The Mystery Ship 7

The Mystery Ship 7

Without motive power the submarine was helpless for under-water work.

She could fill her ballast tanks, but it would be impossible to sink

only to a required depth. She would sink rapidly until the tremendous

external pressure of water would crush her thick steel hull like an

egg-shell.

 

"How long will it take you to make good defects?" demanded von

Preugfeld of the thoroughly scared mechanic. "Half an hour--twenty

minutes?"

 

"I will try, Herr Kapitan. Perhaps in half an hour----"

 

"Then get on with the task," almost shouted the excitable

ober-leutnant. "First couple up the surface-cruising engines. Von

Loringhoven, turn out the guns' crews. If that motor vessel comes in

sight we must try and settle her before she uses her depth-charges,

or it will be all up with us. Ten thousand curses on von Preussen for

having got us into this mess!"

 

Although scared himself, von Loringhoven could not help smiling at

his superior's words. He realised that the spy had little or nothing

to do with U 247's present predicament. It was just possible that the

concussion caused by the bombardment of Aberspey might have set up a

short circuit, but von Preugfeld would never admit that.

 

At frequent intervals the U-boat's engines were stopped. The noise of

the unseen motor vessel's exhaust alternately grew louder and

fainter. Somewhere in that baffling mist was the danger. Engaged in

a mutual game of maritime blind man's bluff the submarine and the

submarine-hunter were groping for each other. At any moment a rift in

the veil of fog might bring the adversaries almost broadside to

broadside.

 

Von Preugfeld glanced at the luminous dial of his watch.

 

"Fifteen minutes more," he muttered. "Will it be in time?"

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER VI

 

PICKED UP

 

 

"PULL starboard; back port!... Give way together!" ordered

Lieutenant-Commander Wakefield, as the blunt bows of the U-boat

appeared through the dispersing fog-bank.

 

The men obeyed with a will. Almost in its own length the "tin" dinghy

spun round and darted towards the pall of misty vapour. It was a

dog's chance, and the men realised it, but they were not going to

throw up the sponge without a determined effort to escape.

 

Alas for the bold resolve! With a rapidity that was little short of

miraculous for a vessel of her type, the U-boat turned to starboard.

Then, with her engines reversed, she brought up dead with her bows

within an oar's length of the M.L.'s dinghy.

 

Right for'ard were half a dozen men clad in oilskins. One of them

brandished a long boat-hook.

 

"Game's up, Fritz," shouted an unmistakable Devonshire voice. "Be yu

comin' quiet-like?"

 

For a moment the men sat dumfounded. Then Wakefield laughed

mirthlessly.

 

"She's one of our new submarines!" he exclaimed. "And we've been

engaging her by mistake. Good heavens, what a proper lash up! Make

fast there!"

 

The bowman threw a coil of rope, and as the boat swung alongside the

giant submarine Wakefield leapt on board, followed by Meredith.

 

The surprise of M.L. 1071's officers was more than equalled by the

consternation of the skipper of the submarine, who burst out into a

torrent of eager questions.

 

"Then I've sunk you, by Jove!" exclaimed the latter. "How was I to

know? Why the deuce didn't you make your private signal? You fired

first, you know."

 

"Admitted," replied Wakefield. "We spotted what we took to be a

U-boat and, having had official information that none of our

submarines was within eighty miles of us, we naturally let rip the

moment we sighted you."

 

He gave a quick glance at the deck and superstructure.

 

"Any damage?" he asked.

 

The other smiled grimly.

 

"Not to us... 'Fraid I cannot congratulate you on the excellence of

your gunnery. Every shell went overhead handsomely."

 

The gun-layer of M.L. 1071's six-pounder, overhearing the remark,

groaned at the slight upon his marksmanship.

 

"Sorry I can't return the compliment," observed Wakefield. "You

caught us a beauty--only it failed to explode or we wouldn't be here.

As it is, I've lost my command and sustained a couple of casualties.

Rough luck!"

 

"Rough luck indeed!" rejoined the other sympathetically. "Come below

and have a glass of grog. I'll have your men attended to. We must cut

your boat adrift, I'm afraid."

 

Meredith followed the two lieutenant-commanders to the little

ward-room, which, though small, was not chock-a-block with the usual

appendages to a submarine's officers' quarters.

 

The skipper of the boat threw off his oilskin, revealing a burly

figure rigged out in the uniform of a lieutenant-commander R.N.R. In

height he was over six feet, with massive neck and bull-dog features.

His face was tanned a deep red that contrasted vividly with his

light-blue eyes and white, even teeth. From the outer corner of his

left eye to within an inch of the extremity of his jaw-bone ran a

greyish scar that tended to accentuate the grim tenacity of

__EXPRESSION__.

 

"Sit you down," he said, in unmistakably Northumbrian accents. "A

stiff peg will pull you fellows together, although the sun's not over

the fore-yard. But let that slide. What's your name?"

 

Wakefield gave the required information and introduced Meredith to

the burly R.N.R. skipper.

 

"Morpeth's my tally," announced the latter, in answer to Wakefield's

inquiry: "Geordie Morpeth, or 'Tough Geordie,' as they used to call

me when I was first mate in the Foul Anchor Line--them that runs

cattle boats to Monte Video, you might remember."

 

"Tough work, eh?" inquired Wakefield.

 

"You're about right," agreed Morpeth. "Handling a crew of Dagoes and

such-like takes a bit of doing. My present job is an easy one in

comparison."

 

"What made you go in for the Submarine Service?" asked Meredith.

 

The bull-necked R.N.R. officer leant back in his chair and laughed

uproariously.

 

"Got you cold, by Jove!" he ejaculated. "Submarine Service--a

precious lot I know about it, 'cept that I know a U-boat when I spot

her. Leastways, I thought I did until I mistook your hooker for

Fritz: but you fired on me first, my man. Ha! ha! ha! Submarine

indeed!"

 

"Well, isn't this one?" inquired Wakefield.

 

"She won't submerge unless a Hun tinfish gets her," replied Morpeth

oracularly. "And that ain't likely, since Fritz can't distinguish

between a real U-boat and this old hooker. We're just a decoy."

 

"Sort of Q-boat?" asked Meredith.

 

"You've about hit it, old thing," replied the R.N.R. man. "We're just

off to the Heligoland Bight to see if that fish will bite. Excuse my

joke. Hope you're not in a hurry, 'cause you'll have to be shipmates

along with us for the next fortnight."

 

"Any old job'll suit me," said Wakefield. "The only thing that

troubles me is how we are to get in touch with the S.N.O., Auldhaig.

We'll be posted as missing and all that sort of thing."

 

"Can't help you there," declared Morpeth. "We don't get in touch with

patrolling craft during this stunt for a very good reason. They'd

fire on us at sight long before we could establish our identity."

 

"Why not wireless?" suggested Meredith.

 

"We've got a wireless rigged up, but we don't use it except in cases

of actual danger," explained Morpeth. "Once we start sending out

messages all our chances go by the board. Fritz might intercept them,

and there you are. We'll receive as many as they care to send, and a

fine old collection we've got. You should see our wireless decoder

with his German signal code-book. That's the way to get a true

insight into the U-boat campaign. No, gentlemen, it can't be did; but

I'll do my level best to make you comfortable. There's a spare bunk

in my cabin, Mr. Wakefield, and Mr. Meredith can have a hammock slung

in the ward-room. As for grub, there's enough and to spare for all

hands."

 

"Good enough!" exclaimed Wakefield heartily. "Only I hope you've got

a job for us?"

 

"You trust me for that," rejoined the R.N.R. officer grimly.

 

He glanced at the clock on the after-bulkhead.

 

"Seven bells," he remarked. "We've spent a solid hour kagging away

when we ought to be turned in. It'll be daybreak in another hour. Tired?"