All that day she sailed, yet found no submarine confiding enough to rise and take a chance at her shabby-looking hull.
“Of course there is one big chance you have to take,” said Darry, at dinner in the ward-room that night, “and that is the danger that a submarine will think this old hulk worthy of sinking by means of a torpedo.”
“No sub will shoot a torpedo at us,” rejoined Dalzell, “if she once gets a look at us. A torpedo costs a small fortune, while a shell or two cost nothing by comparison. The idea in sending out a trap-craft like the ‘Prince’ is that no German naval officer would think of throwing away a torpedo on her.”
“Of course,” Dave admitted, “the greatest danger is that a German shell, fired above water, will cripple you and put you out of business.”
“It’s a sporting chance, to be sure,” Dan admitted.
“If your engines were stopped by a shell, and you couldn’t maneuver for position, and therefore couldn’t use your guns, and a German submarine crew took you prisoners, the sight of your guns would insure that all hands on board would die painful but sure deaths.”
“It’s that sporting element of risk that makes the game so pleasant,” Dan retorted.
His junior officers chuckled.
“I’m glad you all take it the way you do,” was Dave’s cordial rejoinder. “It adds a lot to your chances of success.”
“And just what do you think our chances are?” Dan pressed home. At this the junior officers listened eagerly, for Darrin’s sound judgment was fast becoming a tradition in the Navy.