As Darrin turned from watching the submarine he beheld naval gunners, this time in uniform, and with Ensign Peters in charge, taking the range carefully.
At some signal that Darrin did not catch, a whistle sounded shrilly. Now, from the deckhouse below a detachment of Uncle Sam’s jackies in uniform dashed out.
“Open ports!” called Ensign Peters, as some of the men sprang to the guns.
All in a jiffy the sliding doors in the bulwarks were shoved back and gun muzzles were run out. Crisply the orders issued. Within a few seconds the first gun spoke, and right after it the other two.
One of the shots struck the submarine’s hull aft, ripping off several plates.
“Hurrah!” yelled Dalzell. “Now, let’s see ’em try to dive. But fire fast and straight, before the Huns take it out of our people in the small boats!”
One shot the enemy fired, aimed at one of the “Prince’s” guns. Over the top of the bulwarks it went, missing them by only a few feet.
That was a game at which two could play. Ensign Peters aimed a gun at the base of the submersible’s forward gun. A cheer of joy went up forward on the tramp steamer when it was seen that a hit had been registered as aimed. The enemy now had only his stern gun, and he swung quickly to bring it to bear.
Ensign Peters now aimed at the base of the stern gun. But he missed it, for, a second before, one of the other guns in the “Prince’s” battery had struck the submarine just below the water line.
“Good enough!” roared Dalzell in trumpet tones. “Now, let’s see the rascal fight!”