“It’s a grim business,” muttered Evans, looking on solemnly. Never before had he stood by in cold blood and watched such a horror of war being enacted. The thought of the helpless wretches under the water being systematically hunted down and blown to eternity, oppressed his spirit, and made him graver than was his wont.
Terrified by the appalling din of the depth charge barrages, one of the submarines came at last to the surface and surrendered. The crew were taken off by a chaser, but before leaving, they placed a demolition charge where it blew open the hull of the submarine after they were safely away, and sent her to the bottom of the sea.
“By Jove, those are risky captives to have,” said Evans, roused from his depression by this new turn of events. “Better put ’em under lock and key where they can’t get ashore.”
“That’s no idle jest,” said Barton. “Captain Fraser, I’d keep those prisoners on one of the ships in this action, if I were you, and not let a soul who hasn’t been here see or hear of them.”
“That won’t be easy to arrange,” said Fraser. “But you’re right; we can’t afford to take the risk of letting them get ashore.”
Some minutes passed in silence.
The sweep had now gone from the northwest through the southwest to the southeast side of the circle. Then another bomb went off, and another heavy barrage racked the sea and sent up tokens of destruction. The count stood six. The officers were standing together in a small group at one end of the destroyer’s bridge, at a safe distance from the ears of the quartermasters.
“Too bad your friend Wellman isn’t here to see the fun,” said Barton to Evans with a dry smile.
“Who’s Wellman?” asked the skipper of the destroyer.
“A special messenger we sent to Constantinople with a code, so they could follow our instructions when we told ’em what to do.”