a case.

And now, when he could safely run at full speed once more, if necessary, Dalzell gave the order to proceed. He was about to go below, to the wardroom for luncheon, when a radio operator came running to the bridge.

As has been stated, the “Prince” carried a full radio outfit, that could be installed rapidly, but Dan’s orders had been to conceal all evidence of radio equipment until absolutely necessary to use it.

None the less, a small receiving station had been rigged up, and concealed, so that, though Lieutenant-Commander Dalzell’s sending radius was short, he could receive messages from any quarter.

The message at which he now glanced read:

“S. S. ‘Prince’: Report.”

It had come in code, but Dan was able to translate it without reference to his code book.

Instantly, he gave orders to have the radio outfit erected, then descended to his meal.

Later one of the radio men reported that the equipment was in shape for signalling. So the young commander sent in his report of work so far accomplished to the destroyer base at the home port.

“Excellent!” came back the hearty commendation. “Results better than expected. But ruse will soon be known, so return and report. Darrin’s new orders will also be ready for him on arrival.”

“Home, James!” said Dan, jovially, to the officer of the deck, when he had deciphered the coded instructions.

That night he and Dave took an extra long sleep, though both remained fully dressed, ready for summons at any moment.

CHAPTER XXI – THE S. O. S. FROM THE “GRISWOLD”

“Belle on her way, and due soon to arrive!” Dave Darrin cried, joyously, as he read the cablegram that had been handed to him on his arrival at the American admiral’s headquarters.

That cablegram had lain there for days, having arrived the same forenoon that Darrin had put to sea on the voyage of the “Prince” with Dalzell in command.

Belle was his wife, his schoolboy sweetheart, whom he had not seen in many months. He had known that she was trying to induce the Red Cross authorities to send her to France, but had had no word to the effect that she had been successful.

Now he knew, from the number by which the expected ship was designated in the cablegram, that she was on the passenger liner “Griswold.”

“When is the ‘Griswold’ due?” Dave asked a clerk at headquarters.

“Arrival date hasn’t been reported,” answered the clerk, “but it should be in to-day. I’ve an idea, sir, that the ‘Griswold’ cannot be far out now.”

“Your sailing orders, Darrin!” hailed a staff officer, walking briskly up and holding out a bulky envelope.

“Do I have a few days in port?” Dave inquired, hopefully.

“Sorry to say that you do not. You are required to drop out with the tide at four this afternoon.”

“Very good,” nodded Dave, pleasantly, though he did deeply regret that he could not have a few days in port. He must miss meeting Belle, who was bound for this same port.

“Your orders, too, Dalzell,” continued the staff officer, handing Dan an envelope of appearance similar to that which Darrin had received.

“Sailing orders for to-day for me, too?” he grinned.

“Same time as Darrin’s,” and the staff officer had hurried away.

While the friends had been out on their last cruise two big, new destroyers, lately commissioned, had arrived from the United States.

To Darrin and Dalzell, in recognition of their fine work against submarines, had fallen the commands of these new sea terrors.

The “Asa Grigsby” was Dave’s new craft; to Dan had fallen the “Joseph Reed.”

Ordinarily Dave would have been glad of his fine new command and prompt sailing orders. Now, he wished regretfully that he could have had a few days ashore. That he might meet the “Griswold” at sea, of which there was not more than half a chance, meant little to him. He would, in that case, pass the ship on which Belle journeyed, but that would mean nothing.

“Oh, well, it’s war-time,” Dave sighed, when Dan expressed sympathy. “A few years of war, you know, and then a man will have a chance to see his home folks again, once in a while.”

“It’s tough, that’s what it is,” answered Dan, sympathetically.

“No, it isn’t even that,” Dave rejoined, quickly. “There are thousands of men at sea on ships who may not see their wives again unless we chaps do our duty all the time. There are scores of women on the sea whose husbands will never see them again if we sleep or lag. The men of the destroyer fleet have no right to think of their own pleasure or convenience. I’m ready for sea, and I pray for a busy and successful cruise against the enemy!”

Only from the deck of the “Prince” had the two chums seen their new craft. Now they went down the hill toward the harbor, ready to report and take over their ships.

It was the first time during the war that the two chums had sailed separately. It was also Dan Dalzell’s first regular command, for the “Prince” had been handed over to him only on temporary detail.

“We’ll miss each other, Danny-boy,” cried Dave, regretfully, as the chums gripped each other’s hands at the quay. “We’ve been used to sailing together.”

“We can have a radio talk once in a while,” Dan returned glumly.

“Yes, but we’re supposed to talk by radio only on official matters.”

“We can at least find out when we’re near each other.”

After they had entered their respective gigs, and had started toward their craft, the chums waved hands toward each other.

Then Darrin, turning his thoughts to duty, tried to forget his disappointment over his inability to meet Belle.

Going up over the side of the “Grigsby,” Dave was greeted by the watch officer. Then his new executive officer, Lieutenant Fernald, reported to him and greeted him. Dave’s baggage was taken to the commanding officer’s quarters, and he followed to direct his new steward in the unpacking.

This done, Darrin went out on deck and ordered all officers and men assembled that he might take over the command formally by reading the orders assigning him to the “Grigsby.”

This formality over, Dave sent a messenger after one petty officer whom he had observed in the crew. A boatswain’s mate came promptly, saluted and reported.

“I noted your face, Runkle, and I’m glad indeed to see you on this ship,” Darrin informed him, heartily.

“I’m glad to hear you say that, sir,” replied Runkle, with another salute. “I was ordered to this craft only this forenoon, sir.”

“Yes; I’m glad to have you aboard, Runkle, for I remember that I’ve had some of my best luck when you were at hand. I think I shall have to appoint you my personal mascot,” Darry laughed.

“I’ll be that, or anything else that will serve, sir,” Runkle declared, gravely, his face flushing with pleasure over Dave’s cordiality.

“This is a fine new craft, Runkle.”

“Yes, sir; one of the two best destroyers that the United States has put in commission since the war began. I’m eager, sir, to see the best that the ‘Grigsby’ can do.”

“The best that the ‘Grigsby’ and her complement can do,” Dave Darrin amended.

Then, accompanied by the executive officer, Darrin started on a tour of inspection of the “Grigsby.”

“It seems a shame, doesn’t it,” Dave asked, “to think that a magnificent craft like this, costing a huge fortune, can be destroyed in a moment by contact with a single torpedo fired from some sneaking German submarine.”

“But it seems just as good the other way, sir, to think that such a craft as this can, perhaps, sink a dozen of the submarines before she meets her own fate.”

“I never fully appreciated before this war what war to the hilt meant,” Dave went on, thoughtfully. “Of course I knew that it spelled ‘death’ for many of the fighters, but it also means the destruction of so much property, the ruining of so much material that the world needs for its comfort! The world will be hard up, for a century to come, on account of the waste of useful materials caused by this war’s destructiveness.”

“But may the ‘Grigsby’ do her share of that destructive work!” said Lieutenant Fernald, fervently. “The property that we destroy belongs to those who would set the world back a thousand years!”

“I’m afraid we must go on destroying enemy property, and our own, too, in accomplishing harm to the enemy, Mr. Fernald. The more swiftly we destroy, the sooner our struggles against the German madmen will be ended!”

All was in readiness to sail. Punctually to the minute the “Grigsby” and the “Reed,” with anchors up, began to move out of the harbor. Both had their general orders as to the course to be followed, the length and duration of the cruise, too, with discretion as to changing their orders in emergencies such as might arise.

Hardly had they put out from port when the “Grigsby” and the “Reed” parted company.

For the first hour Darrin, following orders, ran at full speed, then slowed down to cruising speed. Night came upon the waters, with a crescent moon off in the western sky.

“And somewhere out on this wide waste, somewhere west of here, probably, is the ‘Griswold,’ with Belle aboard. And, unless she has liberty to remain in port, I shall not see her in months, perhaps, or maybe in years.”

Dave put the thought aside. He was out again in the haunts of the assassins of the sea; out, also, in the track of vessels bringing men and supplies for the world’s greatest fight. Disappointed as he was over the impossibility of meeting Belle, he realized how small his own affairs were as compared with the fate of the world.

At midnight he went below, for he had confidence in the new junior officers whom he had met to-day, and he wanted to be awake and on the bridge again just before dawn. So, leaving orders for his calling, he went below to his quarters.

And there he slept, dreaming of Belle, undoubtedly, until an hour before dawn, when an orderly entered hurriedly, shaking him hard by the shoulder.

“Message from liner ‘Griswold,’ sir, reports by radio that she has just dodged torpedo fired by submarine that is still following.”

“The ‘Griswold!’” echoed Darrin, awaking instantly and leaping to his feet. “You’re sure of the name?”

“Yes, sir!”

Dave pulled on rubber boots and snatched his cap and sheepskin coat.

Then, a second orderly reported:

“S. O. S. from ‘Griswold’, sir! Just struck and believed to be in sinking condition!”

CHAPTER XXII – DAVE’S NIGHT OF AGONY

“The ‘Griswold’ sinking! And Belle on board!” hurried into Dave Darrin’s mind as he heard further details and learned that the stricken liner lay twenty-five miles away, sou’-sou’-west from the “Grigsby’s” present position.

He darted through the doorway and sprang for the bridge.

“Full speed to the ‘Griswold’!” he commanded as he darted up the bridge stairs.

But Ensign Weedon had already worked the engine-room telegraph, and hardly had Dave rested two unsteady hands on the bridge rail when he felt the dashing spray in his face, for the “Grigsby” was racing like a hound just freed from its leash.

“Heading straight to the position reported, sir,” stated Ensign Weedon.

Lieutenant Fernald, also summoned, came hurrying to the bridge a few moments later.

“Like as not some of our own friends are on the ‘Griswold’,” muttered Fernald. “I understand she carries a large passenger list.”

“My wife is on board,” answered Darrin with a calmness that he did not feel.

Fernald’s face fell.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Darrin. We’ll do our best to reach the ship in time!”

“Yes, we’ll do our level best and go our fastest, just as we would hurry to aid any other stricken ship,” Darrin rejoined, steadily, though his hands gripped the rail so tightly that they showed white at the knuckles.

Weedon had already wirelessed to the “Griswold” that help was coming swiftly. Dalzell’s craft, too, had picked up the radio messages telling of the “Griswold’s” desperate plight. Dan was thirty-two miles away from the ship that bore Belle Darrin.

Then from the “Griswold” came this message:

“Listing so that cannot use bow or stern guns. Submarine risen and is shelling us!”

“The monsters!” groaned Dave, as Fernald, in an unsteady voice, read the radio message to him. “Ask how long the ‘Griswold’ can keep afloat if not hit further.”

This message was sent, bringing back the alarming word:

“Cannot say, but submarine moving closer. Evidently determined to make swift job of us.”

“And of course the German hears these messages!” groaned Dave. “He may even have the key to our code with commercial ships. He will now do his best and quickest to send the liner to the bottom!”

Ten minutes later this came in by way of the “Grigsby’s” aerials:

“S. O. S.! Taking to our boats on starboard side. Enemy on our port! S. O. S. ‘Griswold’.”

“And we are still fifteen miles away!” moaned Dave.

His face was calm, but ghastly white. His lips were tightly closed over firmly set jaws. “Fifteen miles away!”

“The turbines are doing every ounce of work that is in them,” said Lieutenant Fernald, in a low voice.