Though hoping against hope, Fernald telephoned the engine room, urging the engineer to try to get a little more speed from the engines. The chief engineer officer, himself in charge below, did his best. Billows of black smoke hung over the water astern. Bit by bit the straining engines provided more, and then a little more speed.
If it were but daylight! Men stood by the “Grigsby’s” guns, ready to fire at the word—to sight by guess, should the lieutenant-commander on the bridge call for it. Dave might have thrown on the searchlight. Should the white ribbon of light appear now, while still so far away, the German commander would know how soon to submerge.
And Dave Darrin wanted the lives of those Germans! He was not blood-thirsty, and heretofore had fought because it was his duty to fight. Now he HATED these German fiends! If he could send fifty of them to the bottom, that would be excellent. If he could drown a hundred of the Hun pirates, that would be fine! To send a thousand of them to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean—that would be something worth while!
But to send that beam of clear white light across the ocean—to signal the German commander, in effect, the word “Dive!”—that would be criminal.
“Fernald!” cried Dave, hoarsely.
“Sir?”
“Can you make out the enemy hull?”
“No, sir.”
“Try!”
“I cannot make it out yet, sir,” replied Lieutenant Fernald, lowering the glass from his eyes. “But look—the first streaks of dawn are behind us.”