Part 35 (1/2)

This message was sent, bringing back the alarming word:

”Cannot say, but submarine moving closer. Evidently determined to make swift job of us.”

”And of course the German hears these messages!” groaned Dave. ”He may even have the key to our code with commercial s.h.i.+ps. He will now do his best and quickest to send the liner to the bottom!”

Ten minutes later this came in by way of the ”Grigsby's” aerials:

”S. O. S.! Taking to our boats on starboard side. Enemy on our port! S.

O. S. 'Griswold'.”

”And we are still fifteen miles away!” moaned Dave.

His face was calm, but ghastly white. His lips were tightly closed over firmly set jaws. ”Fifteen miles away!”

”The turbines are doing every ounce of work that is in them,” said Lieutenant Fernald, in a low voice.

”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 compa.s.s, that the quartermaster might see to keep the s.h.i.+p 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 gla.s.s.”

”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.