Chapter IV: The Hun Shows His Teeth

The Colonel barked and a three-inch shell sped across the water to where the U-boat was curving the waves from her knife-like bow in stern pursuit of the freighter. The shot was far short, though. Nor was the shell with which the submarine returned the compliment any more successful, for it struck the water well ahead of the _944_ and went ricochetting harmlessly past. Then the submarine showed her teeth. Around went her stern and she swept down toward the chaser, a twelve-foot target now instead of a hundred-odd, her one gun firing fast as the _944’s_ course brought that craft nearly broadside on. But that was only for an instant, for then the chaser’s helm went over, too, and the boats drew near on opposite courses.

“Four thousand yards!” announced the bridge. And then: “Port your helm! Port! Steady!” Aft, Dave, watching with fast-beating heart, knew what the lieutenant had in mind to do, and instinctively his hand went out for something to hold to. But, although the maneuver was well planned and well timed, the distance was too great, and the U-boat slewed around, and the _944_, hoping to ram, slid harmlessly past. Not harmlessly, either, for bow and after gun were busy, and for one short moment the target lay before them point-blank.

There was a rending crash as the Betsy Ann scored and the sloping wave-breaker forward of the conning tower melted from sight, taking ventilating pipe with it. Dave saw one sailor throw his arms in air, stagger, fall and roll from sight. A second sank to his knees and reached gropingly for the deck. Then the conning tower intervened, for the U-boat was making away, stern-on, pursued by the chaser’s fire.

“Got her!” Kennedy shouted triumphantly. “Got her! Quick with that shell!”

“Yeah, but she’s not much hurt,” said Pete. “She’ll go down now, take it from Pete! What did I tell you?”

The _944_ was turning on her heel in pursuit, but the submarine had had enough. She was no match for the chaser in speed, even though, as German submarines went, she was small and fast, and she recognized the fact at last. The Colonel was spouting the spray around her and there was one shot that seemed as if it must have been an underwater hit, and then the conning tower lessened in height above the waves, the stern lifted and, like a gray turtle sliding off a log, the U-boat went under. One last shot from The Colonel and the gun fire aboard the chaser ceased. But she still had a card to play, and at the rail the little crane was already swinging its burden outboard. Straight over the swirl of the submerging U-boat shot the _944_. There was a splash as the depth charge struck the water. The _944_ picked up her skirts and fled, and from her wake, a hundred yards astern, a great column of green and sudsy water shot twenty feet in air, hung an instant and fell in a sunlit cascade of foam. Around on her heel again came the chaser. Over went a second charge. Again the water columned upward. Twice more, and then, circling slowly, the _944_ sought signs of victory.

Foam and bubbles alone marked the site of the explosions, and disappointment was audible along the deck. Then one of the men called attention to streaks of oil at a little distance, and a cheer broke forth. But triumph was short-lived, for the lieutenant called down from the bridge: “That’s only shell ‘slick,’ boys. She got away.” He turned to the engine room telegraph, and the _944_ picked up her feet again and made after the _Agawam_, now some two miles distant.

“What is shell ‘slick’?” asked Dave of Kennedy.

“Oil from the gas of an exploding shell,” was the answer. “If it bursts on the water or near it, it always leaves an oily smudge. In target practice we can generally tell where the shot’s gone by the ‘slick.’ I don’t know if these depth bombs would send up oil, but I should think they might. Half the yarns you hear about subs being destroyed are just bunk. There’s some oil floating around on the surface, and a lot of bubbles, and the other fellow shakes hands with himself and reports that he’s sunk a Fritz. Like as not the oil was from his own shells and the bubbles are just the bubbles that always rise when anything sinks carrying air with it. I used to believe all those yarns, but you’ve got to show me more than a smudge of oil and a few bubbles now.”

“Then you think we missed her, too?” asked Dave, disappointedly.

“Don’t think; I know. But at that, I’ll bet she got an awful jar when that T N T went off down there! Wouldn’t wonder if the boss’s mustache cup was knocked off the sideboard and all bust to pieces!”

They kept a sharp lookout, hoping against hope that the U-boat would come back and again try conclusions, or that a “pal”――for it is very generally believed that German submarines never operate alone――would take up the gauntlet. But the episode appeared to be closed, for they reached the steamer, which had now stopped her engines in response to the chaser’s signals, without seeing anything more of the foe. The _Agawam_ had fared rather badly. She was a big cargo boat of some 5,000 tons displacement and from her depth in the water it was evident that she was loaded to capacity. She had carried a rifle forward and one aft, and there was a machine gun amidships. Bow and after guns had been put out of action by bursting shrapnel and only the machine gun remained of use, and that had been powerless at the range presented by the submarine. Those on the _944_ counted six evident hits on the _Agawam_. Fortunately, only one shell had struck close to the water-line, due, perhaps, to the fact that the steamer was unusually low and so presented but a small target vertically. Most of the damage had been above deck. The rail was torn away in three places for many yards, the amidship deck structure was a mass of splintered ruins and two boats were demolished. One of the three funnels was crumpled and showed daylight clear through it, and the wireless had been wrecked early in the engagement, which accounted for the _Agawam’s_ silence after noon.

The most serious injury was from the one shell which had entered the hull just at the water and in line with number one hold. The explosion had set fire to her cargo there and smoke was still pouring forth in billowing clouds as the _944_, sweeping alongside, hailed. The captain answered from the remains of a badly treated bridge. The sub had appeared at shortly after nine o’clock some three miles off the starboard beam and the _Agawam_ had promptly changed her course and used all speed. But she was loaded too deep for speed and after a half-hour the U-boat had fired a shell that fell short. The _Agawam_ had then returned the fire without success, as the sub was beyond range of her three-inch guns, and a running fight had ensued, with the U-boat gradually finding her target. A lucky shot had soon put the after gun out of commission, and the bow gun had been knocked from its platform still later. The third mate, two members of the forward gun crew and one sailor had been killed and six men were wounded. The fire in the hold could be controlled, he thought, until they made port, if they could manage a temporary patch of the hull. Fortunately, the engines had not been damaged, and, more fortunately, a large consignment of shells, which made up a third of the cargo, was stowed in the after hold.

Lieutenant Cowan saluted. “I congratulate you, Captain,” he said heartily, “on the plucky fight you put up and on your escape. I’m sorry to say the dogs got away from us, sir. Now, in what way can I be of service?”

“Stand by me, sir, to Liverpool. Can you do that?”

“I’ll convoy you past the cape, Captain, and arrange for you beyond there. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“You might lend me some men to clear up this mess and stick a patch over that hole. I’m short-handed a bit.”

“Certainly. Are you all right for medical supplies?”

“Plenty, thanks. My second mate is a bit of a saw-bones.”

The _944_ slung over a boat and eight eager men crowded in. Dave was fortunate enough to be included. They toiled aboard the _Agawam_ until nearly dark, by which time the deck was cleared of litter, the hole in the hull was patched with two-inch planking, and the after gun was restored to service. The bow gun was too badly wrecked for repairing. Just how badly the steamer had fared was not revealed until the _944’s_ party had climbed on board. Then a full view of the battered deck lay before them, and Dave marveled that the loss of life had not been far greater. There was scarcely a foot of deck aft of the bridge that did not show shrapnel scars. Dave talked with one of the forward gun crew, a chap of nineteen, who gave his name as Edmunds, and who was called Alvin by his pals, with whom he was trying desperately hard to reconstruct the gun with the spare parts at their command.

“We tried to get the captain to bear down on the Hun and fight him. We could have licked the tar out of him easy. But he wouldn’t. Said his duty was to get his ship and cargo over. Maybe so, but it sure seemed a shame not to get Fritz’s scalp. That old tin fish stayed out of range most of the time, and when they gave us a chance they kept zig-zagging, firing over one bow and then the other. They didn’t make a target big enough to sight, hang ’em! But we got away, and I suppose we’d ought to be thankful for that. But, gee! I wish you fellows had ‘strafed’ ’em!”

“So do we,” said Dave mournfully. “We landed twice and knocked away their wave breaker, but then they went under and we lost them. And our depth charges didn’t seem to feaze them any, either. It was tough luck.”

“Those squareheads are a lucky bunch, anyway,” said Edmunds. “If it wasn’t for their fool luck the Kaiser’d be breaking stones up-river by now! Well, I hope we meet up with that particular Hun again some day. All I’m asking is a fair shot at her before I cash in. I’d give ninety days’ pay and a week in brig for that!”

And the rest of the crew growled agreement.

Shortly after 7 o’clock the boarding party returned to the chaser and the two craft started on their way again, headed for Cape Clear. The _944_ suited her speed to the _Agawam’s_, and through a clear, starlit night and over a calm sea they made their way at a trifle better than ten knots. Once a patrol blinked at them, but aside from that nothing transpired until, at sunrise, the green coast of Ireland arose from a turquois sea. Off Toe Head a small United States destroyer bore down, signaling, and the _944_ was relieved of her charge. Waving “Good-by and good luck!” she swung about in a churning wake of foam and sped southward again. From the stern Dave and The Pickle watched the plucky _Agawam_ fade from sight, her path marked by a trailing cloud of brown smoke from the burning cargo.

“Those Naval Guards on the merchantmen see some excitement, don’t they?” mused Dill. “I don’t know but what they stand a better show than we do to get action. Maybe we’d have done better if we’d gone in for that job.”

Dave smiled. “Don’t you consider that we managed to scare up a little action and excitement yesterday?” he asked.

“That?” The Pickle considered gravely. “Well, yes, I suppose you’d say so. Still, there wasn’t much to it, now, was there? Look here, Kid, what I joined this war for was――”

“To escape college,” laughed Dave.

“Partly that,” The Pickle acknowledged, with a grin, “and partly to get a good whack at those――those blamed murderers! And my idea of a good time is to go after ’em where they live and knock the everlasting tar right out of ’em! Fight ’em to a fare-ye-well! This snooping around just waiting for them to stick their heads up so you can hit ’em is poor business. They don’t give you a show. They peek out, and if there’s anything bigger than a tugboat in sight they duck again. They certainly play it safe, don’t they?”

“I suppose they do. But they’re doing what they’re here for; and they’re doing it a sight too well to please me. Some one’s got to do the sort of thing we’re doing, Bob. It may be kind of disappointing, but it’s necessary, and it’s going to count.”

“Hope so,” grumbled Dill, “but it isn’t my idea of war. Still, if Uncle Sam wants it done, why I’m the lad for it. What he says goes!”