Chapter IX: The Escape

“Do you suppose it’s one of our ships?” asked Dave, anxiously.

“You can bet it ain’t one o’ their own, anyway. Gee! I wish we could rock the boat, or somethin’, so they’d miss their shot! We’re slowing down.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t know, but I sort o’ feel it, just as I sort o’ feel that we’re running just under, with the periscopes stickin’ out. Listen, Kid!”

The boat was strangely silent, for the motors were purring more softly and, with every man at his station, there were no footfalls echoing against the steel walls. Occasionally a short command came from the central station and now and then a click or the burr of sliding metal reached them. Silence and suspense wrapped the gleaming cylinder as it went gliding slowly and stealthily through the midnight sea. Dave’s watch, somewhere near correct, showed the time to be shortly before three. The torpedo compartment emitted few sounds. Dave pictured the junior officer, finger on button, awaiting the command. Then there came a sound from the bow like none that Dave had ever heard, a sort of “_Gr-r-rh!_” such as a contented tiger might make. There was a barely perceptible shock underfoot and he knew that the death-dealing missile was on its way.

He waited, staring with wide eyes at Pete, but no sound reached them until there was a second growl from the torpedo compartment. Then the boat awoke to activity. The motors hummed more loudly, men hurried through the quarters, the submarine’s nose tilted slightly upward. The torpedo compartment was noisy once more.

“Whoever she is,” said Pete glumly “they got her. If they hadn’t they wouldn’t be goin’ up.” Dave nodded agreement, and Pete sunk his voice. “Kid,” he whispered, “are you game to take a chance?”

“Do you mean――escape?”

“Sure. If they get busy with that ship we might get away without their knowin’ it.”

“But where to, Pete? How?”

“I don’t know, but I’d a heap rather be floatin’ around in the ocean than here! If only we had those life-vests!”

“Wonder what they did with them.”

“Those these fellows wear are a lot better,” said Dave. “They blow them up. Do you suppose we could find a couple?”

“If we knew where to look.” Pete gazed around. “Trouble is they’re all wearin’ ’em. Maybe there’s extra ones aboard, though. Where would they keep ’em?”

“In the lockers, do you think?” There was a row of lockers under the berths on each side, and Peter, making certain that no one was approaching, stooped and pulled one open. But only a litter of clothing and boots rewarded him. Footsteps in the passage made him close the locker quickly and the German who had talked to them in English came toward them. For the first time his countenance held something approaching a smile.

“We got her,” he said. “She’s a big one, too.”

“What’s her flag?” asked Pete, resisting a desire to plant his fist in the middle of that smirking face.

“Italian, I think.” Then his lips closed tightly and he glanced apprehensively behind him. “Maybe I should not tell you,” he muttered.

“Look here,” said Pete. “Suppose we get in trouble. What are we goin’ to do, this feller an’ me? Drown, eh? Can’t you find us a couple of those life preserver things like you got on?”

“There will be no trouble. The ship is already sinking and they are getting into the boats.”

“Yeah. But suppose a destroyer walks in on us? It’s a fine note for all you guys to have life-vests an’ leave us to sink! What would we do if we was attacked, eh?”

Dave always maintained that the sailor suspected their purpose and was not unwilling to aid them. At all events, after a moment of hesitation he answered: “All right. I’ll see if I can get some.”

He went aft and disappeared beyond the bulkhead. By now the submarine was rolling from side to side and pitching slightly, and it was evident to the boys that she was on the surface. In a minute the sailor was back with the desired life-vests. He handed them over with an air of secrecy. They were, unlike the bulky, cork-filled canvas life-belts of the United States navy, garments of some finely-woven, waterproof material that fitted about the upper body beneath the arms and were held in place by one strap and a buckle which could be quickly adjusted and secured. A mouthpiece at the front was easily reached for inflation. Having put them on, the men blew them up sufficiently to secure buoyancy in the water but not enough to make them cumbersome or to hinder them at their work. Once in the water, it was possible to increase the inflation as desired. Having delivered the life-vests, the German hurried off again, and Dave and Pete quickly slipped them on.

“That’s better,” muttered Pete. “I ain’t much of a swimmer, an’ I feel a heap safer if I got one o’ these things on. Now let’s see how the land lays.”

They walked back to the central station. Two sailors were standing idly there, and they viewed the prisoners with scowling suspicion. Pete drew back. “That won’t do,” he said, as they returned. “If this hatch here was opened we might have a chance.”

“But they’ll see us,” objected Dave, viewing the hatch somewhat dubiously.

“Sure, but if it’s dark maybe they won’t notice us much. We’ve got the same togs as the rest of these Huns. Anyway, we can’t get away as long as we stay down here, that’s sure, ain’t it?”

Dave acknowledged that it was, and for a minute or two they studied their predicament in silence. They were still short of a solution when a sailor entered and started up the hatch ladder. Pete nudged Dave, and they watched tensely. The sailor began turning the screws that held the clamps. Then he descended the ladder, said something in German that, whatever it was, sounded good-natured, and disappeared again. Pete started forward, but Dave held him back.

“Wait a minute,” he said. “Maybe they’ll open it from above.”

They did. The round cover creaked back, and they looked up against a blue, moon-lighted sky. From the deck came the trampling of feet and the murmur of voices. Pete led the way up the ladder, Dave close behind. Gusts of cool, fresh air met them. Then Pete’s head was through and he looked warily about him. Most of the crew were on deck. The forward gun had been raised from its housing. Some two hundred yards distant, right in the path of the moonlight, lay a great black hulk on which a few lights shone dimly. Pete nonchalantly stepped through the hatch and Dave, his heart beating hard, followed. No one paid them any heed. About them on the narrow deck, the crew stood and gazed at the disabled ship, which, even in the uncertain light of the descending moon, showed herself to be sinking. There was a distinct cant from bow to stern. As the boys looked, a smaller object crossed the moon’s path, evidently one of the ship’s lifeboats drawing away. Suddenly, from the conning tower at their backs, a stream of white light shot across the ocean and a great round disc of brilliancy passed along the sinking steamship from bow to stern, and then slowly moved back to a point just aft of amidships where a gaping hole had been torn in the hull. Then the light went out as suddenly as it had appeared and the boys blinked in the succeeding darkness.

“Come,” whispered Pete, and tugged at Dave’s sleeve.

They pushed their way aft toward the conning tower. Once a petty officer peered closely in their faces as they passed, but the moonlight was behind them and it is doubtful if he recognized them. At least, he made no effort to detain them, and they went on. In the conning tower, as they knew, stood the commander and the junior officer, but they put their heads down and Pete shuffled along as he had noticed so many of the crew shuffle, and they squirmed their way past the tower to port, on the narrow width of deck there, and saw, to their relief, that the after part of the boat was deserted, save for one dark form near the stern. As they drew near to him they saw that he had his back turned. Evidently he was a lookout, intent on searching the moonlit darkness for such disturbing factors as patrol boats. The submarine was still floating slowly toward the torpedoed ship, her propellers turning lazily under the stern overhang. The after gun had not been raised and the deck was clear, but just beyond where they paused for an instant in the shadow of the tower to kick off their boots a gleam of light was thrown upward through the after hatch. As they skirted the opening they peered down into a maze of engines and got a flare of hot, oily air in their faces. For some reason the _U-H-37_ was still operating with her motors.

In the gloom of the conning tower Pete had whispered: “If he makes any trouble, kid, leave him to me,” and now, as they went quietly aft, Dave was hoping that the lookout would not see them. Two-thirds of the way from tower to stern the deck began to slope. Just short of the cigarshaped stern a small platform arose above the grade, and beyond it was what looked to be an auxiliary rudder. It was on the small platform that the motionless lookout was standing and it was beyond him that Pete intended to take to the water, since there the deck was but a scant foot above it and it might be possible for them to slide off without being heard. But to pass the lookout without being seen was, of course, impossible, and Dave wished that Pete would risk a splash rather than an alarm from the sailor. But that wasn’t Pete’s plan.

He led the way straight to the platform. When they were a few feet distant the lookout turned slowly, observed them and again turned away. But as they still approached he became curious and once more faced them.

“_Was is?_” he growled.

Pete replied with about all the German he knew.

“_Heraus mit!_” said Pete.

Then his fist shot out and up, there was a faint grunt from the lookout and he dropped to the curving side of the hull and rolled, like a log, into the sea.

“Beat it!” warned Pete. He threw himself down, grasped a protruding ring bolt and slid into the water. Dave was only the fraction of a second behind. The water was so cold that it took his breath away for a moment. Then he heard Pete’s voice again. “This way, Kid! Straight back!” Dave followed. The life-vest held him up wonderfully and yet left his arms free for swimming. He pulled even with Pete without difficulty, and side by side they put the yards between them and the submarine. Not a sound had so far come from the lookout, but now, behind them there arose a sudden commotion in the water and a wild shout of alarm. “Swim hard,” panted Pete. “If they come back for that guy they’ll get us sure!”

The sea was calm, with small, choppy waves that splashed their faces. Dave was horribly conscious of the moonlight about him and he imagined that from the submarine he and Pete must stand out so conspicuously that those aboard could not fail to see them. But the submarine was attending to other matters and had already drawn well away. The lookout continued to cry for help, but when Dave turned to look the U-boat still had her stern toward them and was apparently not troubling about him. Probably, as they decided afterwards, the officers thought the lookout had tumbled overboard and that it would serve him right for his clumsiness to let him float around awhile. There was no danger of his drowning so long as he had his life-vest inflated.

They swam on and on, as straight away from the submarine and her sinking prey as they could direct their strokes, but it wasn’t long before it became evident to Dave that Pete was tiring. “I’m――all in,” panted the latter presently. “Maybe you’d better go ahead, Kid. No use in their getting both of us. I’m a punk swimmer, anyway.”

“Let’s rest awhile,” answered Dave. “I’m tired too.” That wasn’t very truthful, for Dave had swam from the time he was old enough to enter the water and was not so easily exhausted. “If they decide to come back and look for us, they’ll get us anyway. All they’ve got to do is throw that searchlight around.”

“All right,” agreed Pete. “We’ll float for a few minutes. Swimmin’ gets my wind somethin’ fierce!”

They let themselves go, just paddling enough to keep their heads up. The steamship was no longer in the path of the moonlight, and at first they couldn’t locate her. Then, however, they did, and saw that she had tilted one end well out of water. A single dim light still showed. The submarine was not discernible, probably being lost in the shadow of the larger craft. Once Dave thought he heard the rattle of oars, but when he told Pete, and they both listened hard, no sound reached them save the splash of the waves.

“It’ll be daylight in an hour or so, I guess,” said Pete after a short silence. “We’d better get at it again, Kid. Come on.”

“Which way shall we go?” asked Dave. “If we knew where the life-boats were――”

“Yeah, but we don’t. Best we can do is to get as far away as possible. When daylight comes maybe we’ll see something. Say, an ocean’s a mighty big body o’ water, ain’t it? Are you wishin’ you was back on the sub, Kid?”

“No, I’m not,” answered Dave decisively. “We’re better off here. These life-vests will keep us afloat for days, I guess, and we’re certain to be seen by some sort of a ship before long. Spending the next year or so in a German prison camp didn’t appeal to me a bit, Pete.”

“Same here. This is a big chance we’ve taken, an’ maybe I was a mut to get you into it, Kid, but as for myself, why, I’m satisfied so far. This water ain’t feelin’ so cold as it did, an’ if only I was a decent swimmer I’d have no kick. If I give out, Kid, you beat it along.”

“Yes, I’m likely to,” said Dave. “Which direction is east, Pete?”

“Must be opposite where the moon is goin’ down, or nearly. More that way, I guess. Think we’d better set our course east?”

“Well, that’s where the nearest land is, I suppose.”

“Sure, unless we’re a lot closer to Ireland than we know of. All right, Kid, let her go! I’m feelin’ fine now.”

Keeping the moon, now well down toward the horizon, over their left shoulders, they struck out again, two tiny wisps in a wide, darkening world of water.