The Mystery Ship 21

The Mystery Ship 21

There was no lack of offers of assistance. The men knew that whether

guilty or innocent they would have to suffer. They had no definite

plan. It was merely a sudden conflagration on the part of men stifled

by adverse conditions. Carried away by the unexpected turn of events,

their seething discontent flared up into the red flame of mutiny.

 

"Down with von Preugfeld!" hissed Krauss. "Come with me, brothers!"

 

Maintaining a certain amount of caution, a dozen of the mutineers

swarmed up the fore-hatch and made their way aft. Von Preugfeld,

seated in the deck-chair and deep in a book, took no heed of their

approach until, with a cat-like spring, Krauss leapt upon him. The

chair collapsed. The kapitan and his assailant fell on the deck in a

confused heap.

 

Although a bully and a coward by nature, von Preugfeld put up a stiff

fight when cornered. Recovering from his sudden surprise, he fought

and struggled desperately, shouting in vain to von Loringhoven for

assistance. The unter-leutnant was at that moment being held by two

stalwart Frisian seamen.

 

Over and over rolled von Preugfeld and his attacker. Punching,

kicking, snarling and even biting, the two tackled each other

tenaciously--the blue-blooded Prussian and the plebeian

Frisian--while the rest of the mutineers looked on with evident

relish, until it occurred to them that they might have a hand in the

discomfiture of their hated taskmaster.

 

It was not until half a dozen had thrown themselves upon the wellnigh

breathless von Preugfeld that the unequal struggle ended. The

ober-leutnant was bound hand and foot and secured to a ring-bolt--an

object for derision and coarse jests from his captors.

 

Shouting to the quartermaster to telegraph to the engine-room to stop

the motors, Furst, who by common consent was acclaimed the

ringleader, ordered all hands on deck. The mutineers' first council

of war was about to begin.

 

The outbreak had been spontaneous. A general mutiny of submarine

crews had been thought about, and the idea was taking firm root; but

this ebullition was almost unpremeditated. The men had no definite

plan. They were literally and metaphorically at sea.

 

"Let's hoist the Red Flag," suggested one. "Our comrades on the other

_unterseebooten_ will join us."

 

"Unless we meet an English ship of war in the meanwhile," added

another. "I propose we hoist the White Flag and take the boat into an

English port. We'll be well treated."

 

"Yes," admitted Furst; "but what will happen after the war? Supposing

the English treat us as mutineers and hand us over to Germany when

peace is signed? What then?"

 

"And I, for another, wish to get back to my wife and children,"

exclaimed a mutineer of timorous fibre. "I vote we alter our course

for Hamburg or Wilhelmshaven."

 

"And what then?" demanded Krauss scornfully. "There'll be questions

asked. We will be put under arrest straight away and no doubt shot.

That's not good enough."

 

"It will be all right if we throw these pigs overboard," said Furst,

indicating the two officers, who were now both lying bound on deck.

"We can say that they were swept overboard in heavy weather. We must

all stick to the same tale. It will be of no use for anyone to betray

us. We're all hand in glove in this business."

 

"Supposing an English ship of war does appear?" queried the timorous

one. "We'll be sunk at sight. You know the way they have."

 

"We could submerge," declared Krauss loftily.

 

"And who will take command if we do," persisted the man. "I know of

no one of us able to manage this boat under water. I'd rather take my

chance and hoist the White Flag. Besides, haven't we English

prisoners--officers--on board? They might help us if we treated them

well."

 

"That is so," admitted Furst. "Meanwhile we'll steer east for

Germany."

 

"Who is navigator?" asked a mechanic. "Do you know anything of

navigation, Hans Furst?"

 

Furst was obliged to admit that he knew but little. Taking

observations--a very necessary accomplishment when one has to thread

a way through mine-fields--was beyond him.

 

"I'll try," he added. "We can but hope for the best. But now we must

first get rid of these."

 

He pointed to the late kapitan and unter-leutnant of U 247.

 

"Shoot them," suggested the revengeful Krauss.

 

"Too easy a death," objected Furst. "We'll toss them overboard."

 

Some of the men moved aft to carry out the suggestion, but Furst

called on them to stand by.

 

"Cast off those lashings," he ordered, with a grim laugh. "We'll give

them a chance to swim for it. The nearest land is only about two

hundred miles away. It will give them time to think over things.

Start up those motors again and get way on her."

 

The men obeyed promptly. The idea of seeing their former officers

struggling for life "in the ditch" appealed to their innate cruelty.

After all, they argued, they were only revenging themselves upon two

tyrants who had shown no mercy to the crews of British merchant

vessels they had sunk.

 

Von Loringhoven squealed like a stuck pig when he saw one of the

seamen advancing with a drawn knife. With a couple of deft cuts the

unter-leutnant's bonds were severed. Two brawny men seized him by

arms and legs and with a swinging heave tossed him over the side into

the water.

 

Von Preugfeld, cursing, imploring and struggling, shared the same

fate, his exit watched by all the hands on deck save one, who,

evidently lacking the nerve to witness the tragedy, had stepped

unobserved to the other side of the conning-tower.

 

Then, increasing her speed to twelve knots, U 247 turned eight

degrees to port and headed for the distant shore of Germany, leaving

von Preugfeld and his subordinate struggling for life in the cold

waters of the North Sea.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XVIII

 

A BIG PROPOSITION

 

 

"KNOW anything about motor bikes?" inquired Morpeth, helping himself

to a liberal chunk of margarine and pushing the earthenware jar

across to his companion. "After you with the jam. Thank heaven it's

not the everlasting plum and apple!"

 

Meredith and the "owner" of Q 171 were at tea in the ward-room.

Wakefield was taking deck duties in conjunction with the Q-boat's

official sub-lieutenant--a youth of twenty, Ainslie by name.

 

Tea was served in war time fashion afloat--an iron-moulded

table-cloth, two enamelled cups, plates of the same material, and

wooden-handled steel knives that had evidently not made the

acquaintance of a knife-board since they came aboard. A loaf of large

and decidedly ancient appearance, a pot of jam and a generous pat of

margarine (referred to in conversation as nut-butter) formed the

edible part of the feast. Black, strongly brewed tea, condensed milk

and moist sugar in more senses than one combined to provide liquid

refreshment. The whole contents of the swing table were executing a

rhythmic dance with the vibrations of the twin engines, the propeller

shafts of which ran under and on either side of the table.

 

"I have one," replied Meredith. "At least I believe I have--unless

my young brother has pinched it," he added feelingly and with the

knowledge of past experiences. "Why?"

 

"Rather curious to know what you paid for it?" replied Morpeth.

 

"As a matter of fact I got it a great bargain from a pal of mine who

was given a commission in '15," replied Meredith. "Twenty-two

pounds."

 

"I guess I can beat that," remarked the R.N.R. officer, deliberately

and deftly harpooning a slice of bread in the act of skimming over

the fidleys on to the floor. "I bought one for a sovereign."

 

"Scrap iron, then," declared Kenneth.

 

"No; in good running order," continued Morpeth, "twin cylinders,

magneto, countershaft, kick starter and all that sort of

fake-a-lorum. True, the old 'bus had been in the ditch for a

fortnight. Do you remember when the old _Tantalus_ was torpedoed some

while back? They got her into shallow water down Cornwall. Well, this

motor bike was on board. Bought it from a chap called Farrar, who

told me he had bought it from a marine officer for four bob and had

refused a fiver for it as the vessel was sinking. Spent best part of

seven days' leave cleaning the thing up, and now, by Jove!----"