As the torpedo crew sprang to reload the emptied chamber the Dewey’s diving rudders were turned, ballast was shipped and she started to dive.  The plunge came none too soon.  A lookout on the German cruiser, eagle-eyed about his daring venture, had noted the approaching torpedo and sounded an alarm.  At the same moment the ship’s rudder was thrown over and she swung to starboard, paralleling the position of the Dewey.  And just as she came around one of her big searchlights aft flashed into life and shot its bright rays over the water.  For a moment or two a finger of ghostly white shifted aimlessly to and fro over the surf ace of the sea and then centered full upon the disappearing periscope of the Dewey!  Instantly came the boom of the ship’s guns as they belched a salvo at the tormenting submarine.

“Missed him by inches,” growled McClure after waiting long enough to be convinced that the torpedo had sped wide of the mark.

“And he is firing with all his aft guns,” added Cleary as he observed further the flashes of fire from the turrets of the German cruiser.

McClure signaled for the Dewey to be submerged with all speed.

“He’ll never get us,” he announced a few seconds later as the submarine dived down out of sight.

Jack and Ted, with the rest of their crew, had by this time shunted another Whitehead into position, adjusted the mechanism and were standing by awaiting developments.

“Just our luck to slip a moldy to the blooming Boche and draw a blank,” grumbled Mike Mowrey, who was mad as a hornet over the “miss.”

Ted was inclined to be a bit pessimistic, too; but Jack was sure the Dewey would make good on her next try.  Bill Witt started to sing:  “We’ll hang Kaiser Bill to a sour apple tree,” but got little response.  The torpedo crew were glum over their failure to bag the German raiding cruiser and in no mood for singing.

“Cheer up, boys; better luck next time,” called out Navigating Officer Binns as he peered into the torpedo compartment.

All at once the boys were startled by a cry from Sammy Smith, who had suddenly leaped to his feet and stood swaying in the wireless room with both microphone receivers tightly pressed to his ears.  Above the clatter of the Dewey’s engines the gunners forward could hear the electrician talking excitedly to Lieutenant McClure.

“Listen, listen, other ships are coming up,” Smith was shouting.  “I can hear their propellers.  That’s the fellow we missed moving off there on our port quarter.  You can hear at least two more here in the starboard microphone.  We seem to have landed plumb in the nest of a German raiding party,” rattled off the electrician glibly as he passed the receivers to his commander for a verification of his report.

McClure snatched the apparatus and clamped it to his ears.  For a moment he listened to the mechanical whirr of churning propellers, borne into his senses through the submarine telephone.