euton had climbed up the side.

"Auf Wiedersehen and thank you, sir," called the German officer as
the _Dewey_ backed away and turned her nose out to sea again.

The days that followed were crowded with colorful incidents for the
band of Americans aboard the gallant little submarine. With the
arrival of Uncle Sam's submarines in the North Sea and their active
participation in the warfare against the Imperial German Navy the
forages of the cruiser and destroyer raiders out of Wilhelmshaven
and other German ports were decreasing in number.

The Belgian coast is but forty-two miles long, extending from Zeebrugge
at the northern extremity to Ostend---the Atlantic City of Belgium---at
the south, but there are a number of tiny harbors along the strip of
coastline, and these were infested by the light draft German warships,
particularly the destroyers. The American submarines in particular
were directing their attention toward these destroyers and seeking
to kill them off as they dashed out of their "fox holes" for flying
attacks against the allied navies.

One night, after a quiet day on patrol off the Belgian coast, the
_Dewey_ settled for the night close to shore at a point about five
miles southwest of the Belgian coast town of Blankenberghe, a tiny
fishing port with a small and almost land-locked harbor. It was a
strategic position directly on the course that would be taken by
German destroyers out of Zeebrugge bound for a raid off Dunkirk or
Calais. Lying under the sea, the _Dewey_ could hear approaching
vessels.

Furthermore, Lieutenant McClure had reason to believe that German
destroyers were making a rendezvous of the little harbor of
Blankenberghe. He was determined to find out and to "get somebody."

Jack was on duty in the conning tower and Executive Officer Cleary in
the control chamber underneath. Floating here at a depth of one
hundred and ten feet the _Dewey_ was to spend the night resting and
with a vigilant ear for any passing vessels.

Thousands of miles from home, more then a hundred feet deep down in
the North Sea, bottled up in a submarine while the rest of his churns
slept peacefully as though at home in their beds, the Brighton boy sat
alone in the conning tower of the submerged _Dewey_.

"Some difference between where I am now and where I was a year ago
this time!" he was reflecting, when he heard the night wireless
operator reporting to Executive Officer Cleary the approach of a
vessel