Dashing along at a speed better than thirty knots an hour, the greyhound of the Teutonic fleet was bearing down hard upon the Yankee.  Evidently the lookout on the destroyer had marked the path of the Dewey’s torpedo in the dim gray of the night sea, and with his skipper had sent his craft charging full tilt at the American “wasp.”

“If they get to us before we submerge we are done for,” gasped Lieutenant McClure, as he bellowed orders to Navigating Officer Binns to lower away as fast as the submerging apparatus would permit.  Then the quick-witted commander rang the engine room full speed ahead at the same time he threw the helm hard to port in an effort to bring his craft around parallel with the charging destroyer and thus make a smaller target.

Down, down, down sank the Dewey as her valves were opened and the sea surged into the ballast tanks.  The periscopes had been well out of water when the destroyer had first been sighted.  It was now a race between two cool and cunning naval officers—–­the German to hurl his vessel full upon the American submarine and deal it a death blow; the American skipper to outwit and outmaneuver his antagonist by putting the Dewey down where she would be safe from the steel nose of the destroyer.

Although no word was spoken to the crew, they could sense the situation by the sharp commands emanating from the conning tower and the celerity with which the navigating officer and his assistant were working the ballast pumps.

Great beads of perspiration stood out on the forehead of Officer Binns as he stood over the array of levers and gave directions, first to ship ballast in one tank, and then in another, shifting the added weight evenly so as not to disturb the equilibrium of the Dewey and cause her to go hurtling to the bottom, top heavy in either bow or stern.

Nearly two minutes were necessary to get the little undersea craft down far enough to evade the prow of the oncoming destroyer, and even then the conning tower furnished a target that might be crushed by the nose of the enemy ship and precipitate an avalanche of water into the hold—–­with disaster for the men assembled at their posts of duty.

“They are right on top of us now,” screamed Sammy Smith as he hugged the microphone receivers to his ears.

If the destroyer was going to get the submarine, now was the fatal moment!

The Dewey suddenly lunged like a great tiger leaping from the limb of a tree upon its prey.  Responding to a signal from his commander, Chief Engineer Blaine had suddenly shot into the submarine’s engines the full power of the electric storage batteries and hurled the Dewey forward with a great burst of speed.  There was a slim chance that the swift-moving German warship might be sidestepped by a quick maneuver, and the crafty McClure was leaving no deep-sea trick unturned.

“Nice place for the Fritzes to swing overboard one of those infernal depth bombs,” muttered Bill Witt.