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