2015년 12월 31일 목요일
2015년 12월 30일 수요일
2015년 12월 29일 화요일
The Mystery Ship 25
The Mystery Ship 25
The door was locked upon the prisoners, and the three officers
hurried on deck. Q 171 was forging ahead, moving in wide circles
around the sinking pirate craft.
By this time the U-boat had dipped her stern. Waves were lapping
along her deck as far as the after quick-firer. Her stem was
correspondingly raised until the bow tubes were visible above water.
Higher and higher rose the submarine's bows. Tons of water were flung
into her hull through the open after-hatch. Compressed air was
hissing loudly. Little rivulets of iridescent oil were forming on the
surface. Occasionally interior fittings, giving way under the
ever-increasing pressure, creaked and groaned to add to the
discordant noises of the sinking craft.
Then, with a shuddering movement, the U-boat slithered under the
water. For a brief instant her bows stood almost on end. A column of
water, forced by the terrific pressure through the fore-hatch,
spurted a good fifty feet, ejecting with it a quantity of debris and
oil.
"_Bon voyage!_" exclaimed Wakefield.
A turmoil of agitated water marked the spot where the submarine
disappeared. For a full minute the maelstrom surged and swirled,
then, overcome by the liberation of tons of heavy oil, the disturbed
water died down, leaving in its place an ever-increasing patch of
multi-hued colours. Forty fathoms down the submarine had made a
permanent acquaintance with the bed of the North Sea.
"Well, any luck?" inquired Morpeth, who, having left Ainslie in
charge, had rejoined his unofficial guests in the ward-room. "What
did you get out of von Preugfeld?"
"Precious little," admitted Wakefield. "He tried to hedge. We'll have
to confront him with some of his mutineering men."
"I'll find out if there's any reference to the mysterious captain in
this," said the R.N.R. skipper, holding up U 247's log-book. "Any of
you fellows read the lingo?"
"Sorry," replied Meredith.
"You needn't be, old son," rejoined Morpeth. "I can't an' don't want
to, although just now it would come in mighty handy. Some years back
the Foul Anchor Line turned me down when I wanted a job as Second
Officer on one of their crack boats because I couldn't speak German.
They were carrying a lot of German passengers and South Americans at
that time. Another fellow--Campbell was his name--got the billet
'cause he'd gained a first prize for German on a cadet training-ship.
First trip he piled the old hooker aground off the entrance to Rio
Harbour, 'and a dozen or more Huns got drowned."
"So you were glad you didn't get the appointment after all?" asked
Cumberleigh.
"Rather," agreed Morpeth, with a laugh. "Not that I'd have put the
ship aground. Guess I know that part of the South American coast too
well. But, looking back on it, young Campbell was a patriot, only he
didn't know it. We might have had another dozen Huns to fight. But to
get back to business: here's this log wants looking into, and it's
young Ainslie's trick. He's the Hun lingoist."
"I'll have a shot at it," volunteered Captain Cumberleigh. "I was in
Germany. ...Long before the war," he added apologetically, speaking
with the weight of experience of twenty-two years.
He opened the log-book at the last-written page.
"'Fraid it won't help us much," he announced. "Apparently it doesn't
go beyond 8 A.M. of the 15th--that is the morning of the day they
collared us. By Jove! Morpeth, you've caught a much-wanted specimen.
Von Preugfeld's the fellow who torpedoed the hospital ship
_Columbine_ and the _Camperdown Castle_."
"The Lord have mercy on his soul, then!" said Morpeth solemnly.
CHAPTER XXI
BLUFFED
"HOWEVER," remarked Cumberleigh briskly, "the _Columbine_ business
hasn't anything to do with friend Fennelburt. We get no forrarder."
"I don't know so much about that," demurred Morpeth. "I'll use it as
a lever to prize a secret out of this von Preugfeld. We'll have him
up here and give him the shock of his life."
The R.N.R. officer touched a bell.
"Take a couple of hands and bring the U-boat skipper here," he
ordered.
"Say, Skipper," remarked Cumberleigh, who had been skimming the pages
of the log-book, "here's a rummy entry:--'2 A.M. Landed von
Preussen.' Who's von Preussen, and where else could he have been
landed except on the Scottish coast? One minute."
He turned over more leaves rapidly, nevertheless scanning the
sloping, flourish-embellished words.
"No mention of this von Preussen having been taken on board again,"
he continued. "First this fellow and this Fennelburt are landed--that
is, if the German bluejacket's yarn is correct. Will you allow me to
commence the examination, Skipper?"
"Tough Geordie's" weather-lined face wrinkled with a smile.
"By all means," he replied. "I'm not much of a hand at talky-talky.
The best argument I used in the Foul Anchor Line was a big boot.
Dagoes and Dutchies understood that. Stand by; they're bringing the
swine in."
Kapitan von Preugfeld entered jauntily. He had imagined, judging from
the result of the previous interview, that he had completely bluffed
his captors on the subject of Captain Fennelburt, and that, if he
persisted in his story, he would emerge triumphant from the ordeal.
Cumberleigh came to the point at once. "I'm anxious to know," he
remarked, "what connection there is between Leutnant Karl von
Preussen of the Prussian Guards and Captain George Fennelburt of the
British Air Force. You can enlighten me, Herr Kapitan, and I await
your explanation."
Attacked from a totally unexpected quarter, von Preugfeld's defences
were literally rushed.
"I know not," he replied sullenly.
"Try again," persisted Cumberleigh.
"_Der Teufel!_ vot you mean?" asked the U-boat commander.
"Mean? This," replied Cumberleigh, holding up U 247's log-book. "Here
is one entry:--'2 A.M. Landed von Preussen.' That is in your
handwriting."
Von Preugfeld was forced to admit the truth of the impeachment.
"It was practically the last entry you made," continued Cumberleigh,
"but there are more, apparently written by your subordinate officer.
I'll read some:--'5 P.M. Broke surface. Found large barge, X 5,
derelict. Took off her as prisoners three English officers'--not
four, you'll note. There certainly were four in R.A.F. uniforms. Now
again:--'4.10 A.M. Set von Preussen ashore.' It's perfectly obvious
that if von Preussen were set ashore twice he must have come on board
during that interval. There is no mention of your vessel
communicating with the shore between the two times you mentioned. So
I put it to you that von Preussen and Fennelburt are one and the same
person."
The Hun's face grew pale. Beads of perspiration oozed from his
forehead.
"A curse on von Loringhoven!" he muttered in German. "His lack of
caution has spoiled everything." Then in broken English he added: "I
call you to make testimony. It vos not I dat betray von Preussen. It
vos mein unter-leutnant, von Loringhoven."
"That's all we wanted to know," rejoined Captain Cumberleigh quietly.
"I might add, however, that it is hardly playing the game to put the
blame upon your subordinate. Perhaps it is a way Prussian officers
have, so it would not be surprising to hear that, later on, you will
blame him for torpedoing the hospital ship _Columbine_ and the
unarmed liner _Camperdown Castle_. Think it over."
He turned to Lieutenant-Commander Morpeth.
"Any further questions you want to ask, sir?" he inquired, with
strict formality.
"No," replied Morpeth. "Take him away."
The sliding door closed on the prisoner. "Tough Geordie" turned to
the successful amateur barrister.
"By Jove, Cumberleigh," he exclaimed, "you bowled him out this time!
But I thought you said that the log-book wasn't up to date."
"Neither was it," admitted Cumberleigh, passing his cigarette-case.
"I took the liberty of imagining that it was and ascribing the
authorship to that little worm of a von Loringhoven."
The R.A.F. captain was flushed with pleasure at his triumph. He had
vindicated himself concerning his doubts of "Fennelburt's"
genuineness. Until he had done so he was considerably uneasy in his
mind, for he hated a suspicious nature.
"I suppose you can wireless the information to Auldhaig?" he
continued. "Goodness only knows what that spy might be up to before
he's laid by the heels!"Morpeth shook his head.
The Mystery Ship 24
The Mystery Ship 24
The seaman Dietrich paused in the act of hoisting the U-boat's
ensign. Frantically Furst shouted to him to run up the white flag
after all.
"Be quick!" yelled half a dozen voices. "Be quick before she fires
again!"
It was an excellent example of the lack of discipline. When the men
were ruled, although by an iron hand, they did their work smartly and
well. In secret they grumbled, but the fact remained they carried out
the orders of their commanding officers with automaton-like
precision. Deprived by their own act of a real leader, they had
deteriorated within the space of a few hours into a panic-stricken
mob.
The Black Cross Ensign--the hoisting of which might have drawn a
devastating fire upon the mutineers--was untoggled and rolled into a
ball with indecorous haste, and a rectangular piece of white cloth
was hoisted to the mast-head. Even Hans Furst heaved a sigh of
relief. Captivity awaited him, but, after all, it was preferable to
being "bowled out" by the German naval authorities and ignominiously
shot as a mutineer.
Then as Q 171--to outward appearances she was U 231--lost way a
cable's length astern of her prize and trained her formidable
armament upon the mutineers, the Huns lined up on deck with hands
upraised, shouting their craven shibboleth of "Kamerad."
Blenkinson smiled.
"Good as a play, eh, what?" he remarked.
"I agree," remarked Cumberleigh. "After all, I'm glad I missed 'The
Maid of the Mountains.'"
CHAPTER XX
THE END OF U 247
"IT seems as if Old Man Morpeth's keen on taking all the Auldhaig
crush for a joyride," said Meredith, as he shook hands with
Cumberleigh and was introduced by the latter to the other R.A.F.
officers.
Both Wakefield and the R.N.V.R. Sub knew most of the staff at
Auldhaig Air Station by sight, while Meredith had met Cumberleigh on
several occasions, both officially and socially, as they were members
of the same club.
"The world is small," quoth Cumberleigh. "All the same, I hardly
expected to tumble across you half way across the North Sea. What are
you doing on this hooker?"
"Supernumeraries," replied Wakefield. "Same as you. Unless anything
unforeseen takes place, I fancy we're off to German waters on a
particular stunt."
"Hope there won't be too many underwater stunts," said Blenkinson.
"I've had enough submarine work during the last twenty-four hours to
last me a lifetime. Give me an old 'bus at five thousand feet any
day."
"There'll be no under-water performances this trip, I hope," remarked
Wakefield gravely. "If there is, it will be a case with us."
"Is that so?" asked Cumberleigh. "I thought this was a captured
U-boat."
"So did I once upon a time," said Wakefield, and he briefly explained
Q 171's true rôle.
The five officers were standing aft watching the transhipment of the
mutineers. Morpeth and Sub-lieutenant Ainslie were far too busy to
pay any attention to the released captives. The R.N.R. skipper was
alertly watching events, ready to cope with any sinister designs on
the part of Fritz, while Ainslie was superintending the task of
clapping the surrendered Huns under hatches.
With a good knowledge of German--it was mainly on that account that
he was appointed to Q 171--Ainslie soon obtained the mutineers'
carefully concocted account of what had happened to merit their tame
surrender; what was more, he literally "knocked the stuffing out of
them" by informing them that their precious yarn was all eye-wash,
and that Ober-leutnant von Preugfeld and Unter-leutnant von
Loringhoven had been picked up and were now on board as prisoners of
war. Yet with the Hun's typical effrontery Hans Furst coolly told the
examination officer that after the war he proposed to settle in
England, become naturalised, and make plenty of money.
"The English," he added "will be grateful to me when they learn that
I threw the German officers overboard."
While the cross-questioning of the mutineers was in progress Morpeth
was taking steps to destroy the prize.
"You might have a look round before we send her to the bottom," he
said to Wakefield, who jumped at the suggestion.
So Wakefield, Meredith and three of the Q-boat's crew manned the
collapsible dinghy belonging to the captured submarine and boarded
the prize.
A hasty examination showed that no attempt had been made to play
tricks with the sea-cocks, nor had Fritz, according to his usual
custom, placed bombs with time-fuses in the hold. It was another
example of the lack of a master. So intent had the Huns been to save
their own skins that they took not the faintest precaution to prevent
the confidential signal-book, log-book and other documents from
falling into the hands of their enemy.
"It's a pity to have to scuttle her," remarked Meredith regretfully,
as he surveyed the complicated array of mechanism. "It would be just
my mark to navigate her to Auldhaig under a prize crew."
"No doubt, Sub," rejoined Wakefield drily. "But unfortunately there
are objections. Morpeth's short-handed although he's choc-a-block
with useless passengers. We couldn't make the Hun mechanics take on
in the engine-room. On the way, even supposing you tackled the job,
there's a risk of falling in with a Boche U-boat, or a greater risk
of being torpedoed or bombed by our destroyers and aircraft. No doubt
Cumberleigh and the R.A.F. fellows would bear a hand, but they're
amateurs at the game. We should be if we were called upon to navigate
a coastal airship."
"And we should be out of Morpeth's big stunt," added Meredith.
"Having gone so far I should be sorry to miss it."
"Exactly," agreed the R.N.V.R. lieutenant. "So U 247 must go to Davy
Jones. I think we've seen everything of importance."
The U-boat was to be scuttled by opening the under-water valves.
Destruction by means of explosives was undesirable, as the report
might bring inquisitive craft upon the scene, and Q 171 was for the
nonce a sort of social pariah and liable to be fired upon by British
patrol boats, which acted upon the principle of shoot quick and shoot
straight at anything resembling a German submarine.
Ordering the boat's crew to stand by, Wakefield went below once more.
By the aid of an electric torch, for the internal lighting
arrangements had given out, he found the levers that operated the big
valves. So great was the inrush of water that Wakefield fancied he
would be trapped by the miniature Niagara. Without waiting to
manipulate the second sea-cock, he hastened precipitately on deck and
followed Meredith into the dinghy.
"Done the trick?" inquired Morpeth, as the two R.N.V.R. officers
regained the mystery ship. "She doesn't seem in a hurry."
Nor was she. It seemed quite a long time before the volume of water
admitted into the U-boat's hull made any visible change in her trim.
At length her freeboard diminished. She began to settle by the stern.
"I suppose you made certain that there were no other prisoners of war
on board?" inquired Captain Cumberleigh.
"Trust me for that," replied Wakefield. "Why did you ask?"
"Because I'm rather mystified about a fellow who called himself
Captain Fennelburt. He was with us when von Preugfeld collared us.
One of the mutineers pitched me a yarn to the effect that von
Preugfeld set him ashore. If so, what was the motive?"
"I'll see Morpeth about it," decided Wakefield.
"Ask von Preugfeld," suggested the skipper. "I can't do so myself
just at present. Make him own up, and don't stand any nonsense."
Cumberleigh, Wakefield and Blenkinson went below to interview the
prisoner. They acted on Morpeth's tip and stood on no ceremony. Time
was a consideration, as the U-boat was sinking and they wanted to see
the end.
Wakefield came straight to the point.
"I understand, Kapitan von Preugfeld," he said sternly, "that you had
on board another prisoner, a Captain Fennelburt of the R.A.F. He was
not found when we searched U 247. Now where is he?"
"You ask him," replied von Preugfeld, indicating von Loringhoven.
"I do not know," protested the unter-leutnant, "but he does."
Evidently von Loringhoven was getting pretty sick of being made a
convenience of by his egotistical skipper.
Wakefield's brows lowered. There was an ominous glint in his eye.
"I give you five seconds," he said darkly. "Otherwise, if you refuse
to tell me, back you go on board U 247. I might add that she is
sinking. Now: one... two... three... four---"
"I tell you!" exclaimed von Preugfeld. "All I tell you. Der offizier
he try to escape. He vos shot. It is der rules of der war."
"Unfortunately for the statement," interposed Captain Cumberleigh, "I
heard from one of your men that you landed him early this morning."
"In dat case," rejoined von Preugfeld, shrugging his shoulders, "why
you ask me? You take der word of a common sailor instead of a
Prussian offizier--a von Preugfeld? I tell you he lie."
Wakefield turned his back upon the bullying Prussian.
"It's evident that there was no other British officer on board," he
remarked to his companions. "We'll go into the matter later. Come along, if we are to see the last of U 247."
The Mystery Ship 23
The Mystery Ship 23
"It is presumed that the genial captain of this vessel," continued
Jefferson, "has not yet invested in a cinematograph. If he had it
would be reasonable to suppose that he would have us on deck at
regular intervals, supply us with cigarettes and cock-tails, and at
the same time take a film to let neutrals know how benevolent and
humane the Hun is when he is on the warpath. I am afraid my surmise
is correct. Therefore we languish in captivity."
"Anyone any idea of the time?" inquired Cumberleigh. "My watch says
half-past three, but I can't depend upon it."
"Mine shows ten o'clock," reported Blenkinson, consulting the
luminous dial of his wristlet watch. "Unfortunately it omits to
inform me whether it is AK Emma or PIP Emma, and I'm hanged if I know
which it is."
"My watch went west the day before yesterday," said Jefferson. "The
best Waterbury in existence is not proof against the back-fire of a
six-cylinder car. Now if that fellow Fennelburt were here, he had a
ripping little watch, I noticed."
"By the way, what happened to Fennelburt?" inquired Cumberleigh.
"Happened?" echoed Jefferson. "Why he's in the cart, same as us. Hard
lines on the chap--taking him out on a joy trip and then landing him
in this mess."
Cumberleigh grunted. He was not at all sure that he agreed with
Jefferson's sentiments. Not that he had any suspicion that Fennelburt
had conjured up the U-boat to take the Salvage Syndicate prisoners.
The suggestion that the party should go fishing emanated from
himself. Yet it was somewhat curious that Fennelburt should be
separated from the others.
The three Auldhaig Air Station officers had had a sticky time during
the last twenty-four hours. During that period they had been twice
supplied with scanty and unappetising meals; they had dozed fitfully
in the foetid atmosphere of their cell, but up to the present they
had not been allowed on deck to get a breath of fresh air.
"Hope old Pyecroft pulled it off all right," remarked Blenkinson. He
had harped on the matter at least a dozen times. Pyecroft had been
his special pal. They had flown over the German lines together; they
had crashed in the same 'bus; they had spent six weeks in the same
hospital--in all, quite sufficient to cement a casual acquaintance
into a lifelong friendship.
"There's the chance, anyway," said Jefferson. "He may not have been
missed, and--hello what's the game now? They've stopped the motors."
The three men listened intently. The faintest alteration in the
rhythmic purr of the U-boat's engines set their nerves on edge. They
knew something of the fearfully ingenious devices used to strafe Hun
submarines, and now they were metaphorically at the business end of a
big gun, whereas formerly they had been behind it. It was a
disconcerting affair, exposed to unseen perils that might without
warning send them to their death in company with a crowd of Huns.
And, unless Pyecroft had succeeded in getting safely ashore, the
manner of their going would remain a secret for all time.
For several long-drawn seconds the trio listened in silence. They
knew by the difference in the pulsations of the motors that the
U-boat had been running on the surface. The diving-tanks had not been
filled, otherwise they would have heard the gurgling inrush of water.
For some reason the submarine had brought up and was drifting with
wind and tide.
A quarter of an hour elapsed, then the petrol-motors were restarted.
Very soon after the door of their cell was unlocked and a couple of
Hun seamen appeared.
"Come you on deck!" one exclaimed, with such a broad smile that
Cumberleigh and Co. suspected a dirty trick on the part of Fritz.
"Anything to get a breather," ejaculated Blenkinson. "Lead on, old
bird!"
In single file the three British officers followed their guide along
the intricate alley-way and on deck via the conning-tower hatchway.
A hurried glance gave no clue to the unexpected change of
environment. The U-boat was forging ahead. By noting the position of
the sun the captive officers knew that the course was approximately
east, and that direction led towards Germany. The skyline was
unbroken. Neither the proximity of land nor the presence of another
craft was evident to account for the change of attitude on the part
of their captors.
"We friends is," continued the Hun who had previously addressed them;
and as evidence of good faith he handed the Englishmen a box of
cigarettes.
The dearth of tobacco, cigars and cigarettes that had been noticeable
amongst the ratings during von Preugfeld's regime was now,
temporarily at least, a thing of the past. The former ober-leutnant's
cabin had been systematically ransacked, with the result that a
goodly store of tobacco had been discovered and distributed.
"What has gone wrong?" inquired Captain Cumberleigh, speaking slowly
in order to make himself understood. "Where are your officers?"
The seaman paused before replying. In order to ingratiate himself he
would not have hesitated to confess that the Prussian tyrants had
been thrown overboard; but in the event of the submarine making
Hamburg safely or else being overhauled by a vessel flying the Black
Cross Ensign, the knowledge that the Englishmen knew the secret might
prove decidedly awkward.
"They overboard fell, Herr Offizier," replied the German. "They stand
so, making what the Englisch sailors call 'shooting der sun.' A big
wave come an' pouf!--dey are gone."
Cumberleigh nodded. For the present he deemed it prudent to accept
the statement, although he was aware by the comparatively easy motion
that the U-boat had not encountered heavy weather. Nor had the German
sailor given any explanation why the collapsible canvas boat had not
been lowered to effect a rescue.
"And where is Captain Fennelburt?" he asked. "There were four of us
taken prisoners."
A blank look overspread the Teuton's heavy features. He extended his
palms in a manner that expressed complete disinterestedness.
Cumberleigh pressed the point. The Hun turned and consulted his
comrades. Apparently they had not taken this factor into their
calculations.
"I want no lies," continued Cumberleigh, who was rapidly finding his
feet. "What has become of the fourth officer (he was about to prefix
the word British, but somehow he checked himself) who was taken on
board?"
"Kapitan von Preugfeld him sent on land last night, Herr Offizier,"
announced the man.
"For what reason?"
"I do not know der plans of Kapitan von Preugfeld," explained the
German. "An' he not is here to ask."
This was simple, but none the less truthful logic. It was hardly
conceivable that the ober-leutnant should explain his actions to a
lower-deck rating.
"It's jolly rummy, any old way," remarked Blenkinson. "The whole
business is fishy--decidedly fishy. And I reckon that big wave yarn
won't go down."
Again the German strolled up, smiling and apparently unperturbed.
"You know der mine-fields, Herr Offizier?" he asked. "You can take us
to Zhermany?"
"All I know," replied Cumberleigh pointedly, "is that there are
mines--thousands of them--and that you're going straight for them. I
might add that I know the course to Auldhaig. It's a jolly sight
safer than barging along as you're doing."
The German apparently saw the wisdom of the suggestion. He retired to
consult his companions. On a Soviet-controlled ship everyone has to
have a say--with conflicting and other disastrous results.
Kaspar Krauss and Hans Furst vehemently opposed the suggestion,
which, considering the fact that they were the ringleaders in the
mutiny, was somewhat remarkable. The desire to get home overruled
their fears of running against a mine. Others, fearful lest the curse
be brought home to them, clamoured to be taken into a British port,
bringing forward the argument that German prisoners of war in England
were well treated and that no difference was made in the case of men
who had served in U-boats.
How long the drolly-conducted debate would have lasted remains a
matter for speculation, but it was brought to an abrupt and still
undecided conclusion by one of the men raising a shout and pointing
astern.
A vessel of some description was approaching rapidly. The enormous
"bone in her teeth" as her sharp bows cleft the waves into frothy
clouds of foam showed that she was moving at a terrific rate.
"An English ship!" exclaimed the fellow excitedly. "A U-boat hunter!
Quick, run up the white flag, or we'll be blown to bits!"
All was scurry bordering on panic. There was a hasty rush to find the
emblem of surrender. Hans Furst, gripping the interpreter by the
shoulders, shouted to him to ask the English officers to go aft and
stand in a conspicuous place.
Cumberleigh and his
The Mystery Ship 22
The Mystery Ship 22
"You're wanted on deck, sir," exclaimed a sailor excitedly. "We've
just sighted two men in the ditch----"
Taking a hasty and copious gulp of tea on the principle that "you
never know when you may get another chance," Lieutenant-Commander
Morpeth ran up the ladder, Meredith only hanging back sufficiently to
clear the heels of the R.N.R. officer's seaboots.
The mystery ship had already slowed down and altered course. Men,
grasping coiled bowlines, were grouped on her long narrow bows.
Ainslie, standing well for'ard, was conning the ship by movements of
his arms. Wakefield, binoculars to his eyes, was keeping the men in
distress under observation.
"A pair of Huns!" he exclaimed, as Morpeth and Meredith joined him.
"They're clinging to a U-boat's buoy. I can see the number 'U 247'
painted on it."
"One of our submarines has been busy, then," remarked Morpeth. "Hope
to goodness she doesn't jolly well take it into her head to slap a
tinfish into us."
Wakefield shrugged his shoulders. This was another phase of U-boat
tactics. When a fellow rigs himself up like a Fritz to bag a Fritz,
presumably he must run the risk of being taken for a genuine Fritz by
other Fritz-hunters. He glanced at Morpeth inquiringly. The R.N.R.
man's face was set and determined.
Above the risks of war another issue dominated. Human life was at
stake, not in the heat of battle but in the ceaseless struggle of man
with the sea--a fight that has been waged ever since men adventured
themselves upon the waters. Friends or foemen made no difference:
Morpeth was determined to pluck the two distressed men from the grip
of the voracious sea.
The swimmers were Ober-leutnant Hans von Preugfeld and Unter-leutnant
Eitel von Loringhoven. More than an hour had elapsed since they had
been ruthlessly jettisoned by the mutineers. Their chances of being
picked up were small indeed. Had it not been for the fact that one of
the U-boat's crew, more humane than the rest, had surreptitiously
released a life-buoy from the starboard side of the submarine--he had
done this just before the two officers were hurled overboard--von
Preugfeld and von Loringhoven would have perished. As it was, the
support afforded by the cylindrical hollow metal buoy had kept both
afloat, although they were almost exhausted by the numbing cold.
Slowing down until she carried bare steerage way, Q 171's bows passed
within three yards of the life-buoy and the two men. A bowline,
thrown with admirable judgment and precision, fell over the
unter-leutnant's head, but von Loringhoven was too exhausted to slip
his arms and shoulders through the looped line. Without hesitation,
the bluejacket who had hurled the coil of rope thrust the tail end
into the hands of a man standing next to him.
"Hold hard, mate!" he exclaimed, as he took a flying leap over the
low stanchion rail.
Deftly the rescuer adjusted the bowline under von Loringhoven's
shoulders, and with a stentorian "Heave away roundly!" he swung
himself back to the Q-boat's fo'c'sle.
In another fifteen seconds two dripping and water-logged individuals
joined the rescuer.
Kapitan von Preugfeld, gasping like a stranded carp, was speechless
with exhaustion and astonishment. Up to that moment he had been
deceived into believing that the vessel that had effected his rescue
was a U-boat. He was still hazy on that point, but there was no
shadow of doubt that the crew were British.
"Give the blighters a stiff glass of grog and shove them into hot
blankets," ordered Morpeth. "I'll see them later and find out how
they came to be in the ditch."
But von Preugfeld, recovering his speech, was anxious to explain
matters at once. The thought paramount in his mind was that of
revenge. It mattered not by what motive or through whose agency
retribution was accomplished as long as the mutineers were accounted
for.
"I kapitan am of _Unterseebooten_ 247," he announced in his broken
English. "My crew haf mutiny make an' throw me into der zee. Der
submarine is dere"--he pointed eastwards--"not von hour an' half
gone."
"Peculiar bird," thought Morpeth, then--"Good enough, cap'n," he
replied. "We'll be on her track. With luck she'll be scrap iron
before night."
"No, no," protested von Preugfeld. "Do not to der bottom send. Make
capture. I tink not dat she can sink."
"Won't she," interrupted the R.N.R. officer grimly. "You leave that
to us."
"He means 'submerge,' I fancy," remarked Wakefield.
"Ach! Dat is so. She submerge cannot make. Take prisoners dose
mutineer sailors."
"What's he driving at, Wakefield?" inquired Morpeth. "Hanged if I can
cotton on to the yarn."
"He apparently wants to get his own back," suggested Wakefield. "A
true type of the egotistical, arrogant Prussian. D'ye notice he never
referred to his fellow victim of the mutiny. Perhaps they got what
they jolly well deserved."
"No business of mine," quoth the R.N.R. man. "Sinking Fritzes is my
job. Take that fellow below, Walters."
He jerked his thumb in the direction of the fore hatchway, whither
von Loringhoven had already been escorted; but von Preugfeld had
another card to play.
"Englisch officers der are on board der submarine," he declared.
"Four officers prisoners--nein, it is three," and he held up three
fingers to emphasise the fact.
Except to serve his own ends, von Preugfeld would not have mentioned
the fact. It mattered nothing to him whether the prisoners were sent
to the bottom inside the hull of the U-boat if she were destroyed by
the British craft; but as a lever to influence Morpeth's decision, in
order to enable von Preugfeld to take vengeance on the mutineers at
some distant date, the Prussian blurted out the disconcerting news.
Almost at the same time he realised that the situation was a
complicated one. There was the question of the spy, von Preussen. The
R.A.F. officers would, on their release, certainly demand an
explanation of their supposed comrade's whereabouts, and then the spy
would be revealed in his true character. It would be
awkward--decidedly awkward--for von Preussen, but in his
vindictiveness against the mutineering crew von Preugfeld swept aside
the question. He had little qualms in sacrificing von Preussen to
attain his immediate aim.
"What officers are they?" demanded Morpeth. He pictured the plight of
master mariners of Mercantile Marine held captive on board the
submarine that had sent their vessel to the bottom--hostages who,
contrary to all the recognised canons of war, had been compelled to
run a grave risk of being slaughtered by their fellow countrymen
while in the hold of a modern pirate submarine.
"Von der Air Regiment at Auldhaig," replied von Preugfeld. "It fair
capture vos," he hastened to explain.
"We know most of them," exclaimed Meredith. "I wonder who they are?"
Morpeth as inquisitor-in-chief put the question, but von Preugfeld
shook his head and professed ignorance on the matter.
With a gesture Morpeth dismissed him. Shivering with cold and
trembling with rage, the kapitan of U 247 disappeared below, to enjoy
a far greater hospitality than he had ever bestowed upon his
prisoners of war.
Meanwhile Q 171, running at thirty knots, was fast overhauling the
mutineers. In forty minutes after von Preugfeld's rescue the
conning-tower of the fugitive was sighted at a distance of five
miles.
Morpeth immediately rang down for fifteen knots. The enormous speed
of the Q-boat would be sufficient to cause surprise and suspicion in
the minds of the U-boat's crew, and supposing it were another
submarine which could dive and succeed in getting away, then the
story of a decoy capable of attaining a terrific pace would be known
to the German Admiralty. In that case Morpeth's "little stunt" would
bid fair to become a "wash-out."
Ten minutes later the White Ensign was hoisted at Q 171's masthead,
and a shell, purposely fired wide, threw up a column of water fifty
yards from the U-boat's port bow.
"That's done the trick," exclaimed Wakefield, as a white flag was
promptly hoisted on the mutineer. "It's 'Kamerad' all the time when
they're cornered. By Jove! the old blighter did speak the truth for
once. There are fellows in khaki standing aft."
Morpeth merely grunted. He was pondering in his mind--not on the
question of how to deal with his prize, but one on which weightier
matters depended. It meant an addition of thirty odd people to feed
and quarter--a big proposition indeed.
CHAPTER XIX
THE TABLES TURNED
"WHAT'S for dinner at the mess to-night?" inquired Blenkinson.
"Wonder if the management has got rid of our box for 'The Maid of the
Mountains'? If not, will he try and make us pay up?"
"The theatre people can try," replied Cumberleigh grimly. "Hope
they'll accept the excuse: unavoidable absence."
"Wonder how Pyecroft got on?" remarked Jefferson.
The three R.A.F. officers were cooped up in the otherwise empty
storeroom of U 247. They were in utter darkness. The place was damp,
ill ventilated, and reeked abominably. Moisture was constantly
forming on the curved angle-iron deck beams and dripping promiscuously upon the captives
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