However that might be, the Huns were active enough in the waters through which the Colodia plied. It was only two days after Whistler and George Belding had saved the living remainder of the Zeppelin crew when an S O S call was picked up by the port wireless station and transmitted to the destroyer. It was possible that the ship in peril was too far away for the Colodia to be of service; nevertheless she started out of the harbor within ten minutes of the reception of the aero plea for help.
The weather was rough, and the ship barely dropped the headlands below the horizon at sunset. They were bound, doubtless, on a useless night trip. And yet, such ventures were a part of the work of the destroyers and must be expected by their crews.
When night had fallen there was only a pale radiance resting on the sea while broken wind clouds drove athwart a gray and dreary sky. No stars were visible. From behind the weather screen of the bridge, where the two watch officers were stationed, nothing could be seen ahead but the phosphorescent flash of waves otherwise as black as ink. These flashes, where the waves broke at their crests, decreased rather than aided the powers of vision.
The crew of the Colodia were by this time so well used to their work that there were few false alarms as the ship tore on through the dark seas. Such errands as this were part of the expectation—almost of routine. The destroyers at night fairly “smelled” their way from point to point.
Now and then a porpoise shot straight toward the Colodia, leaving a sparkling wake so like that of a torpedo that the lookout might be excused for giving a mistaken warning. But the men knew the real thing now, and the gunners did not bang away at fish or floating débris as they had in the beginning.
“Why, even Isa Bopp has not for a long time raised a flivver,” said Al Torrance, discussing this matter with George Belding and Whistler. “And Ikey has stopped straining his eyes when he’s off duty. One time he would have hollered ‘wolf’ if he’d seen a dill pickle floating three hundred yards off our weather bow.”
“That’s all right,” said Whistler. “But Ikey won the first gold piece for sighting a German sub when he first went to sea on this old knife-blade. He’s got eyes for something besides dill pickles, has Ikey.”
The crackling radio was intercepting messages from other ships—all kinds of ships. The S O S call was no longer being repeated; but the Colodia’s officers had learned the position of the vessel that called for help at the start, and the destroyer did not swerve from her course. She roared on through the dark sea directly for the spot indicated.
“There’s nothing fancy in this job, George,” Phil Morgan said to their new chum. “Nothing like a good, slap-dash battle with the Hun fleet, such as we had a few weeks ago, or even chasing a Hun raider out of Zeebrugge, or Kiel. But the old Colodia has had ‘well done’ signaled her by the fleet admiral more than once.”
“You bet!” Al Torrance put in. “We’ve sunk more than one of the U-boats. We’re one of ‘the terrors of the sea,’ boy—like the song tells about. That is what they call our flotilla.”