"If we can't get ash.o.r.e for the watch below," was the perfectly serious reply, "every man gets a hook to hang on."

"You mean to hang his hammock on?"

"No such luck! There isn't room for hammocks on one of these chasers.

Why, even the officer commanding has to sleep on a hammock slung out over the stern in pleasant weather."

"Good-night!" gasped Al Torrance. "Where does he sleep when it isn't pleasant?"

"He doesn't sleep at all--or anybody else, as you'll probably find out to-night, garby," was the reply.

There was bound to be a deal of joking of this nature; but it was all good-natured. The crew of the chaser were of course just as proud of their craft as the crew of the battleship is of their sea-home. They ignored the inconveniences of the S. P. 888 and dilated upon her speed and what they hoped to do in her. She was even better than a destroyer for getting right on top of a submarine and sinking that rat of the sea with depth bombs.

The latter--metal cylinders weighing more than a hundred pounds each--were lashed in their stations at the bow and at the stern of the chaser. They were rigged to be dropped overboard a little differently from the method pursued upon the destroyers.

As the chaser shot across the harbor the strangers aboard remarked in wonder at the way in which she picked up speed. Within a couple of cable lengths from the sh.o.r.e she was going like a streak of light.

It was evident that the S. P. 888 was fully prepared for rough weather.

Not only the depth bombs, but everything else on her decks were lashed.

Pa.s.sing between the capes, she plunged into a regular smother of rough water, and at once the decks were drenched from stem to stern.

"What do you know about this?" demanded Al Torrance of Morgan. "A fellow wants to hang on to a handline like grim death to be sure to keep inboard. Hope they won't pipe us to quarters while this keeps up."

There seemed to be, however, no prospect of the sea's abating; and the commander of the chaser had a considerable distance to go before morning, so he urged the engineer to increase rather than diminish the speed.

With no regard to the comfort of her crew, the craft plowed along on her way to the port where the _Kennebunk_ awaited them. Naval vessels cannot wait on weather signals. "Orders are orders."

The forward deck was comparatively dry; but the after part of the vessel was in a continual smother of spume and broken water. Now and then a wave would charge and break over her, drowning everything and everybody aft of the engines.

These waves seemed racing to overtake and smother the chaser. The tons of water discharged upon her decks would have sunk a less buoyant craft.

All she did was to squatter under the weight of the water like a duck, her propellers never missing a stroke!

Whistler Morgan and his chums did not remain below through this run. No, indeed! The hardiest stomach would feel squeamish at such times in quarters like those of the crew of the S. P. 888.

At least the Navy boys got fresh air on deck if they were battered around a bit. They were supplied with slickers, and they had been wet many a time before.

Frenchy Donahue raised his shrill voice in the old dirge: "Aren't you glad you're a Navy man? Oh, mother!" and had not intoned the first lachrymose verse through to the end before Ikey Rosenmeyer interrupted with a shout:

"Look there! She's broke loose! Hey, fellers! don't you see it?"

They were hanging to a lubber line near the quarterdeck, which on the chaser was a part of the after deck having imaginary boundaries only, established by order of the chaser's commander.

The depth bomb lashed there was the object to which Ikey called his mates' attention. A line had snapped, and the heavy cylinder rolled slowly across the deck.

Suddenly the vessel heaved to starboard, and with a quick snap the bomb rolled in the other direction, crashing against the port rail in a way which made Whistler Morgan cry out in warning:

"Have a care, fellows! If the safety pin isn't firmly inserted in that bomb, and drops out, she may blow off."

"Great glory!" muttered Torry, "where will we be then?"

"It's pretty sure if she explodes we'll never join the _Kennebunk's_ crew," was his chum's grim answer.

CHAPTER XII

COURAGE

The four friends from Seacove were not the only members of the ship's company that saw the depth bomb break loose from its fastenings. The second in command of the submarine chaser, Ensign Filson, and two seamen on lookout were on duty aft.

"Stop that thing!" shouted the ensign.

He was young and inexperienced, and he did not start for the rolling cylinder himself. Had it been Ensign MacMasters, Phil Morgan and his friends knew that he would have jumped for the bomb as he shouted the order.

The two lookouts were not supposed to leave their positions at such a call; but it was a direct command. They turned from their posts at the rail where they were scanning the sea on either hand just as the depth bomb made its second plunge across the deck.

It crashed into the port rail and then, as the chaser jerked her tail in the heavy cross seas like a saucy catbird, the dangerous cylinder dashed to starboard again.

"Stop it!" cried Mr. Filson for the second time; and just then _the safety pin dropped out_!

The first lookout had almost clutched the plunging cylinder as it pa.s.sed him on its backward roll.

"Ware the bomb!" shouted his mate, and both of them leaped away from the vicinity of the peril.

Nor were they to be blamed. With the pin out it was to be expected that the big bomb would immediately explode. It banged against the rail, then charged across the deck again. Every time it collided with an obstacle the spectators expected it to blow up and burst the after part of the ship asunder.

To the credit of Ensign Filson be it said that he did not fall back from his post on the quarter. Nor did he directly order, now that he thought of it, any particular man to try to hold the plunging bomb. It was work for a volunteer--a man who was willing to take his life in his hands.

There is a quality of courage that is higher than that which takes men into battle along with their fellows. The companionship of others in the charge breeds courage in many weak souls.

But to start alone on a dangerous mission, the lone man in an almost hopeless cause, calls for a steadiness of courage that few can rise to.

The four young fellows clinging together behind Mr. Filson were shot with fear, as they might very well be. At any second the bomb was likely to explode, and they were so near that they could not possibly escape the full force of the blast.

Even if the chaser herself escaped complete destruction, they could not dodge the effect of the explosion; but like the ensign they would not retreat.

These bombs are timed to explode at about an eighty-foot depth. A very few seconds would bring about the catastrophe. Every man on the deck of the S. P. 888 felt that.

Suddenly, along the deck charged a st.u.r.dy figure--a human battering ram.

The other men were knocked aside. One of the lookouts was toppled over by the newcomer, falling flat upon his back and was shot by the next plunge of the craft into the scuppers amidships.

"Hi! Hi! Seven Knott!" yelled Al Torrance.

"Good old _Colodia_! Go to it!" joined in the excited Frenchy.

Philip Morgan was already crouching for a leap. Seven Knott pa.s.sed him and threw himself upon the unleashed peril that rolled about the deck.