Where was Scotty with the Sprite and five-pound gun? Had he turned traitor and played into their hands?
CHAPTER XXVII
We did not have long to wait to learn where Scotty was. The murderous, devil ship had just disappeared into the night when in the silent midnight waters of the Gulf an ear-splitting report of a cannon came like a shout from heaven. I was sure now Scotty would follow all night to get them, sink them or get sunk. Howard and I turned our attention to actual damages. The lanterns by which we worked had all slid into the sea. By the wonderful phosphorescent effect of agitated Gulf waters we could see that the submarine still rolled violently and was taking water in the after-hold out of which we had been pumping for six hours. Of course, with hawsers parted, it began to drift away from us in the tide, accelerated by the tail wake of the big ship.
We heard two more shots from the five-pounder and my confidence in Scotty and the marine aboard the Sprite increased. I knew the little Scot was working to do his bit.
Both Howard and I turned together to the little Titian tied with liberal swinging room to the stern of the Anti-Kaiser. We pulled her alongside and Howard jumped in. "She is half full of water!" he shouted. "She had keeled over on her beam as the colliding ship shoved her out of the way!"
The loosened submarine had drifted out of sight. Howard finally found a lantern and lit it. We went to the lifeboat of the Anti-Kaiser, so securely lashed it would take minutes to free it, and the minutes now were more than hours at another time, and Howard knew it.
As though pre-arranged he plunged into the sea in the direction of the drifting prize, his life, his hope, his patriotic endeavor, his duty to little Jim, all in the balance.