Chapter III: The Flag Comes Down

The _Conklin’s_ bridge and deck awoke to activity. Men climbed to vantage points and gazed eagerly into the southwest. It was many minutes, though, before the little smoke streak was visible from the bridge, several more before it showed itself to the deck. Even then it was so faint that indecision held until Dave’s anxious eyes caught the faint silhouette of a ship’s superstructure above the blue rim of the sea and his voice carried the news in triumph to the bridge below.

After that the far-distant craft arose into view with amazing rapidity, but there followed a long period of suspense during which the lookout’s eyes ached as he sought to identify her as the destroyer they had lost in the fog. Meanwhile the _Conklin_ was making straight for her, at less than half-speed, so that there might be as little tell-tale smoke as possible to be seen. Bows-on in a sunlit sea, the American ship’s deceptive hues of hull and masts and funnels rendered her well-nigh invisible to the approaching craft, and it was not until the distance between them was less than a half-dozen miles that the latter showed that she had at last sighted the _Conklin_. As she lengthened in shape, swinging her nose northward, there were chuckles aboard the _Conklin_, and many believed that had the latter been able to shut off all smoke from her funnels the enemy would almost have walked into her arms! For all doubt as to the other ship’s identity was now dispelled. Bowden, chief master-at-arms, had taken Dave’s place in the cage and settled the question speedily.

“It’s her,” he had reported, with more emphasis than grammar. “It’s the one we chased Wednesday, sir!”

As she presented a broadside view it was clear, even at the distance, that there was something queer about her first funnel. Every one agreed on that, although none could say where the queerness lay. It was perfectly spaced with the other three, was of a like size and height, and yet, somehow, was far from convincing. If it was a dummy, as they believed, it was cleverly contrived, for the glasses showed smoke pouring from it as the destroyer sought to show her heels. But the _Neusatz_ or _Sondrio_, whichever she really was, was not the only craft with oil to burn, and the _Conklin’s_ boilers answered the challenge in a trice, and the chase began.

Possibly the fleeing ship thought her twenty-seven knot speed to be equal to the steaming ability of her pursuer. If so, she was soon undeceived. At nine-forty general quarters was sounded on the _Conklin_ and the battle ensign run up.

At ten-twelve No. 3 gun opened the engagement. The first shot fell short, but the range gradually decreased and soon all three bow guns were hurling projectiles at a distance of about six thousand yards. First blood went to No. 2 when a five-inch shell landed on the enemy’s hull just above the water line and slightly aft of her fourth funnel. By this time the _Neusatz_ had got the _Conklin’s_ range and shells from two starboard guns were dropping close. The first hit wrought havoc on the pursuer’s deck amidship, wrecking the torpedo battery and tearing a deep gash in the thin steel plating. Several of the crew of No. 4 gun were wounded, but only one seriously. A second hit a minute later caused slight damage to the _Conklin’s_ port bow. The _Neusatz_ was armed with four guns of approximately 4-inch bore. The _Conklin_ was now steaming a quarter of a mile abaft the starboard beam of the _Neusatz_ and pounding away with three of her five-inch guns with deadly effect. The battle was too one-sided to remain long in doubt, for the pursuer was firing three guns to the enemy’s two and serving them more rapidly and with much better effect. When, shortly after the _Neusatz’s_ second hit, a shrapnel shell from the _Conklin_ crumpled the enemy’s first funnel, revealing a wreck of gas pipe framework and painted canvas, a laugh traveled the length of the American destroyer. The _Neusatz_ seemed unable to hull her opponent effectively, her shots at first falling short and then sweeping over the deck. The latter caused superficial damage to funnels and structure, and one shell burst just aft the wireless house, carrying it away and wrecking a part of the wheel-house forward of it and seriously injuring three men. But that was the _Neusatz’s_ last bull’s-eye, for an instant later her stern gun was disabled, and almost simultaneously a shell from No. 2 brought an end to the engagement by smashing its way through the waist and exploding in the engine room. Clouds of steam rolled upward through the midship hatches and a cheer arose from the _Conklin_ that deepened as the red and white ensign which the _Neusatz_ had hoisted at the beginning of the battle came slowly down.

The Austrian ship looked very helpless as the _Conklin_ bore down on her. There were torn gashes in her hull from stem to stern on the starboard side and her main deck was a litter of twisted or broken steel. Oddly enough, her bridge, although swept with shrapnel, was intact, and on it, behind the fluttering remnants of the canvas shields, her commander impassively watched the American ship swing out her boats. Beside him was the second in command. The crew was clustered forward near the shallow break of the forecastle, phlegmatic, silent, looking across with incurious gaze. From amidship steam clouds still billowed up from open hatches and at the stern a trailing ribbon of smoke told of a fire below deck. The _Neusatz’s_ engines were idle and the crippled destroyer was losing headway as the _Conklin_ ranged alongside and Commander Gannett, leaning from the side of the bridge, saluted his conquered adversary.

“What ship is that, sir?” he called.

The reply was as expected and in fair English: “The _Neusatz_, sir. To what ship have I surrendered?”

“The United States destroyer _Conklin_. Have you any boats you can use?”

“Not one.” The _Neusatz’s_ captain, whose coat sleeve bore the two stripes and crown of a German senior lieutenant, betrayed his nationality by his careful, guttural delivery of the English words. He appeared to be about thirty-four or -five years old, was of medium height, rather thick-set and had a square, red-tanned face. “Our medical officer is killed,” he continued unemotionally, “and we have many wounded. Will you be so kind as to send a surgeon?”

“I will do so, sir. Are your engines disabled, Captain?”

“One is. The other I cannot say of. We are also on fire aft.”

“Please muster your crew amidship, sir, and I will take them off.” The captain saluted and turned to give his orders. The _Conklin_ carried two boats and four rafts, and fortunately the boats had not been seriously damaged. They were already lowered and awaiting the word to pull across to the captive ship. Dave and The Pickle watched from the _Conklin’s_ side as they traversed the fifty yards of water and drew up beside the _Neusatz’s_ riddled hull. One by one the Austrian crew climbed down and took their places and when the boats were filled they pulled back. Possibly the larger part of the prisoners were Austrian, but there were undoubtedly many Germans among them. As they reached the deck they were swiftly searched for weapons or papers and then passed below through the hatch. All told there were sixty-four who had escaped serious injury. Eleven dead were later given burial, among them a sub-lieutenant and a warrant officer. Fourteen others were badly injured and were transferred to the _Conklin_ on stretchers. Counting the two remaining commissioned officers, who came off in the last boat, the complement of the _Neusatz_ had been ninety-one, a number largely in excess of what the _Conklin’s_ officers had suspected.

Dave and Pete were among the party that, following the transfer of the prisoners, boarded the _Neusatz_ with fire equipment and spent a busy three hours fighting a stubborn blaze among the stores. That fire was too close to the ammunition to make the work comfortable and the detail experienced anxious moments. The task of fighting the flames was made more difficult by the fact that only one of the ship’s pumps could be used. Eventually, however, the smoke-blackened and somewhat scorched fighters won their battle. Meanwhile artificers from the _Conklin_ had been busy with the _Neusatz’s_ engines and boilers and at five o’clock in the afternoon the ship was pronounced able to limp along in convoy of the victor. Temporary patches were made to the hull and the litter on deck cleared away. At dusk a crew of twenty-eight of the _Conklin’s_ men and fourteen of the _Neusatz’s_ went aboard, under command of Lieutenant Chapin, the engines were started again and the two destroyers pointed their bows toward Pentland Firth, some three hundred and eighty miles east-south-east.

It was then that Dave and Pete had their first parting, for Pete was among those assigned to the _Neusatz_ and Dave was not. Dave watched his chum disappear over the side of the captured ship with envious gaze, for it seemed to him that getting that disabled craft to port was going to offer some thrilling moments. Pete waved a hand gayly before he passed from sight, and Dave and The Pickle waved back. The Pickle had managed to get in the way of a flying fragment of shrapnel and was rather proud of a bandaged hand and wrist. Dave, who had come through fifteen minutes of action at No. 2 gun without so much as a scratch, felt himself lucky, but neglected. There were others aboard who had fared less fortunately. Three men had been killed outright on the _Conklin_, and one, First Class Electrician Williams, had since died of injuries. Besides these, seven men were seriously and several slightly wounded. The _Conklin’s_ small sick bay was overcrowded and the injured overflowed into the lower deck passages. At dark the two destroyers were doing slightly better than nine knots toward the coast of Scotland.