The Brighton Boys with the Submarine Fleet Part 17

For the next ten minutes he threaded his way along the ca.n.a.l bank.

Suddenly, as he turned one of the snake-like twists in the course of the waterway, he found himself facing an old stone windmill that stood almost directly on the ca.n.a.l bank. It was only a stone's throw away.

Instinctively the boy threw himself upon the sandy loam. There was not a sign of life about the abandoned structure. In the peaceful days before the war it had, no doubt, been used by a Belgian farmer to water his fields.

But now Jack saw something that set his heart a-flutter. From the dome-like crest of the windmill stretched a number of wires tautly drawn and leading away to some point beyond his range of view. For a moment he contemplated the scene in silence with tingling nerves.

Satisfied at last that his presence was not yet known---if any human being was within the stone tower---he struggled up to a kneeling position and looked beyond the windmill.

What he saw now was a ramshackle farmhouse apparently deserted. Up the side of the dilapidated building ran a great wide stone chimney that reared its head through the gabled roof like a leaning Tower of Pisa. To this chimney led the wires from the windmill.

"A secret wireless station!" exclaimed Jack to himself. "Undoubtedly in the hands of the Germans and being used by them in the direction of their U-boat fleets in the North Sea!" The boy's pulses quickened at the thought.

Like an Indian on the trail he wormed his way forward until he came at last within ten feet of the windmill. There was a window before him. Slowly and cautiously he drew himself up to one side of the cas.e.m.e.nt and then peered in through the latticed shutter.

At a table, on which was spread out the wireless apparatus, was a uniformed figure. A helmet lay on the floor and the man's head was bowed in his arms. He was asleep. A lantern hung on the wall toward the ca.n.a.l side and cast a dim flicker over the cramped interior of the place. Stretching himself up on tiptoe, Jack surveyed the room, but noted not another person in sight.

Quick as a flash the lad withdrew from the window. His plan of action now was clear. He must get control of that wireless key and flash a message to the United States fleet in the North Sea!

Stealthily he began to circle the stone structure. Momentarily he expected to hear the challenge of a sentry; but he was not molested.

In a few moments his foot touched a large flat stone step before a half closed doorway through which the light of the lantern cast its flickering rays. Jack looked about him for a weapon of some kind and noted a long piece of two-by-four that apparently had been used to prop open the door of the wireless station. Stooping over he drew the club toward him and then turned to face the door and the danger that lay beyond it.

Fearlessly but with the lithe movement of the crafty panther Jack stepped across the threshold. As he did so the German wireless operator stirred in his sleep, lifted his head and gazed full upon the American youth. With a snarl of rage and a muttered curse the burly Teuton sprang to his feet and reached for a heavy revolver that lay on the table.

But Jack was too quick for him. With a long leap forward and a smas.h.i.+ng blow he brought the heavy stick of wood down upon the head of the surprised operator. The German sank in his chair and slipped to the floor, the revolver rolling off the table with a loud clatter.

Pausing only long enough to note that his captive was completely knocked out by the blow, the Yankee lad sprang to the wireless and opened the key. Now he was grateful for the wireless instruction good old Sammy Smith had given him back there on the _Dewey_.

"Z-z-z-z-z-z!" the wires snapped with their message, as he flashed forth the code call of the United States fleet.

Would he be heard? Was there any vessel within range that would pick up his random call. For five minutes the boy rattled away and then closed the key to listen. What was his joy to get an almost immediate response. It was the U.S.S. _Farragut_, a destroyer, reporting her position and asking what was wanted.

In rapid-fire reply Jack related the sinking of the _Dewey_, gave her lat.i.tude and longitude, and urged immediate a.s.sistance.

"But where in the world are you sending your radio message from?" came the query out of the sky.

"In a German wireless station on the Belgian coast just about six miles south-----"

But the message was never finished, for at that moment Jack heard a slight movement behind him and turned to look into the revolver of a bulky German who, in broken English, commanded the American to surrender!

CHAPTER XVII

UP FROM THE DEPTHS

Back in the hold of the sunken submarine whence Jack Hammond had made his miraculous escape, stirring scenes were being enacted. Not a man in the crew but envied Jack in his daring attempt to get away; every man realized that soon it would be his turn. Either he must follow the example of the one who had gone or face the alternate of a slow and horrible death.

Ted Wainwright and Bill Witt were speculating on the fate of their chum.

"I hope he made it all right," sighed Ted after a long period of silence that had followed the discharge of the "human torpedo."

Gloom pervaded the chamber of steel; every man was at the point of despair.

"He's a good swimmer; he proved that when he plucked 'Little Mack'

out of the sea the day we ran afoul of that floating German mine,"

countered Bill. "If we are as near the land as Lieutenant Mcclure thinks we are, then Jack will make it sure as anything."

Chief interest centered in the wireless room where Sammy Smith was listening at the microphone. If, perchance, Jack had made the surface and succeeded in arresting the attention of the pa.s.sing vessel, then the microphones would reveal the approach of the returning s.h.i.+p.

But, as Smith listened intently, the sound of the revolving propeller blades gradually diminished and the commander and crew of the _Dewey_ knew only too well that either Jack had lost his life in the venture or had been unnoticed as he floated in the sea.

"There don't appear to be anything doing up above," ventured Mike Mowrey as he glided up alongside the two boys.

"Guess not," faltered Ted. "We seem to be right up against it."

All hope of rescue was abandoned. For nearly thirty-six hours now the _Dewey_ had remained under water. Her crew of men, breathing over and over again the same supply of air, were rapidly exhausting the life-sustaining reserves of oxygen. Little by little the precious stores had been liberated until now very little remained. Many of the men were coughing asthmatically; several were languis.h.i.+ng in a dumb stupor from the fetid air.

Ted could not help turning his attention to the huge ventilator shaft that fed fresh air into the _Dewey_ when she was cruising on the surface. He remembered well that first undersea dive back home in an American port when he and Jack had discussed the possibilities of ever being lost on the bottom of the sea with the s.h.i.+p's air supply cut off. Now he was face to face with that very situation.

The thought chilled his blood and he found it very hard to be brave under the circ.u.mstances.

Jean Cartier, his face blanched and his hair ruffled, appeared in the torpedo compartment, the picture of dismay.

"It ees ze veery hard thing to breathe back there," he gasped, pointing over his shoulder toward the engine room aft.

Almost immediately the boys forward could hear Commander Mcclure giving orders to open the reserve oxygen tanks. Under the emergency measures adopted living conditions were for the time greatly relieved; but every man aboard knew this relief was but temporary and realized that in twenty-four hours more at the most the supply of oxygen would be entirely exhausted.

The morning wore on to noon and mess was served to a crew of men who cared little to eat. Grim disaster stared them in the face.

The meal over, Commander McClure called a council of his aides in the control chamber. It lasted ten minutes, at the end of which time "Little Mack" sent word to Chief Engineer Blaine to a.s.semble all his men with the remainder of the crew in the torpedo compartment. One by one they came forward in response to the call until the entire crew was a.s.sembled. Then the submarine skipper stepped forward.

"Men of the _Dewey_," he began, in slow even tones, "I want first of all to thank every man here for the splendid work he has done since we left G.o.d's country. We have established a record that, whether we live or die, will become an essential part of the history of the United States. The crew that we started with is intact, save for one brave man---Jack Hammond---who, on his own pet.i.tion, was the first to be shot out of our stranded submersible in hopes that he might bring us succor. What has happened to him it is impossible to say, but what he has done, you can do, and it is the only thing you can do." He spoke hopelessly. "I have tried every means I can think of to float the _Dewey_, and we have been unable to move so much as an inch. We are helpless---foundered. We are breathing the last of our reserve stores of fresh air. By to-morrow morning they will probably be exhausted, and you know what that means."

He paused for a moment amid a death-like silence, and then continued:

"There is but one course open to us. We shall draw lots. Then, in turn, we shall attempt to make our escape while there is yet time.

Each man may have his own preference; you may either go out through the torpedo tube as did Jack Hammond, or you may go through the conning tower. Each man will please write his name on a slip of paper and deposit it in this code book box. Officer Cleary will draw the names from the box and Officer Binns will read them."

Slips of paper were produced by the s.h.i.+p's executive officer and pa.s.sed around the circle. Hardly a word was spoken during this procedure, the usual debonair Bill Witt slouching against the hull of the _Dewey_, a picture of abject despair. It took only a few minutes to prepare the slips and they were collected by Officer Cleary, who in turn deposited them in the code box. Captain McClure stirred them around for a moment and then directed Officer Cleary to begin drawing.

Every man in the group viewed the proceedings with a tense face. Not a word was spoken as the executive officer thrust his hand into the box and drew out the first slip and handed it to Officer Binns.

"Joe Sampson," read the navigating officer as he handed the slip to Commander McClure, who, with pencil and paper, was ready to write the names of his men as they were drawn. Joe was one of the electricians, a boy of nineteen from New York who had s.h.i.+pped on the _Dewey_ with Jack and Ted.

The drawing continued until every name had been polled. Mike Mowrey was second on the list, Officer Binns third. Bill Witt was drawn as No. 7 and Ted as No. 16.

"But where is your name?" asked Executive Officer Cleary, turning to his chief.