The Land That Time Forgot
plague. I altered the course of the submarine and set off in chase; but the
steamer was faster than we, and soon left us hopelessly astern.
With a rueful smile, I directed that our original course be resumed, and once
again we set off toward merry England. That was three months ago, and we
haven’t arrived yet; nor is there any likelihood that we ever shall.
The steamer we had just sighted must have wirelessed a warning, for it wasn’t
half an hour before we saw more smoke on the horizon, and this time the vessel
flew the white ensign of the Royal Navy and carried guns. She didn’t veer to
the north or anywhere else, but bore down on us rapidly. I was just preparing
to signal her, when a flame flashed from her bows, and an instant later the
water in front of us was thrown high by the explosion of a shell.
Bradley had come on deck and was standing beside me. “About one more of those,
and she’ll have our range,” he said. “She doesn’t seem to take much stock in
our Union Jack.”
A second shell passed over us, and then I gave the command to change our
direction, at the same time directing Bradley to go below and give the order to
submerge. I passed Nobs down to him, and following, saw to the closing and
fastening of the hatch.
It seemed to me that the diving-tanks never had filled so slowly. We heard a
loud explosion apparently directly above us; the craft trembled to the shock
which threw us all to the deck. I expected momentarily to feel the deluge of
inrushing water, but none came. Instead we continued to submerge until the
manometer registered forty feet and then I knew that we were safe. Safe! I
almost smiled. I had relieved Olson, who had remained in the tower at my
direction, having been a member of one of the early British submarine crews,
and therefore having some knowledge of the business. Bradley was at my side. He
looked at me quizzically.
“What the devil are we to do?” he asked. “The merchantman will flee us; the
war-vessel will destroy us; neither will believe our colors or give us a chance
to explain. We will meet even a worse reception if we go nosing around a
British port—mines, nets and all of it. We can’t do it.”
“Let’s try it again when this fellow has lost the scent,” I urged. “There must
come a ship that will believe us.”
And try it again we did, only to be almost rammed by a huge freighter. Later we
were fired upon by a destroyer, and two merchantmen turned and fled at our
approach. For two days we cruised up and down the Channel trying to tell some
one, who would listen, that we were friends; but no one would listen. After our
encounter with the first warship I had given instructions that a wireless
message be sent out explaining our predicament; but to my chagrin I discovered
that both sending and receiving instruments had disappeared.
“There is only one place you can go,” von Schoenvorts sent word to me, “and
that is Kiel. You can’t land anywhere else in these waters. If you wish, I will
take you there, and I can promise that you will be treated well.”
“There is another place we can go,” I sent back my reply, “and we will before
we’ll go to Germany. That place is hell.”
Chapter 3
Those were anxious days, during which I had but little opportunity to associate
with Lys. I had given her the commander’s room, Bradley and I taking that of
the deck-officer, while Olson and two of our best men occupied the room
ordinarily allotted to petty officers. I made Nobs’ bed down in Lys’ room, for
I knew she would feel less alone.
Nothing of much moment occurred for a while after we left British waters behind
us. We ran steadily along upon the surface, making good time. The first two
boats we sighted made off as fast as they could go; and the third, a huge
freighter, fired on us, forcing us to submerge. It was after this that our
troubles commenced. One of the Diesel engines broke down in the morning, and
while we were working on it, the forward port diving-tank commenced to fill. I
was on deck at the time and noted the gradual list. Guessing at once what was
happening, I leaped for the hatch and slamming it closed above my head, dropped
to the centrale. By this time the craft was going down by the head with a most
unpleasant list to port, and I didn’t wait to transmit orders to some one else
but ran as fast as I could for the valve that let the sea into the forward port
diving-tank. It was wide open. To close it and to have the pump started that
would empty it were the work of but a minute; but we had had a close call.
I knew that the valve had never opened itself. Some one had opened it—some one
who was willing to die himself if he might at the same time encompass the death
of all of us.
After that I kept a guard pacing the length of the narrow craft. We worked upon
the engine all that day and night and half the following day. Most of the time
we drifted idly upon the surface, but toward noon we sighted smoke due west,
and having found that only enemies inhabited the world for us, I ordered that
the other engine be started so that we could move out of the path of the
oncoming steamer. The moment the engine started to turn, however, there was a
grinding sound of tortured steel, and when it had been stopped, we found that
some one had placed a cold-chisel in one of the gears.
It was another two days before we were ready to limp along, half repaired. The
night before the repairs were completed, the sentry came to my room and awoke
me. He was rather an intelligent fellow of the English middle class, in whom I
had much confidence.
“Well, Wilson,” I asked. “What’s the matter now?”
He raised his finger to his lips and came closer to me. “I think I’ve found out
who’s doin’ the mischief,” he whispered, and nodded his head toward the girl’s
room. “I seen her sneakin’ from the crew’s room just now,” he went on. “She’d
been in gassin’ wit’ the boche commander. Benson seen her in there las’ night,
too, but he never said nothin’ till I goes on watch tonight. Benson’s sorter
slow in the head, an’ he never puts two an’ two together till some one else has
made four out of it.”
If the man had come in and struck me suddenly in the face, I could have been no
more surprised.
“Say nothing of this to anyone,” I ordered. “Keep your eyes and ears open and
report every suspicious thing you see or hear.”
The man saluted and left me; but for an hour or more I tossed, restless, upon
my hard bunk in an agony of jealousy and fear. Finally I fell into a troubled
sleep. It was daylight when I awoke. We were steaming along slowly upon the
surface, my orders having been to proceed at half speed until we could take an
observation and determine our position. The sky had been overcast all the
previous day and all night; but as I stepped into the centrale that morning I
was delighted to see that the sun was again shining. The spirits of the men
seemed improved; everything seemed propitious. I forgot at once the cruel
misgivings of the past night as I set to work to take my observations.
What a blow awaited me! The sextant and chronometer had both been broken beyond
repair, and they had been broken just this very night. They had been broken
upon the night that Lys had been seen talking with von Schoenvorts. I think
that it was this last thought which hurt me the worst. I could look the other
disaster in the face with equanimity; but the bald fact that Lys might be a
traitor appalled me.
I called Bradley and Olson on deck and told them what had happened, but for the
life of me I couldn’t bring myself to repeat what Wilson had reported to me the
previous night. In fact, as I had given the matter thought, it seemed
incredible that the girl could have passed through my room, in which Bradley
and I slept, and then carried on a conversation in the crew’s room, in which
Von Schoenvorts was kept, without having been seen by more than a single man.
Bradley shook his head. “I can’t make it out,” he said. “One of those boches
must be pretty clever to come it over us all like this; but they haven’t harmed
us as much as they think; there are still the extra instruments.”
It was my turn now to shake a doleful head. “There are no extra instruments,” I
told them. “They too have disappeared as did the wireless apparatus.”
Both men looked at me in amazement. “We still have the compass and the sun,”
said Olson. “They may be after getting the compass some night; but they’s too
many of us around in the daytime fer ’em to get the sun.”
It was then that one of the men stuck his head up through the hatchway and
seeing me, asked permission to come on deck and get a breath of fresh air. I
recognized him as Benson, the man who, Wilson had said, reported having seen
Lys with von Schoenvorts two nights before. I motioned him on deck and then
called him to one side, asking if he had seen anything out of the way or
unusual during his trick on watch the night before. The fellow scratched his
head a moment and said, “No,” and then as though it was an afterthought, he
told me that he had seen the girl in the crew’s room about midnight talking
with the German commander, but as there hadn’t seemed to him to be any harm in
that, he hadn’t said anything about it. Telling him never to fail to report to
me anything in the slightest out of the ordinary routine of the ship, I
dismissed him.
Several of the other men now asked permission to come on deck, and soon all but
those actually engaged in some necessary duty were standing around smoking and
talking, all in the best of spirits. I took advantage of the absence of the men
upon the deck to go below for my breakfast, which the cook was already
preparing upon the electric stove. Lys, followed by Nobs, appeared as I entered
the centrale. She met me with a pleasant “Good morning!” which I am afraid I
replied to in a tone that was rather constrained and surly.
“Will you breakfast with me?” I suddenly asked the girl, determined to commence
a probe of my own along the lines which duty demanded.
She nodded a sweet acceptance of my invitation, and together we sat down at the
little table of the officers’ mess.
“You slept well last night?” I asked.
“All night,” she replied. “I am a splendid sleeper.”
Her manner was so straightforward and honest that I could not bring myself to
believe in her duplicity; yet—Thinking to surprise her into a betrayal of her
guilt, I blurted out: “The chronometer and sextant were both destroyed last
night; there is a traitor among us.” But she never turned a hair by way of
evidencing guilty knowledge of the catastrophe.
“Who could it have been?” she cried. “The Germans would be crazy to do it, for
their lives are as much at stake as ours.”
“Men are often glad to die for an ideal—an ideal of patriotism, perhaps,” I
replied; “and a willingness to martyr themselves includes a willingness to
sacrifice others, even those who love them. Women are much the same, except
that they will go even further than most men—they will sacrifice everything,
even honor, for love.”
I watched her face carefully as I spoke, and I thought that I detected a very
faint flush mounting her cheek. Seeing an opening and an advantage, I sought to
follow it up.
“Take von Schoenvorts, for instance,” I continued: “he would doubtless be glad
to die and take us all with him, could he prevent in no other way the falling
of his vessel into enemy hands. He would sacrifice anyone, even you; and if you
still love him, you might be his ready tool. Do you understand me?”
She looked at me in wide-eyed consternation for a moment, and then she went
very white and rose from her seat. “I do,” she replied, and turning her back
upon me, she walked quickly toward her room. I started to follow, for even
believing what I did, I was sorry that I had hurt her. I reached the door to