The meal over, Commander McClure called a council of his aides in the control chamber.  It lasted ten minutes, at the end of which time “Little Mack” sent word to Chief Engineer Blaine to assemble all his men with the remainder of the crew in the torpedo compartment.  One by one they came forward in response to the call until the entire crew was assembled.  Then the submarine skipper stepped forward.

“Men of the Dewey,” he began, in slow even tones, “I want first of all to thank every man here for the splendid work he has done since we left God’s country.  We have established a record that, whether we live or die, will become an essential part of the history of the United States.  The crew that we started with is intact, save for one brave man—–­Jack Hammond—–­who, on his own petition, was the first to be shot out of our stranded submersible in hopes that he might bring us succor.  What has happened to him it is impossible to say, but what he has done, you can do, and it is the only thing you can do.”  He spoke hopelessly.  “I have tried every means I can think of to float the Dewey, and we have been unable to move so much as an inch.  We are helpless—–­foundered.  We are breathing the last of our reserve stores of fresh air.  By to-morrow morning they will probably be exhausted, and you know what that means.”

He paused for a moment amid a death-like silence, and then continued: 

“There is but one course open to us.  We shall draw lots.  Then, in turn, we shall attempt to make our escape while there is yet time.  Each man may have his own preference; you may either go out through the torpedo tube as did Jack Hammond, or you may go through the conning tower.  Each man will please write his name on a slip of paper and deposit it in this code book box.  Officer Cleary will draw the names from the box and Officer Binns will read them.”

Slips of paper were produced by the ship’s executive officer and passed around the circle.  Hardly a word was spoken during this procedure, the usual debonair Bill Witt slouching against the hull of the Dewey, a picture of abject despair.  It took only a few minutes to prepare the slips and they were collected by Officer Cleary, who in turn deposited them in the code box.  Captain McClure stirred them around for a moment and then directed Officer Cleary to begin drawing.

Every man in the group viewed the proceedings with a tense face.  Not a word was spoken as the executive officer thrust his hand into the box and drew out the first slip and handed it to Officer Binns.

“Joe Sampson,” read the navigating officer as he handed the slip to Commander McClure, who, with pencil and paper, was ready to write the names of his men as they were drawn.  Joe was one of the electricians, a boy of nineteen from New York who had shipped on the Dewey with Jack and Ted.

The drawing continued until every name had been polled.  Mike Mowrey was second on the list, Officer Binns third.  Bill Witt was drawn as No. 7 and Ted as No. 16.