Tom Slade on a Transport Part 16

Then one of the men called to him through a megaphone and he was possessed by an odd feeling that it was the thing itself speaking and not the man upon it.

"Speak German?"

"No," Tom called, "I'm American."

He waited, thinking they would either shoot him or else go away and leave him. Then the man called, "Lift up your feet!"

This strange mandate made the whole thing seem more unreal, and he would not have been surprised to be told next to stand on his head. But he was not going to take any chances with a Teuton and he raised his feet as best he could, while the little tower came closer--closer, until it was almost upon him.

Suddenly his feet caught in something, throwing him completely over, and as he frantically tried to regain his position his feet encountered something hard but slippery.

"Vell, vot did I tell you, huh?" the man roared down at him.

Tom was almost directly beneath him now, walking, slipping, and scrambling to his feet again, while this grim personage looked down at him like Humpty Dumpty from his wall. The whole business was so utterly strange that he could hardly realize that he was standing, or trying to stand, waist deep, at the conning tower of a German submarine. By all the rules of the newspapers and the story books, his approach should have been dramatic, but it was simply a sprawling, silly progress.

Of course, he knew how it was now. The U-boat was only very slightly submerged, and evidently the removable hand rail had not been stowed and it was that on which his feet had caught and which had caused his inglorious aquatic somersault. He had walked, or stumbled, over the submerged deck and now stood, a drenched and astonished figure, beneath his rescuers--or his captors.

The man lowered a rope which had something like a horse's stirrup hanging to it and into this Tom put his foot, at the same time grasping the rope, and was helped up somewhat roughly.

Upon the top was a little hatch in which the man was standing, like a jack in the box, and now he went down an iron ladder with Tom after him.

"You off der _Montauk_, huh?" he said.

"Yes, sir," said Tom, "I fell off."

"Vell, you haf' good loock."

Tom did not know whether to consider himself lucky or not, but it occurred to him that the domineering manner of his captors might not be an indication of their temper. And the realization of this was to prove useful to him afterward for he found that with the Germans a not unkindly intention was often expressed with glowering severity. He made up his mind that he would not be afraid of him.

The iron ladder descended into a compartment where there was much electrical apparatus, innumerable switches, etc., and two steering gears. In front of each of these was a thing to look into, having much the appearance of a penny in the slot machine, in which one sees changing views. These he knew for the lower ends of the two periscopes.

There was an odor in the place which made him think of a motorcycle.

A door in the middle of this apartment, forward, led into a tiny, immaculate galley, with utensils which fitted into each other for economy in s.p.a.ce, like a camping outfit. Here a parrot hung in a cage--strange home for a bird of the air!

Another door, midway in the opposite side of the galley, opened into a narrow aisle which ran forward through the center of the boat, with berths on either side, like the arrangement of a sleeping-car. In one of these squatted two men, in jumpers, playing a card game.

The length of this aisle seemed to Tom about half the length of a railroad car. Through it his rescuer led him to a door which opened into a tiny compartment, furnished with linoleum, a flat desk, three stationary swivel chairs and a leather settee. It was very hot and stuffy, with an oily smell, but cosy and spotlessly clean.

Directly across this compartment was another central door with something printed in German above it. The man knocked, opened this door, spoke to someone, then came back and went away in the direction from which they had come.

Tom stood in the little compartment, not daring to sit down. He seemed to be in a strange world, like that of the Arabian Nights. He did not know whether the boat had descended or was still awash, or had come boldly up to the surface. He knew that the tower through the hatch of which he had descended was about in the middle, and that he had been taken from that point almost to the bow. He thought this cosy little room must be the commander's own private lair, and that probably the commander's sleeping quarters lay beyond that door. Forward of that must be the torpedo compartments. As to what lay astern, he supposed the engines were there and the stern torpedo tubes, but the Teutons were so impolite that they never showed him and all Tom ever really saw of the interior of a German U-boat was the part of it which he had just traversed, and which in a general sort of way reminded him of a sleeping-car with the odor of a motorcycle.

Presently, the forward door opened, and a young man with a very sallow complexion entered. He wore a kind of dark blue jumper, the only semblance of which to a uniform was that its few b.u.t.tons were of bra.s.s.

He was twirling his mustache and looked at Tom with very keen eyes.

"Vell, we are not so pad, huh? Ve don'd kill you!"

Tom did not know exactly what to say, so he said, "I got to thank you."

The man motioned to the settee and Tom sat down while he seated himself in one of the swivel chairs.

"Vell, vot's der matter?" he said, seeing Tom shiver.

"I'm wet," said Tom; adding, "but I don't mind it."

The man continued to look at him sharply. His questions were peremptory, short, crisp.

"You had a vite jacket?"

"Yes, sir. I made a kind of a life preserver out of it."

Tom suspected that they had seen him long before he had seen them and that they had watched his struggles in the water.

"Steward's poy, huh?"

"I was captain's mess boy. The railing was broke and I never noticed it, so I fell overboard. I don't think anybody else got hurt," he added.

The man twirled his mustache, still with his keen eyes fixed on Tom.

"You bring ofer a lot of droops?" It was a question, but he did not keep his voice raised at the end, as one asking a question usually does. In this sense a German never asks a question. He seemed to be making an announcement and expecting Tom to confirm it.

"Quite a lot," said Tom.

"Two thousand, huh?"

"I couldn't count them, there were so many."

"How many trips you make?"

"This was my first on a transport," said Tom.

"Huh. You make Brest? Vere?"

"It wasn't Brest," said Tom, "and I ain't supposed to tell you."

"Vell, I ain't supposed to rescue you neither."

"If you'd asked me before you rescued me, even then I wouldn't of told you," said Tom simply.

"Huh. You talk beeg. Look out!"

And still he twirled his mustache.

"Dey catch a spy, huh?"

"Yes, they did," said Tom, feeling very much ashamed and wondering how his questioner knew. Then it occurred to him that this very U-boat had perhaps been watching for the signal light, and it gave him fresh satisfaction to remember that _he_ had perhaps foiled this man who sat there twirling his mustache.

The commander did not pursue this line of inquiry, supposing, perhaps, that a mess boy would not be informed as to such matters, but he catechised Tom about everything else, foiled at every other question by the stolid answer, "I ain't supposed to tell you." And he could not frighten or browbeat or shake anything out of him.