A few breathless seconds. The destroyer turned, then swung her stern again.
The “Grigsby” leaped forward, her bow aimed at the slender shaft of a periscope that lay in outline against the water.
Yonder, half a mile away, the “Reed” had executed a similar movement. The two destroyers were racing toward each other, each bent on ramming the new monster that had appeared between them. But Dave did not forget his forward guns.
Springing from the bridge he himself took station behind one of the guns just as the breech was closed on a load.
“I haven’t yet sighted a gun on this ship,” he announced, coolly. “I want to see what I can do.”
Seldom had a piece been aimed more quickly on any naval craft. Darrin fell back as the piece was fired. He had aimed to strike under water at the base of that periscope. This had seemed the best chance, though he knew the power of water in deflecting a shell aimed through it.
“A hit!” cried an ensign, as he beheld the periscope itself waver, then stand nearly straight before it was hauled swiftly in.
“A hit—a good one!” came the signal from the “Reed.”
“I believe we did smash the hound!” chuckled Darrin, leaning forward and taking the glass that was placed at his hand.
“Yes, sir. I can make out the oil patch ahead.”