The Land That Time Forgot
just been lowered, and I could see it moving toward us filled with officers and
men. The cruiser lay dead ahead. “My,” I thought, “what a wonderful targ—” I
stopped even thinking, so surprised and shocked was I by the boldness of my
imagery. The girl was just below me. I looked down on her wistfully. Could I
trust her? Why had she released me at this moment? I must! I must! There was no
other way. I dropped back below. “Ask Olson to step down here, please,” I
requested; “and don’t let anyone see you ask him.”
She looked at me with a puzzled expression on her face for the barest fraction
of a second, and then she turned and went up the ladder. A moment later Olson
returned, and the girl followed him. “Quick!” I whispered to the big Irishman,
and made for the bow compartment where the torpedo-tubes are built into the
boat; here, too, were the torpedoes. The girl accompanied us, and when she saw
the thing I had in mind, she stepped forward and lent a hand to the swinging of
the great cylinder of death and destruction into the mouth of its tube. With
oil and main strength we shoved the torpedo home and shut the tube; then I ran
back to the conning-tower, praying in my heart of hearts that the _U_-33
had not swung her bow away from the prey. No, thank God!
Never could aim have been truer. I signaled back to Olson: “Let ’er go!” The
_U_-33 trembled from stem to stern as the torpedo shot from its tube. I
saw the white wake leap from her bow straight toward the enemy cruiser. A
chorus of hoarse yells arose from the deck of our own craft: I saw the officers
stand suddenly erect in the boat that was approaching us, and I heard loud
cries and curses from the raider. Then I turned my attention to my own
business. Most of the men on the submarine’s deck were standing in paralyzed
fascination, staring at the torpedo. Bradley happened to be looking toward the
conning-tower and saw me. I sprang on deck and ran toward him. “Quick!” I
whispered. “While they are stunned, we must overcome them.”
A German was standing near Bradley—just in front of him. The Englishman struck
the fellow a frantic blow upon the neck and at the same time snatched his
pistol from its holster. Von Schoenvorts had recovered from his first surprise
quickly and had turned toward the main hatch to investigate. I covered him with
my revolver, and at the same instant the torpedo struck the raider, the
terrific explosion drowning the German’s command to his men.
Bradley was now running from one to another of our men, and though some of the
Germans saw and heard him, they seemed too stunned for action.
Olson was below, so that there were only nine of us against eight Germans, for
the man Bradley had struck still lay upon the deck. Only two of us were armed;
but the heart seemed to have gone out of the boches, and they put up but
half-hearted resistance. Von Schoenvorts was the worst—he was fairly frenzied
with rage and chagrin, and he came charging for me like a mad bull, and as he
came he discharged his pistol. If he’d stopped long enough to take aim, he
might have gotten me; but his pace made him wild, so that not a shot touched
me, and then we clinched and went to the deck. This left two pistols, which two
of my own men were quick to appropriate. The Baron was no match for me in a
hand-to-hand encounter, and I soon had him pinned to the deck and the life
almost choked out of him.
A half-hour later things had quieted down, and all was much the same as before
the prisoners had revolted—only we kept a much closer watch on von Schoenvorts.
The _Geier_ had sunk while we were still battling upon our deck, and
afterward we had drawn away toward the north, leaving the survivors to the
attention of the single boat which had been making its way toward us when Olson
launched the torpedo. I suppose the poor devils never reached land, and if they
did, they most probably perished on that cold and unhospitable shore; but I
couldn’t permit them aboard the _U_-33. We had all the Germans we could
take care of.
That evening the girl asked permission to go on deck. She said that she felt
the effects of long confinement below, and I readily granted her request. I
could not understand her, and I craved an opportunity to talk with her again in
an effort to fathom her and her intentions, and so I made it a point to follow
her up the ladder. It was a clear, cold, beautiful night. The sea was calm
except for the white water at our bows and the two long radiating swells
running far off into the distance upon either hand astern, forming a great V
which our propellers filled with choppy waves. Benson was in the tower, we were
bound for San Diego and all looked well.
Lys stood with a heavy blanket wrapped around her slender figure, and as I
approached her, she half turned toward me to see who it was. When she
recognized me, she immediately turned away.
“I want to thank you,” I said, “for your bravery and loyalty—you were
magnificent. I am sorry that you had reason before to think that I doubted
you.”
“You did doubt me,” she replied in a level voice. “You practically accused me
of aiding Baron von Schoenvorts. I can never forgive you.”
There was a great deal of finality in both her words and tone.
“I could not believe it,” I said; “and yet two of my men reported having seen
you in conversation with von Schoenvorts late at night upon two separate
occasions—after each of which some great damage was found done us in the
morning. I didn’t want to doubt you; but I carried all the responsibility of
the lives of these men, of the safety of the ship, of your life and mine. I had
to watch you, and I had to put you on your guard against a repetition of your
madness.”
She was looking at me now with those great eyes of hers, very wide and round.
“Who told you that I spoke with Baron von Schoenvorts at night, or any other
time?” she asked.
“I cannot tell you, Lys,” I replied, “but it came to me from two different
sources.”
“Then two men have lied,” she asserted without heat. “I have not spoken to
Baron von Schoenvorts other than in your presence when first we came aboard the
_U_-33. And please, when you address me, remember that to others than my
intimates I am Miss La Rue.”
Did you ever get slapped in the face when you least expected it? No? Well, then
you do not know how I felt at that moment. I could feel the hot, red flush
surging up my neck, across my cheeks, over my ears, clear to my scalp. And it
made me love her all the more; it made me swear inwardly a thousand solemn
oaths that I would win her.
Chapter 4
For several days things went along in about the same course. I took our
position every morning with my crude sextant; but the results were always most
unsatisfactory. They always showed a considerable westing when I knew that we
had been sailing due north. I blamed my crude instrument, and kept on. Then one
afternoon the girl came to me.
“Pardon me,” she said, “but were I you, I should watch this man
Benson—especially when he is in charge.” I asked her what she meant, thinking I
could see the influence of von Schoenvorts raising a suspicion against one of
my most trusted men.
“If you will note the boat’s course a half-hour after Benson goes on duty,” she
said, “you will know what I mean, and you will understand why he prefers a
night watch. Possibly, too, you will understand some other things that have
taken place aboard.”
Then she went back to her room, thus ending the conversation. I waited until
half an hour after Benson had gone on duty, and then I went on deck, passing
through the conning-tower where Benson sat, and looking at the compass. It
showed that our course was north by west—that is, one point west of north,
which was, for our assumed position, about right. I was greatly relieved to
find that nothing was wrong, for the girl’s words had caused me considerable
apprehension. I was about to return to my room when a thought occurred to me
that again caused me to change my mind—and, incidentally, came near proving my
death-warrant.
When I had left the conning-tower little more than a half-hour since, the sea
had been breaking over the port bow, and it seemed to me quite improbable that
in so short a time an equally heavy sea could be deluging us from the opposite
side of the ship—winds may change quickly, but not a long, heavy sea. There was
only one other solution—since I left the tower, our course had been altered
some eight points. Turning quickly, I climbed out upon the conning-tower. A
single glance at the heavens confirmed my suspicions; the constellations which
should have been dead ahead were directly starboard. We were sailing due west.
Just for an instant longer I stood there to check up my calculations—I wanted
to be quite sure before I accused Benson of perfidy, and about the only thing I
came near making quite sure of was death. I cannot see even now how I escaped
it. I was standing on the edge of the conning-tower, when a heavy palm suddenly
struck me between the shoulders and hurled me forward into space. The drop to
the triangular deck forward of the conning-tower might easily have broken a leg
for me, or I might have slipped off onto the deck and rolled overboard; but
fate was upon my side, as I was only slightly bruised. As I came to my feet, I
heard the conning-tower cover slam. There is a ladder which leads from the deck
to the top of the tower. Up this I scrambled, as fast as I could go; but Benson
had the cover tight before I reached it.
I stood there a moment in dumb consternation. What did the fellow intend? What
was going on below? If Benson was a traitor, how could I know that there were
not other traitors among us? I cursed myself for my folly in going out upon the
deck, and then this thought suggested another—a hideous one: who was it that
had really been responsible for my being here?
Thinking to attract attention from inside the craft, I again ran down the
ladder and onto the small deck only to find that the steel covers of the
conning-tower windows were shut, and then I leaned with my back against the
tower and cursed myself for a gullible idiot.
I glanced at the bow. The sea seemed to be getting heavier, for every wave now
washed completely over the lower deck. I watched them for a moment, and then a
sudden chill pervaded my entire being. It was not the chill of wet clothing, or
the dashing spray which drenched my face; no, it was the chill of the hand of
death upon my heart. In an instant I had turned the last corner of life’s
highway and was looking God Almighty in the face—the _U_-33 was being
slowly submerged!
It would be difficult, even impossible, to set down in writing my sensations at
that moment. All I can particularly recall is that I laughed, though neither
from a spirit of bravado nor from hysteria. And I wanted to smoke. Lord! how I
did want to smoke; but that was out of the question.
I watched the water rise until the little deck I stood on was awash, and then I
clambered once more to the top of the conning-tower. From the very slow
submergence of the boat I knew that Benson was doing the entire trick
alone—that he was merely permitting the diving-tanks to fill and that the
diving-rudders were not in use. The throbbing of the engines ceased, and in its
stead came the steady vibration of the electric motors. The water was halfway
up the conning-tower! I had perhaps five minutes longer on the deck. I tried to
decide what I should do after I was washed away. Should I swim until exhaustion
claimed me, or should I give up and end the agony at the first plunge?
From below came two muffled reports. They sounded not unlike shots. Was Benson
meeting with resistance? Personally it could mean little to me, for even though