“I’ll do it, I’ll do it,” he shouted aloud and raced aft immediately to the control chamber where his commander sat writing at an improvised table.

Lieutenant McClure turned as Ted stopped and came to a salute.

“If you please, sir,” Ted began, “I’ve been hatching a crazy kind of a notion in my mind.  I’d like to offer it in the way of a suggestion, if you don’t mind, sir.”

“Go ahead, lad,” said “Little Mack” with a show of interest.

“All right, sir,” replied Ted.  “There are five torpedoes aboard the Dewey.  It occurred to me that you might load all four tubes.  Start the engines and reverse them and then when we are tugging with all our might shoot out the four torpedoes one after the other in rapid succession.  We’ll lighten our load a lot and the kick of the firing may drag us off.  That’s all, sir, but it was just an idea and I couldn’t help telling you, sir.”

The captain of the Dewey sat bold upright in his chair.

“I never thought of trying such a plan.  I’ll try it—–­I’ll try it,” he shouted.

“Little Mack” jumped to his feet and pressed the buzzer for his executive officer.  In a moment Officer Cleary appeared and the plan was unfolded to him.

In quicker time than it takes to relate it, the Dewey’s commander had sent orders forward for Mike Mowrey to load the torpedo tubes and for Chief Engineer Blaine to get his engines in motion.

“What’s up?” cried Bill Witt as Ted came bouncing into the torpedo room.

“Wait a moment and you’ll see,” replied Ted.

From the engine room aft came the purr of the motors as the last precious stores of “juice” were turned into the engines and the propellor shafts began to revolve amid the hum of machinery.

“Reverse and back away at full speed,” was the next order flashed to the engine room.

And then, while the Dewey was straining in every steel sinew, her commander reached forward and touched off the four torpedoes in rapid succession.

The little submersible seemed torn by an internal explosion.  As each torpedo shot out into the water the vessel shook under the force of the explosion, rocking to and fro under the concussion.

“We’re off; we’re off,” shouted McClure as he bent over the depth dial.  The hands of the indicator began to spin around and the Dewey, relieved of every pound of ballast, shot upward like a rocket.

“Hurrah, hurrah!” the cry reverberated through the ship.

In another two minutes the American submarine had gained the surface, her hatches were thrown open and the men swarmed out on deck—–­to life and freedom!

CHAPTER XVIII

IN THE RAT’S NEST

Trapped in the German wireless station with a burly Prussian at the other end of the business-looking revolver, Jack Hammond was completely at the mercy of his captor.  For a moment the American lad debated in his mind the advisability of knocking the weapon out of the hand of the German; but he noted the forefinger firmly pressed on the trigger and knew full well the least show of resistance would take him out of life altogether.