Victor Appleton - The Moving Picture Boys on the War Front

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But perhaps the most eager of all, and certainly among the most active,
were the members of the gun crews. On both sides of the vessel, and at
bow and stern, the call to quarters had been answered promptly, and with
strained but eager eyes the young men, under their lieutenants, were
watching for the first fair sight of something at which to loose the
missiles of the quick-firing guns.

"Give it to her, lads! Give it to her! All you can pump in!" yelled the
commander of the squad on the port side, for it was off that bow that
the lookout had sighted the periscope.

And while the hurried preparations went on for getting the passengers
into the lifeboats, at the falls of which the members of the crew stood
ready to lower away, there came from the port gun a rattle and barking
of fire.

The periscope had disappeared for a moment after the lookout had sighted
it, but a slight disturbance in the water, a ripple that was different
from the line of foam caused by the breaking waves, showed where it had
been.

And by the time Joe and Blake, with the help of Charlie, had set up
their small camera, the tell-tale indicator of an undersea boat was
again in view, coming straight for the steamer.

"There she is!" cried Blake.

"I see her!" answered Joe, as he focussed the lens of the machine on the
object "I'll get her as soon as she breaks!"

The mewing picture boys, as well as Charlie, had forgotten all about the
need of taking their places at the stations assigned to them, to be in
readiness to get into a boat. They were sharply reminded of this by one
of the junior officers.

"Take your places! Take your places!" he cried.

"Not yet!" answered Joe. "We want to get a shot at her first!"

"But, young gentlemen, you must not shoot with that. It will be
ineffectual! Let the gunners do their work, I beg of you. Take your
places at the boats!"

"That's all right!" exclaimed Blake "We're only going to shoot some
moving pictures."

"Ah, what brave rashness!" murmured the French officer, as he hurried
away.

Blake and Joe, with Charlie to steady the machine, for the steamer was
now zigzagging at high speed in an effort to escape the expected
torpedo, were taking pictures of the approach of the submarine. The
underwater craft was still coming on, her periscope in the midst of a
hail of fire from the steamer's guns. For, now that the vessel was
making turns, it was possible for two gun crews, alternately, to fire at
the German boat.

"There goes the periscope!" yelled Charlie, as a burst of shots,
concentrated on the brass tube, seemed to dispose of it.

But he had spoken too soon. The submarine had merely drawn the periscope
within herself, it being of the telescope variety, and the next moment,
with a movement of the water as if some monster leviathan were breaking
from the ocean depths, the steel-plated and rivet-studded back of the
submarine rose, glistening in the sun and in full view of those on deck,
not two hundred yards away.

"There she blows!" cried Charlie, as an old salt might announce the
presence of a whale. "There she blows! Film her, boys!"

And Blake and Joe were doing just that.

Meanwhile even wilder excitement, if possible, prevailed on deck. There
was a rush for the boats that nearly overwhelmed the crews stationed to
lower them from the sides, and the officers had all they could do to
preserve order.

"The torpedo! The torpedo at the stern!" cried the lookout, who,
notwithstanding his position of almost certain death should the ship be
struck, had not deserted his elevated post. "They have loosed a torpedo
at the stern!"

Blake and Joe, who were well aft, looked for a moment away from the
submarine, and saw a line of bubbles approaching the stern and a ripple
that indicated the presence of that dread engine of war--an air-driven
torpedo.

And as if the ship herself knew what doom awaited her should the torpedo
so much as touch her, she increased her speed, and to such good purpose
that the mass of gun-cotton, contained in the steel cylinder that had
been launched from the submarine, passed under the stern. But only a few
feet from the rudder did it pass. By such a little margin was the ship
saved.

And then, having a broader mark at which to aim, the gunners sent a
perfect hail of lead and shells at the underwater boat, and with such
effect that some hits were made. Whether or not they were vital ones it
was impossible to learn, for there was a sudden motion to the submarine,
which had been quietly resting on the surface for a moment, and then she
slipped beneath the waves again.

"Driven off!" cried Blake, as he and Joe got the final pictures of this
drama--a drama that had come so near being a tragedy. "They've beaten
her off!"

"But we're not safe yet!" cried Charlie. "She may shoot another torpedo
at us from under water--she can do that, all right! Look out, boys!"

There was need of this, yet it was impossible to do more toward saving
one's life than to take to the boats. And even that, under the inhuman
and ruthless system of the Huns, was no guarantee that one would be
saved. Lifeboats had, more than once, been shelled by Germans.

The appearance of the submarine had added to the panic caused by the
sight of the periscope, and there was a rush for the boats that took all
the power and authority of the officers to manage it.

There was a period of anxious waiting, but either the submarine had no
other torpedoes, or, if she did fire any, they went wide, or, again, the
gunfire from the vessel may have disabled her entirely. She did not
again show herself above the surface. Even the periscope was not
observed.

Having nothing to picture, Blake and Joe turned away from the camera for
a moment. Some of the lifeboats had already been filled with their loads
when Charlie, pointing to something afar off, cried:

"Here comes another boat!"

On the horizon a dense cloud of black smoke showed.

CHAPTER IX

SUSPICIONS

For a moment there was more terror and excitement aboard the _Jeanne_,
if it were possible, after it became certain that another craft, the
nature of which none knew, was headed toward the French steamer. Then an
officer gifted with sound common-sense, cried out in English, so that
the majority could understand:

"It is a destroyer! It is a destroyer belonging to the Stars and Stripes
coming to our rescue. Three cheers!"

Nobody gave the three cheers, but it heartened every one to hear them
called for, and the real meaning of the smoke was borne to all.

"Of course it can't be a submarine!" exclaimed Blake. "They don't send
out any smoke, and there aren't any other German boats at sea. It's a
destroyer!"

"One of ours, do you think?" asked Charlie.

"Perhaps. Uncle Sam has a lot of 'em over here to act as convoys.
Probably this is our escort coming up a little late to the ball," said
Joe.

"But we did very well by ourselves," observed Blake. "It was a narrow
squeak, though."

And indeed it was a narrow escape. The _Jeanne_ had, unaided, driven off
the undersea boat, and perhaps had damaged her by the rain of shot and
shell poured at her steel sides. They could not feel sure of this,
though, for the approach of the destroyer was probably known to the
submarine, for they have underwater telephones which tell them, by means
of the throbbing of the screws and propellers in the water, just about
how far away another ship is, and what speed she is making, as well as
the direction from which she is coming.

Whether the submarine had expended her last torpedo, or whether having
missed what she intended for a vital shot she deemed there was not time
to launch another and had sunk out of sight, or whether she were
disabled, were questions perhaps never to be answered.

At any rate, the approach of the destroyer, which came on with amazing
speed, served to make the _Jeanne_ comparatively safe. The lifeboats
were emptied of their passengers, and once more there was a feeling of
comparative safety as the passengers again thronged the decks.

On came the destroyer. She proved to be one of Uncle Sam's boats, and
the joy with which she was greeted was vociferous and perhaps a little
hysterical. She had learned by wireless of the appearance of the French
craft in the danger zone, and had come to fulfill her mission. She had
been delayed by a slight accident, or she would have been on hand when
the submarine first approached.

The wireless message that had come just as the German craft appeared had
been from the destroyer, to bid those aboard the _Jeanne_ have no fear,
for help was on the way. And soon after the grim and swift craft from
the United States had begun to slide along beside the _Jeanne_ two more
destroyers, one of them British, made their appearance, coming up with
the speed of ocean greyhounds.

There was great rejoicing among the passengers, and much credit was
given the lookout for his promptness in reporting a sight of the
submarine. Formal thanks were extended to the gun crews for their
efficient work, without which the undersea boat might have accomplished
her purpose. Nor were the boiler room and engineer forces forgotten, for
it was because of the sudden burst of speed on the part of the _Jeanne_
that she escaped that one torpedo at least.

"Now we'll be all right," Charlie said, as he helped his friends make a
few pictures of the approach and the convoying of the destroyers to add
to the views they had of the submarine and her defeat--temporary defeat
it might prove, but, none the less, a defeat.

"Well, hardly all right," remarked Blake, as the camera was dismounted.
"We're still in the danger zone, and the Huns won't let slip any chance
to do us harm. But I guess we have more of a chance for our white alley
than we had before."

Though the French ship was now protected by the three convoying vessels,
the crews of which kept a sharp watch on all sides for the presence of
more submarines, there was still plenty of danger, and this was felt by
all.

At any moment a submarine, approaching below the surface with only her
periscope showing--and this made a mark exceedingly hard to see and
hit--might launch a torpedo, not only at the merchant-man but at one of
the destroyers.

"It's like sleeping over a case of dynamite," observed Joe, as he and
his chums went below. "I'd rather be on the war front. You can at least
see and hear shells coming."

"That's right," agreed Blake. "Well, if nothing happens, we'll soon be
there now."

"_If_ is a big word these days," observed Charlie.

"Now that we're comparatively safe for the moment, I want to ask you
fellows something," said Blake, after a pause.

"Ask ahead," returned Joe. "If you want to know whether I was scared,
I'll say I was, but I was too busy getting pictures to notice it. If it
is something else----"

"It is," interrupted Blake, and his manner was grave. "Come below and
I'll tell you. I don't want any one else to hear."

Wondering somewhat at their friend's manner, Joe and Charlie went to
their stateroom, and there Blake closed the door and took the dark cloth
down from the mirror. A look into it showed that the transom of the room
opposite--the cabin of Levi Labenstein--had been closed.

"So we can't tell whether he's in there or not," said Blake.

"Did you want to talk about him?" asked Joe.

"Yes, him and the lieutenant. Did you fellows happen to notice what they
were doing when the submarine was attacking us?"

"Not especially," answered Joe. "I did see Lieutenant Secor looking at
us as we worked the camera, but I didn't pay much attention to him."

"It wasn't him so much as it was the German," went on Blake.

"In what way?"

"Did you see where he was standing when the submarine came out of the
water?"

Neither Joe nor Charlie had done so, or, if they had, they did not
recall the matter when Blake questioned them. So that young man resumed:

"Well, I'll tell you what I saw: Labenstein was leaning over the rail on
the side where the submarine showed, and he was holding a big white
cloth over the side."

"A big white cloth?" cried Joe.

"That's what it was," went on Blake. "It looked to me like a signal."

"Do you mean a signal of surrender?" asked Charlie. "A white flag? He
wouldn't have any right to display that, anyhow. It would have to come
from Captain Merceau."

"Maybe he meant that he'd surrender personally," suggested Joe, "and
didn't want his fellow-murderers to hurt him."

"I don't know what his object was," went on Blake, "but I saw him take
from his pocket a big white cloth and hold it over the side. It could
easily have been seen from the submarine, and must have been, for he
displayed it just before the underwater boat came up."

"A white cloth," mused Joe. "From his pocket. Was it his handkerchief,
Blake?"

"He wouldn't have one as large as that, even if he suffered from hay
fever. I think it was a signal."

"A signal for what?" Charlie again asked.

"To tell the submarine some piece of news, of course--perhaps the port
of sailing, something of the nature of our cargo, or perhaps to tell
just where to send the torpedo. I understand we are carrying some
munitions, and it may be that this German spy directed the commander of
the submarine where to aim the torpedo so as to explode them."

"But he'd be signaling for his own death warrant!" cried Joe.

"Not necessarily," answered Blake. "He may have had some understanding
with the submarine that he was to be saved first. Perhaps he was going
to jump overboard before the torpedo was fired and was to be picked up.
Anyhow, I saw him draping a white cloth over the side, and I'm sure it
was a signal."

"Well, I guess you're right," said Joe. "The next question is, what's to
be done? This fellow is a spy and a traitor, and we ought to expose
him."

"Yes," agreed Blake. "But we'd better have a little more evidence than
just my word. You fellows didn't see what I saw, that's plain, and
perhaps no one else did. So it would only make a big fuss and not result
in anything if I told the captain."

"Then what are you going to do?" asked Charlie.

"Just keep watch," Blake answered.

"What about Lieutenant Secor?" asked Joe.

"Well, I didn't see him do anything," admitted Blake. "Though I have my
suspicions of him also. He and Labenstein weren't talking so earnestly
together for nothing. We'll watch that Frenchman, too."

"And if he tries any more games in spoiling films I'll have my say!"
threatened Macaroni.

The boys talked the situation over at some length as they put away the
films they had taken of the submarine attack, and agreed that "watchful
waiting" was the best policy to adopt. As Blake had said, little could
be gained by denouncing Labenstein with only the word of one witness to
rely on.

"If all three of us catch him at his traitorous work, then we'll
denounce him," suggested Blake.

"Yes, and the Frenchman, too!" added Charlie, in a louder voice, so that
Blake raised a cautioning hand.

At that moment came a knock on their door, and a voice said:

"I am Mr. Labenstein!"

CHAPTER X

THE FLASHLIGHT

Almost like conspirators themselves, the boys looked at one another as
the voice and knock sounded together. Blake was the first to recover
himself.

"Come in!" he called, in as welcoming a tone as he could muster under
the circumstances. Then as the knob of the door was ineffectually tried,
he added:

"Oh, I forgot it was locked! Wait a moment!"

A moment later he had swung the door open, and the man who, the boys
believed, was a German spy confronted them, smiling.

"You are locked in as if you feared another submarine," he said. "It is
not the best way to do. You should be on deck!"

"But not on deck as you were, with a flag to signal to the Huns,"
thought Joe; and he wished he dared make the accusation.

Blake motioned to the caller to seat himself on a stool.

"I came to see if I might borrow something," began the caller. "I find
that mine is out of order for some reason," and he held out a small, but
powerful, electric flash lamp, of the sort sold for the use of soldiers.
"Have you, by any chance, one that you could spare me?" asked Mr.
Labenstein.

"I do not want it, if it is the only one you have, but they are a great
convenience in one's berth, for the lights must be kept turned off, now
that we are in the danger zone made by those terrible Germans. Ah, how I
hate them!" and his anger seemed very real and earnest.

"Did you say you wanted to borrow a pocket electric flash lamp?" asked
Blake, wishing to make the caller repeat his request. As he asked this
question Blake looked at his chums, as though to ask them to take
particular note of the reply.

"I should like to, yes, if you have one to spare. There are three of
you, and, I presume, like most travelers, you each have one. I am alone
in a single stateroom, and I may have need of a light. I will return it
to you at the end of the voyage, or buy it of you at a good price. You
see, I have a little Jew in me. I will make a bargain with you. And I
will pay you well, something a Jew proverbially does not like to do. But
I realize the value of what I want, and that the market is not well
supplied, so you may take advantage of my situation. My battery is
either worn out or the light is broken. It will not flash."

He shoved down the little sliding catch, but there was no glow in the
tiny tungsten bulb.

"You have me at your mercy if you wish to sell me a lamp," he went on,
with a smile and a shrug of his shoulders, not unlike that of Lieutenant
Secor.

"Hasn't your friend a spare light?" asked Joe quickly.

"My friend?" repeated the German, as though surprised. "You mean----?"

"I mean Lieutenant Secor."

"Oh, him!" and again came the deprecatory shrug of the shoulders. "He is
an acquaintance, not a friend. Besides, he has but one lamp, and he
needs that. So, also, will you need yours. But as there are three of you
together, I thought perhaps----"

"We each have a light," said Blake, interrupting the rather rapid talk
of Labenstein. "In fact, I have two, and I'll let you take one."

"That is very kind of you. Ah, it is like mine!"

The visitor was watching Blake eagerly as he brought forth one of the
flat, three-cell nickel-plated holders of tiny batteries, with the
white-backed and tungsten-filamented incandescent light set in a
depressed socket.

"Yes, this is the best type," Blake said. "You may have this."

"And the price?" asked Labenstein, as his hand quickly went into his
pocket.

"Is nothing," answered Blake. "It is a gift."

"Ah, but, my dear sir, that is too much! I could not think of taking it
without pay!" insisted Mr. Labenstein, as he flashed on the light and
then slipped the switch back in place again. "I protest that I must pay
you."

"Please don't insist on paying," begged Blake, "for I shall only have to
refuse to take any money. Please consider the light a gift. I have a
spare one."

"You are very kind, I'm sure," said the other, bowing with some
exaggeration, it seemed to the boys. "I appreciate it, I assure you, and
I shall look for a chance to repay the favor."

"That's all right," said Blake, and he tried to make his voice sound
hearty. "You are welcome to the light."

"A thousand thanks," murmured Mr. Labenstein, as he bowed himself out.

And then, when the door had closed on him and they had taken the
precaution of closing their transom, Joe burst out in a cautious whisper
with:

"What in the world did you let him take it for, Blake Stewart? Don't you
see what his game is?"

"Yes," was Blake's quiet answer; "I think I do."

"Well, then----"

"What is his game?" asked Charlie.

"I presume he wants to use the flash lamp to give a signal at night to
some German submarine," said Blake quietly--very quietly, under the
circumstances, it might seem.

"And you let him take a light for that?" cried Joe.

"Wait a bit!" advised Blake, and he smiled at his chum. "Do you know
anything about these flashlights, Joe?"

"A little--yes. I know a powerful one, like that you gave Labenstein,
can be seen a long way on a dark night."

"Well, then maybe you know something else about them, or you may have
forgotten it. Like the proverb which says 'blessings brighten as they
vanish,' so the light of these lamps sometimes glows very strong just
before the battery goes on the blink and douses the glim."

Joe looked at his chum for a moment, uncomprehendingly, and then a smile
came over his face.

"Do you mean you gave him a light with a battery in it that was almost
played out?" he asked.

"Exactly," answered Blake, with another smile. "This is a light I have
had for some time. I noticed, only last night, that it was brighter
than usual. Just as a fountain pen--at least, the old-fashioned
kind--used to flow more freely when there were only a few drops of ink
left, so this battery seems to be strongest just before it gives out
altogether.

"I suspected this was going to happen, but I tested the battery with a
galvanometer to-day and I found out it has about ten flashes left. After
that the light will be dead."

"Is that why you gave it to him?" asked Charlie.

"The very reason. As soon as he asked for a light it occurred to me that
he wanted to use it--or might use it--to give a signal at night to some
watching submarine commander waiting for a chance to torpedo us. I
thought if I let him do it with this failing light he might do the Huns
more damage than he could us."

"How?" asked Joe.

"By not being able to give the proper signals. He'll need to flash a
light for some little time to make sure to attract the attention of the
submarine, won't he?"

"Probably," agreed Joe.

"Well, then, if, while he's in the midst of signaling, his light goes
out, the submarine won't know what to make of it, and will come up
closer to find out what's wrong. Then our own guns, or those of the
destroyers, can bang away and catch the Germans napping."

"Say, that's great!" cried Charlie, as soon as he understood the plan
Blake had so quickly evolved.

"If it works," conceded Joe. "But how are we going to know when that
German spy signals the submarine and fails to convey his full meaning,
Blake?"

"We'll have to watch him, of course. Catch him in the act, as it were.
The defective lamp will help."

"So it will!" exclaimed Joe. "Blake, I take back all I thought of you. I
imagined you were making a mistake to let that lamp go out of your
possession; but now I see your game. It's a good one! But we've got to
be on the watch for this spy!"

"Oh, yes," agreed his chum. "And not only him but the Frenchman as well.
I didn't believe it possible that Secor could be in with this German,
but perhaps he is, and maybe he'll betray his own countrymen. Either one
may give the signal, but if they do we'll be ready for them. No more
moving pictures for us, boys, until we get to the war front. We've got
to be on this other job!"

"But hadn't we better tell Captain Merceau?" asked Charlie.

"Yes, I think so," assented Blake. "We'll tell him what we think, and
what we have done."

But they did not get a chance that day, for there was a submarine scare
toward evening--a lookout thinking he saw a periscope--and the
consequent confusion made it impossible to have a talk with the
commander. The boys did not want to report to any subordinate officer,
and so concluded to wait until the next day.

"But we'll keep watch to-night on our friend across the corridor," Blake
said. "And on Lieutenant Secor as well. His stateroom is next to
Labenstein's, and we can tell when either of them goes out after
dark--that is, if we keep watch."

"And we'll keep it, all right!" declared Joe "Now that we know something
about what to look out for, we'll do it!"

And so, as evening came on and the lights of the ship were darkened and
as she sped along in company with her convoy, the three boys prepared to
divide the night into watches, that they might be on guard against what
they regarded as an attempt at black treachery.

For somewhere under or on that waste of waters they believed a deadly
submarine was lurking, awaiting the favorable moment to send a torpedo
at the ship.

CHAPTER XI

THE DEPTH CHARGE

Charlie Anderson, who had taken the earliest watch, roused Blake at the
appointed time, and reported:

"All quiet so far."

"Then you haven't seen anything of our friends across the hall?"

"Not a thing. Just as we arranged, I've had my eye at the hole, but
their doors have both been closed. Maybe you'll have better luck."

"I don't think it will be good luck at all to see one of them sneak out
to flash a signal to a waiting submarine, or one that may be following
us all the while, waiting for a chance to strike. But I will call it
exceedingly good luck if we can stop it," said Blake.

"Go to it, old top!" exclaimed Macaroni, dropping into what he thought
the latest English slang. "I'm going to turn in."

The lanky helper of the moving picture boys had spent the hours of his
watch with his eye close to a small hole that had been bored in the door
of the boys' stateroom. The hole gave a view of the staterooms of
Lieutenant Secor and Mr. Labenstein, which adjoined. And, as Charles had
said, he had not observed either man leave his apartment.

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