“Great Scott!” ejaculated McClure.  “They’ve torn away both our periscopes!”

CHAPTER XI

IN THE FOG

Completely blinded by the fire from the wounded German birdman, the Dewey now had but one alternative.  The approach of other air raiders made it necessary for the submarine to dive away into the depths to safety.  To linger longer on the surface was but to court the continued fire of the birdmen overhead who apparently were incensed over the wounding of their companion craft and out for revenge.

Reluctantly, but yielding to his better judgment, McClure gave orders to submerge.  At the same time the damaged periscopes were cut off in the conning tower to prevent an inflow of water when the ship dived.

“Too bad to quit right now; but it would be folly to stand out under those deadly bombs any longer,” he said.

Fortunately, the Dewey was equipped with reserve periscope tubes, and Lieutenant McClure’s plan now was to wait until the convenient darkness of night had mantled the ocean and then ascend to repair at leisure the damaged “eyes.”

“Might as well make ourselves comfortable here awhile under the water,” suggested “Little Mack.”

Jean Cartier was instructed to extend himself for the evening meal and to draw on the ship’s larder for an “extra fine dinner.”  It being the first night of the Dewey’s renewed cruise the ship’s galley was well stocked with fresh foods.  Chops, baked potatoes, hot tea and rice pudding represented the menu selected by Jean, and soon the odor of the savory food had every mother’s son smacking his lips in anticipation of a luxurious “chow” to top off the exciting events of the evening.

Seventy feet below the surface of the water, immune from hostile attacks, officers and crew sat down to the repast as safe and secure as though in a banquet hail on shore.  Wit and laughter accompanied the courses, and, as the submarine dinner was concluded, Bill Witt’s banjo was produced.  Soon the ship resounded to the “plink-plunk-plink” of the instrument and the gay songs of the jolly submarine sailors.

“If they could only see us now at Brighton!” laughed Ted, as he surveyed the scene admiringly.

Jack grew reminiscent.

“Remember that last dinner at Brighton?” he asked.  “Fellows all wishing us good luck and cheering for us out on the campus?  And good old ‘prexie’ declaring he expected to hear great things of his boys in the war?  And all of them standing on the dormitory steps singing ‘Fair Brighton’ as we headed for the depot?”

Ted remembered it all now only too plainly.  Good old Brighton!  Back there now under the oaks on the campus, or up in the dormitories, the boys were assembled again for the fall term.

But this was not the time for backward glances.  Grim work lay ahead of them.