Then he heard "Little Mack" speaking.
"We'll stay right here until we find them," he was saying.
Megaphones were brought on deck and the Dewey's officers began calling into the darkness of the sea. Another searchlight was run up through the stern hatch and affixed aft to sweep the sea from that end of the vessel. For a time there was no response to their calls; then, when it seemed that all hope had fled, there came a hoarse cry, now seeming far away, now closer and louder.
"Something there to starboard just off our bow!" shouted Jack, who had climbed up on the conning tower.
McClure directed that both searchlights be flashed in the direction of the muffled calls and was rewarded by the faint outlines of a small boat buffeted about in the water like a cork.
"Well, they are not our boys," said the Dewey's skipper listlessly.
Then, taking Jack's megaphone, he shouted: "Who are you?"
A tail, gaunt figure loomed up in the bow of the lifeboat. He was waving a life-belt frantically with an appealing gesture for aid.
"Survivors from der German gunboat Strassburg," came the reply in broken English.
McClure ordered them to come alongside and cautioned his men to be on guard against any surprise attack.
Out of the gloom came the lifeboat like a weird specter, propelled by the sweeping oars of half a dozen frantically working seamen. It was crowded with a motley crew of bedraggled sailors. They presented a pitiable spectacle as their craft slowly made its way toward the Dewey and into the bright rays from the searchlights.