Suddenly Dave recalled to mind the prisoner, Jordan, locked in the brig below.
“Corporal,” he called down, as that noncommissioned officer of marines passed across the deck, “in case we are hit and are sinking, make it your duty to remember Jordan, in the brig. Turn him loose before we abandon ship—if the day’s work comes to that.”
“Humph!” Pete was saying to his soldier comrades forward on one of the leading transports. “The Germans must be hard up when they can send only one sub to tackle a fleet like this.”
“I don’t care if the Huns send fifty or a hundred of their pests,” broke in another soldier. “The subs have no show. Did you see that destroyer? Scoot! Pouf! Hm! Where’s that submarine now? I tell you, fellows, after all, submarines are good only for sinking unarmed schooners.”
“Still, they’ve sunk more than a few armed steamers,” argued a comrade.
“If they did,” maintained the former speaker, warmly, “then it was because the lookouts and gunners were asleep. You wait! If we meet a dozen of these Hun submarines to-day you’ll find that they won’t get any of our ships.”
“I’m going to do my bragging after we land,” interjected an old sergeant dryly. “I always enjoy my bragging best after I get over my scare.”
But the long quiet proved too good to last. The almost simultaneous barking of guns from three troopships and from two destroyers called swift attention to the fact that the fusillade was aimed at a periscope off starboard. Nearly a dozen shells struck the water all around the spot where the periscope had vanished. From about the same point a light streak appeared on the water.
Signalling back instructions to the transports as to their course, a destroyer darted out of line to go after the submarine after the fashion that Darrin had employed. Ere long the destroyer swerved in a sharp curve and headed back for her place in the escort line, signalling at the same time: