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

“I know it,” Dave answered dully, staring ahead into the night. “And Dalzell will be even longer than we in reaching the ‘Griswold’.”

“If you could tell the captain of the ‘Griswold’ how long it will take you to reach him, he might know better what to do – how to hold out more successfully,” suggested Fernald.

“And, if the German knows the code we are using he would know how long he could continue his wicked work and still have chance to get away,” Darrin replied. “I must not send him that information. Fernald, I have some hope that I may be able to find that German pirate still on the surface. If I do – ”

Darrin did not finish, but on his face there was an expression that was both prayer and threat.

The watch officer counted the miles as they were reeled off and told Dave, from time to time, how many miles yet remained to be covered.

On the bridge were screened lights – one over the bridge compass, that the quartermaster might see to keep the ship on her course; another light placed under the hood that protected the chart table.

No other light appeared, and no light whatever could have been made out on the destroyer by any one from a near-by craft.

The minutes ticked slowly by – eternities they were to Dave Darrin.

Nearer and nearer, every minute, yet was there hope of arriving in time?

“By – by Jove!” cried Fernald, at last, under his breath.

“I see it,” Dave replied quietly. “And there is another – flashes from the German craft’s deck guns. We see them on account of the elevation of the guns, though we do not yet see the German hull through the glass.”

“I can make out the ‘Griswold’,” Fernald exclaimed. “Over there! See her, yonder? She is low in the water.”

“Yes; she must soon sink, or I am a poor guesser,” Dave rejoined. “Look, Fernald! Isn’t the liner lowering her port boats now?”

“Yes, sir, and shoving rafts over, too.”

“The rafts? Ah, yes! Near the finish now, and the ‘Griswold’s’ skipper has given up hope of our help. Putting the rafts overboard is always the first step in a wreck.”

Though hoping against hope, Fernald telephoned the engine room, urging the engineer to try to get a little more speed from the engines. The chief engineer officer, himself in charge below, did his best. Billows of black smoke hung over the water astern. Bit by bit the straining engines provided more, and then a little more speed.

If it were but daylight! Men stood by the “Grigsby’s” guns, ready to fire at the word – to sight by guess, should the lieutenant-commander on the bridge call for it. Dave might have thrown on the searchlight. Should the white ribbon of light appear now, while still so far away, the German commander would know how soon to submerge.

And Dave Darrin wanted the lives of those Germans! He was not blood-thirsty, and heretofore had fought because it was his duty to fight. Now he HATED these German fiends! If he could send fifty of them to the bottom, that would be excellent. If he could drown a hundred of the Hun pirates, that would be fine! To send a thousand of them to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean – that would be something worth while!

But to send that beam of clear white light across the ocean – to signal the German commander, in effect, the word “Dive!” – that would be criminal.

“Fernald!” cried Dave, hoarsely.

“Sir?”

“Can you make out the enemy hull?”

“No, sir.”

“Try!”

“I cannot make it out yet, sir,” replied Lieutenant Fernald, lowering the glass from his eyes. “But look – the first streaks of dawn are behind us.”

“That will be of no assistance for ten minutes or more,” answered Dave. “Ten minutes! It will all be over then. Look at that flash from the scoundrel’s gun!”

The German was now shelling the boats that were trying to slip away in the darkness. Next, undoubtedly, the Hun would begin firing on the rafts, which could move little faster than the waves that slipped them along.

“Never again any mercy to a pirate! Not one surrender will I accept after this! All Germans who fall into my clutches shall go to the bottom!”

Lieutenant Fernald turned his head aside to hide a bitter smile. He did not blame Dave; his heart ached for that gallant young commander. Yet well enough Fernald knew that Darrin would never, once his rage had passed, sink a helpless foe, no matter how much he despised the wretch.

They could now, through the night glass, make out a German sailor who stood forward on the submarine’s hull, a lookout, doubtless scanning the dark lines of the destroyer rushing to the rescue. It must be that lookout’s business to try to judge the distance of the destroyer, that the submersible might remain on the surface long enough to wreak all possible havoc on the lifeboats. Then, at the last moment, the submarine would submerge, that its commander, crew and craft might survive to assassinate ships’ companies on another day!

“He knows I won’t use my searchlight – he’s daring me!” muttered Dave, savagely. “But, by the great Dewey! I’ll use that light in thirty seconds more. Fernald, tell me when the time is up!”

Dave’s next word was passed to the officer in command of the forward guns, and by that officer to the skilled, cool gun-pointers.

None except Darrin, Fernald and the watch officer knew that Belle Darrin was a passenger on the ill-fated “Griswold.”

“Let your first shots set this craft’s record!” was the division officer’s quiet command to the gun-pointers.

No message could have been more inspiring to these veterans, on a new ship, knowing that she was one of the best of the destroyer fleet.

The “Grigsby” came rushing, roaring in, and then, slowing down, went close to the foremost of the boats from the sinking liner.

From the submarine a shell arched and struck in that boat, tearing out the bottom and throwing the occupants into the sea.

“Searchlight!” commanded Darrin.

Hardly a second did the light waver in the sky, then settled down across the submarine, making a fair mark of her.

A double bark leaped out from the forward guns. Never had pieces been better served, for one shell tore a big, jagged hole in the starboard hull of the enemy, the bottom of the rent being barely six inches from the water. The second shell went in just below the water-line, throwing up a geyser-like jet of water.

“A just fate, but a pity it could not have been made ten times more severe,” muttered Dave, as, through the glass, he saw the submersible careen under the impact, with a swift listing to starboard.

There was no use bothering further about the fate of the enemy. That was already settled. There were travelers, many of them Americans, to be saved as far as saving could be done.

As though to keep the submersible mocking company, the “Griswold” gave a final lurch, then settled quietly under the waves despite the immensity of her hull.

“Put around to port – back!” shouted Darrin, his voice now cool and steady as the realization of his rescue duties came to him. “Slow,” he added, warningly. “We must be careful not to upset those boats with our wash.”

After making the turn, Darrin ordered the speed reduced still more, as he saw human figures ahead on the dark waves – some swimming, others floating in death.

Not waiting for the order the searchlight men deflected the light, sending a beam out across the waters as the “Grigsby,” moving slowly enough now, steamed along to one side of the forms in the water. Other seamen, at the edge of the slippery deck, stood by to heave lines to those who could grasp them.

The light, as it rested upon the water at a point seventy-five yards from the destroyer, revealed a woman’s features.

Dave gave a start, rubbing his eyes as though sure he was the victim of some hideous illusion.

His eyesight was excellent; there could be no mistaking.

“Belle!” burst from him, in a convulsive sob.

Before those with him could divine his purpose, Dave Darrin leaped from the bridge to the deck below.

An agonized moment he devoted to the removing of cumbersome rubber boots. Less than half as much time was required to throw off cap and coat. Then bounding forward, he leaped and sprang out, his clasped hands cleaving the water ahead of him as he struck through the waves.

Another splash, half a second later. But Darrin did not know that another swam behind him.

CHAPTER XXIII – THE FIGHT TO BRING BELLE BACK

It had really been Belle’s white, motionless face that had floated by. She had been in the boat Dave saw shattered by the shell.

Nor did Darrin once lose sight of her as he struck out fiercely until, when he was within fifteen feet of his goal, Belle sank without cry or voluntary movement.

Darrin made a great lunge forward and dived. He was seeking her, desperately!

Behind came that other swimming figure.

So true had been the aim of Darrin’s lunging leap forward, that now, as he went deeper, one of his hands touched her. He seized Belle and shot up to the surface.

“A hand right here, sir!” sounded the cheery, enthusiastic voice of Boatswain’s Mate Runkle. “Let me help you, sir.”

Of a truth Dave was in need of help. His emotion had spent him more than the mere physical effort had done. He felt limp, weak, but the infection of Runkle’s cheerful, cool tone made Dave once more master of himself.

“Take it easy, sir,” advised the boatswain’s mate. “They’re lowering a boat.”

“Can you see the boat?”

“No, sir.”

“Hear it?”

“No, sir.”

“Then how do you know – ”

“I know an American man-o’-war’s crew, sir. They wouldn’t be doing anything else. All we have to do, sir, is to keep her afloat. I’ll stake my soul on that, sir.”

And then Dave did see a boat come into view, and heard the sturdy splash of oars – heard the coxwain’s brisk orders.

So weak was Dave that he almost wished to clasp Belle to him that they might sink together and be at rest. To take her from the water only to lay her in a grave on shore – what did it really matter after all? And for himself – what?

“Stand by, bowman there!” rapped out the coxwain’s voice, as the small boat shot along under rapid headway. “The boat-hook! The woman first!”

Deftly the hook was caught in Belle’s soaked garments.

“And now the skipper!” called Runkle, who had transferred his support to Dave Darrin. “As for me, stand clear! I’ll pull myself aboard.”

Other boats came out from the destroyer. These, with the numerous boats from the sunken liner and a number of rafts that dotted the water, all had to be collected. The “Grigsby’s” whistle broke hoarsely on the air, calling them in.

The boat that carried Darrin and Belle was the first to reach the destroyer. Dave bore his wife up over the side.

“I shall take her to my quarters,” he informed Lieutenant Fernald. “See that the surgeon is sent there at once. Runkle, you are all right?”

“Never more so, sir,” replied the boatswain’s mate.

“Go below and put on dry clothing.”

Dave staggered along with his precious burden into his own quarters, which he never used on a patrolling cruise. He laid Belle tenderly on his bunk and called up the bridge.

“Mr. Fernald, are the passengers from the ‘Griswold’ being taken aboard?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Any women among them?”

“Several, sir.”

“Some that do not require attention themselves and can lend a hand here?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then will you find two who will volunteer to come here, and ask them to do so immediately?”

“At once, sir.”

By the time that Darrin had hung up the instrument, Hunter, the ship’s medical officer, had reached the doorway. He came in and bent over the figure on the berth.

“Not a chance,” he said, briefly. “Drowned. But I do not believe, Darrin, that she suffered. There was a shock – ”

“Shock?” Dave Darrin repeated. “Yes – a shell exploded in her boat.”

“I do not believe she was wounded,” went on Hunter. “It must have been the shock. She probably collapsed from the force of the explosion, and the water did the rest.”

A messenger knocked at the doorway, then introduced two middle-aged women, who stepped inside promptly.

“You will do something, of course, Hunter?” Dave queried. “You will attempt resuscitation – you will try to revive her?”

“I’ll try, of course,” replied the medical man, dubiously. “Yes. I will work like a fiend, Darrin. Sometimes a spark of life lingers. But do not hope!”

“I shall be in the corridor outside,” Dave answered quietly. “Call me when – ”

Dry-eyed, but utterly haggard, Darrin stepped out into the passageway. He couldn’t quite believe what had happened – didn’t, in fact. It must be a dream, but soon there would be an awakening!

To his dazed mind the time did not seem long. Inside, he could hear low-voiced directions, and once he heard Hunter say:

“That much water off her lungs, anyway. My guess was right. She must have swallowed a good deal.”

Then he heard Hunter using the telephone. Not long afterward a hospital man came hurrying from the sick-bay with two bags, and vanished into the cabin with them, coming out at once.

Another interval, and then Darrin was called into his cabin. In the meantime, with the help of his steward, he had changed his own clothes.

“Any hope?” he asked, in a low voice.

“There’s a barest trace of pulse,” the ship’s surgeon replied, “but I do not believe it will last. I’m sorry. I’m doing everything that can possibly be done.”

“I’m sure you are, Hunter,” Dave replied.

Belle, whom the women had disrobed and rubbed, was now covered with blankets. One of the women, with a hand under the blankets, was applying a battery current.

Dave stepped forward, taking a long look at the white face and the closed eyes. Not even his hopes could conjure up the belief that a spark of life remained that could be fanned into renewed existence.

Still it was not real! Belle’s spirit had not flown and left him. Hunter, eyeing his commanding officer for an instant, read his mind; he understood and felt a great surge of sympathy for Darrin.

“Poor chap!” murmured the medico. “It will be all the harder when he really does come to himself!”

A glance downward at his uniform reminded Dave that he was still an officer, that hundreds of people had been close to death, that some undoubtedly had perished, and that he could not neglect his sworn duties.

Stepping to the telephone that connected with the bridge, he heard himself answered by the voice of his executive officer.

“Am I needed, Fernald?” he asked.

“No, sir. We’re still taking the rescued on board, but there is nothing you could do that is not being done by the rest of us. Any good news with you, sir?”

“Not yet, but there will be,” Dave answered. “Thank you.”

Then he glanced back toward the berth, to see that Dr. Hunter had prepared some liquid medicine that he was now trying to force between Belle’s lips. He stepped over beside the berth and watched.

“There! She’ll soon speak to us,” Dave declared, as he saw Belle’s eyelids flutter almost imperceptibly, and heard the faintest kind of a sigh.

Hunter, who knew that Life and Death were fighting, with Death going strong, did not reply, but stood with eyes fixed on the patient’s face. He did not look for her to become conscious enough to speak.

Two or three minutes dragged miserably by. The surgeon dreaded to pronounce the words which he felt must soon be said. One of the women was still applying the battery current, the other chafing Belle’s left wrist and arm. Hunter placed his stethoscope to her chest and listened, his face wholly grave.

There was another faint flutter of the lids, another faint sigh.

“You’ll soon speak to me, won’t you, Belle?” Dave urged, quietly, but in that silent cabin his every word was distinct.

“Shall I apply the battery to another part of the body, Doctor?” asked one of the women after a few minutes.

“One part will do as well as another,” Hunter answered, in a very low voice. The woman understood, but she said no word, gave no sign, but went on with her task.

“Come, Belle,” spoke Dave, now with an effort at cheeriness of tone, “we’re losing a lot of time, little girl.”

This time there was a somewhat more pronounced fluttering of the lids. Then came a sigh that sounded like a catching of the breath.

“Say!” murmured Hunter, in the awe of a new discovery. “That’s the thing to do, Darrin! Go on talking to her. I believe that she knows, that your voice reaches her subconsciously. Talk, man, talk! But easily.”

So Darrin, with a hand resting with a feather’s weight on Belle’s pallid forehead, went on speaking. It made little difference what he said, but every word was cheery, tender.

At last there came a longer flutter, a quicker, deeper sigh. Belle fought with her eyelids, then parted them, gazing vacantly until she saw Darrin’s bronzed face.

“All right now, Belle, aren’t you?” he called to her. “An all-right little girl again?”

“Dave – my – lad!”

The whisper came so low that only Darrin heard it. But Hunter lost nothing of the scene. His hand was on Belle’s pulse.

“Go on talking to her,” he whispered. “That’s the right medicine.”

So Dave continued, as cheerily as before. Belle Darrin could not follow all that he said. There was a trace of bewilderment in her eyes. The lids still fluttered, although she now breathed regularly even if low.

“That’s all, sir. Now step outside until you’re called,” Hunter ordered, with the air of a man who has learned something new and who means to claim all the credit.

Without a word of protest Dave turned, pushed aside the curtain and stepped outside into the passage.

“How is she?” whispered a familiar voice.

“Dan!”

“I came over as soon as I got word. The passengers have been rescued in great shape. But how is Belle?”

“Weak, but she’s going to mend all right – thank heaven!”

Their hands gripped.

“I was greatly worried,” Dan confessed in a low tone.

“Hang it all,” Darrin admitted, a new joy in his own low tones, “I believe I would have been worried to death if I had realized how all the chances were against me. But I felt as though such a thing as Belle’s death couldn’t be – and so it didn’t happen.”

“You’re not talking very straight, chum, but I understand you,” Dan nodded.

“And now, as to our duties,” Dave went on. “Fernald assured me he could attend to everything, and I knew that of course he could. So I let him. Were any of the ‘Griswold’s’ passengers lost? Yes, of course some must have been, for I saw the shell strike in that boat – the one Belle was in.”

“Three were killed by the exploding shell, and you have two on board who were wounded by fragments. Two more were drowned – probably because the shock stunned them and left them helpless in the water.”

“And I have been keeping Hunter with Belle all this time!” Dave uttered, rather shamefacedly. “I must call him. Perhaps he can revive the two who seemed to be drowned. Besides, some of the others need assistance.”

“Not a chance of it,” Dan continued. “I’ve had my own medico and two sick-bay men working over the cases. Both patients are dead. And there are others missing. Your executive officer is having lists made. Fortunately the ‘Griswold’s’ crew and passenger lists were saved. Your ship and mine have on board all who were picked up. Fernald should soon know just who were lost.”

So Hunter and the two women remained with Belle Darrin. Half an hour later Dave was called back into the cabin. Dan, who had remained with him all this time, still stayed outside.

“I’m going to be all right, Dave, as you can see for yourself,” Belle smiled, brightly, though her voice was but little above a whisper. “So you got me out of the water yourself? They have told me that much.”

“You’re all right again, little girl, but you must gain a lot of strength,” Dave answered, joyously. “I see old Hunter looking at me frowningly this minute – ”

“I wasn’t,” interrupted the ship’s surgeon, “but you have the right idea, anyway. Mrs. Darrin is going to need sleep now, and then something light and nourishing to eat. So you’d better return to your duties, sir, and look me up later in the evening.”

“Good little girl!” Dave whispered, bending over and kissing Belle on the forehead. “I knew you’d finish your cruise all right. Now, I’m going to obey the surgeon’s orders. I’ll come back at the very earliest moment that I’m allowed to do so.”

Outside he thrust an arm gaily under Dalzell’s, and in this fashion the two chums walked briskly to the deck and bridge. They were soon busy with the figures of the day’s work. Between them, the “Grigsby” and the “Reed” had picked up nearly two hundred and fifty persons. Both craft were crowded. Five bodies had been recovered from the water, and about fifteen more people were listed as missing, though every effort had been made to discover more of those who were missing.

“I hate to think what would happen,” muttered Dalzell, “if an enemy submarine were to get between our two craft and let us have it right now – a strike against each of our ships!”

Right at that instant there came to their ears the jarring hail:

“’Ware torpedo! Headed starboard – amidships!”

CHAPTER XXIV – CONCLUSION

Dave did not glance for the tell-tale torpedo trail. His hand signalled the engine-room for fullest speed. His voice gave the order for the sweeping turn that the “Grigsby” quickly made.

A few breathless seconds. The destroyer turned, then swung her stern again.

The “Grigsby” leaped forward, her bow aimed at the slender shaft of a periscope that lay in outline against the water.

Yonder, half a mile away, the “Reed” had executed a similar movement. The two destroyers were racing toward each other, each bent on ramming the new monster that had appeared between them. But Dave did not forget his forward guns.

Springing from the bridge he himself took station behind one of the guns just as the breech was closed on a load.

“I haven’t yet sighted a gun on this ship,” he announced, coolly. “I want to see what I can do.”

Seldom had a piece been aimed more quickly on any naval craft. Darrin fell back as the piece was fired. He had aimed to strike under water at the base of that periscope. This had seemed the best chance, though he knew the power of water in deflecting a shell aimed through it.

“A hit!” cried an ensign, as he beheld the periscope itself waver, then stand nearly straight before it was hauled swiftly in.

“A hit – a good one!” came the signal from the “Reed.”

“I believe we did smash the hound!” chuckled Darrin, leaning forward and taking the glass that was placed at his hand.

“Yes, sir. I can make out the oil patch ahead.”

With the glass to his eyes Darrin confirmed this report.

“That was unusual luck,” he said, coolly.

“Unusual shooting, I’d say, sir,” voiced the ensign.

“It’s over, anyway, with that Hun pirate,” declared Darrin. He ordered the course changed as soon as Dan left for his own ship. Then he went to the radio room to dictate a message to American naval headquarters at the home port. That message told of the rescue of all but a score of the crew and passengers from the sunken “Griswold,” and also of the now crowded condition of both destroyers.

Within fifteen minutes the orders from shore arrived, in this form:

“Come in with rescued passengers and crew. Commanding officers of ‘Grigsby’ and ‘Reed’ directed report for new orders.”

If Dave was anxious to have Belle safe on shore, the jackies on the two craft were hardly less eager to put all the civilians ashore as soon as possible, that the ships’ crews might once more have elbow room.

It was not until evening that port was made. On the trip Dave Darrin barely left the bridge, but remained on duty hour after hour, refusing to close his eyes. He would take no chances whatever with this most precious cargo of men and women.

By the time that the destroyer had reached moorings, Belle was able to go up on deck, on Dave’s arm. He took her ashore at once, placed her in a hotel, and arranged for medical attendance to be summoned if needed. And Runkle, with shore leave for the night, insisted on remaining in the hotel, where he could be called at any instant when Mrs. Darrin might need anything that he could do for her.

Though the flag lieutenant was present at the interview which followed at naval headquarters, it was the admiral himself who received Dave and Dan.