The Brighton Boys with the Submarine Fleet Part 15

"Looks as though we were stuck, all right," was McClure's solitary comment as he gazed again at the depth dial.

The engines now were shut down, the air pumps had ceased working.

There was not a sound throughout the submersible, except the low drone of the electric fans that swept the air along the pa.s.sageways.

Every man waited in stoical silence a further word from his chief.

"Jonah had nothing on us," cried Bill Witt grinning, as the group of boys retreated down the pa.s.sageway leading forward from the conning tower into the main torpedo compartment. Lieutenant McClure and his officers were conferring together over the _Dewey's_ dilemma.

"This s.h.i.+p is no fish," ventured Ted timidly, his mind engrossed in the new danger that threatened.

"Well, it's a whale of a submarine, isn't it?" continued Bill in a brave effort to be funny.

Ted agreed, but was in no humor for joking, and hurried amids.h.i.+ps to join Jack, who had remained within call of his commander.

For some moments the boys discussed the predicament of the _Dewey_, the unfortunate circ.u.mstances that had led her aground, and the possibilities of being floated again. Jack confided to his chum the fact that he had overheard Lieutenant McClure say the _Dewey_ probably had ventured too close in sh.o.r.e and had run afoul of a sand bar.

"What's the next move?" queried Ted.

"You've got me, chum; I don't know what they will try next," answered Jack, feeling a bit glum despite his natural cheerfulness.

Lieutenant McClure and his officers---Cleary, Binns, and Blaine---were now making an inspection of the _Dewey_ fore and aft. As they returned amids.h.i.+ps the boys overheard s.n.a.t.c.hes of the conversation.

"Propeller blades free, aren't they?" McClure was asking.

"Working free and easy or else the shafts wouldn't turn," Blaine was saying.

From what the boys could gather from the conversation it was the belief of the s.h.i.+p's officers that the _Dewey_ was grounded on a heavy sand bar. She had sloughed down deep in the miry sea bottom with her keel amids.h.i.+ps firmly imbedded and her bow and stern floating free. The suction of the mud prevented her from rising.

In the wireless room Jack, Ted, Sammy Smith and Bill Witt finally came together and began speculating on the critical predicament of their s.h.i.+p. Cooped up in their cage of steel, shut off from the outside world of fresh air and suns.h.i.+ne, the crew of the _Dewey_ were held prisoners like rats in a trap, dependent for life upon the air they were breathing and the precious stores of oxygen in the emergency tanks!

The next few hours were full of anxiety for the officers and crew of the stranded _Dewey_. Several times during the morning the s.h.i.+p's engines were set in motion and valiant efforts made to drag the s.h.i.+p off the shoal. But each succeeding effort availed nothing, except to eat up the precious electrical energy in the storage batteries.

In the petrol tanks was plenty of fuel for the engines, but it was useless here on the bottom of the sea where only the electric motors could be used in submerged locomotion.

Realizing the futility of these sporadic efforts at escape, Lieutenant McClure decided to wait until one o'clock for another supreme effort.

It would be high tide at noon and he decided to make the great effort shortly thereafter on the thin hope that he might get away with the tide running out to sea.

The time pa.s.sed drearily. Jack and Ted tried to get interested in a game of chess, but with little success. Bill Witt sought with mouth organ and banjo to buoy up the spirits of his downcast mates and succeeded poorly. Noon mess was served at eleven forty-five and even Jean Cartier, as he dispensed canned beans, brown bread, stewed fruit and tea, forgot to smile as usual at his culinary tasks.

"We ought to get away now if we are to get off at all," Jack overheard Lieutenant McClure say to Cleary after mess kits had been stowed and preparations were under way for the "big drive."

In a few minutes more the _Dewey_ was primed for the test. Soon the clatter of machinery aft indicated that the engines were in motion.

"Back away!" was the signal flashed to the engine room. Instantly the full power of the motors was turned into the giant shafts and the propellors threshed the ocean with the fury of a wounded whale. With all the might she possessed the submarine strove to free herself and float away to freedom.

Thrice were the engines stopped and started again. But every time the quivering submarine failed to move an inch!

CHAPTER XV

THE HUMAN TORPEDO

"Looks as though we were up against it," remarked Executive Officer Cleary to his chief as the _Dewey's_ engines died down into silence.

Lieutenant McClure, his youthful face wrinkled in deep thought, looked up apprehensively.

"A very serious situation," he mumbled.

He spoke with marked gravity now, and there was no response from the executive officer, nor from Navigating Officer Binns, as they stood quietly and rigidly at attention, awaiting orders.

Inquiry in the engine room brought the information that the batteries had been greatly depleted by the tremendous exertions of the _Dewey_.

The supply of "juice" certainly could not last much longer.

What next? Instinctively every man aboard the doomed s.h.i.+p was asking himself the question. It was only too manifest that the _Dewey_ had run hard aground. The best that could be hoped for now was that the s.h.i.+fting currents of the sea might wash the submarine free before death overwhelmed her imprisoned crew.

"Make yourselves as comfortable as possible; we are not done for yet---not by a jugful," essayed McClure bravely as he sauntered into the torpedo room where Chief Gunner Mowrey and his men were a.s.sembled in hushed discussion of the _Dewey's_ plight.

Immediately "Little Mack" was surrounded by his men. They asked him all manner of questions.

"Remember first, last, and always that you are Americans and members of the United States Navy," continued their commanding officer. "We have air supply in the reserve tanks sufficient to stay here for many hours yet without danger of suffocation; and in the meantime quite a number of things can happen."

Despite their commander's cheery remarks there was little comfort in his words. Trusting implicitly their gallant chief, every man aboard the stranded submarine was keenly alive to the seriousness of the situation and mentally figuring on the possibilities of escape from the prison s.h.i.+p in case it was found at last impossible to float the vessel. The boys knew their dauntless commander, in a final extremity, would resort to heroic measures of escape rather than allow his men to be suffocated and overwhelmed by a slow death in their trap of steel.

It was now more than twelve hours since the _Dewey_ had submerged after the exciting events of the preceding night and the air supply was still sufficiently impregnated with oxygen to enable the imprisoned crew to breathe free and normally. The boys knew that the _Dewey_ could continue thus for at least thirty-six hours before her officers would commence drawing on the reserve oxygen tanks.

In an atmosphere of suspense the long afternoon dragged into evening.

Every effort to free the vessel had been tried, but to no avail.

Evening mess was served amid an oppressive silence varied only by the valiant efforts of bluff Bill Witt to stir a bit of confidence in his mates. Another and final effort to get away was to be tried at midnight with high tide. And then---if nothing availed---the boys knew full well that with the morning Lieutenant McClure would resort to some drastic measures.

Efforts at sleep were futile for the most part, although dauntless spirits like Bill Witt and Mike Mowrey turned in as usual and dozed away as peacefully as though no danger existed. Midnight and high tide kindled fresh hopes as "Little Mack" steeled himself for a last try with the _Dewey's_ hardworked engines. Jack and Ted had spent the long evening in the wireless room with Sammy Smith, hearing not so much as a trace of a pa.s.sing vessel. Eagerly they awaited the last herculean effort for freedom. At ten minutes to one the engines were set in motion again and the signal given to back away as before.

Lieutenant McClure had resorted to the expedient of s.h.i.+fting everything movable within the _Dewey_ to the bow bulkhead in the hope that the submarine might be tilted forward at the supreme moment. Now he ordered every man aboard s.h.i.+p, except the engineering force necessary to operate the engines, into the torpedo chamber forward.

"Whirr-r-r!" the roar of machinery reverberated throughout the hold.

The _Dewey_ struggled again in mad convulsion---but all to no avail.

The s.h.i.+fted cargo of humans and equipment made no difference; the submersible remained fast.

There now was no doubt of the _Dewey's_ serious dilemma. No spoken word was necessary to impress upon the men the critical situation.

Sleep was out of the question. Jack rambled into the wireless room, where he tried to calm his restless spirits by rattling away on the key at the code alphabet. Lately he had been giving much attention to mastering the operation of the wireless apparatus and under the direction of Sammy Smith had been making excellent progress.

He nervously fitted the microphone receivers to his ears---and the next moment sat bolt upright. He was startled to hear the clicking sound in the listeners that indicated the proximity of a moving vessel.

"Quick! Listen here!" he called out to Sammy Smith. The wireless chief dashed down the receivers and hurried to find Lieutenant Mcclure.

"s.h.i.+p approaching from the southwest," said Smith hurriedly. "Coming up the coast and apparently about two miles away."

"Little Mack" adjusted the receivers and stood listening to the revolving propellers of the craft that approached and pa.s.sed overhead.