A laugh rose from below, but that laugh was drowned by the joint crash of all the guns of the port battery. Another shell entered the submarine’s tower, and two struck the hull, inflicting more deadly damage.
And now a machine gun began to play over the hull of the sea monster, sending such a storm of bullets that one had to admire the courage—or was it despair?—of a German officer who dared the leaden tempest and sprang from the tower with a white flag, signalling surrender.
“Cease firing!” roared Dalzell through a megaphone. “But load and stand by ready for some German brand of treachery.”
Undoubtedly the German officer knew that he stood under the muzzles of loaded guns. His face white and set, he signalled his offer to surrender.
“We’ll accept you as prisoners if you act honestly,” was signalled back by Dan’s order. “But we’ll blow you into the air if you try to play a single trick on us.”
Acting under further orders a collapsible boat was put over the side of the submarine. The captain, the second-in-command and the engineer officer came over to the “Prince” on the first trip, two men returning with the boat to bring other prisoners. In the meantime the rafts and boats from the sunken ship were turning back to the rescuer.
Barely more than half of the Germans had been gotten clear of the submarine when that unlucky craft foundered. Two survivors were picked up from the sea, but the rest went down into the great salt-water grave.
“Periscope on the port quarter!” rang a lookout’s hail.
Dalzell rushed to the port end of the bridge, glass to his eyes.
Yes, there was the tell-tale tube above water, some eight hundred yards away, the sun shining on the water drops that clung to it.