Argosy All-Story Weekly, November 12, 1927 — page 83: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

WHEN THE S-12 WENT DOWN. There was argument in him, that I could see, which is the way with ablebodies if you unbend to ’em. I was of the mind to jerk him up sharp, when I sees the captain straighten up from leanin’ against the peris- cope, which he’s been watchin’ the eyepiece of. “Damn!” he says, Sandy straight off: ‘““Hold-to, matey! There’s a sound I don’t like in that ‘damn.’ Maybe its only the three Bella allows that we’ll have time for.” “She’s not going down,” the captain complains to the lieutenant, who’s standin’ by. The lieutenant asks me: ‘‘ What does it read, second?” “ Twenty feet, sir,” I reads him. ‘What is it, cox’un?” he asks first. “It’s hard-a-dive, sir.” “ Hell!” observes the captain, expressive. ‘‘ She ought to be forty. Something’s wrong, lieutenant.” Nothin’ overjoyin’ in havin’ captain say somethin’s wrong. Pretty much, he’s the last to say it. The lieutenant takes up the speakin’ tube that cuts through the bulkhead to the engine-room. He whistles down for engine report. Sandy stands by to listen. First cox’un and me watch Sandy, keen. He nods to us, enlightenin’. Bloomin’ Diesel engines goin’ steady as the queen’s house- maids! The captain comes over and studies the gauge awhile, and looks at the controls. “ Still hard-a-dive?” he asks first. “ Hard-a-dive, sir.” The captain swears again, and remarks to the lieutenant: “ She’s got the devil in her, somewhere.” Sandy shakes his head at me, distressed. 1 know what he means. (If the blinkin’ boat has a mood on, and the captain gets good and mad, he’s like as not to keep her chasin’ her nose until she comes to her senses. I’m thinkin’, with Sandy, of six o'clock, with or without the two pints or three. The captain raps out: “ Flood three auxiliary. Test ballast mains. If there’s any air, flood ’em.”’ The first cox’un gives his control motors and I mutters to d07 a whirl. ‘ Three auxiliary and all mains flooded, sir.” ‘* Hard-a-dive, now, cox’un,”’ the lieuten- ant says. “‘ Down to fifty.” “* Hard-a-dive it is, sir.”’ “ Gauge,” the captain calls to me. “ Forty-five, sir.’ Then my eyes glue down on that gauge dial until I’m believin’ what I see. “Holy mackerel!” I busts out to first. No kind o’ mackerel, holy or otherwise, is in regulations, but the captain cuts form and makes a leap to where I’m standin’. ‘““ Holy mackerel it is!” he agrees. The lieutenant moves up. “Going down like a fish full of lead,” the captain tells him. “ Fifty-five. Sixty- five! Blow auxiliaries! Lively, cox’un.” The captain stands by to watch the gauge. The lieutenant crowds in and Sandy pushes up behind. No blasted boat has a right to dive the way she’s startin’ In so sudden. “Blow two main ballast,’ the captain orders. His voice has a ring in it some- thin’ like a belayin’ pin. Still she goes down. “What is it, cox’un?” the lieutenant calls. “ Hard-a-rise, sir.” Goin’ down. I feel Sandy’s face over my shoulder. But she don’t rise! Gawd! He’s breathin’ hot. The captain interrupts: “ Blow two main. Look sharp, first cox’un.”’ We hears the levers click, and the air hiss, and the water gurgle out to tickle the fishes under the fins. breath goes out when you're holdin’ it till it hurts and lettin’ go is welcome. “‘ Hard-a-rise, cox’un,” says the captain, and the control motors whirl snappy like. “ Hard-a-rise it is, sir,” the first calls, when his motors stop blowin’ the water out. “Fifty,” the lieutenant mutters off the gauge, and turns away relieved. “Forty-eight, sir,’ I calls after him without bein’ asked. The captain wheels and comes up to watch. ‘* Forty-two. reads off. Forty. Thirty-five!” he Eomichbooks It’s somethin’ like your . (E@)