The Mystery Ship 12

The Mystery Ship 12

"Don't stop there arguing all the blessed afternoon!" exclaimed

Cumberleigh. "If we can't fish we can sail. 'Once aboard the lugger,'

my hearties."

 

The party embarked awkwardly after the fashion of men wearing

breeches, puttees or leggings, and heavy boots. With the exception of

Jefferson and von Preussen, they were raw amateurs in the art of

sailing save on board a coastal airship. On those occasions they

shone. In the present instance they did not.

 

The spy was on his best behaviour. Although he kept his eyes and ears

open, he purposely avoided asking any questions relating to naval or

military affairs at Auldhaig. Once, when Cumberleigh tried to "draw"

him by pointing out the scene of the disaster to the _Pompey_, von

Preussen adroitly changed the subject by a reference to the

forthcoming performance of "The Maid of the Mountains."

 

For an hour or more the _Pip-squeak_ made steady progress under a

stiffish breeze. She was by no means a flyer, but on the other hand

she sailed well with the wind broad on the beam. Beyond a few slaps

of spray she proved herself a dry boat, so that the crew, with the

exception of Jefferson, who was at the helm, were able to sit on the

bottom boards and smoke to their heart's content.

 

"Get a move on, you lazy hogs!" exclaimed Jefferson. "We're close on

the right spot. Down with the canvas! Blenkinson, stand by to let go

the anchor."

 

With a splash the anchor was lowered to obtain a grip in ten fathoms

of water. Riding head to wind and tide, the boat brought up, pitching

sharply in the short crested waves.

 

As long as the supply of bait lasted, sport was good. So engrossed

were the sportsmen that they failed to notice that the wind was

rising, and with the turn of the tide the waves were growing

decidedly vicious.

 

"Hadn't we better be getting a move on?" suddenly inquired

Cumberleigh, as he realised that the motion was causing an

uncomfortable sensation in the pit of his stomach. "Remember, some of

us are going to the theatre to-night."

 

"What's the hurry, old bean?" inquired the enthusiastic boat-sailer,

Jefferson. "If it comes to that, you can see the 'Mountains' from

here, although there's no 'Maid'--not even a mermaid. But, I say,

what's that?"

 

He pointed seawards. At about a mile distant was a long, low-lying

black hull, apparently drifting broadside on to the waves.

 

"Boche submarine, perhaps," ventured the facetious Pyecroft. "She's

coming to give us a tow back to Auldhaig. Did anyone remember to

bring a Lewis gun in his trouser pocket?"

 

With the others, von Preussen looked in the direction of the

mysterious craft. He had no pressing desire to renew acquaintance

with one of His Imperial Majesty's _unterseebooten_, although the

consequences would be far less awkward for him than it would be for

his present companions. But a brief glance assured him on that point.

The craft, whatever it might be, was certainly not a U-boat. No

amount of camouflage could alter that.

 

"She's a derelict," exclaimed Jefferson. "Get up the anchor, you

fellows. We'll run alongside and have a look at her."

 

Quickly the anchor was broken out and the sail hoisted. Cumberleigh,

who had been silently keeping the derelict under observation,

suddenly turned and thumped von Preussen on the shoulder.

 

"Fennelburt," he vociferated, "Providence has played into your hands!

You came here to inspect X-barges. Lo and behold, one of them

obligingly drifts down to greet you!"

 

"You're right, Cumberleigh," said Pyecroft. "It's one of those that

left Auldhaig this morning. I saw them go out. That red-haired Scot

chap--McIntosh, you know him--was in charge."

 

"Hanged if he is now, at any rate," added Jefferson. "An' the old

thing is well down by the stern. I believe she's sinking."

 

It took ten minutes for the _Pip-squeak_ to close with X-lighter No.

5. Running up into the wind on the lee side, Jefferson got way off

the boat.

 

"How about it, you fellows?" he inquired. "Think it's safe to run

alongside?"

 

"Might have a shot at it, old thing," replied Cumberleigh. "She

hasn't altered her trim during the last five or ten minutes. I say,

do we get salvage on a job like this, or is there some rotten

regulation debarring underpaid officers from making a bit? What do

you make of her, Fennelburt? You are a marine expert."

 

Von Preussen, who had been maintaining a discreet silence, ventured

an opinion that it might be safe to board her provided the

sailing-boat were kept alongside.

 

"Good enough," replied Cumberleigh. "You, Blenkinson and I will

comprise the boarding-party; the others stand by in the boat. _En

avant, mes braves!_ Over the top you go, and the best of luck."

 

Fending off the _Pip-squeak_ lest her planks should be stove in

against the massive rubbing-strake of the lighter, the three men

contrived to effect a safe transhipment. A brief examination revealed

the fact that the derelict had been in collision and that she had

been badly holed right aft. The engine-room was flooded, and only the

iron bulkhead between it and the hold had kept the craft from

foundering.

 

"Now what's to be done?" inquired Blenkinson. "We can't tow her in.

That's a moral cert."

 

"No, but we can send for a tug," said Cumberleigh. "Jefferson can

sail back to Auldhaig in about an hour even if he doesn't fall in

with a tug or even an M.L. on the way."

 

"What about 'The Maid of the Mountains'?" asked Blenkinson.

 

"We'll cut the appointment," replied the captain, with a laugh.

"Excuse--the exigencies of the Service."

 

"But," protested von Preussen, "the lighter might founder. We should

be in an awkward predicament if she did, the boat having left us. I

would suggest that we all go back in the _Pip-squeak_ and report the

matter."

 

"I agree," added Blenkinson. "After all's said and done, we don't

stand a chance of getting anything out of the deal. And what matters

if the old tub does sink? Her value is but a mere fleabite out of six

millions a day."

 

But Captain Cumberleigh was made of sterner stuff. Once having set

his hand to this maritime plough, he was loth to turn back.

 

"We'll stick it," he decided resolutely. "Jefferson will cruise

around in case of an accident. If we find we are drifting on shore we

can let go that anchor. I don't see there's much to get the wind up

about."

 

"Cheers for the R.A.F. Salvage Syndicate," exclaimed Blenkinson,

fired by his companion's enthusiasm, but von Preussen merely shrugged

his shoulders. He hadn't risked the perils of the North Sea in order

to protect the property of His Majesty the King of England.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XI

 

VON PREUGFELD'S RESOLVE

 

 

"DONNERWETTER! I am utterly sick of this business, Kaspar," whispered

Seaman Furst. "It is the life of a dog, or worse. If this war is not

over by the beginning of the winter there will be trouble amongst the

_unterseebooten_ crews."

 

"S'sh, not so loud," cautioned his companion, as the grumbler raised

his voice towards the end of his tirade. "I agree with you, Hans.

This game does not pay. We were told that we should save the

Fatherland and bring England to her knees by our submarines. But have

we? Just look! Here we are hungry, wet and unhappy, yet in England

there is, they say, plenty. Just before we left Cuxhaven my wife had

a letter from her brother who is a prisoner in England. He wrote and

said that even our men who are held in captivity receive three good

meals a day."

 

"That is what I do not understand," remarked Hans Furst. "If we are

winning, as our officers tell us we are, how comes it that we cannot

get eatable food? Of course, at the beginning of the war we were

lucky. All we had to do was to run alongside an English merchantman,

take what we wanted in the way of food and tobacco, and then sink

her; but now----"

 

"But now," continued Kaspar Krauss, taking up the parable, "every

strafed English ship has a gun, and one never knows but that a

coasting vessel is not a death-trap for us. You remember that

fishing-smack off Flamborough?"

 

Furst shuddered.

 

"Will I ever forget it?" he answered. "'Tis marvellous that we live

to tell the tale. What would I not give for a life ashore with a

tankard of Munich beer, a loaf of good bread and cheese? And

tobacco--what is tobacco? I have almost forgotten."