The Boy Volunteers with the Submarine Fleet. Kenneth Ward

and cannot be considered as belligerents," said the captain.

      The lieutenant looked at the captain and turned his gaze on the boys a few moments before replying: "In what business were they engaged while on the continent?"

      The captain started slightly, while the officer toyed with his mustache, and peered at the boys.

      "We haven't engaged in any particular business on the continent," said Ralph.

      "No; flying isn't engaging in any business, is it?" inquired the officer.

      "Well," said Alfred, "we took part in the Red Cross service, were with the infantry, served a time with the flying corps, then had a little experience with the transportation service, helped them out in the artillery, and did the best we could everywhere we went, if that's what you wish to know."

      The officer gave the boys a cynical glance, and nodded to one of the marines. The latter stepped forward and began searching the boys, Ralph being the first to undergo the ordeal; several letters, a few trinkets, a knife and a purse, containing all the boy possessed, were removed. The coat when thrown back revealed a cross, suspended by a ribbon, the decoration which had been bestowed on the boys after their last flight at Verdun.

      Alfred handed over the contents of his pockets. The German officer glanced at the medals, and made another motion. The seamen then pushed them into the conning tower and the boys saw a narrow flight of stairs to which they were directed, the captain following.

      Down into the bowels of a submarine! A warm, peculiar, oily odor greeted them as they descended, but the air was not at all unpleasant and breathing was easy. Glancing about they saw confused masses of mechanism, tanks, pipes, valves, levers, wheels, clock-faced dial plates and other contrivances, all huddled together, with barely room to pass from one place to another. Electric bulbs were everywhere visible, lighting up the interior.

      Suddenly there was a slight tremor in the vessel, indicating that some machinery was in motion. Once at the bottom they stood there until the seaman stepped forward and opened a small door through which there was barely room to pass, and he motioned them to enter. They did so, and found themselves in a compartment which did not seem to be more than five by six feet in size, and even in this small space mechanism was noticed. The moment the door closed they were in total darkness.

      "This is a nice place to get into," said Ralph.

      "I wonder if they are going to keep us cooped up like this without a light?" said Alfred.

      After an interval of ten minutes a rumbling was heard, which continued, a rhythmic motion followed in unison with the sounds generated by the machinery.

      "That is the propeller," said the captain.

      Voices were heard occasionally, but words could not be distinguished. Confined as they were the air seemed to be pure and in abundance at all times, and while there was not the faintest signs of closeness, there was an eternal monotony,—an existence in which there was nothing to do but breathe and think.

      How long they were thus confined, without a single thing to break the stillness, they could not conceive. It seemed that hours had gone by, during which time there was nothing to disturb them, except the one steady whirr, broken occasionally by some remark by one or the other.

      Then came an unexpected hum of voices; the machinery seemed to stop for a moment, and when it was again continued it had a different melody. The wheels, if such they were, seemed to turn with smoothness, and they felt a sudden inclination in the seats on which they were sitting.

      "What do you suppose has happened?" asked Ralph.

      "The electric mechanism has been hitched to the propeller, and, if I am not mistaken, we are going down," said the captain.

      "It did feel as though the forward end dipped down a moment ago," said Alfred.

      Another wait for a half-hour, and then a most peculiar sound reached their ears. Simultaneously, the ship seemed to stop and go on. Again voices were heard, and the same reaction in the hull of the submarine was felt, accompanied by the dull noise, as before.

      "They have just fired two torpedoes," said the captain.

      CHAPTER IV

      THE TERRORS IN THE DARK ROOM OF AN UNDERSEA BOAT

      Imagine yourself locked in a compartment, barely large enough to stretch yourself out straight, in a ship under the sea, in total darkness, knowing that should any one of the hundreds of things within that ship go wrong, it would mean a plunge to the bottom of the sea, beyond the help of all human aid.

      The danger to them was just as great while on the surface of the water, for the guns mounted on most vessels at this time, would make the submarine a legitimate prey. One shot would be sufficient, for ingenuity has not yet found a way to quickly stop a leak in a submarine. Such a vessel, when once struck, dare not dive, for that would quickly fill the interior of the vessel with water.

      It must, in that case, remain afloat, subject to the hail of shot which must follow, their only salvation in that event would be to hoist the white flag. Few, if any submarine commanders have done so, and even should that occur, it would not prevent the hull from being riddled before the fact could be made known. The three-inch guns mounted on most of the merchantmen, with an effective range of three miles, could tear the weak hull of a submarine to pieces at a single shot, and all would be sure to go down before help could arrive from the attacking steamer.

      "The machinery seems to go very slow now," remarked Ralph.

      "They may be cautiously coming to the top," replied the captain.

      "Did you hear that peculiar noise?" said Alfred, as he laid his hand on the captain's arm.

      "That was plainly a shot from a ship," said the captain.

      "Do you think we could hear firing through all this metal?" asked Ralph.

      "Much easier than if we were on deck," answered the captain.

      "Why do you think so?" asked Alfred.

      "Because water is a better conductor of sound than air," was the reply.

      "Do you mean that we can hear it better than if the sound came through the air?" queried Alfred.

      "The sound can be heard not only much plainer, but also much sooner than through the air," answered the captain.

      "I think we are going down again," remarked Ralph.