The Mystery Ship 15

The Mystery Ship 15

"And almost immediately you have undone all the work required of you

in the matter," added the spy.

 

The ober-leutnant shrugged his shoulders. He was obstinate,

pig-headed and arrogant, but in argument he was no match for the

trained finesse of the Secret Service agent.

 

"As a favour----" he began.

 

"No--as a right," corrected von Preussen firmly.

 

"_Donnerwetter!_ You insist too much," grumbled von Preugfeld. "I

suppose there is nothing to be done but to fall in with your whim."

 

"With official instructions," interpolated the spy.

 

"Have your own way then," snapped the ober-leutnant. "To land you

must necessarily entail night-work. I propose, then, to set you

ashore at the same place as before. We are, in fact, within a couple

of miles of it, and you will observe that we have shut off the

motors, and U 247 is even now resting on the bed of the German Ocean.

I would suggest that you should walk to Nedderburn and catch the mail

train south that stops at the junction shortly after three in the

morning."

 

"And more than likely stumble across some of the officers and men

from Auldhaig Air Station," objected the spy. "No, my friend, I

prefer to lay my own plans; then, if anything does go wrong, I have

only myself to blame. And since Captain George Fennelburt is either a

prisoner of war or 'missing--presumed drowned,' I must needs beg,

borrow or steal another name. Henceforth, until further notice, I am

Captain Broadstone, also of the Royal Air Force. Will you oblige me

by lending me a pen? There are certain forms which I must now fill in

to bear out my new character."

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XIII

 

A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE

 

 

WITH Captain Cumberleigh's valedictory words ringing in his ears,

Pyecroft began his preparations to avoid capture. While his comrades

were hurriedly lowering the _Pipsqueak's_ sail, the "second loot,"

hidden from the pirate craft by the flapping canvas, slipped over the

side as noiselessly and silently as an eel.

 

The shock of the icy-cold water almost took his breath away.

 

"By gosh!" he muttered. "It is a bit of a stinger. But cheer up, old

son, you may get it pretty hot in a very short time."

 

With that he dived under the lighter's hull. Literally groping his

way down the weed and barnacle-covered bottom, he scraped under the

keel and up again on the other side until darkness gave place to a

glint of pale green water that in turn gave place to the salt-laden

air. He had now placed the hull of No. 5 between him and the U-boat.

So far so good, but the late member of the R.A.F. Salvage Syndicate

had to consider another pressing problem.

 

Even supposing, as he fondly hoped, that the Huns had not noticed

him, it was logical to assume that they would not sheer off before

sending the lighter to Davy Jones's locker. How? By ramming? Hardly.

A U-boat would not hesitate to crash into a ship's boat deeply laden

with the survivors of a torpedoed merchantman, but she would think

twice before trying conclusions with the lighter's massive

rubbing-strake. By placing bombs on board? That meant making use of a

boat and consequently delay. Gunfire? Yes; that looked like the

answer to the question.

 

Now for the subsidiary problem. Assuming that the Huns would turn a

quick-firer upon the lighter, where would they aim? At the

engine-room? Hardly, as the stern was already awash. Amidships, into

the heavily-laden hold, the work of destruction would be most easily

accomplished.

 

"So here's for her bows," decided Pyecroft, having reviewed the

situation. "If my theories are all wrong, then it's a case of 'going

west.'" He swam with slow, easy strokes towards the bows. There was

no immediate hurry, since the boat with his companions had not yet

reached the pirate submarine. He knew that he had to conserve his

strength and his energies for the ordeal that promised to be

forthcoming.

 

To his great delight, he found a rope trailing overboard. A tug

reassured him that it was made fast to the towing bollards. By

hanging on to it Pyecroft could support himself with ease, while the

bluff, overhanging bows would effectually screen him should any of

the Huns board the abandoned craft.

 

For a long-drawn ten minutes--it seemed like ten hours--Pyecroft

waited. Already the numbing cold was taking effect. His upstretched

arm seemed to have lost all sensation of feeling. It was merely the

grip of the tightly closed fingers, contracted by the cold, that

supported him.

 

Then with appalling suddenness came the crash of the exploding shell.

Jerked almost clear of the water, Pyecroft had a vision of the

forepart of the massive hull rearing high in the air. Flying debris

hurtled over him, pungent smoke filled the air. Then, with a rush of

eddying water, the X-lighter slithered beneath the waves.

 

Under cover of the smoke Pyecroft struck out. Fragments hurled high

in the air were now falling all around him, while buoyant objects,

taken down by the vortex, were rising to the surface with terrific

force. A plank, the jagged edge of which would have almost cut the

swimmer in two, shot upwards from beneath the waves. Missing him by

inches, it described a parabola, rising to a height of twenty feet or

more before it fell back with a resounding smack.

 

With his senses deadened by the stupendous roar, the pungent smoke

and the coldness of the water, Pyecroft kept himself afloat

automatically until he came in contact with a huge wicker basket that

was floating upside down with about a third of its bulk exposed.

 

As he grasped it, the basket turned completely over, the rim striking

the swimmer a smart rap on the face. The sting of the blow had the

effect of partly restoring his mental faculties. Gaining a firmer

grip of the basket, he took stock of his surroundings.

 

The surface of the water was coated with a deposit of oil, for part

of the cargo of X 5 had consisted of turps, linseed, and lubricating

oil in casks. One effect of the explosion of the shell had been to

liberate the contents of the casks; another, the oil acted as an

antidote to the coldness of the water.

 

Before the haze of smoke had completely disappeared Pyecroft drew the

basket over his head. Within there was enough space to keep his head

clear of the water, and at the same time there remained considerable

buoyancy on the part of the stout wicker-work.

 

Presently the outlines of the U-boat that had been responsible for

Pyecroft's predicament became visible. She was slowly forging ahead.

Her deck was deserted. She was preparing to submerge.

 

"She's gone," he soliloquised. "That's a blessing. I wouldn't swop

places with Cumberleigh for a tenner."

 

He dodged outside his place of concealment and glanced around. A

hundred yards away was the water-logged _Pip-squeak_. Even with her

garboard smashed the staunchly built boat kept afloat.

 

"Wonder if I can do it?" thought the swimmer.

 

Fumbling with benumbed fingers to draw a knife from his pocket, he

proceeded to cut the laces of his leggings.

 

"There's thirty-one and six gone," he muttered ruefully. "An' they

aren't paid for yet."

 

His boots were likewise ruthlessly sacrificed. Then, quitting his

hold of the basket, he struck out towards the derelict boat. A few

strokes convinced him that the overhand method of swimming has its

disadvantages when hampered with sodden clothing. The breast stroke,

he found, required comparatively little effort, yet by the time he

covered that hundred yards he felt that he had reached the limit of

his prowess in the swimming line.

 

Grasping the gunwale, Pyecroft attempted to clamber into the boat,

with the result that the water-logged boat dipped completely under

his weight.

 

At the second attempt he slithered over the transom and, still

submerged, lightly grasped one of the thwarts. Here was a precarious

shelter. Provided he made no attempt to draw himself clear of the

water, there was just sufficient buoyancy to keep him afloat.

 

His next task--there was little time before he would be overcome by

the cold--was to unship the mast and lash it to the thwarts. Thrice

the boat dipped before the effort met with success. The stout spar,

secured to the thwarts by the main-sheets and halliards, added

considerably to the liveliness of the boat.

 

An oar, amongst other flotsam, drifted alongside. This Pyecroft

secured, and by its aid added another oar, although of different

length, to his life-saving appliances. A circular life-buoy and a

couple of empty petrol tins were also taken possession of; these he

lashed under thwarts, with the result that the boat's gunwales showed

four inches above the surface amidships.

 

Groping on the bottom boards, the young officer discovered a pair of

gun-metal rowlocks that had apparently escaped the eye of the

destructive Hun. Thus equipped, he began to row for the distant

shore. It was hard work. At the best the water-logged craft made a bare mile

an hour, but the effect of the heavy toil was to bring warmth to the

man's chilled body and limbs. Setting his jaw tightly, he held on,

glancing from time to time over his shoulder in the direction of the

cliffs, now growing dim in the dusk of approaching night.