CHAPTER XII

YANKEE CAMOUFLAGE

To Ted it seemed as though he were following the mandate of some madman as he emerged from the conning tower and, grasping the periscope pole, steadied himself a moment before leaping down on deck. But, being a loyal son of Uncle Sam, and realizing that the first requisite of a sailor was to take orders implicitly from his officers, he sprang nimbly on deck, rushed along the inclined steel plane, and as he came splashing into the water that washed over the bow, flung himself into the sea.

"I'll trust to 'Little Mack'," he said to himself.

Coming up to the surface he veered off sharp to the Dewey's starboard and with long strokes pulled himself into the shadow of the partially submerged submarine. The life-belt held him secure in the water and he floated at ease.

Ted turned his attention toward the Dewey.

There, he saw, his example was being followed by other members of the crew. As their names were called off by their commander a number of the crew leaped overboard.

One stood up on the rim of the conning tower and dived away from the glare of the enemy searchlights into the black shadows of the submarine. Suddenly the aft hatch was thrown open directly above the engine room and in a moment several begrimed members of the engine crew scrambled up the ladder in quick succession and threw themselves into the sea. The enemy had ceased firing.

"What does it all mean?" pondered Ted as he floated, watching the graphic picture.

Unable to solve the problem for himself, he turned his attention to the nearest man in the water. He swam now only a few strokes away. With little effort Ted drew up to him. It was Bill Witt.

"Reckon they rammed a shot into her," yelled Bill as they beheld their ship sinking gradually.

"Looks that way, doesn't it?" answered Ted

The stricken submarine was gradually going down. McClure was there in the conning tower, of course; that old tradition of the sea, about every skipper going down with his ship, held true in the case of a submarine as well. Jack was there, too, in all likelihood; he had been standing by his commander as Ted and Bill hurried up to hurl themselves from the deck. Ted gulped as he thought of his chum. Was it all over with Jack? Would the Germans rescue the American lads bobbing about in the water?

In another moment the Dewey was completely under, leaving many of her crew floating in the open sea, at the mercy of their enemies.

"Tough luck!" stammered Ted as he linked arms with Bill over their life-belts.

Bill was dauntless even in the face of death.

"You never can tell," he said. "I am guessing that 'Little Mack' has another card up his sleeve."

Down in the turret of the submerged Dewey an extraordinary scene was being enacted. McClure, Cleary and Jack were standing together as the vessel glided away under the water.

"It worked—-it worked!" shouted the young lieutenant as he ordered the submerging process discontinued and the Dewey held on an even keel.

"What worked?" gasped his dazed executive, who had yet to grasp the significance of his commander's action in ordering members of the crew overboard.

"Why, don't you see? Those Germans think they sank us. When they saw our boys leaping into the water they took it for granted one of their shots had landed and we were done for. They think the boys leaped overboard to escape death in the hold of a mortally wounded Yankee. And here we are, safe and sound, under the water!"

"But what about those fellows swimming around up there?" asked Jack in startled tones.

"We'll go back and get them in a few minutes after we've tended to this Prussian gentleman that we hypnotized," shot back his commander, as his jaw squared and his eyes flashed.

Jack and Officer Cleary stared at each other.

"Well, of all the nerve!" gasped Cleary.

"Great Scott, man! it takes a real honest-to-goodness Yankee like you to get away with such a trick."

Veering off to port, the skipper steered a straight course for several hundred yards. Then the Dewey cut out into a short half circle and in another moment came to a stop sixty-five feet below the surface.

"Put her up," came the order to the navigating officer at the ship's air pumps.

There was an interval of strained silence as the commander waited until the eye of the periscope had cleared the spray that dashed against the glass.

"There they are!" he announced. "Light still turned on the spot where we went down a minute or so ago. Guess they are waiting to see whether we really are done for."

A signal to the Dewey's engine rooms put the vessel in motion just long enough for her commander to turn the nose of the craft slightly to starboard, and then the submarine rested quietly again.

"Friends, Americans, and fellow patriots: my compliments to the Imperial German Navy," began "Little Mack" as he leaned forward to touch off a torpedo—-and there was a rare smile on his lips.

For an instant the Dewey quivered as the torpedo shot from the bow of the submerged ship and raced away under the water. Her commander hugged the periscope glass and watched for developments.

"Got him!" he shouted excitedly, dancing about wildly on the grating of the conning tower. "It's a hit beyond all doubt. We struck her almost amidships."

The German vessel had been dealt a deathblow. She was sending up distress signals.

"She's afire now and can't last long," mused the Dewey's commander as he continued to survey the ship in distress. "Her magazines will go in a minute."

The chief concern of the Dewey now was the reclaiming of her sailors from the sea.

There was little likelihood of gun fire from the sinking German warship. Her crew were bent on launching lifeboats and getting away before the final plunge that would carry the ship down to the bottom. Accordingly, the Yankee submarine came to the surface and commenced preparations for the rescue of her own crew. Lights were hung at the mastheads fore and aft and a huge searchlight hurriedly adjusted on the forepart of the conning tower and the electrical connections made amidships.

Out of the mist that overhung the sea burst forth suddenly a great glare. Through the fog loomed a white mass of flame like the blast of a thousand furnaces, with tongues of fire piercing the night gloom. The sea was rocked by an explosion that reverberated over the waters like the crash of a million guns and tossed the submarine like a piece of driftwood.

"One less warship for the Kaiser's navy," remarked McClure.

"And all because of your rare cunning, old boy," countered his executive enthusiastically.

Out of the darkness came a shout for help close at hand. Switching the searchlight in the direction of the cry, Commander McClure beheld a head bobbing in the water only a few yards away. It was one of his own crew, one of the electrician's helpers who had gone overboard with the rest in the mad scramble to outwit the Germans. In a few minutes he was hauled aboard, dripping wet, his teeth chattering from the exposure in the water.

"They are all around here," the boy chattered. "We managed to keep pretty close together in the water."

McClure grasped his hand.

"You are a brave lad," he said. "Every man of you has proved his mettle by taking a daring chance. Go below now, son, get into warm clothing and gets something hot to drink."

Coasting to and fro in the water, scanning the sea now to the right, now to the left, the Dewey continued the search for her crew.

Singly, in twos, and in one case three, men were picked up until it seemed to the commander that every boy who had gone overboard had been reclaimed from the sea.

"Call the roll below decks," the commander instructed his executive officer. Jack and his commander remained in the conning tower still operating the searchlight.

In a few minutes Officer Cleary returned.

"All safe?" asked "Little Mack."

"No; two still missing," was the executive officer's reply.

"Who are they?" McClure queried.

"Ted Wainwright and Bill Witt," came the answer.