“If the ‘Prince’ continues her good work for a fortnight,” smiled Dave Darrin, “the ocean will be a lot safer place for American troopships.”
“I’m beginning to feel,” Dan remarked, “that I can highly endorse the intelligence of those who sent me out on this errand.”
“The errand is a good one, anyway,” Darrin laughed, teasingly.
The rest of the day passed without other incident than the appearance of two destroyers, one British and one American. Each of these war craft signalled to ask if convoy were desired, to which Dan signalled a courteous, “No, thank you.”
“Won’t those chaps feel sold when they learn, if they ever do, what kind of an outfit they wanted to protect?” Dan chuckled.
Just before dawn, next morning, Dalzell was roused from a nap and called to the bridge.
“Gun-fire dead ahead, sir,” reported Ensign Stark. “Don’t you make out the flashes, sir?”
“Yes,” nodded Dalzell, after he had taken and used the proffered glass. “Some one is catching it, but is the victim a steamship, or is it a submarine that some destroyer has overhauled? Oh, for just sixty seconds I’d like to have our wireless rigged!”
Ensign Stark had already ordered the speed increased, and so reported, but Danny Grin, as he heard the firing, seized the engine-room telephone and ordered all speed possible crowded on.
Thus he swept along, without lights, until within a mile of the bright-red flashes, which he could now see without the aid of a glass.