A Sub Of the R.N.R - A Story of the Great War

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Title: A Sub. of the R.N.R.

A Story of the Great War

Author: Percy F. Westerman

Illustrator: W.E. Wigfull

Release Date: November 30, 2015 [EBook #50578]

Language: English

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*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SUB. OF THE R.N.R. ***

Produced by R.G.P.M. van Giesen

[Illustration: cover art]

A SUB. OF THE R.N.R.

[Illustration: "Crash! went the anti-aircraft gun, and the

projectile, bursting almost in front of the bows, gave her a mortal

blow."]

A SUB. OF THE R.N.R.

_A STORY OF THE GREAT WAR_

BY

PERCY F. WESTERMAN

AUTHOR OF "THE RIVAL SUBMARINES," "THE DREADNOUGHT OF THE AIR"

ETC., ETC.

_ILLUSTRATED BY W. E. WIGFULL_

LONDON

S. W. PARTRIDGE & CO., LTD.

OLD BAILEY

  CONTENTS.

 CHAPTER

      I. FOUL PLAY IN THE ENGINE-ROOM

     II. ON THE SCENT

    III. THE DECLARATION OF WAR

   IV. A DOUBLE ARR

 V. BOARDED

    VI. AN OCEAN DUEL

    VII. VON ECKENHARDT SCORES

   VIII. THE DUTCH TRAWLER

    IX. THE SECRET WIRELESS

     X. H.M.S. "STRONGBOW" SAILS

     XI. ALL IN A DAY'S WORK

    XII. MINED

   XIII. THE RAID ON SCARBOROUGH

    XIV. THE END OF THE "TERRIER"

   XV. VICE VERSÂ

    XVI. THE FLOORING OF MR. MCNAB

     XVII. THE END OF THE "BLUECHER"

  XVIII. DERELICTS

  XIX. THE SUBMARINE SCORES

   XX. A DUEL WITH A ZEPPELIN

    XXI. THE LAST OF THE "SYNTAX"

  XXII. THE TABLES TURNED

  XXIII. THE STRUGGLE IN THE CUTTING

  XXIV. THE "STRONGBOW'S" PRIZE

XXV. THE WRECK

 XXVI. "THE PRICE OF ADMIRALTY"

  XXVII. "MEPHISTO" AND THE SUBMARINE

 XXVIII. THE FOILED AIR RAID

   XXIX. "LIEUTENANT AUBYN, R.N., D.S.O."

A SUB. OF THE R.N.R.

CHAPTER I.

FOUL PLAY IN THE ENGINE-ROOM.

"WELL, Mr. McBride?"

"It's verra far from weel, sir," replied Jock McBride, chief engineer

of the SS. "Saraband." Captain Ramshaw folded his arms and waited. He

knew that it was practically a matter of impossibility to urge the

rugged Scottish engineer beyond his usual gait. McBride could and did

work at high pressure, but when it came to making a report he was as

slow and stolid as the proverbial obstinate mule.

The SS. "Saraband," 5260 tons, intermediate boat of the Red Band

Line, had developed engine troubles shortly after leaving Cape Town.

In spite of the assiduous care and attention of the staff the fault

developed. Two hundred miles from Las Palmas the breakdown reached a

climax. Wallowing like a porpoise the steamer lay helpless in the

trough of the Atlantic rollers.

"Ye ken ye tauld me to do three things, sir," resumed McBride.

"Firstly, to discover the fault, secondly, to remedy it, an' lastly,

to prevent it from occurring again? We'll take case the furrst: here

'tis."

The chief engineer extended a black greasy hand. In the outstretched

palm was an oily mass of metal chippings.

"This is a sample from the high-pressure slide valves. They're badly

scored. It's nae fair play, for as sure as ma name's Jock McBride,

this muck has been put in the gear deliberately. I'll hae ye to ken

that both port and starboard engines are damaged."

"While we were in Table Bay?"

"Of course, sir, when we took down the high-pressure cylinders."

"The work was performed by our own staff?"

"Aye, wurrst luck, by one of our ain people."

McBride's lean, tanned face was purple with ill-suppressed anger.

"If I could discover the mon I'd not wait for the law to wurrk its

course; I'd lay him oot an' stand the consequences. The remedy, sir,

is simple, but 'tis the prevention that troubles me. If it is done

wance, 'twill most likely occur again--unless I lay my hand on the

mon."

"How many of the staff know of this?" asked Captain Ramshaw, pointing

to the steel filings.

"Only Meester Raeburn, sir, and he's as guid a lad as ever I hope to

have under me. It was he who removed the stuff an' showed it me."

"Then caution him to keep his mouth shut on the business, Mr.

McBride. When can you promise to have steam raised?"

"A matter of twa' hours after we've re-assembled the high-pressure

slide valves and the auxiliary starting valves, sir."

"Very good, Mr. McBride, that will do."

The chief engineer saluted and hurried off to the engine-room, while

Captain Ramshaw made his way to the bridge, which was in charge of

Chief Officer Lymore and the fourth officer, Terence Aubyn.

Mr. Lymore, a short, broad-shouldered, powerfully built man, looked

inquiringly at his superior officer as the skipper mounted the

bridge.

"McBride's found the cause of the mischief, Mr. Lymore," announced

Captain Ramshaw. "I do not want either you or Mr. Aubyn to mention

the matter to any of the passengers and crew, and Mr. McBride has

undertaken to conceal the knowledge from his staff with the exception

of Mr. Raeburn. I think the secret can be safely trusted with those

whose names I've mentioned."

"You can rely upon us, sir," said the chief officer, and Terence

Aubyn touched his cap in acquiescence.

"There's underhand work somewhere," continued the "old man." "McBride

informs me that metal scrap has been surreptitiously placed in the

high-pressure cylinders, and that it must have been done while the

engines were being overhauled at Cape Town. As we had no outside

help, the culprit or culprits must have been one of our own men."

"For what reason, do you suppose, sir?"

"That I cannot say. The engineers are, I think, absolutely

trustworthy. The firemen are apparently contented. They are paid at

rates considerably higher than those demanded by their Union. They

have no cause to be affected by labour troubles. And yet some one has

deliberately attempted to delay the ship by maliciously tampering

with the engines.

"Will it be a long job, sir?" asked Lymore.

"I think not. One blessing, the sea's fairly calm and the passengers

don't appear to be unduly anxious. There is now no necessity to send

a call for assistance. You might go to the wireless-room, Mr. Aubyn,

and tell the operator to inform our agents that the repairs are well

in hand, and that we hope to arrive at Las Palmas by daybreak

to-morrow."

Terence Aubyn saluted and hurried off. Keen on his work he realized

the desirability of executing all orders "at the double." Alacrity

afloat, he knew, is a sure password for success, and already he had

the reputation of being a smart young officer.

He was barely twenty-two years of age, tall, slimly built yet

well-proportioned. His complexion was normally fresh, but constant

exposure to a tropical sun and the stinging salt spray of the

Atlantic had tanned his skin to a rich deep red. His dark brown hair,

in spite of being closely cut, showed a decided tendency to wave. His

eyes were rather deep set and of a greyish hue, and were surrounded

by a pair of regularly curved eyebrows. The depth of his forehead

indicated a sound judgment, while his powerful square jaw betokened a

firmness almost bordering on obstinacy.

Terence Aubyn had from his earliest days a strong and passionate love

of the sea. He came of an old naval family. For generations back the

Aubyns had served their sovereign worthily as officers in the Royal

Navy, and Terence fondly hoped to tread the quarter deck of a British

battleship as a fully commissioned naval officer.

But hitherto the fates had not been kind to the lad.

While he was still a lieutenant Terence's father had to retire, owing

to ill-health. His disability pension was absolutely insufficient for

him to hope to send his son to Osborne. Two years later Mr. Aubyn

died, leaving Terence, then a promising youth of fourteen, to make

his own way in the world.

The lad had plenty of grit. He was determined to go to sea, although

the immediate prospect of service under the White Ensign seemed to be

very remote. There was a way--the hitherto somewhat despised "back

door" method via the Red and Blue ensigns; and although he could not

hope to be anything more than a Royal Naval Reserve officer, the

chance of serving as such in a British man-of-war slowly but surely

changed from a shadow to a substance.

So Terence offered himself at the "Red Band" Line offices as an

apprentice and was accepted. Perhaps it was a mistake. It might have

been better for him to have served part of his apprenticeship in a

sailing vessel. Be that as it may his application and activity gained

him the good opinion of the various masters under whom he served, and

with flying colours he obtained his Mate's and First Mate's

certificates.

Two years later, having secured his "Master's Ticket," he was

appointed to SS. "Saraband." The way was now clear for him to apply

for a sub-lieutenancy in the Royal Naval Reserve, for, although only

fourth officer, the ship exceeded 5000 tons; otherwise he would have

to wait until he was advanced another grade in mercantile rank. At

the end of the present voyage he hoped to put in his first

twenty-eight days training on board a battleship or cruiser.

The "Saraband," though by no means a crack liner, was a fairly swift

boat. Built before the days of turbine engines she could even now

develop nineteen knots. She was homeward bound, carrying thirty

first-class passengers, seventy second-class, and a hundred and

seventy "steerage." In addition to a heavy cargo, specie and bullion

to the value of a quarter of a million was locked up in her

strong-room.

Almost as soon as the "Saraband" cleared Table Bay trouble developed

in her engines. Unaccountably the bearings of the main shafting

became badly overheated, then a peculiar grinding noise, so foreign

to the smoothly purring engines that were the pride and delight of

Chief Engineer McBride, became apparent. Finally, to prevent a

complete breakdown, the "Saraband" was stopped in mid-ocean while

McBride and his staff ascertained and rectified the damage.

The old Scotsman was right. Some one had maliciously tampered with

the machinery--but for what purpose?

The fourth officer made his way to the wireless-room and knocked at

the door. He was answered by Wilcox, the second operator. A glimpse

into the room revealed Grant, the senior man, seated at a table with

the receivers clipped to his ears.

"Anything special?" asked Aubyn casually, after he had delivered the

"old man's" instructions.

"Slightly," drawled Wilcox. He invariably drawled, no matter the

importance of whatever he was about to convey. "Message just come

through. Germany has declared war on Russia and has invaded French

territory."

"By Jove! That sounds exciting," commented Aubyn.

"Perhaps," rejoined the wireless operator. "For one thing it will

give the ship's newspaper a friendly lead. There's been precious

little in it for the last three days. I'm just sending out the

notices," and he held up a sheaf of duplicated papers for

distribution in various parts of the ship. "Would you mind taking

them to the bridge."

In five minutes the news had spread all over the "Saraband." The

hitherto lethargic passengers developed intense excitement, and great

was the speculation as to when the trouble would end.

"A jolly good thing for us," observed one of the first-class

passengers, as Terence passed along the promenade deck. "It will

spoil Germany's trade for a while, and we can collar the lot while

her hands are full."

"Unless we are drawn in," remarked another.

"Rot!" ejaculated the first contemptuously. "The Government would

never allow it. Take my word for it: we'll adopt the same attitude as

we did in '70--strict neutrality and make as much as we can out of

all the belligerents. The idea of war between Great Britain and

Germany is preposterous."

The fourth officer passed on. Much as he would have liked to hear the

continuation of the argument he was unable to delay returning to his

post.

Shortly after Aubyn's arrival on the bridge, a large German liner,

the "Hertzolf," bore down upon the "Saraband." She had some time

previously picked up the British vessel's wireless reports of her

disabled condition, and in spite of Captain Ramshaw's refusal to

accept assistance, had steamed out of her course to investigate.

After receiving reiterated assurances that the work of repairing the

machinery was well in hand, the "Hertzolf" inquired how long the task

would take.

"Tell them we are almost ready to get up steam," ordered the "old

man," somewhat nettled. "Thank them for their inquiries, and say

that we will not detain them longer."

Five minutes later the "Hertzolfs" propellers began to churn the

water. Gathering way she dipped her red, white, and black ensign, a

compliment that the "Saraband" promptly returned. This done she

shaped a course to the sou'-west and was soon hull-down.

"Too jolly inquisitive for my liking," muttered Captain Ramshaw. "I

wish to goodness old McBride would get his job finished." He moved

towards the telephone communicating with the engine-room, then,

abruptly wheeling:--

"Mr. Aubyn," he exclaimed. "Present my compliments to the chief

engineer, and ask him if he can give me any definite information as

to when he will be able to raise steam."

CHAPTER II.

ON THE SCENT.

FOURTH Officer Aubyn knew that it was for no ordinary purpose that he

had been sent with a message to the chief engineer. It was most

unusual for a deck-officer to have to go to the engine-room on duty.

There was something beyond a normal anxiety to know when the ship

would be able to raise steam that caused Captain Ramshaw to make an

inquiry from the bridge without using the telephone.

It was a diplomatic stroke on the part of the "old man." He knew by

experience that McBride could be easily led, while on the other hand

the dour old Scotsman would not be driven. It was not a case of

preferential treatment in the case of the chief engineer. Captain

Ramshaw invariably treated all his subordinates alike, giving his

orders in a bland, courteous manner that rarely failed to produce an

instant response on the part of those with whom he had to come in

contact. Yet from the chief officer down to the pantry-boy no one on

board would dare to take undue advantage of the skipper's courtesy.

Woe betide the unlucky man to whom Captain Ramshaw had to give the

same order twice. There had been instances, but not on board the SS.

"Saraband." The good understanding between the captain, officers, and

crew made her the counterpart of a "happy ship" in the Royal Navy.

But now, for the first time on record during Captain Ramshaw's

command, a dirty piece of work had been done on board--seemingly

unaccountably. Some one in the engine-room had committed a dastardly

crime. Captain Ramshaw would not rest until the culprit had been

spotted; for with the safety of the ship, passengers, crew, and

cargo, and in the interests of the owners, it was absolutely

necessary to discover the identity of the offender.

Terence opened the door of the engine-room and paused. Between the

bars of the "fidley" wafts of hot air and steam, mingled with the

nauseating odours of burning oil, eddied upwards. At his feet gaped a

vague, ill-lighted cavern, the only approach to which was by means of

a series of short, shining steel ladders.

As his eyes grew accustomed to the semi-gloom the outlines of the

gleaming masses of intricate machinery became apparent; a bewildering

array of polished steel, copper, and brass. A subdued roar, mingled

with the clatter of drills and tapping of hammers and men's voices

shouting peremptory orders came from the metal cavern. The auxiliary

engines, for supplying power to the derricks and for lighting

purposes, were fortunately intact.

It was new ground to Terence Aubyn, and hardly a place where "white

ducks" could be considered _de rigeur_. Grasping the hand-rail he

descended cautiously till his feet came in contact with the slippery

iron gangway by the side of the now motionless piston-heads. At the

extremity of the platform, confronted by a number of indicators, the

senior engineers on duty were generally to be found; but McBride was

not there.

Another length of vertical ladder had to be negotiated, with

seemingly little space for the descending man between the rungs and a

complication of gleaming copper pipes that threatened to hit him in

the back. To add to Aubyn's discomfort, the motion of the vessel in

the trough of the sullen rollers was unpleasantly noticeable. On deck

he revelled in the undulating movement. In the stuffy engine-room it

was very different.

"A proper death-trap if anything goes wrong," thought he. "Thank

goodness I'm a deck-officer."

Terence had to descend three more lengths of ladder before he reached

the plates of the engine-bed. Here there were men in swarms, for the

most part greasers in dungaree suits. Amongst them Aubyn spotted

Kenneth Raeburn, looking very different from his spruce appearance in

the engineers' mess or when he went ashore.

Raeburn and Aubyn were good pals. Whenever, between the intervals of

stowing and unloading the cargo in the holds, Terence was able to get

ashore, they generally contrived to be in each other's company.

The third engineer was generally voted "a decent sort" by his

messmates. His case was very similar to that of Terence Aubyn; for he

had been intended for the Royal Navy until a drastic modification of

the regulations, whereby cadets had eventually to specialize in

marine engineering, had put him out of the running. He, too, held a

commission in the Royal Naval Reserve, and in the natural buoyancy of

his spirits, Kenneth Raeburn often hoped for the time when Great

Britain and Germany were to measure their strength for the supremacy

of the sea. Then, he realized, would be the chance for mercantile

officers in the R.N.R. to prove their worth as effective assistants

to their comrades of the Royal Navy.

"Looking for McBride?" repeated Raeburn. "He's down the tunnel. The

main-shaft bearings are seized up. Beastly job. You won't be able to

get to him, old chap."

"I must," said Terence firmly.

"At the expense of your uniform then. I'll find him. Follow me."

At the head of the next ladder Raeburn paused.

"I think I've spotted the rascal," he announced. "Keep behind me.

When I drop a spanner, have a look at the fellow we're passing. I'll

tell you more later on."

Along the electrically lighted platform the two young officers made

their way, frequently stepping over the prostrate bodies of greasers

who were tackling an intricate job under the supervision of the

second engineer.

With a clatter the spanner dropped on the metal floor within a few

inches of a tall, broad-shouldered, fair-haired man, dressed like his

companions in a very dirty boiler suit. The fellow was lying on his

side with his hands above his face as he secured an

intricately-placed hexagonal nut. Hearing the clatter he turned his

head, stifled an imprecation, and grasping the spanner, held it at

arm's length for Raeburn to take.

Aubyn glanced at the man's face. Although outwardly a casual look he

marked the fellow's features. He was convinced that he had not seen

him before, but that was not to be wondered at, as there is no

necessity for the deck-officers to know the greasers and firemen

individually as in the case of the deckhands. Nevertheless, he felt

certain that he would know the man again.

"Hang on a few moments," bawled Raeburn, for the noise in this

quarter was deafening. He vanished, leaving Terence in his

unaccustomed and distasteful surroundings while he went to find his

chief.

Presently McBride appeared, dirty, smothered in oil and perspiring

like the proverbial bull. The chief engineer was one of those

officers who was not content with mere supervision. When work of an

urgent nature, such as the present, was at hand, he tackled it

methodically and deliberately.

"Ma compliments to Captain Ramshaw," said McBride, when Terence had

delivered his message, "but I'll nae commit mesel'. The wurrk is

takin' longer than I anticipated, and we're doin' double shifts to

set things aright. Gie' him to onderstan' that directly we are able

to raise steam, steam will be raised, but not before."

"Haven't you any idea?" asked Aubyn.

"Nay, I'll nae commit mesel'," reiterated the chief engineer, and

without another word he hastened back to his cramped quarters in the

tunnel of the starboard main shafting.

Raeburn followed his chum to the engine-room door.

"Look me up at seven bells to-night," he said. "We'll do a little

amateur detective business. That greaser I pointed out is new to the

ship. Joined us at Southampton. There's nothing out of the ordinary

about that, but on one or two nights I've noticed him talking to a

second-class passenger. On the first occasion I stumbled upon them by

accident, and they shut up like oysters. Then when the trouble

developed, I remarked this somewhat unusual meeting and kept a watch.

At the same hour these two met, and the passenger handed our man a

small packet of something. It might have been tobacco, of course; but

curiously enough we've discovered the cause of the bearings of the

two main shafts seizing and getting almost red-hot. There were

phosphor-bronze filings in the drip lubricators. Now, it's a

remarkable thing that it was part of this greaser's duties--Stone is

his name, by the by--to attend to the lubrication of these bearings;

and I'll swear he couldn't get hold of phosphor-bronze filings from

the engineers' stores. So I want you to keep a lookout on the

passenger; I don't know his name, but if you see them you can easily

find that out."

"Why not inform McBride?" asked Terence.

"When I have proof," replied Raeburn. "So look out for me at seven

bells."

The fourth officer returned to the bridge and reported the result of

his brief interview.

"Very good, Mr. Aubyn," was Captain Ramshaw's only comment.

The "old man" was disappointed but not nettled by McBride's message.

H e had great faith in the old Scotsman, and only sheer anxiety had

prompted him to obtain a report of the progress of operations from

the chief engineer. There was nothing to do but to wait patiently.

The rest of the day passed almost without incident, except that

Grant, the wireless operator, reported a partial "jamming" of the

aerial waves. Messages were received in a very disjointed form, and

in spite of the fact that Grant requested the unknown disturber to

release the "jamb," owing to the receipt of unintelligible reports,

his efforts were in vain. Some vessels on shore-stations using a

differently "tuned" installation were literally holding the air. The

curious part of the business was that the "Saraband" received several

messages in which the words "neutrality of Belgium" figured largely,

but beyond that no enlightening context was obtainable.

During the afternoon Terence Aubyn had to exercise the gun-crews at

drill with one of the two 4.7's that had recently been fitted to the

ship. These weapons, mounted aft, one on each quarter, were for the

purpose of keeping up a running fight in the event of the outbreak of

war. They would enable the ship to beat off the possible attack of a

hostile commerce-destroyer, or at any rate prolong the action until

the arrival of a British cruiser.

Aubyn was very keen on this part of his duties. It was, until he had

undergone his training in the Royal Navy, a purely honorary task.

Later on he might hope to draw a modest ten pounds a year from the

National Exchequer for his ability to perform a combatant duty. From

a pecuniary point of view it did not seem very promising, but the

fourth officer was used to meagre pay for much work. He had to be

able to "read the heavens," to use at least a dozen highly

complicated nautical instruments, to undergo a strenuous scientific

training, and to take sole charge of a ship during his watch. Lives

and property of incalculable value were in his hands, yet his pay was

an amount at which many a sleek, discontented clerk would turn up his

nose in utter disgust.

For half an hour Terence kept his gun's crew hard at it, going

through imaginary loading exercises and training the docile weapon at

imaginary targets, to the great interest of most of the passengers

and to the ill-bred scorn of others who derided the whole business as

idiotic make-believe.

This done the fourth officer was at leisure for rest and sleep until

turned out at 4 a.m. to take his watch.

At the hour agreed upon Aubyn met Raeburn outside the engineers'

mess. It was now pitch dark, for in the Tropics there is little or no

twilight. The sky was overcast, although the glass was steady, and

not a star shed its light on the waste of waters. The "Saraband,"

brilliantly lighted, still floated idly, drifting at the rate of

fifteen miles a day under the influence of the weak Counter

Equatorial Current.

Selecting a hiding-place in a corner thrown into deep shadow by the

glare of a powerful lamp, the churns waited. Half an hour passed

without result. They began to feel stiff and cramped in their

confined quarters.

Presently Raeburn nudged the fourth officer.

Strolling along the alley-way was a short, sparely built man. He was

dressed in a white flannel suit with a dark red cummer-bund. He was

bareheaded, and as a ray of light fell upon his features Terence

could see that his were of a yellow cadaverous appearance. His hair

was black, thick, and closely cut. His moustache was heavy and

drooping. His eyes turned furtively from side to side as he advanced,

although he kept his head as rigid as if immovably fixed to his body.

He passed by their place of concealment. Aubyn could hear his soft

shoes pattering upon the deck. Presently he returned, promenading the

whole length of the alley-way. Thrice he did this, then, giving a

swift glance behind him, stepped into a store-room immediately

opposite the companion to the greasers' and firemen's quarters, the

after bulkhead of which formed with the side of the ship the recess

in which the two chums lay concealed.

The fellow was breathing heavily. Through the iron partition the two

watchers could hear his laboured gasps which were the result not of

unusual activity but of intense mental strain.

Again Raeburn touched his companion on the shoulder. Some one else

was approaching--not from the engine-room hands' quarters but along

the alley-way.

It was a woman, slight of build, and in spite of the heat, closely

veiled. Without hesitation she went straight to the place where the

suspected man was waiting.

For ten minutes the pair talked, rapidly and in low, excited tones;

then together they made their way aft.

"A rotten sell," remarked Aubyn, as soon as the coast was clear. "We

came to spot a pair of conspirators--not to witness a meeting between

a pair of lovers."

"Shouldn't think the woman was sweet on that chap, but there's no

accounting for taste," rejoined Raeburn. "That's the fellow right

enough. Did you hear what they were talking about?"

"Not I; it wasn't my business," replied Terence.

"It ought to. They were talking in German."

"Don't understand the lingo," declared the fourth officer. "Besides,

what if they did? There are seven German passengers on board; and

it's hard lines if they can't speak in their own tongue if they want

to, especially if they avoid lacerating the ears of their

fellow-passengers with the saw-edged language."

"There's more in it than you imagine, old man. That fellow is an

intermediary between the woman and Stone, the greaser. Apparently

Stone--referred to by the woman as Hans, although the name he gave is

Henry--is holding out for more money for doing something. The woman

maintains that he failed to do his allotted task satisfactorily--that

he bungled badly over it. She wanted to tackle Stone himself, and the

passenger fellow, whose name is Karl, objected. Possibly it was owing

to her presence that Stone failed to put in an appearance."

"By Jove, Raeburn, I believe you're on the right track after all!"

"I think I am," replied the third engineer quietly. "At all events

we'll keep this to ourselves for a little until we obtain further

evidence. If I don't see you before, we'll meet here to-morrow night

at seven bells, and trust that Stone will show his hand."

CHAPTER III.

THE DECLARATION OF WAR.

JUST before eight bells (4 a.m.) Terence Aubyn was called to prepare

for his spell of duty on the bridge. Hastily dressing and donning his

pilot-coat--for in spite of being within a few degrees of the line

the air was cold compared with the temperature during the day--the

fourth officer drank a cup of coffee and hurried on deck.

Exchanging a few words with the officer he was relieving Terence

began to pace the bridge. On this occasion there was little to do,

since the "Saraband" was not making way. Men were on the watch on the

fo'c'sle, and hands were stationed in the crow's-nest in order to

report the possible approach of other vessels. The apprentices on

duty--termed, by courtesy, midshipmen--made their stereotyped

reports, the quartermasters went the rounds and announced that all

was correct on and 'tween decks. Not being actually under way the

ship did not display her customary red and green navigation lamps.

The white light on the forestay was the only one visible. Even the

chart-room window had been screened, in order to avoid dazzling the

eyes of the officer of the watch.

Down below the passengers were sleeping more or less soundly in their

bunks. Most of the crew were also asleep in the forepeak. From the

depths of the engine-room came the muffled, barely audible sounds of

men still hard at work, under the tireless and energetic supervision

of Chief Engineer McBride.

Terence had barely been on duty for ten minutes when Wilcox, the

junior wireless operator, mounted the bridge ladder.

"Something rather important," he drawled. "Guess Captain Ramshaw

ought to be informed."

He handed Aubyn a slip of paper, and without waiting further backed

slowly down the ladder.

"Quartermaster!" exclaimed Terence.

"Sir?"

"Stand by, will you? I am going into the charthouse."

The man saluted. Aubyn entered the screened compartment and shut the

door. Here by the aid of the electric light he was able to read the

momentous message at which Wilcox had hinted.

"That fellow ought to have been an undertaker's mute!" he ejaculated

under his breath. "Fancy hardly turning a hair over a thing like

this."

For the wireless message was one that had stirred the British Empire,

nay, the whole of the civilized world:--

"Great Britain has declared war on Germany." Aubyn's heart gave a

bound. He realized that the chance of a lifetime was in front of him.

In the titanic struggle that seemed bound to take place on the High

Seas every officer and man of the Royal Naval Reserve would be called

upon to assist their comrades of the Royal Navy. The Reserve would be

put upon its mettle; it had a high duty to perform. It had to

vindicate its existence and prove to captious critics that it was a

fighting force that carried weight. It had to carry out its work as

one of the triple barbs of Britannia's trident.

The news was far too important to entrust to a messenger. Again

telling the quartermaster to stand by, and giving a comprehensive

glance over the expanse of sea to make sure that there were no

vessels' navigation lights visible, Aubyn hastened towards the

captain's cabin.

As he passed the wireless-room he pushed open the door. Both

operators were on duty. Wilcox was vainly endeavouring to "call up"

a station; Grant was "standing by."

"You haven't mentioned the news?" asked the fourth officer.

Grant shook his head.

"We're getting out the notices for distribution," he said.

"Better not," declared Aubyn authoritatively. "Keep the news dark

until Captain Ramshaw decides what is to be done."

At the door of the captain's cabin Terence paused, then knocked.

Under ordinary circumstances the panelled door was tapped discreetly,

but Aubyn gave a decisive double knock.

"Come in!" exclaimed a very tired voice.

Captain Ramshaw was in his bunk. At the first sound he had switched

on a light.

"Well, Mr. Aubyn?"

Terence did not say a word in reply. He handed his chief the paper

bearing the momentous news.

"I am not surprised," was Captain Ramshaw's comment. Already he was

out of his bunk and dressing with the swift, deft manner of men who

are apt to be roused from sleep to face danger at any moment of the

night. "You may return to the bridge."

Terence flushed slightly. He knew that he had committed a breach of

discipline in leaving his post during his watch.

"I would respectfully suggest, sir," he began, "that this news be

kept back from the passengers."

"For why, Mr. Aubyn?"

"There are Germans on board."

"Bless my soul, what if there are? Surely you don't expect me to put

non-combatants under arrest?"

"I have good reason to believe, sir, that some of them are

responsible for the breakdown of the engines.

"When did you first have suspicions?"

"Last night, sir."

"Then why was I not instantly informed?"

"That I can explain, sir."

"Carry on, Mr. Aubyn," rejoined Captain Ramshaw quietly.

As briefly as possible Terence related the circumstances under which

he and Raeburn waited for an expected secret interview between the

German passenger and Stone, the greaser; how, in the absence of

conclusive evidence, the two young officers had decided to keep the

result of their investigations to themselves until further

developments justified their suspicions.

"I suppose you two were out for kudos?" remarked Captain Ramshaw

grimly.

"Oh, no, sir," Aubyn hastened to explain. "We were hoping to witness

the meeting between Stone and the German passenger to-night. Then

there might be enough evidence to justify an accusation. But the

declaration of war has altered matters, sir."

"It has," agreed the "old man." "I have my orders in the event of

hostilities. I did not think they would ever be put into force. The

Admiralty instructions are that if homeward bound, or within

forty-eight hours' steaming of a British port, the ship must make for

home waters at full speed. And at present she's as helpless as a

log," he added mirthlessly.

Captain Ramshaw had now finished dressing. With his hands behind his

back he paced the cabin floor deep in thought.

"Very good, Mr. Aubyn," he continued, after a lengthy pause, "I'll

take steps to prevent the news getting amongst the passengers. You

and Mr. Raeburn can carry on with your investigations, but I would

advise you to have a couple of reliable hands within hail. You can

go."

Terence saluted and withdrew. Left to himself the skipper rapidly

formulated his plans. He was in an awkward position. The "Saraband"

was temporarily crippled, not by accident but by design. The time by

which she would be able to get under way was indefinite. There was a

frequent and apparently deliberate "jamming" of the wireless. He

knew that there was a German liner in the vicinity. He also knew

something that many Englishmen derided: that this liner, like scores

of others, was ready to be converted at a few hours' notice into a

commerce destroyer.

The wireless message had said that Great Britain had declared war.

His keen insight told him that the declaration had been forced upon

her. Germany had been preparing more or less secretly for years, and

unless he was greatly mistaken she had forestalled the momentous

time-limit.

Yes, Aubyn was right. It was not a private or personal reason that

was responsible for the outrage to the machinery. There were German

agents on board, who had already been given to understand that war

would be declared before the "Saraband" reached Southampton.

Crippled, she would be an easy and valuable prize to the first

hostile armed merchantman that she fell in with.

Presently he left his cabin and ascended the bridge. His first act

was to ring for Lymore, the first officer.

"What do you think of this, Lymore?" he asked.

The first officer took the paper and was about to make off to the

charthouse when Captain Ramshaw stopped him.

"It's war with Germany," he said.

Lymore set his jaw tightly. He was a middle-aged man, and realized

more forcibly than did Aubyn the possibilities of a conflict with the

second naval power of the world.

"If it's not over in a week, sir," he remarked, "it will be a long

drawn-out business. Either the Germans will attempt a surprise raid

on our fleet or else they'll sit tight and carry on a sniping warfare

with submarines and mines."

"Think so?" asked the "old man." "Mines aren't much use if you don't

hold command of the sea. They can only be used to defend their own

harbours."

"They'll be dumping them overboard in shoals, sir.

"What, adrift? Remember Germany is a highly civilized country, bound

by the laws of the Geneva Convention and the Hague Conference."

"Let's hope she will respect those laws, sir. Personally, I don't

think she will."

"Well, Mr. Lymore, it's no use talking. We must act. I propose to

keep the information from the passengers, but to take officers and

crew into my confidence. Will you pass the word to muster both

watches for'ard? Instruct the bos'un that the men make no unnecessary

noise. We don't want to alarm or excite the passengers."

Ten minutes later the officers, deckhands, and engine-room staff were

mustered abaft the foremast. Those who were keeping "watch below"

were not unreasonably curious to know why they were turned out early

in the morning, before it was yet light. Every available member of

the crew, including firemen and greasers who could be spared from the

boiler and engine-rooms, the large staff of stewards and cooks formed

up till the space between the fo'c'sle and the for'ard bulkhead of

the promenade and boat decks was a seething mass of humanity. The men

conversed in whispers, striving to solve the mystery of being

mustered at such an unearthly hour, but when Captain Ramshaw stepped

upon a hatch cover and held up his hand a hush fell upon the

representative throng of the British Mercantile Marine.

The sole means of illumination was a hurricane lamp held by one of

the messenger boys. The feeble rays fell upon the captain's face. It

was stern and resolute.

"My men!" he exclaimed, speaking slowly and deliberately. He did not

roar, after the manner of the old sea-dogs, but his voice carried

with perfect distinctness. "My men, I have great news. But first let

me impress upon you the extreme urgency for silence and secrecy. The

matter can be discussed amongst yourselves, but should the news

travel beyond you the safety of the old 'Saraband' is gravely

imperilled.

"War was declared between Great Britain and Germany at eleven o'clock

last night. That is all I know, being the news received by wireless.

My duty is to get the ship back to port as quickly as possible, and

hand her over to the Admiralty for whatever purpose they think fit.

"Meanwhile, an accident to the engine has left us helpless. It is

proposed to rectify the damage with the utmost dispatch. German

commerce destroyers are, in all probability, lying in wait on the

recognized trade routes. We can only hope that there are also British

cruisers to foil their little game.

"In spite of our adverse circumstances I know I can rely upon every

man jack of you to do his duty cheerfully and manfully, and to help

to keep the old flag flying. Now, dismiss."

Before daybreak the "Saraband" was ready as far as possible for

eventualities. Ammunition was served up for the two 4.7 in. guns. The

vital part of the bridge was protected by plates of boiler iron

backed with bags of flour. Hoses were coupled up, water poured over

boats hanging in the davits, in case of fire caused by the explosion

of a hostile shell.

Below, Chief Engineer McBride and his staff were still striving their

utmost to bring the engines up to their customary state of

efficiency.

CHAPTER IV.

A DOUBLE ARREST.

CAPTAIN RAMSHAW'S next step was to hold a consultation with some of

his officers as to the advisability of coping with the internal peril

that threatened the ship.

Accordingly Lymore and Aubyn, as representatives of the

deck-officers, and McBride and Raeburn for the engine-room staff,

were called to the captain's cabin. For once that cosily-furnished

apartment reeked of paraffin, for the chief engineer and his

assistant had come practically straight from their work, merely

stopping to remove from their faces and hands the greasy black oil

and had used paraffin for that purpose.

"Don't apologize, Mr. McBride," said the "old man" affably.

"Circumstances alter cases, and it is far preferable to have the reek

of honest oil than the fumes of a German shell. Now to get straight

to the point: have you a plan, Mr. McBride, whereby we can secure

this man of yours, Stone, without occasioning comment amongst his

comrades; and especially not to alarm the passenger who has taken

such a violent fancy to him?"

The chief engineer rubbed his chin and knitted his shaggy brows.

"I can arrange, sir, to have him sent on deck, the miserable worrm.

Beyond that, sir, I venture to suggest 'tis a matter for yoursel' to

keep the passenger in the dark."

"Now, Mr. Lymore, have you made inquiries about the passenger Mr.

Aubyn described?"

"I've interviewed the chief steward, sir. He says that this man

registered as Mr. Duncan McDonald, of Port Elizabeth."

"There's by far too many of these rascally Germans going about with

guid old Scots names," declared McBride vehemently.

"Quite so," agreed Captain Ramshaw, "but unfortunately we have no

evidence to prove that this fellow is a German, except that he spoke

the Teuton language. He might be a Britisher after all."

"He's nae Scot, then," said the chief engineer hotly.

"I think I can suggest a good plan, sir," said Raeburn.

"Carry on, then," remarked Captain Ramshaw encouragingly.

"One of the greasers in my watch--a rattling good fellow--he's made

five trips in the ship, sir--strongly resembles Stone in appearance.

If you could arrest Stone and clap him in irons, we could get

Tretheway, the man I refer to, to impersonate him and lure this

Duncan McDonald----"

"Steady, laddie; 'tes nae Duncan McDonald," remonstrated McBride.

"The passenger who goes by the name of McDonald," corrected Raeburn.

"He could be lured into putting in an appearance. Then we could nab

him, too."

"It's feasible, certainly," said Captain Ramshaw. "You think you can

arrange this?"

"Yes, sir," replied Raeburn.

"Very good; then perhaps Mr. Aubyn and you will be at the rendezvous

at seven bells. Mr. Aubyn will tell off a couple of hands in the

event of any display of resistance. The man may be armed."

"We'll take the risk, sir," said Terence.

"Then that's settled. If you'll send Stone on deck, Mr. McBride, the

sooner we have him under arrest the better."

"And the sooner I'm back in the engine-room the better, I'm thinking,

sir," asserted McBride. "Nae doubt the dirty rogue will be up to his

tricks again while I'm not there tae keep an eye on him."

A few minutes later Stone, sent under the pretence of fetching some

article from the bos'un's store, was promptly pounced upon by a

couple of quartermasters.

"What's the game, old sports?" he asked in a strong Cockney accent

and with well-feigned innocence.

His captors made no reply, but led their unresisting prisoner for'ard

and placed him in a compartment under lock and key.

As soon as the greaser's arrest was reported, Chief Officer Lymore

and Aubyn went to inform him of the charge.

"Attempting to cripple the engines, eh? Strikes me, sir, you're on

the wrong tack," muttered the man.

"Your fellow-conspirator does not seem to think so," remarked Lymore

at a venture.

The accused's features flushed, then turned deadly pale.

"You've got von Eckenhardt, then?" he asked, taken completely aback.

"Yes, the game's up," assented the chief officer, who, although

equally astonished, had the presence of mind to entirely conceal his

feelings.

"Then I may as well make the best of things. It won't be for long,"

declared the prisoner nonchalantly. "Our cruisers will soon make

short work of the 'Saraband,' and then the boot will be on the other

foot."

"Your cruisers?" exclaimed Lymore.

"Yes; I'm a German subject, Mr. Chief Officer, and don't you forget

it. I demand to receive proper treatment as a prisoner of war."

"You'd get it, my man, if I had my way," retorted Lymore grimly.

"Von Eckenhardt!" exclaimed Captain Ramshaw when his subordinate

reported the result of their interview. "Then that is the real name

of the so-called Duncan McDonald. It was a cute move of yours, Mr.

Lymore."

The chief officer flushed with pleasure.

"I presume, sir, we can now arrest him, without waiting till this

evening?"

"No, we'll stick to our original plan, Mr. Lymore. I have good

reasons."

During the day the passengers were restricted to a limited portion of

the decks allotted to the various classes. None were permitted to

approach the 4.7-in. guns. The sight of the ammunition and the gun's

crew standing by would occasion comment. A simple excuse was given

for this restriction, and the passengers accepted it without demur.

For several hours the wireless was still "jammed." Occasionally

messages were received, but none could be sent. Those that did get

through were of slight importance and had no reference to the war.

At noon McBride's strenuous efforts were crowned with success. The

engines were once more in working, order and speed was soon worked up

to sixteen knots. A course was immediately shaped for Las Palmas,

where the "Saraband" would have to coal before resuming her homeward

voyage.

Just after four bells (2 p.m.) the wireless resumed uninterrupted

activity. A message asking the name and position of the ship was

recorded and referred to the bridge. "Ask them what ship is calling,"

ordered Captain Ramshaw.

"H.M.S. 'Padstow,' lat. 5°0'30" N., long. 30°1'15" W. Shape a

course towards me. Enemy cruisers are about," was the reply.

Captain Ramshaw called for a Navy List. H.M.S. "Padstow" was found

to be a light cruiser of 4600 tons.

"Very good; I am acting according to your directions," was his answer

by wireless, but in reality it was very different. He ordered the

course to be altered until the "Saraband" would pass three hundred

miles to the eastward of the position given by the supposed British

cruiser. In addition he gave instructions that no wireless messages

were to be sent from the ship, in order that she might not betray her

presence, for he felt convinced that the call was a decoy sent by one

of the German commerce destroyers.

During the afternoon the chief steward reported the result of his

observations upon the pseudo Duncan McDonald. The man, he declared,

was a regular "hanger-on" to his fellow-passengers. He seemed to

have plenty of money and squandered it at card-playing. Yet he did

not associate with the German passengers, nor could the steward

discover who was the woman that had conferred with McDonald on the

night when Aubyn and Raeburn had him under observation.

Just before seven bells the arrangements were completed for von

Eckenhardt's arrest. Terence and the fourth engineer took up their

positions in the empty storeroom; two burly quartermasters were

hiding just inside the engine-room door, while Tretheway, in the

guise of the now detained Stone, was idling in the alley-way.

Presently von Eckenhardt appeared. Tretheway, keeping his face from

the light, turned his back upon the approaching German.

Twice the fellow walked softly past the supposed Stone, then tapping

him on the shoulder said something in German. What it was Tretheway

did not understand, but acting upon instructions he turned and

grasped the Teuton by the wrists. Aubyn and Raeburn dashed from their

place of concealment and the two quartermasters ran towards the spot.

Taken wholly at a disadvantage von Eckenhardt at first offered no

resistance. He sullenly regarded his captors, without uttering a

word. Then, with a sudden effort, he almost wrenched himself clear.

Raeburn, doubled up by a knee-punch in the wind, subsided heavily

against the metal wall of the alley-way. The two quartermasters

cannoned into each other in attempting to regain their grip upon the

captive. Tretheway, hit upon the point of the chin, tripped over the

coaming of the engine-room doorway; while Terence, in spite of a

vicious kick on the shin, managed to retain his hold upon von

Eckenhardt's collar.

To and fro they swayed, now locked in a deathly embrace. Before the

quartermasters could recover their wits, Aubyn and the German toppled

over the coaming, and on top of the body of the prostrate Tretheway.

Inside the door was a slippery steel platform, barely three feet in

width and protected by a light handrail. To the right and left iron

ladders led to the floor of the engine-room. Seven feet below the

edge of the platform was the piston-head of one of the cylinders--a

vision of gleaming metal partly veiled by wreathes of eddying steam.

In an instant Terence realized his adversary's plan. Rather than

submit to being made a prisoner von Eckenhardt was striving to throw

himself into the midst of the moving machinery. And not only that: he

meant to take one at least of his antagonists with him. He, Terence,

was the one singled out for this wholly unwelcome attention.

In vain Aubyn tried to get a foothold. The slippery iron plate

afforded no grip. His arms, locked about the body of the German, were

imprisoned by the fellow's powerful grasp, for although small in

stature and sparely built, frenzy had given the German the strength

of a Hercules. Suddenly von Eckenhardt planted his feet against the

inside sill of the door. With a terrific jerk he hurled himself under

the handrail. Aubyn had just time to bend his partially held wrist

and grasp the stanchion; then both men dropped over the edge

immediately above the ponderous machinery.

There they hung, swaying with the result of the sudden jerk. Aubyn's

hand retained his grasp upon the oiled metal stanchion in spite of

the fact that he was sustaining the weight of himself and another,

and that the edge of the platform was pressing cruelly against his

arm. All the while von Eckenhardt, clinging to his antagonist like a

monkey, was punching blindly with his disengaged left hand in the

hope of making the fourth officer relax his hold.

It was now that the quartermasters were able to come to the aid of

their young officer. During the struggle on the platform there was no

opportunity for them to intervene--no foothold on that slippery

surface. Raeburn, too, was temporarily "out of action," but by this

time was beginning to take a renewed interest in life.

One of the quartermasters grasped Aubyn by the collar of his white

drill uniform coat. Even in his dire peril Terence wondered whether

his tailor had put good stitches into his work. He fully expected to

find the collar being torn from the rest of the garment.

Then the second quartermaster helped. Lying at full length on the

metal platform he seized the still struggling Eckenhardt by the

waist. Then with a powerful blow with his disengaged fist the man

struck the Teuton full on the temple.

[Illustration: "Both men dropped over the edge immediately above the

ponderous machinery."]

Stunned by the force of the blow the German relaxed his hold. Were it

not for the quartermaster's iron grasp he would have fallen into the

maze of machinery.

"Now's your chance, Tom," exclaimed the man breathlessly. "I'll hold

this chap while you haul up Mr. Aubyn."

Assisted by Raeburn the first quartermaster succeeded in raising

Terence on the platform and thence into the alley-way. Well-nigh

exhausted Aubyn was glad to sit down while the others proceeded to

secure the senseless von Eckenhardt.

CHAPTER V.

BOARDED.

WHILE von Eckenhardt was recovering consciousness and the two young

officers were pulling themselves together after their trying ordeal,

Captain Ramshaw, who had been informed of the successful issue of the

affair, proceeded to the cabin taken by the German under the name of

Duncan McDonald.

It was a single berth cabin, furnished in the luxuriant style that

the Red Band Line provided for their first-class passengers.

The "old man" first directed his attention to an unlocked

portmanteau. It was filled with clothes. Methodically the chief

steward, under Captain Ramshaw's supervision, went through the

pockets. He found nothing incriminating. There was some

correspondence in English of a commonplace order, which gave no rise

to suspicion.

A second portmanteau was doubly locked. The steward cut the Gordian

knot by ripping the cowhide with his pocket-knife. Inside the case

were more clothes, but between the folds was a metal case half filled

with phosphor-bronze filings. There were also a revolver and two

hundred rounds of ammunition, the presence of which in a passenger's

possession was in itself a breach of the Company's regulations.

"Now, that cabin trunk, Saunders," exclaimed Captain Ramshaw,

pointing to a large, strongly made box. "You won't open that with

your penknife, my man."

"One minute, sir," said the steward.

He left the cabin, returning in a very short space of time with a

heavy hammer and a cold chisel.

He was about to attack the lock when the "old man" interposed.

"Avast there, Saunders!" he ejaculated. "We'll have the job tackled a

little more quietly. Go and ask the doctor for a small bottle of the

strongest acid he has."

"That's good, Saunders," he remarked when the man returned. "Now lay

on the acid all round the lock. Mind your eyes: it will splash a bit.

We'll ruin the carpet, I fancy; but there'll be more serious damage

done to the Company's property before long, unless I'm much

mistaken."

Rapidly the powerful acid ate its way into the metal. The cabin

reeked with the pungent fumes.

Captain Ramshaw waited until he considered that the corrosive fluid

had sufficiently weakened the metal, then he soused the side of the

trunk with water.

A gentle pressure of his boot brought the lock clean away. He raised

the lid. The portmanteau was apparently full of clothes. Von

Eckenhardt evidently had an extensive wardrobe.

"There's a double bottom, sir," announced the steward.

"I thought so," replied the captain quietly. "Be careful, Saunders.

You will find a secret spring. Don't use unnecessary force."

Wondering why the skipper harped upon the necessity for caution the

steward continued his investigations. At length he discovered an

invisible push, close to the bottom of the trunk. As he pressed it,

the false bottom opened upon a pair of hinges. The space contained

several sealed envelopes and a tin case measuring about ten inches by

six, and two inches in depth.

"You might hand over those papers," said the captain. "Now, open

that tin."

"It's full of gummy string, sir ."

"Powerful explosive, Saunders, enough to blow a big hole in the old

'Saraband.' There are fuses and detonators, too. I wonder the fool

hadn't more sense than to stow this stuff in a cabin trunk."

"What shall I do with it, sir?" asked the steward, eyeing the box of

latent death and destruction with undisguised apprehension.

"Overboard with it," decided the "old man" promptly.

Before Captain Ramshaw could proceed further with his investigations

a messenger brought the news that a strange vessel, apparently a

warship, was bearing down in the direction of the "Saraband."

The skipper broke all records in his dash for the bridge. Bringing

his binoculars to bear in the direction indicated by the chief

officer he saw that a large grey-painted cruiser was shaping a course

to cut him off.

"If she's a German we're nabbed, Lymore," said the captain. "She's

heavily armed, and we are within range of her guns. Unless I'm much

mistaken, she can give us points in speed."

"Will you alter our course and run for it, sir?" asked the chief

officer.

"Useless," decided Captain Ramshaw, with a shrug of his shoulders.

"If she were a hostile armed merchantman I'd engage her in a running

fight, but she'd blow us out of the water in two minutes. There are

the passengers to consider."

Rapidly the cruiser approached. She made no attempt to communicate

with wireless, but when within signalling distance she hoisted the

letters E.C. meaning, in the International Code, "What ship is

that?"

The "Saraband" immediately "made her number" and hoisted her ensign.

By this time the approach of the cruiser had been noticed by the

passengers, whose interest became intense, although they were still

in ignorance of the fact that a state of war existed between Great

Britain and Germany.

"Thank Heaven!" ejaculated Lymore fervently, as the White Ensign was

hoisted to the masthead of the cruiser, which was, it was remarked,

fully cleared for action.

"Don't be too cocksure," remonstrated the "old man."

"She's a British cruiser, sir," protested the chief officer. "One of

the 'Town' class, that I'll swear. There she goes: code flag over

'H,' sir."

The signal to stop was quickly complied with. Orders were telegraphed

to the engine-room for half-speed astern until the "Saraband" lost

way. The cruiser swung round in a semi-circle and likewise stopped

within two cables' length. A boat was lowered, manned, and rowed

towards the "Saraband."

"Clear the promenade deck, Mr. Lymore," ordered the captain.

"Request the passengers to go below. Don't give them any reason--let

them think what they jolly well like. Mr. Aubyn, see that the

accommodation ladder is shipped. You will receive the naval officer

and pay him the proper compliments."

The boarding officer proved to be a youthful lieutenant. Terence

escorted him to the bridge, where he immediately subjected Captain

Ramshaw to a close examination.

"Have you sighted any German armed merchantmen?" asked the officer,

whose ship, it transpired, was the light cruiser "Padstow."

"The 'Hertzolf:' that was before war was declared."

"Have you communicated by wireless with any craft?"

"Only your ship," replied Captain Ramshaw. "You may remember you

requested us to alter our course and fall in with you in a certain

latitude and longitude."

"Rather lucky for you that you didn't, then," rejoined the

lieutenant. "We sent out no wireless message. We had good reason to

keep the knowledge of our presence south of Las Palmas a secret. Do

you remember the position?"

Captain Ramshaw gave the desired information, Chief Officer Lymore

corroborating the statement by a reference to the log-book.

"It's a decoy message from the 'Hertzolf,'" announced the naval

officer, "she's been particularly active. Sunk the 'Walrus' and 'The

Star of Hope,' and captured two colliers. We're on her track now. If

I were you, Captain Ramshaw, I'd give Las Palmas a wide berth. Coal

at Gib., if you can fetch there with what coal you've on board."

"Very good, I will," answered the master of the "Saraband."

Courteously declining an offer of refreshments the lieutenant went

over the side and was rowed back to the "Padstow." Almost before the

boat was hoisted up the cruiser pelted off at twenty-five knots to

attempt to intercept the already too active "Hertzolf."

It was now no longer necessary in the interests of the ship to

withhold the momentous news of the outbreak of war from the

passengers. Notices were posted on the various saloons, their

appearance being hailed by rousing cheers. Instructions were also

given that in the event of the "Saraband" being chased, the

passengers were to assemble for'ard in such places as would be

pointed out, in order to be as safe as possible from shells from the

pursuing vessel.

At two bells in the second dog watch the ship's doctor reported to

the captain that von Eckenhardt was sufficiently recovered to be

interrogated. Accordingly Captain Ramshaw, Aubyn, Raeburn, and the

two quartermasters proceeded to the cabin in which the German had

been kept a prisoner.

"Now, von Eckenhardt, what have you to say in answer to the charge of

conspiring to cripple the vessel?" demanded Captain Ramshaw.

At the name von Eckenhardt the Teuton started wildly. He had, like

his companion in the outrageous attempt, been completely taken aback.

"So Slieber has given me away," he exclaimed passionately. "I am not

surprised. Slieber is not a true German. He worked for money. I did

what I could for the sake of the Fatherland. Remember I demand to be

treated as a prisoner of war."

Captain Ramshaw did not immediately reply. He, too, was taken by

surprise. Von Eckenhardt had blundered badly. He had revealed the

fact that the real name of the greaser who passed under the name of

Stone was Slieber. Also von Eckenhardt was fully aware that a state

of war existed between Great Britain and Germany. He claimed a

similar privilege to that demanded by Slieber, yet the passengers had

been kept in ignorance of the news until half an hour ago. In the

captain's mind there was no doubt that both Germans had received

information from official sources that a rupture was planned to occur

on or about the 4th day of August; and that, even had Great Britain

not delivered her ultimatum, the German Empire would have taken the

initiative almost at the same time as she threw down the gauntlet to

France and Russia.

"The pair of you have quaint notions concerning the rights of

prisoners of war," remarked Captain Ramshaw. "No doubt they are

perfectly in accord with the views of the German Government, but

unfortunately for you, you are not in uniform. In that case you are

liable to be placed upon your trial as a spy."

Von Eckenhardt shrugged his shoulders. Although at the moment of

detection he had attempted to put an end to his existence by throwing

himself into the engine-room, it was because he feared summary

vengeance on the part of the officers and men of the "Saraband." Now

that that immediate danger was over he took a calm view of the

situation. Previous experience told him that German spies brought to

trial in England were treated lightly as compared with the severe

punishment meted out in the Fatherland to Englishmen accused of

espionage.

"I am not a spy," he declared vehemently.

"That remains to be proved, Major von Eckenhardt," rejoined the "old

man," in his cool, deliberate manner. "At the same time I may as well

express my opinion that, with these documents in the hands of the

public prosecutor, you will have some difficulty to prove to the

contrary," and he held up the bundle of papers he had removed from

the German's cabin.

Von Eckenhardt's jaw dropped, but only for a moment. Then his teeth

closed together with a snap like those of a rat-trap. He seemed to be

on the point of hurling himself upon the skipper. Then, controlling

himself with an effort:--

"There is nothing more for me to say at present," he remarked with a

slight inclination of his head.

"Very well. You will be under close arrest till we arrive at

Southampton."

The German smiled sarcastically. Under his breath, just loud enough

for his captor to hear, he muttered "Perhaps."

Captain Ramshaw resisted the inclination to answer. Obviously the

taunt was meant as an insult. More, it suggested the possibility that

hostile commerce destroyers had marked the "Saraband" with her

precious cargo as a most desirable prey. Without another word he left

the cabin, signing to the quartermasters to double-lock the steel

door.

The captain was convinced that he had made an important capture. From

the documents found in von Eckenhardt's cabin it was clear that the

prisoner was a major in the Prussian Guards, and that he had been

detailed for secret service to report upon the military and political

situation in South Africa. Von Eckenhardt's instructions were written

in guarded language and signed by the initial X. Captain Ramshaw had

yet to learn who the mysterious X was, and the most important part he

played in the extensive and highly active espionage system fostered

by the Government of the German Empire.

CHAPTER VI.

AN OCEAN DUEL.

THE new course taken by the "Saraband" was in accordance with the

instructions given by the lieutenant of H.M.S. "Padstow." Avoiding

Las Palmas the vessel made for the African coast, making a landfall

in the neighbourhood of Cape Verd. Thence by a judicious use of his

coal, and by hugging the shore as close as possible without risk of

grounding on the outlying shoals, Captain Ramshaw hoped to bring his

command safely into Gibraltar.

At nights all lights were screened. Board of Trade regulations in the

matter of the use of navigation lamps were deliberately ignored. The

"Saraband," at a steady seventeen knots, forged blindly ahead through

the black waters.

During this anxious period Captain Ramshaw rarely quitted the bridge.

If he did so it was only for a few minutes. When compelled by the

demands of nature to rest, he slept on a deck-chair in the

chart-room, ready at an instant's notice to give orders for the

safety of the ship.

On the second night after the meeting of the "Padstow" the

quartermaster had just reported four bells--the actual ringing had

been dispensed with as a matter of precaution--when a wireless S.O.S.

call was received.

It was Terence Aubyn's watch. Promptly the young officer informed the

skipper of the call--a summons for aid that is never ignored by the

vessels that are within range of wireless.

"S.O.S. call, sir; H.Q.C.P. reports being in collision with a

derelict--lat. 22°5'10" N., long. 15°50'20" W."

The thought flashed through the "old man's" mind that the message

might be a decoy; yet the claims of humanity urged him to alter

course and steam at full speed to the rescue.

Meanwhile Aubyn had referred to the "British Code List," in which he

found that the signal letters H.Q.C.P. denoted the SS. "Corona," of

West Hartlepool, of 2576 registered tonnage and of 720 horse-power.

The "Corona," he knew, was a tramp engaged in running between the

Tyne Ports and the Gold Coast.

Captain Ramshaw gave no inkling of the doubt that existed in his

mind. He immediately ordered the "Saraband" to be steered towards the

position indicated, although he would not allow the wireless to be

made use of in order to acquaint the distressed vessel that help was

forthcoming. This was one of the steps he took to guard against the

base misuse of the hitherto inviolate S.O.S. call. In addition, as

previously, the guns' crews stood by their two powerful weapons.

Hour after hour passed as the "Saraband" sped on her errand of mercy.

Fitfully the S.O.S. was received as if the ill-fated crew of the

"Corona," despairing at not having news that their message had been

picked up, were still calling for aid from passing vessels.

Down below McBride's staff was working heroically. The firemen,

stripped to the waist, were shovelling coal with rapid yet dexterous

haste. Stoking is an art: it requires more than merely piling fuel

into the furnaces; but there was no lack of capability on the part of

the "Saraband's" stokehold staff. Quickly the old boat worked up to

her maximum speed.

"Light on the port bow, sir," sung out the mastheadman. "Red flame

throwing out red stars."

"That's the 'Corona' then," declared the "old man." "Starboard your

helm, quartermaster: keep her at that. Mr. Lymore, see that the

cutter is cleared away."

"Ay, ay, sir," replied the chief officer.

The signal of distress flare was calculated to be seen from twelve to

fourteen miles off In three-quarters of an hour the "Saraband" would

be on the spot, by which time daylight would have dawned.

As the distance decreased the frequent flares could be observed from

the bridge of the "Saraband." Anxiously the officers brought their

night-glasses to bear upon the scene, as the dull patch of ruddy

light rose higher and higher above the horizon.

"It's a four-masted vessel, sir!" exclaimed Terence. "The 'Corona'

has only two. She looks to be about six thousand tons displacement."

"By Jove, you're, right Mr. Aubyn!" said the "old man." "Hard a-port,

quartermaster. It's a ruse."

The steam steering-gear snorted as the helm flew hard over. Listing

heavily outwards as she swung round the "Saraband" sought to avoid

the danger. Alarmed by the sudden heel several of the passengers

rushed from below.

"Reassure these people and send them to their cabins," ordered

Captain Ramshaw, addressing his third officer. "Stand by----"

A vivid flash burst from the supposed disabled ship, and a shell,

hurtling a cable's length astern on the now fleeing "Saraband"

announced the stranger in her true colours. She was a German armed

liner. Her keen lookout had detected the phosphorescent swirl from

the bows of the British vessel as she swung to starboard.

The peremptory greeting was quickly followed by a wireless order:--

"Heave-to, or I'll sink you. Disconnect your wireless. Stand by to

receive a boat."

To this demand Captain Ramshaw paid no attention. His true British

blood was up. As long as he could run and fight he would keep the Old

Flag flying.

With the whole of her fabric trembling under the vibrations of her

powerful engines the "Saraband" began her bid for safety. The

passengers, according to previous instructions, were ordered forward,

while the stewards calmly went about distributing life-belts, at the

same time assuring the more timorous of their charges that the

procedure was merely a matter of precaution.

From her wireless-room messages were sent for aid from any British

cruisers likely to be in the vicinity, while at the same time

warnings were issued for all merchantmen to avoid the danger that now

threatened the hard-pressed "Saraband."

For hard-pressed she certainly was. When day broke the German liner,

identified as the 25-knot "Osnabruck," was now five miles astern. In

spite of her supposed superior speed she was not doing her best,

although her two huge funnels were belching out enormous clouds of

black smoke.

That she was prepared for the work of destruction there was no doubt.

Her black hull, white deck houses, and lofty yellow funnels had been

repainted a neutral grey. For'ard she mounted two guns, while the

muzzles of several others could be discovered trained abeam.

She was steadily gaining. Shells from her guns were ricochetting on

either side of the fleeing "Saraband," throwing up columns of spray

fifty feet into the air.

"You'll have to do better than that, my friend," said the "old man"

grimly. The spirit of fight--the old Bersark strain in his blood--was

strong within him. But for his passengers he would have risked an

engagement. As it was, he had to run for it, but he meant to show

that even a British merchantman could show her teeth.

Meanwhile, Terence Aubyn had made his way aft to take charge of the

starboard quarter 4.7-in. gun, the other one being under the orders

of the third officer, a hot-blooded Irishman, named O'Reilly, who

could hardly prevent himself from giving a premature order to open

fire.

"Let her have it: at six thousand yards," came the order from the

bridge.

Both guns spoke simultaneously. Almost before the powerful weapons

had recovered from the recoil, which was taken up by the hydraulic

mountings, the breech blocks were thrown open and another shell in a

gleaming brass cylinder was thrust into each gun.

"A hit, sir!" shouted one of the gun's crews, for even with the naked

eye a dense haze of yellow smoke was seen to be enveloping the fore

part of the "Osnabruck."

Whatever the damage it did not compel the German vessel to cease

pursuit. Soon her grey outlines were observed to be emerging from the

mist of smoke that partly hid her from view. Spurts of yellow flame,

stabbing the early morning air, showed that her bow guns were still

in action.

An appalling crash, outvoicing the simultaneous barks of the British

guns, denoted the disconcerting fact that one, at least, of the

hostile projectiles had "got home."

Pungent fumes drifted aft; splinters, hurled high in the air, began

to fall all around the gun's crews.

"Steady, men, steady!" shouted Aubyn encouragingly, for some of the

crew were attracted by the sound and were endeavouring to ascertain

the result of the havoc. "Never mind that. Keep at it."

Even as he spoke the "Saraband" swung round quite fifteen degrees to

port, thus exposing her length and lofty freeboard to the German

vessel. The gunners of the latter were not slow to take advantage.

One shell crashed through the side amidships, just above the

water-line, and completely wrecked the passengers' third-class

dining-room. Fortunately, owing to Captain Ramshaw's precautions,

this part of the ship was unoccupied.

A second shell, ricochetting a hundred yards off, leapt up and

wrecked the after-funnel, causing dense volumes of smoke to eddy

along the alleyways.

The first projectile that hit the "Saraband" was responsible for the

damage done by the other two. Bursting underneath the bridge it

demolished that structure, sending the breastwork of sacks of flour

far and wide like an avalanche.

Captain Ramshaw and Chief Officer Lymore were both flung from the

crumbling structure on to the cargo hatch abaft the foremost.

Fortunately beyond being considerably shaken, they were not seriously

hurt, but with the destruction of the bridge the steam steering-gear

was affected, and this caused the "Saraband" to begin to circle to

port.

Although partly dazed by the fall, the "old man," with a true

seaman's instinctive sense, knew that the ship was fairly off her

course. Staggering to his feet he made his way across the chaotic

pile of flour-sacks, many of which had been ripped open by fragments

of shell, and ordered the hand steering-gear to be manned. In five

minutes the "Saraband" was once more under control, although the

demolition of one of her funnels and the consequent reduction of

draft caused an appreciable diminution in speed.

While the ship was broadside on to the enemy the gun under Aubyn's

orders was temporarily out of action. It could not be trained upon

the "Osnabruck" without a serious risk of injury to the second gun's

crew by the blast from the weapon.

It was indeed fortunate that while in this position she was not sent

to the bottom. According to the rules of naval strategy and tactics

she ought to have been, were it not for the indifferent aim of the

German gun-layers.

On the other hand, the British 4.7-in. guns were getting in hit after

hit with admirable precision. Already the "Osnabruck's" upper works

appeared to be a mass of scrap iron. Fires had broken out in several

places, yet she held grimly in pursuit, under the erroneous

impression that the few shells she did get home would terrorise the

"Saraband" into surrendering.

Presently the fourth officer's gun made a splendid hit. Striking the

German vessel's bows almost on the water-line the shell made a clean

hole before exploding. When it did the damage in the confined space

was terrific. Her thin bow plates were burst outwards, while the

for'ard watertight bulkhead was strained till it admitted the sea

like a mill sluice.

A cheer broke from the parched lips of the "Saraband's" crew. Her

antagonist was settling down by the head. Her speed slackened

rapidly. Her engines were going half-speed astern in the hope of

checking the inrush of water.

"She's done for, sir!" exclaimed Terence excitedly, as Chief Officer

Lymore, his face and clothes mottled with flour and smoke, came aft.

"Ay, she's settled with," agreed Lymore grimly. "Cease firing. It's

no use wasting ammunition."

"If only we would slow down and pepper her till she surrenders,"

declared Terence, the lust of battle in his heart.

"She will, right enough," said the chief officer consolingly. "We've

our passengers to consider. The 'old man' is going to take the ship

out of range and wait. We'll have to pick up the survivors somehow,

but there isn't a boat that won't leak like a sieve."

Such, indeed, was the case. Those of the boats that were not

shattered by direct hits or holed by flying fragments of shell, were

so utterly strained by the concussion as to be unfit for use. Already

the carpenter's crew were setting to work, caulking the gaping seams

of the boats which seemed likely to be used for the forthcoming work

of rescue.

When well out of range, the "Saraband" swung round and stopped, her

bows pointing in the direction of the foundering "Osnabruck," that

appeared to be little more than a dot upon the horizon. By the aid of

glasses brought to bear upon the scene, the German vessel was

observed to be listing slightly to starboard and very much down by

the head. All her upper works were hidden by a thick cloud of smoke.

Meanwhile, Captain Ramshaw took up his position on the boat-deck,

owing to the demolition of the bridge. Here receiving reports from

various officers concerning the amount of damage done to the ship and

giving brief and concise orders as to what was to be done, he was as

busy as ever he had been in the whole course of his thirty-odd years

at sea.

Now that the danger was over the passengers were allowed to leave

their cramped quarters, and, subject to certain restrictions, allowed

to make use of most of the decks. One, a short, pompouslooking

individual, holding a camera, boldly approached the skipper.

"I say, Captain Ramshaw," he began in a high, affected voice, "don't

you think you could take us a little nearer, so as to get a view of

the object of our triumph? The sinking ship would be a unique object

to snapshot, don't you think?"

The "old man" showed not the slightest sign of annoyance or surprise

at the interruption.

"My dear sir," he replied affably, "would you put your fingers

within snapping range of a mad dog, even if the animal were chained

up and dying? I think not. Yonder vessel will bark as long as the

muzzles of her guns are above water. Remember, sir, that this is the

real thing, and that we are up against an enemy that we cannot afford

to underestimate. I am sorry that I cannot comply with your request."

The passenger went away. Captain Ramshaw and the chief officer

exchanged glances. The latter uttered a short laugh.

"I think if I'd been in your place, sir, I would have booted him out

of it," declared Lymore.

"So I should have done," rejoined the skipper, "if I had been in my

own place--but I'm not. I'm an employee of the Company, and have to

study their interests. By Jove, Lymore, we do look a pair of

ragamuffins! Talk about the dignity of the Company's uniform! But I

wouldn't have missed the fun for a thousand pounds."

Captain Ramshaw was as elated as a young subaltern who had donned

uniform for the first time. He had reason to be so. He had fought

against considerable odds, and had come out "top dog." It was but

one of many instances where the peaceful British mercantile marine

officer shows that the training he has had amid the perils of the sea

can be utilized as a powerful asset to the armed strength of the

Empire upon whose banner the sun never sets.

CHAPTER VII.

VON ECKENHARDT SCORES.

"SHE'S surrendered, sir; she's hoisted the white flag," shouted the

crow's-nest man.

Ordering full speed ahead, Captain Ramshaw directed a course to be

steered for the sinking "Osnabruck." While the carpenter and his men

were still working feverishly in the boats, others of the crew were

preparing lifelines and getting life-buoys ready to throw to the

luckless wretches who, up till half an hour ago, had done their

utmost to send the "Saraband" and her passengers and crew to "Davy

Jones' Locker."

Rapidly the foundering vessel came clearer and clearer into view.

Already her fo'c'sle was awash. Her crew had mustered aft, waiting

for the final plunge; there was not one of her boats that was not

rendered useless by the straight firing of the two 4.7-in. guns of

her antagonist.

"By Jove, those fellows are brave and disciplined!" remarked Lymore,

who was standing close to Terence. "Germany has a comparatively new

navy, without any of the glorious traditions that ours has; yet----"

"They copy us, as much as possible, in that respect," added Aubyn. "I

believe the Kaiser had the story of our 'Birkenhead' printed and

distributed amongst his fleet as an example of what they ought to do

in the face of death. Look, there she goes."

Quietly, without any suspicion of a swirl, the sea closed over the

ill-fated "Osnabruck." She did not turn turtle. In fact, she partly

righted herself as she disappeared, leaving a pall of smoke that

obscured the awful vision of two hundred human beings struggling for

life, to mark the spot where she took her last plunge.

Fortunately the sea was calm and the water warm. The cannonading had

frightened away the tigers of the deep, so that the terrible danger

of being seized by sharks was not added to the horrors of the scene.

All around the surface was dotted with the heads of men swimming for

dear life. Many of the German sailors were supporting their wounded

comrades. They swam in silence, neither indulging in careless jest

nor appealing for aid. They were too stolid to meet danger with the

light-hearted bravery of the British tars; they were too confident in

their belief that their enemies would do their utmost to save them to

waste their breath in shouting for help.

The three boats were lowered almost simultaneously, and urged by the

powerful strokes of the oarsmen as they bent to the ash blades, were

quickly upon the scene. Men were hauled into the boats with all

possible despatch, the officers in charge giving their crews special

orders to pick up those who were wounded and exhausted.

Other Germans were saved by lifelines, while in several instances

members of the "Saraband's" crew dived overboard from a height of

thirty feet to rescue hapless Teutons who were on the point of

sinking.

In all, eleven officers and one hundred and sixteen men, most of them

partly dazed by the ordeal through which they had passed, were saved.

F Provided with dry clothing by their captors, the officers were

marched aft and placed under lock and key in the second-class

passengers' smoking-room, while the men, save those whose state

required medical or surgical attention, were secured in the fore part

of the ship.

The German officers took their defeat badly. They had been informed

of the "Saraband's" approximate position by wireless from their

consort, the armed liner "Hertzolf," and had hoped to make an easy

capture. Nor could they credit that the casualties on the British

vessel numbered only eight men slightly wounded. They scoffed openly

at the statement, till Captain Ramshaw, indignant that his word

should be doubted, invited the German commander to witness a muster

of the crew and compare the numbers with those on the ship's papers.

Without further incident the "Saraband" arrived at the Rock. Here,

escorted by a naval vessel, since Gibraltar was under war conditions,

she went inside the Mole and coaled. Temporary repairs, beyond the

resources of the ship, were also carried out. The authorities,

however, declined to take off the German prisoners, nor would they

allow any of the passengers to land.

Four days later the "Saraband" brought up in Sandown Bay, off the

Isle of Wight--the recognized "Examination Ground" for all merchant

vessels making for either Portsmouth or Southampton. Here she was

boarded by a naval officer who was detailed to pilot her through the

intricate channel between the submarine defences of Spithead. In

war-time nothing was left to chance in the safeguarding of the

kingdom's greatest naval port. No vessels were permitted to enter by

the Needles Channel. All movements of craft other than naval were

forbidden to take place after dark, while at night the approaches to

the historic anchorage were swept by dozens of powerful searchlights.

Terence Aubyn was naturally curious to know in what capacity he was

to be employed by the Admiralty. He knew that with the calling up of

the naval reserve he would for the time being sever his connexion

with the Red Band Line. He hoped he would be appointed to a

battleship or cruiser.

He was not long left in suspense. As the ship rounded the Nab

Lightship her orders were received:--

"Make for Southampton and disembark passengers: then proceed to

Portsmouth. 'Saraband' is to be converted with all due haste into an

armed merchant cruiser."

No patriotic demonstrations, no outbursts of cheering greeted the

badly battered vessel as, under reduced speed, she glided up the

land-locked Southampton Water and made fast alongside the dock-wall.

Save for a gang of stevedores and the mooring-party the docks were

absolutely devoid of the civilian element. Khaki and naval uniforms

were strongly in evidence, for the great commercial port had been

given over entirely for warlike purposes, chiefly in connexion with

the secret departure of the British Expeditionary Force.

Almost five hundred years previously an English army had embarked at

that self-same town to wage a glorious campaign on French soil.

Fifteen hundred small vessels, bedecked with banners, their lofty

bulwarks lined with the shields of the flower of English chivalry,

carried the array commanded by Henry V in person. With shouts and

fanfares of trumpets and amid the acclamations of the worthy

townsfolk, the fleet dropped down Southampton Water, bearing the

knights, men-at-arms, and archers who were destined to win immortal

glory on the field of Agincourt.

And now history was repeating itself--but with a difference. The

forces of the Mighty Empire were once more leaving Southampton for

the land of France: not as enemies of that country but as sworn

allies against a common, powerful, and unscrupulous foe. These forces

were working silently. There were no boisterous farewells, no braying

of brass bands, no flamboyant speeches. The silent armies meant

business.

Berthed in a secluded portion of the docks the "Saraband" immediately

began to disembark her passengers. A train was waiting to take them

away from the scene of military activity, for the sooner they were

out of the way the quicker was the Embarkation Officer pleased. Then

came the turn of the survivors of the "Osnabruck."

At the dock-side a strong body of khaki troops with fixed bayonets

was drawn up, ready to form an escort to the prisoners. Two closed

cabs were waiting for Major Karl von Eckenhardt and his confederate,

Hans Slieber, who were to be indicted on several counts before a

civil court.

The German sailors, finding that they were well treated, gave no

trouble. In a quiet, orderly manner they trooped down the gangway and

formed up in fours. In spite of their nondescript garments they

presented a military bearing that characterizes the German seaman

whether he be a member of the Imperial Navy or of the Mercantile

Marine. One and all were permeated by the cast-iron discipline that

is one of the results of a rigid system of conscription.

Surrounded by their guards they were marched off to cool their heels

in a concentration camp.

"Now, Mr. Aubyn," said Captain Ramshaw, after the captive seamen had

departed, "take the quartermaster with you and accompany these

gentlemen."

He pointed to the four police officers who had been detailed to

conduct the German spies to prison.

"We'll soon relieve you of further responsibility, sir," remarked one

of the police. "According to information these gentlemen have caused

a lot of trouble: I reckon they won't do so again, once we've laid

hold of them."

"I won't be sorry to see the last of them," agreed Terence. "I only

hope I shan't be kept about in connexion with the trial. I want to be

afloat again."

The quartermaster unlocked the door of the cell in which Hans

Slieber, alias Stone, was confined. The man sullenly submitted to be

handcuffed; then, escorted by two of the police, was taken on deck.

"You didn't keep your two birds together, I see," commented one of

the remaining officers.

"Rather not," replied Aubyn. "The two of them might put their heads

together and do mischief. Alone, each can be kept in perfect safety.

Now, quartermaster."

The quartermaster unlocked the door of the cabin in which Major von

Eckenhardt had been placed. Then he gave a gasp of astonishment. The

room was empty.

Unable to disguise his chagrin Terence dashed into the cabin,

followed by the two police officers.

"It's as clear as daylight how he managed it," announced one of the

representatives of the law, pointing to a portion of the steel

bulkhead that lay on the floor. An oval section, wide enough for a

man to crawl through, had been filed out of the partition. The

aperture communicated with the second-class passengers' smoking-room

in which the surviving officers of the "Osnabruck" had been

quartered. Von Eckenhardt had been released from his place of

confinement by them. Once in their company he shaved off his

moustache and donned a naval uniform. Since some of the prisoners

wore civilian garb, it was a comparatively easy matter for the spy to

march out of the ship with the others.

"Anyway, we'll nab him at the concentration camp," declared one of

the policemen confidently. "I'm afraid, sir, you'll be one of those

who will have to identify him."

"If you can manage to stop the train you'll save me a lot of bother,"

declared Terence. "I must inform Captain Ramshaw at once."

Acting upon the fourth officer's suggestion the police succeeded in

intercepting the train before it got clear of the docks. The German

officers were closely inspected, but without result. By means of an

astounding sang-froid the redoubtable spy, von Eckenhardt, had

slipped past the guards while the prisoners were entraining, and was

no doubt well on his way to liberty, and, what was worse, to renew

his activities against the British Government.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE DUTCH TRAWLER.

FOR the next five weeks workmen were toiling day and night upon the

"Saraband," from the moment she arrived at Portsmouth Dockyard.

A clean sweep was made of her sumptuous cabin fittings. The white

enamelled woodwork of the promenade and boat-decks was ruthlessly

"scrapped." Over the engine and boiler-rooms a protective steel deck

was built, while light armour, sufficient to stop any hostile shell

from the light guns of the German commerce destroyers, was placed in

position round the water-line, and also in other important and

otherwise vulnerable parts of the ship.

In addition to the two 4.7-in. guns already carried four more of the

same calibre were provided, two on the fo'c'sle and two amidships,

while on the promenade-deck four twelve-pounders were mounted behind

armoured shields. Finally the ship from truck to water-line was

painted a neutral grey; her name was changed, and under the White

Ensign appeared in the Navy List as H.M. Armed Merchant Cruiser

"Strongbow."

During that six weeks Sub-Lieutenant Terence Aubyn, R.N.R., had been

far from idle. In company with the rest of the ship's deck officers

he had been sent to Whale Island, the Naval Gunnery School, to

undergo a rapid though none the less thorough preliminary course of

gunnery. Aubyn simply revelled in the work. Gunlaying, position

finding, gunnery control, both in theory and practice, kept him hard

at it, and when the examination took place he came off with flying

colours, somewhat to the astonishment and great satisfaction of the

authorities, who had hitherto regarded the R. N. R. officers in a

rather tolerant spirit.

Just before the date fixed for commissioning H.M.S. "Strongbow"

Terence was accorded weekend leave--from three o'clock on Friday to

nine a.m. on Monday. Needless to say he employed the time by paying a

visit to his home.

Mrs. Aubyn lived in a picturesque little house on the East Coast,

between Caistor and Yarmouth, standing within fifty yards of the low

cliffs. The house had been designed by Captain Aubyn, who did not

live long to enjoy his well-earned retirement. It was a low rambling

building. Over the two end rooms was a flat roof, accessible by means

of a "hatchway." This was the worthy captain's "quarter-deck," on

which was mounted on a tripod a powerful telescope. There was also a

flagstaff set at a rake from the centre of the side wall. From this

staff Captain Aubyn regularly hoisted the ensign at the regulation

hour, hauling it down at sunset. This he did regularly until a few

days before his death. In one of the rooms under the flat roof was a

semicircular projection, pierced with several small windows that

commanded an extensive marine view. This room the captain was wont to

dub the "casemate."

People in the neighbourhood were apt to regard the house as the

output of a somewhat eccentric mind; but it was rather the result of

a life-long career in various ships of the Royal Navy, and so strong

were the traits of the service that Captain Aubyn introduced them as

far as possible into his private life. Whenever his friends rallied

him up on the subject of "Aubyn's Battery" the captain smiled

complacently. The reference pleased him far more than his

acquaintances were aware.

Terence Aubyn's irregular and hasty visits were always a source of

deep pleasure to his mother. In his breezy way the lad would take his

parent by storm, converting her usually quiet existence into a brief

round of excitement.

It was after eleven o'clock at night when the sub. reached Yarmouth.

He had previously wired to the effect that he would be home, as

quickly as the unpunctual train service would permit.

Once clear of the town Terence set off at a steady swinging pace

along the Denes. Several times he was challenged by patrols,

incidents that served to remind him that war was close at home. He

vaguely wondered whether such precautions were necessary, with the

Grand Fleet holding the North Sea and keeping every German warship

skulking in harbour. It seemed so unreal, even with vast armies

fighting on the Continent, and the sound of their guns almost within

hearing distance of Dover, that the peaceful Norfolk coast should

have to be protected against possible raids.

At length Aubyn reached the commencement of the cliff path. It was a

starry night, sufficiently light to enable him to follow the

well-known track without risk of blundering over the edge of the

miniature precipice on to the sands twenty feet below.

After a mile or so the path skirted a slight indentation of the

cliff. As Terence passed this spot he saw a light flash at the bottom

of the hollow. Then the gleam vanished.

In the starlight Terence could discern the figure of a man. In spite

of the chilliness of the night air he wore no overcoat. He was

standing motionless, with his back towards the sub.

"The fellow's dropped something," soliloquised Aubyn. "I'll go and

bear a hand."

The sand muffled his footsteps till he was within ten yards of the

stranger. Hearing the sound the man faced about and flashed an

electric torch upon the ground.

"Lost something, sir?" asked Terence affably. "Can I help you?"

"My pipe," returned the other. "It must have fallen out of my

pocket."

The voice seemed strangely familiar, yet the sub. could not call the

owner to memory.

"You live about here, I presume?" asked Aubyn. "I think I recognize

your voice----"

The next moment he uttered an involuntary cry of pain and clasped his

hand to his eyes. The stranger had suddenly thrown a handful of some

burning substance straight into the young officer's face.

For some moments Terence stood still, with his hands up to his face.

The pain was excruciating. He could do nothing, but he could hear the

footsteps of the rascal as he ran from the scene of his dastardly

work.

"The brute has thrown quicklime in my eyes," thought the sub. "I'll

have to find my way to the sea and try to save my sight. Good

heavens!"

Like a flash he now recognized the voice. It was that of the spy,

Major Karl von Eckenhardt.

Gradually Aubyn made his way down the gently shelving sands, guided

by the murmurs of the waves breaking on shore. Before he had gone

many yards he gave vent to a prodigious sneeze, quickly followed by

another.

"That's luck indeed," muttered the young officer. "It isn't lime

after all; it's pepper."

Presently the involuntary flow of tears cleared the irritating grains

from his eyes, and though they still smarted terribly he was now able

to see. In addition a veil had been lifted from before his mental

vision: hitherto rather sceptical concerning the reports of German

spies on the East Coast he was no longer in doubt on that score.

There was also another aspect to the situation. Perhaps von

Eckenhardt had learnt the home address of the young officer who had

materially assisted in thwarting his designs upon the "Saraband."

Motives of revenge may have brought the German hither, possibly to

strike a blow at Aubyn through his parent. Terence tried to dismiss

the suggestion as absurd, but the presentiment grew upon him. He

resolved to get his mother to move into either Yarmouth or Norwich at

the first opportunity.

Thus reasoning Terence retraced his steps. He meant to inform the

nearest patrol of what had occurred, and if the telegraph and

telephone could be pressed into immediate service the spy ought to be

apprehended before morning.

"'Alt. Who goes there?"

"Friend!" replied Terence promptly.

"Rummy time of night to be taking a constitutional," commented the

sentry, stepping from the shelter afforded by a clump of furze; then

recognizing Aubyn's naval cap and great-coat--

"Beg pardon, sir," he said apologetically.

"Have you seen anyone else pass this way recently?" demanded Terence.

"No, sir; not during the last three-quarters of an hour. Is anything

wrong, sir?

"I stumbled across a fellow using a flash lamp."

"I wish I had, sir," declared the sentry, a smart young Territorial.

"Just my luck I didn't. If I had----" and he tapped the magazine of

his rifle significantly.

All thoughts of making his way home had vanished from Aubyn's mind.

The demands of duty completely eclipsed the call of home. He hastened

back to Yarmouth and reported the matter to the naval authorities.

Energetic steps were taken to capture the daring spy. Telegraph and

telephone were resorted to, verbal descriptions being transmitted to

all police stations in the vicinity, while orders were issued to the

Territorial troops guarding the railway stations to exercise

particular vigilance in this direction.

It was also equally desirable to ascertain the vessel or vessels to

whom von Eckenhardt was signalling, and a number of small craft was

despatched to search Yarmouth Roads and an area bounded by imaginary

lines drawn through the Would, Smith's Knoll, Cross Sands, and Corton

Lights.

By this time Aubyn had given up all idea of going home that night.

Rather than disturb his parent by knocking at the door at an

unearthly hour of the morning, he decided to crave the hospitality of

the naval officers attached to the Yarmouth base.

"Hello, Aubyn, old chap! what brings you in these parts?" asked a

tall, broad-shouldered man in the uniform of a sub-lieutenant of the

Motor Boat Reserve.

Terence looked keenly at his questioner. He was mystified, and the

officer keenly enjoyed his discomfiture.

"You have the advantage of me," said Aubyn.

"What. You don't remember Dick Waynsford? Come, come, that's base

ingratitude."

"Well, old chap, if you will shave off that inelegant moustache of

yours--congratulations, old man."

Dick Waynsford was a yachtsman who on the outbreak of the war had

applied for and had been given a commission in the newly formed Motor

Boat Reserve. His intimate knowledge of the intricate harbours and

creeks of the Suffolk and Essex coasts, combined with a strong liking

for the sea, made him fully qualified for the post.

In Yarmouth Harbour were a dozen or so weatherly motor-boats, whose

duty it was to act as tenders for the fleet in the Roads, and to

undertake patrolling work. At all hours and in almost every state of

the weather these staunch little craft could be seen as they sped

upon their various duties. Unthinking people regarded the Motor Boat

Reserve as a soft job--an opportunity to wear His Majesty's uniform

and at the same time to be out of any possibility of danger. They had

yet to learn that the war was to be brought actually to the shores of

Old England, which they had hitherto considered impregnable. Then the

slighted "harbour patrol" boats would have their chance.

"Have a run out with us, Aubyn?" suggested Waynsford. "We've just

had orders to look for a suspicious trawler--possibly the one to

which your friend the spy was signalling. Since you have partly

spoiled the game you may just as well see the end of it."

"Right-o," assented Terence. "Lead on."

Aubyn followed his friend to the quayside. Here, floating idly on the

dark waters of the tidal river, were four motor-boats, each painted a

dark grey and distinguished by a number on the bows, their outlines

feebly discernible by the feeble light of a partly shaded light on

the wharf.

"That's my packet--the 'Lonette,'" announced Waynsford, indicating

the outermost of the tier. "Mind that ladder: it's horribly

slippery."

"Fine little craft," declared Terence enthusiastically, as he stepped

into the diminutive cockpit of the motor-boat.

"Yes, I'm lucky to get her. One of the swiftest of the whole crowd,

and a ripping sea-boat. Cast off there!" he ordered, addressing the

two deckhands, who with the engineer constituted the crew of the

"Lonette."

Five minutes later the "Lonette" was gliding over the sullen

undulations of the North Sea, shaping a course towards the N.E.

Cockle buoy, marking the edge of a dangerous bank.

A cable's length astern followed the "Pixie," another armed

motor-boat detailed to act in consort with the craft under

Waynsford's command. Neither vessel showed navigation lights, their

position being determined by the phosphorescent swirl as they cut

through the water. Overhead the stars shone dully, for a slight haze

was beginning to gather.

Suddenly a dark shape loomed up in the darkness--an object that

resolved itself into a large unwieldy lighter attended by a small tug

which was lashed alongside.

"Shifting the buoys," explained Waynsford laconically.

"Shifting?" inquired Terence. "Surely you mean removing them

altogether."

"Not much," replied his companion. "We've had orders to shift the

whole lot two miles to the east'ard. Should any of these rotten

German cruisers dare to come out--I don't fancy they will, worse

luck--the altered position of these buoys will puzzle them a bit:

unless your friend Eckenhardt has already signalled the fact to an

enemy vessel."

Five minutes later the two patrol vessels ran across a number of

trawlers making their way to Yarmouth. These there was no need to

stop and examine. Their bona-fides were above suspicion, especially

as a long, lean destroyer was steaming slowly in their wake.

For the next two hours the "Lonette" and the "Pixie" cruised between

the Newarp and the Cross Sands without sighting a suspicious craft.

It was now nearly dawn.

"Sleepy?" inquired Waynsford, as Aubyn stifled a yawn. "Have a caulk

in the cabin: you'll find the cushions fairly comfortable, and they

were well aired this morning--yesterday morning, I mean."

"Thanks, I'll stick it," replied Terence. "It's been a fairly long

day, but one must get used to it."

"Trawler, or some such craft on the starboard bow, sir," announced

one of the "Lonette's" crew. "She's showing no lights."

Waynsford immediately altered helm; the skipper of the

"Pixie", quickly followed suit, and the two motor-boats slowed down,

one on each quarter of the trawler, whose nets were out.

"Trawler, ahoy. What ship is that?" shouted Waynsford.

"Dis de 'Vanhuit' of Scheveningen, Hollander trawler," replied a

voice in broken English. "We goot way outside dree mile limit,

mynheer."

"Stand by with a rope, then," rejoined the skipper of the "Lonette."

"We want to have a look at you."

Somewhat reluctantly the Dutchman threw a coil of rope, the end of

which the bowman of the "Lonette" deftly made fast to a bollard. The

"Pixie" remained a boat's length or so off.

"May as well come, Aubyn," suggested Waynsford. "A little exercise

won't do you any harm." The two subs, followed by one of the crew,

swarmed up the tarry side of the trawler and gained the deck.

The strange craft was of about forty tons displacement, with a

considerable amount of sheer and ample beam. Steam was escaping

gently through the steam-pipe, while a faint wreath of smoke drifted

from her squat funnel.

"Why no lights?" inquired Waynsford.

"Accident, mynheer ver' bad accident," replied the Dutchman

apologetically. "See you here."

He led the way for'ard. On the fo'c'sle were two burly fishermen

holding the remains of two lanterns.

"Forestay halliard him part," explained the master. "Lights, dey come

down wit a run an' broke to pieces.

"Then the sooner you send another pair of lamps aloft the better,"

remarked Waynsford. "Now let's have a look round below."

The Dutch skipper led the way. Aubyn lingered on the fo'c'sle. His

quick eye detected something that his comrade had overlooked. The

lanterns had obviously pitched on the deck, but there were no signs

of oil being spilled.

At the head of the little companion ladder Waynsford paused to see if

Aubyn were following. The Dutchman had already disappeared.

"Where's Mr. Aubyn?" asked the skipper of the "Lonette," addressing

his deck-hand.

"For'ard, sir," replied that worthy. "I can just make him out in the

dark."

"Coming below, Aubyn?" asked Waynsford, raising his voice.

"Hold hard, I want to get something out of 'Lonette's' cabin,"

replied Terence.

Curiosity prompted Waynsford to delay his visit below. Going for'ard

he met Aubyn, who was making his way aft.

"There's something queer about this craft," remarked Terence

hurriedly. "I'm going to smuggle myself on board, if you don't find

anything sufficiently suspicious to justify her detention. So if you

don't see me when you come on deck again, don't wait, but push off,

and come back for me in a couple of hours' time. If you can get in

touch with a destroyer, so much the better."

"Right-o," assented Waynsford. He was perfectly willing to allow

Terence to put his plan into execution, but at the same time, his

suspicions aroused, he meant to do his level best to find sufficient

evidence to place the Dutch trawler under arrest. Extreme caution was

necessary, since he had been specially warned not to commit anything

that could be construed by a neutral state into an unfriendly act.

Without another word Waynsford descended to the cabin. With rough

courtesy the Dutch skipper produced his papers, at the same time

offering the boarding-officer a glass of schnapps--an invitation that

was firmly yet kindly declined.

"Your papers are quite in order," announced the sub. "Perhaps you

have no objection to my looking round?"

"I no objec'," declared the Dutch skipper.

Although his suspicions were aroused Sub-Lieutenant Waynsford had no

fear of treachery. One of his men had accompanied him below, while in

the interval a deck-hand from the "Pixie" had scrambled up the side

and was pacing the "Vanhuit's" planks. The engine-room, fo'c'sle,

fish-holds, and storerooms were each in turn visited, but there was

apparently nothing to give rise to any question that the vessel was

anything but a harmless trawler.

At length Waynsford made his way on deck. The two fishermen on the

fo'c'sle were still devoting their attention to the damaged lamps.

Another was leaning over the low bulwark and engaging in conversation

in a queer sort of English with the crew of the "Pixie."

"Thanks, mynheer," said Waynsford. "I'll wish you good-night. Sorry

to have caused you any inconvenience.

"Der vas no drouble at all," rejoined the Dutchman. "Goot-night to

you."

The sub descended the side and gained the cockpit of the "Lonette."

The rope was cast off and the motor-boat slipped astern. Not one word

did Waynsford say until the little craft was out of hearing distance,

then--

"Where's Mr. Aubyn? he asked.

"Aboard yonder packet, sir," replied the member of the crew who had

been left in charge of the motorboat. "He asked me to drop a few

feet astern and then he slipped up over the Dutchman's quarter. Shall

I give a hail, sir?"

"No," replied Waynsford. "Easy ahead."

CHAPTER IX.

THE SECRET WIRELESS.

UPON regaining the "Lonette," Aubyn descended into the diminutive

cabin and made hasty preparations for his adventure. Unbuttoning his

great-coat he drew a small revolver from the inside breast pocket of

his monkey-jacket. Assuring himself that it was fully loaded, the

sub. thrust it into the right-hand pocket of his outer garment, then,

having readjusted his muffler, rebuttoned his coat, so that the

turned-up collar hid the white woollen comforter.

He felt justified in making the attempt. During his brief visit to

the trawler the lack of oil from the broken lamps had first aroused

his suspicions. Secondly, he had made the discovery that the

foremast, although painted to resemble pitch-pine, was made of metal,

and was consequently hollow. A steel mast for a vessel of that

tonnage was a decided rarity, especially when the vessel was supposed

to be a trawler. Consequently Aubyn had already made up his mind to

investigate.

It was impracticable to give Waynsford details of his plan. Without

demur the skipper of the "Lonette" had agreed to his chum's

proposition--for which Terence was truly grateful. Had Waynsford been

of a jealous or inquisitive disposition he might have wrecked his

friend's plans. Instead he had unquestionably complied with Aubyn's

wishes.

Presently Terence emerged from the cabin and peered cautiously at the

high sides of the trawler. Fortunately none of the crew was visible.

Six feet abaft the motor-boat's quarter the outlines of the trawler's

mizzen chain-plates were just discernible in the darkness.

Softly calling to the "Lonette's" bowman, Aubyn asked him to drop a

few feet astern. The man who in civil life had been a deck-hand on a

crack racing-yacht, immediately did so. His wonderment at the request

was overpowered by a sense of obedience acquired by years of training

that demanded instant response to the order of the sailing-master.

As soon as the chain-plates came within arm's length Terence grasped

the tarred lanyards and swung himself up till his head was on a level

with the bulwarks. He peered cautiously along the deck. Aft the

trawler was deserted. Forward the two hands were fumbling with the

lanterns and the ends of the severed forestay halliard. They

evidently were in no hurry to rectify the damage, Terence decided a

deft-handed man could have re-spliced the rope in a quarter of the

time.

Silently the sub. crawled over the bulwarks and made his way to the

lee side of the engine-room coamings. Here he paused to survey the

scene of action, at the same time devotedly hoping that his boots

would not creak and betray his presence. From below came the guttural

voice of the Dutch skipper punctuated by the clear decisive tones of

Dick Waynsford. Amidships, on the port side, one of the crew,

invisible from the place where Terence crouched, was still keeping up

a running fire of banter with the "Pixie's" crew.

He began to unlace his boots, regretting that he had not left them on

board the "Lonette." Then he remembered that if they were discovered

suspicions would be aroused. He could not drop them overboard without

making a splash--and the footgear had cost him a guinea a pair. Lying

about on a wet deck with stockinged feet, he reflected, was a cruel

job on a cold night, so he hurriedly re-tied the laces.

"It will be a ticklish job to give an account of myself if they find

me," he soliloquised, "that is, if the trawler's what she pretends

she is. Ten to one I'm on the right tack, though, so here goes."

On all fours he crossed the only uninterrupted part of deck space

between the companion and the side of the fish-hold coaming. Here he

was fairly safe from observation unless one of the for'ard hands

chanced to come aft.

The fish-hold hatches occupied the greater portion of the 'midships

part of the trawler. Two of the after-coverings had been removed. The

others were in place, a heavy tarpaulin being loosely thrown over

them, the canvas slack at the for'ard end.

Beneath this covering, and wedged in between the coaming and the

deck, Aubyn crawled. Here he was within ten feet of the foremast--the

object of his suspicions. Thanks to the tarpaulin he was able to keep

fairly warm in his cramped quarters, while by means of a fold in the

canvas he was able to command a wide view of the fore part of the

vessel.

Presently he heard Waynsford and the Dutch skipper, followed by the

"Lonette's" man, emerge from the cabin and make the round of the

deck. Once Waynsford's foot nearly trod upon him as he crouched under

the still tarpaulin. Then, after a seemingly endless delay, Terence

heard the farewell greetings and the gentle purring of the

"Lonette's" motors, as, followed by the "Pixie," she forged ahead,

circled and was lost to hearing in the darkness.

For the next ten minutes Terence heard nothing but the heavy measured

tread of the skipper of the trawler as he paced the deck. Then,

stopping at the forward end of his beat, he said something in a low

tone. The words were German, not Dutch--Aubyn was certain of that.

Bitterly he regretted his almost total ignorance of the language of

Britain's greatest foe.

Then came the clank of a steam winch. Apparently the men were hauling

in their nets.

"I hope the old hooker won't make off towards the Dutch coast without

the 'Lonette' spotting her," observed Aubyn. "If it come overmisty I

won't give much for my chance. By Jove! I am getting stiff."

Soon the winch was stopped, and men came for'ard. Two of them stopped

at the foot of the foremast and set to work silently and rapidly.

Slightly raising the fold of the tarpaulin the sub. could see that

they were removing a plate from the bulky steel mast. Others--for

more of the crew than had previously appeared came on the scene--rove

light steel wire rigging furnished with small circular objects that

the sub. recognised as insulators for wireless gear.

His suspicions were well-founded. Inside the steel mast was a

telescopic spar that could be hoisted thirty feet above the truck.

From the head of this staff a line of light rope running through a

block automatically uncoiled itself, the falls dropping on deck. To

one end of this line the aerial was bent and sent aloft.

Two men then came staggering forward with a huge cask. Upon knocking

off the upper and lower bands the barrel opened like an exaggerated

locket--the remaining bands being dummies--and disclosed a small but

powerful wireless apparatus.

Hardly pausing to weigh the consequences, the sub. threw aside the

folds of the tarpaulin and sprang to his feet. A howl of rage and

surprise greeted his appearance.

"Surrender!" exclaimed Aubyn sternly.

For some minutes there was a dead silence on the part of the

astonished Germans, broken only by the moaning of the wind through

the rigging and the lap of the water against the trawler's sides.

Then, giving a hasty glance round to assure himself that no vessel

was within hailing distance, and realising that the daring Englishman

was alone, the skipper gave a hurried order.

The next moment Terence was confronted by the muzzles of half a dozen

automatic pistols.

"Surrender yourself, Englishman," replied the skipper. "You mad; you

all alone. Hands up, or you dead man."

"Perhaps," remarked Terence, with outward calmness, although he

remembered with some misgivings that the hair trigger of an automatic

pistol is a delicate piece of mechanism for a horny-handed seaman to

play with. "If you shoot you'll make things a jolly sight worse for

you than they are already. You're properly cornered. The two

motor-boats are waiting a short distance off, and there's a destroyer

only too ready to bear a hand."

"Vot you going der do?" asked the German, in a chastened tone.

"To summon assistance and take possession of an enemy ship. The more

trouble you give, my friend, the worse it will be for you."

[Illustration: "Taking a quick yet steady aim, the Sub. pressed the

trigger."]

The skipper shrugged his shoulders, then hastily addressed his crew.

The latter put up their pistols, sullenly and almost mutinously. One

of the men hurried across the deck and drew a signal rocket from a

locker. This he affixed to the vessel's side and produced a match.

"Stop!" exclaimed Aubyn authoritatively.

"Dies still Zherman sheep," protested the skipper.

The match flared, shielded from the wind by the partly clasped hand

of the man who was holding it. In obedience to a further order he

began to apply the light to the rocket.

Terence whipped out his revolver. Hitherto, realising that a

premature display of the weapon might result in a volley from the

hostile pistols, he had kept the weapon out of sight. Now that the

crew were practically cowed that danger was over.

The seaman hesitated only for a brief instant, then ignoring the

levelled weapon, bent over his task. One of his comrades chuckled

derisively.

Taking a quick yet steady aim the sub. pressed the trigger. The heavy

ball went true to the mark, severing the rocket-stick and causing the

rocket to fall over the side. Luck more than good management had

enabled him to hit a target the thickness of a lead pencil on a dark

night, with only the flicker of a match to assist his aim.

"If any man attempt to go below I'll wing him--tell them that," said

Terence sternly, addressing the master. "Order them to fall in on

the starboard side."

All sign of resistance having disappeared the crew, ten in number,

formed up at the place indicated, while Aubyn drew his cigarette case

from his pocket and smoked.

It was not an act of bravado on his part. Now that the crisis was

over he had an uncontrollable craving for a cigarette. So he smoked

contentedly as he awaited the return of the "Lonette" and her

consort.

He had not long to wait. Already grey dawn was breaking. The wind had

dropped, and the short steep waves had subsided into a sullen roll.

Long before the two motor-boats came into view the purr of the

engines and the muffled roar of their exhausts could be distinctly

heard in the still morning air.

"I thought the fellows had potted you when I heard that shot,"

exclaimed Waynsford, as he clambered over the side. "Well done, old

man," he added cordially, as his glance fell upon the tell-tale

wireless gear.

"You might send 'Pixie' to bring up the destroyer," suggested Aubyn.

"It will save a lot of trouble if she tows this packet into port.

Tell her to give the destroyer the tip: there may be German

submarines about."

"What makes you think that?" asked Waynsford.

"The anxiety on the part of one of those fellows to let off a rocket.

I'm glad I was able to stop his little game."

"How?"

"Oh, a pot-shot at five yards--sent the rocket-stick flying out of

his hands. Wonder I didn't hit him."

"Serve him jolly well right if you had," added Waynsford. Already he

was fairly conversant with German methods of kultur in connexion with

nautical affairs, and to him every Teuton appeared in the light of a

skulking treacherous foe.

"'Pixie,' ahoy!" he shouted, addressing his consort, which had now

slowed down about half a cable's length away on the port quarter.

"Get into touch with that destroyer: she's heading our way. Inform

her commanding officer that we suspect hostile submarines in the

vicinity."

CHAPTER X.

H.M.S. "STRONGBOW" SAILS.

ALREADY the vessel indicated--H.M.T.B.D. "Lawley"--was within three

miles of the captured trawler, and at a good twenty-five knots was

momentarily decreasing the distance. Her lynx-eyed

lieutenant-commander had spotted the so-called "Vanhuit," and the

tell-tale wireless mast, and the presence of one of the patrolling

motor-boats alongside gave him a right impression that the trawler

had been engaged in illegal work.

The "Lawley" made a fine picture as she pelted through the

leaden-hued water on that grey autumnal morning. She was cleared for

action. Men were standing by the three 4-inch guns ready to let fly

at the first sign of a hostile periscope, for German submarines had

been reported in the vicinity of Yarmouth Roads, and each of her

mast-heads had the White Ensign floating proudly in the breeze

created by her speed. The bunting was the only dash of colour about

her; all the rest of the destroyer was a sombre hue, from the black

hull and funnels to the great-coated forms of the crew.

The skipper of the "Pixie," balancing himself on the cabin-top of his

lively craft, was semaphoring the warning. Almost as soon as his

message ended a triangular strip of bunting--the answering

pennant--was hoisted to the "Lawley's" signal yard-arm. Then, by

means of a megaphone, the lieutenant-commander shouted to the crew of

the "Pixie." The words were unintelligible to the watchers on the

captured trawler, but the skipper of the "Pixie" understood. With a

wave of his arm he descended from his precarious perch just in time

to prevent himself being capsized by the swell of the passing

destroyer, which, instead of making for the trawler, sharply ported

helm and made off in the opposite direction.

"We're to take the prize into Yarmouth under our own steam,"

announced the sub. in charge of the "Pixie," as he came within

hailing distance.

"Right-o," assented Waynsford cheerfully. "Come aboard and we'll tow

both our boats. Now then, below there," he added, addressing the

German skipper and his crestfallen men.

Waynsford literally hustled them into the forepeak and shut the

hatch. The German engineer and the fireman required no compulsion to

remain at their posts. In one sense they were glad at being captured;

it meant the end of the nerve-racking ordeal within sight of the

English coast and miles of mine-strewn waters--the work of their

fellow-countrymen--between them and their Friesian home.

The crew of the motor-boats quickly buoyed and severed the nets that

the pseudo-trawler had out to cloak her true rôle, and having

drifted clear of these entanglements, the captured craft forged ahead

at a modest seven knots with the "Lonette" and "Pixie" towing

sedately astern.

Terence Aubyn, feeling somewhat heavy-eyed by reason of his voluntary

night's work, was pacing the deck, his gaze directed towards the town

of Yarmouth and the low-lying Norfolk coast, now momentarily becoming

clearer in the rays of the early morning sun.

Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted by a hurried shout from one of

the deck-hands, followed by a heavy list of the trawler as Waynsford

put the helm hard over.

Fifty yards on the starboard bow was a black object resembling a

short spar floating vertically, yet the object had movement, for a

streak of foam marked the resistance of the water to its progress.

It was Aubyn's first impression of the periscope of a submarine, and

a German one at that.

With admirable presence of mind Waynsford had decided to ram the

lurking peril. Evidently the commander of the submarine had realized

his danger, for the periscope was sinking.

Aubyn held his breath as the heavy hull of the trawler passed

immediately over the spot where the periscope had disappeared. He

waited for the dull grinding sound as the vessel's keel ripped

through the comparatively thin steel hull of the submerged

vessel--but he waited in vain. True, there was a slight

tremor--nothing more.

"I believe we hit her," exclaimed Waynsford. "Did your hear

anything?"

Aubyn was obliged to confess that he had not. The prize crew crowding

to the side looked for signs of a successful issue to their effort.

"Oil and bubbles," declared the sub. in charge of the "Pixie." "She's

done for."

Waynsford, far from being convinced, ordered one of his men to heave

a mark-buoy overboard and mark the spot where the periscope had been

last seen, at the same time a code signal was hoisted indicating the

fact that a hostile submarine had been rammed.

Quickly the destroyer arrived within hailing distance, and Aubyn was

able to see what steps the Navy took to combat the unseen foe. Slowly

the "Lawley" circled round the mark-buoy, paying out over her stern

what appeared to be an exaggerated string of sausages--in reality a

"necklace" of guncotton ready to be fired by means of electricity.

"Prize ahoy! you're much too close," sang out the bronzed

lieutenant-commander impatiently.

Before the trawler was a cable's length from the mark-buoy a series

of columns of water rose two hundred feet in the air, accompanied by

a muffled crash and a haze of smoke. When the water had subsided and

the vapour had drifted on the light breeze the mark-buoy was no

longer to be seen. All around were the bodies of fish killed by the

submarine explosion.

"That's settled her hash," declared Waynsford. "If she survived the

hit we gave her she didn't get over that little attention. See, the

'Lawley' is sending a diver down to report."

"More copy for the Press," remarked his chum, the sub. from the

"Pixie."

Waynsford shook his head.

"Not much," he replied. "It's part of the game to keep this sort of

thing quiet. We don't want to frighten our friends the German

submarines, we want to lure them out and make an end of 'em."

Terence made no remark. He was thinking, striving to picture the

shattered hull with its crew of corpses, lying fifteen fathoms below

on the sandy bed of the North Sea.

Half an hour later the prize was moored alongside one of the Yarmouth

quays, while the German crew were marched off under an armed guard.

Declining an invitation to breakfast with the naval officers of the

port, Aubyn hurried ashore. It was now six o'clock. Already a

wireless report had been received from the "Lawley" stating that her

divers had discovered the wreck of the hostile submarine, which was a

matter for congratulation. But there were no tidings of the spy von

Eckenhardt. In spite of a rigorous search he had contrived to get

clear away, and von Eckenhardt at liberty in in England was a more

serious menace than a dozen German submarines operating in British

waters.

"I say, mater," remarked Terence, while Mrs. Aubyn and her son were

at breakfast, "I think you ought to evacuate 'Aubyn's Battery '--at

least while the war lasts."

Mrs. Aubyn looked at her son in utter astonishment.

"What, leave my home? For why? Surely you don't mean to suggest that

German troops are likely to land in England?"

Terence shook his head. He scouted the idea of invasion, yet he knew

there was a possibility--that a raiding squadron might visit the

Norfolk coast.

"No, I was thinking of the winter coming on," he said equivocally.

"You see, it's rather bleak and lonely for you here. Why not shut the

house up for the next six months and go and live with Aunt Margaret?"

Mrs. Aubyn wavered. Her sister had a large house at Purbrook, a few

miles from Portsmouth. It certainly would be a pleasant change to

spend the winter in the south of England with her nearest relative

rather than exist in solitary state in her home on the bleak East

Coast.

"Besides," continued her son, taking advantage of his parent's

obvious wavering, "the 'Strongbow'--that's the new name for the old

'Saraband'--is fitting out of Portsmouth, and more than likely she'll

make that place here home port. In that case, whenever we put in for

supplies or refit, I ought to be able to see you pretty frequently."

The explanation was a lame one. Terence knew perfectly well that on

being commissioned the "Strongbow" would proceed to the North Sea for

patrol-work. Her connexion with Portsmouth would then be severed. But

to his satisfaction Mrs. Aubyn figuratively hauled down her colours.

A telegram was despatched to her sister, accepting a long-standing

invitation, and at the expiration of his week-end leave,

Sub-Lieutenant Aubyn was accompanied by his mother on his journey to

Portsmouth to rejoin his ship.

Three days later the "Strongbow," looking most business-like in her

garb of neutral grey, slipped unostentatiously between the old

fortifications at the mouth of Portsmouth Harbour, negotiated the

narrow gateway of the boom-defence, and in the pale dawn of a misty

October day shaped her course for the North Sea.

She was one of perhaps a hundred vessels of whose very existence not

decimal one per cent of the population of Great Britain is aware.

Unless a striking success or a lamentable disaster brings them into

the limelight the great British public never hear their names. Yet

every one of that vast fleet of armed merchantmen was doing its duty

as a unit of the greatest Navy the world has ever yet seen, nobly

performing a service whereby the United Kingdom is spared the horror

of the yoke-mate of war--the scourge of famine.

The "Strongbow" carried the same officers as in the days when she

sailed under the Red Ensign, while in command was a full-fledged

naval officer, Captain Hugh Ripponden.

Captain Ripponden was one of those men who welcomed the outbreak of

hostilities as a godsend. July found him in a hopeless position as

regards seniority on the list of commanders. The prospect of

compulsory retirement at the age of fifty stared him in the face. By

sheer merit and perseverance he had attained his present position,

but unfortunately he lacked the necessary influence "up topsides"

to gain an additional advance in rank.

The absorption into the Service of a fleet of armed merchantmen

proved to be his salvation from a distasteful retirement, and thus he

found himself in command of H.M.S. "Strongbow."

Like many another talented naval officer Captain Ripponden had not

the gift of eloquence. He was a man of few words. A speech was beyond

his powers.

While the crew of H.M.S. "Strongbow" first mustered for Divisions

after commissioning the captain's address was short and to the

point:--

"My lads, you look a smart crew. If you are as smart as you look,

I'll be quite satisfied. Now dismiss."

He was quite right in saying the ship's company were a smart body of

men. In spite of the fact that they were made up of Royal Naval

Reserve men, Royal Fleet Reservists, and a sprinkling of Royal Naval

Volunteers, they presented an appearance that would defy criticism

even from the oldest martinet in the days when a smart lower-yard man

was considered as a greater asset to a ship's company than a good

gun-layer.

The officers of the "Strongbow," from Captain Ramshaw (who now

assumed the rank of Commander, R.N.R.) downwards, quickly voted the

new skipper "a right good sort," while it did not take the crew long

to form the current opinion that "the owner" was a man who, not

shirking work himself, expected others to do their utmost. On board

H.M.S. "Strongbow" there was no room for shirkers or grousers.

Before the vessel passed the Nab Lightship practically the whole of

the Naval Volunteers--men of good position in civil life, whose

previous acquaintance with King Neptune's domains was a view from the

deck of the "President" lying off Temple Pier--were prostrate with

sea-sickness.

Captain Ripponden received the report that ten of his crew were

temporarily hors de combat with equanimity.

"Let the men lie in their hammocks," he replied considerately.

"They'll be all the better for it when they recover their sea-legs."

Therein he was right, and before the "Strongbow" arrived at her

cruising-station the Volunteers were as fit and as eager as the rest

of their comrades for the arduous work on hand.

CHAPTER XI.

ALL IN A DAY'S WORK.

"LIGHT on the port bow, sir," sung out a hoarse voice in the

darkness.

Sub-Lieutenant Aubyn rubbed his eyes with the back of his lamb-skin

glove. The action was necessary, for his face was encrusted with

frozen spray--icicles that, driven with terrific force by the howling

wind, cut so deeply into his weather-beaten skin as to draw blood.

Then, grasping his telescope with his benumbed fingers he steadied

the instrument on the edge of a "storm-dodger" and brought it to

bear upon the object indicated.

Two months of monotonous patrol-work had passed since the day on

which the "Strongbow" left Portsmouth Harbour. The rigours of a

winter in the North Atlantic had severely tried the physical and

mental capabilities of the officers and crew. As the days shortened

and the nights correspondingly increased, and the periods of weak

sunshine became more and more rare, the stress upon the ship's

company grew. Buffeted by wintry gales, swept by icy seas, the

"Strongbow" kept doggedly to her station. For a week at a time no

strange sail would be sighted. The armed liner seemed to be an atom

of isolation in the midst of a deserted foam-flecked ocean; yet hers

was a particular duty to be done for King and Country.

Coming from a regular route that for the most part lay in tropical

and sub-tropical seas the original officers of the ship felt the

climatic change acutely. Most of them, who hourly faced death in the

shape of unseen mines, quailed at the thought of having to use a

razor, and grew beards of wondrous trim.

Aubyn was one of the exceptions, yet his appearance was such that he

resembled, to use Raeburn's expression, "a cross between a teddy-bear

and a golliwog." In addition to double underclothing he sported three

thick sweaters, a heavy great-coat and an enormous woollen muffler.

Over this perambulating bundle of clothing he wore a large yellow

oilskin and sea-boots. His naval peaked cap had given place to a

woollen "helmet" surmounted by a "sou'-wester" kept in place, against

the frantic efforts of the wind to dislodge it, by a black and white

plaid "comforter" tied tightly under his chin. And in spite of this

load of garments the cold chilled him to the bone.

Terence's appearance in the matter of dress was in keeping with the

rest of the officers and crew. Gifts of woollen comforts from the

womenfolk of the Empire had been showered upon the Royal Navy, and in

spite of the apparent redundancy of garments every article was

utilized and appreciated. Commander Ramshaw had been heard to remark

that when the men were given an order they had to almost undress

before they could carry it out. He was not far out, for although the

amount of clothing worn was not superfluous it certainly hampered the

men's movements.

The "Strongbow's" task was an arduous, necessary, and momentous one.

Like scores of her consorts the joy of battle was denied her. The

possibility of any of her crew smelling powder was a very remote one.

She was never likely to join in the chase of a fleeing enemy warship.

Her men would never, according to present circumstances, witness the

last plunge of a hostile cruiser, sent to the bottom by the guns of a

man-of-war. Honour and glory were not to be hers when the story of

the Great War comes to be written in letters of gold upon the pages

of the world's history.

No, she was only a patrol-ship; doomed to cruise within certain

limits and examine all strange merchant-craft that passed within

sight of the alert lookout. Yet by so doing she was driving a nail

into the coffin of the vaunted German Empire. She was helping to

tighten the bands of economic pressure that were slowly but surely

crippling the resources of the Mailed Fist.

It was not until Aubyn had removed the thick deposit of frozen spray,

which, in spite of the protective shade had encrusted the object

glass of the telescope, that he was able to distinguish the outlines

of the strange vessel. She was a three-masted topsail schooner,

close-reefed and on the starboard tack, showing her port light, which

was burning brightly.

No vessel engaged in carrying contraband to Germany would be likely

to show navigation lamps while attempting to steal through the cordon

of British patrol-ships. The sub. knew that; yet it was his duty to

report the presence of the stranger in order that the "Strongbow"

could make a proper examination of her papers.

Upon receipt of the intelligence that the armed liner was heading for

an unknown vessel, Captain Ripponden, aroused before he had "turned

in" for less than an hour, hurried to the bridge. Orders were issued

for the cutter's crew to stand by, while the "Strongbow" was

manoeuvred to take up a position to windward of the schooner.

Promptly the stranger obeyed the order to heave-to. With her lean bow

plunging into the angry seas like a chopper she lost way two cables'

lengths from the British patrol-ship, a row of sou'-westered heads

lined the lee-rail, as her crew watched the approach of "Strongbow's"

boat.

Half an hour later the boarding officer returned.

"No luck, sir," he reported. "She's our old friend, the 'Sarmiento,'

of Boston, U.S.A., bound for Bergen."

He was justified in calling the schooner an old friend. Three days

previously the "Strongbow" had fallen in with and had boarded the

self-same vessel. For three days the "Sarmiento" had tacked and

tacked in the teeth of the strong nor'-easter, never gaining a mile,

while the patrol-ship in keeping her to appointed limits had again

fallen in with her.

"All in a night's work," remarked Captain Ripponden, as he prepared

to return to his cabin. "Better luck next time. Mr. Bury, you brought

the cutter alongside in excellent style."

The sub. who had gone to the schooner as boarding-officer saluted.

The praise from his captain had amply recompensed him for the dangers

he and his boat's crew had undergone in traversing the stretch of

angry sea between the two vessels, only to find that he had departed

upon a fruitless errand.

Philosophically he agreed with the skipper that it was all in a

night's work, and made a hurried bolt below to shed his saturated

garments, for in spite of oilskins and sea-boots he was drenched to

the skin.

At eight bells noon on the following day another sail was reported,

this time on the port quarter.

The "Strongbow's" helm was immediately put over and a course shaped

to intercept the stranger.

"German, by all the powers!" ejaculated Commander Ramshaw. "She's

got the confounded cheek to hoist her rascally colours."

The approaching vessel was a large steel barque. Her jibboomless

"stump" bowsprit and the absence of chain-plates betokened her to be

a modern craft and apparently a valuable prize.

The stranger made no attempt to alter course. A score or so of

stolid, fair-haired Teutons were gathered on her short fo'c'sle,

gazing with a faint degree of interest upon the grey-painted vessel

approaching them, till a shot fired across the barque's bows,

followed by a peremptory signal to heave-to roused them to unwonted

activity.

Away aloft swarmed the astonished German seamen. Sail was quickly

reduced, and curtseying to the short steep seas the barque was ready

to receive her prize-masters.

Terence was in charge of the boat detailed to take possession of the

barque. Armed with a revolver and accompanied by fifteen of the crew

with rifles and bayonets, he took his place in the stern sheets of

the boat. Deftly the patent disengaging gear of the falls was cast

off, the men bent to their stout ash oars with a will, and five

minutes later the boat was alongside the barque.

"Vot you vant?" demanded the skipper of the barque, which proved to

be the "Freya" of Bremen. "Your vessel is a prize of his Britannic

Majesty's Government," announced Terence.

"Prize?--I no onderstan'," expostulated the master vehemently. "Dis

Zherman sheep. Zhermany not at war."

"I'm afraid you are greatly mistaken," said Aubyn, as he swung

himself up the side by means of the rope ladder which the crew,

unsuspecting the nature of the visit, although mystified by the

display of arms, had meanwhile lowered. "Germany is at war with

Great Britain, France, Russia, Japan, and Servia."

At the mention of each of these countries the skipper's eyes opened

wider and wider.

"Mein Gott!" he exclaimed, and without another word turned on his

heel and made for his cabin, only to be brought back by a peremptory

order from the young sub.

From the ship's papers it was ascertained that the "Freya" had a most

valuable cargo of nitrates and copper ore--a cargo that would be of

immense service to the German army had the barque escaped the British

patrol. She was a hundred and forty-three days out of Valparaiso, and

during the whole of that time she had not spoken a single vessel;

consequently her crew were in total ignorance of the European War.

Gales and head winds had delayed her; water and provisions remained

sufficient only for three more days. She had been blown so far out of

her course that her master had decided to make a passage round Cape

Wrath rather than beat up the English Channel, and when almost in

sight of the North Sea she had been snapped by the "Strongbow."

Quickly the prize crew went about their work. The German seamen were

ordered below; guards were posted at the hatchways and outside the

officers' quarters. The red, white, and black ensign of the German

Mercantile Marine was lowered and rehoisted under the British flag;

canvas was stowed and preparations were made to take the "Freya" in

tow.

After a considerable amount of skilful and dangerous manoeuvring a

stout hempen hawser was passed from the prize to the "Strongbow," and

wallowing heavily in the latter's wake the "Freya" was towed into

Dingwall.

Almost the first thing that attracted Terence's attention on landing

at Dingwall was a poster on which appeared the words "German Fleet

attempts Bombardment of Yarmouth."

"Another rumour--I'm getting sick of them," ejaculated Aubyn;

nevertheless, he bought a copy of the paper. He was wrong in his

surmise. It was a fact, not a rumour. Several German heavy cruisers

had suddenly appeared off the port in the grey dawn, and had opened a

furious fire. Unaccountably, it seemed, all the projectiles fell

short of their mark. A few, indeed, ploughed up the sand on the

shore, but no damage was done. Everyone was asking, "Will the hostile

cruisers get away safely?"

That same afternoon the news was received that the raiders had

escaped. The chances were eagerly discussed on board the "Strongbow."

It seemed incredible that, in spite of the cordon of British light

cruisers and destroyers a dozen enemy ships should be able to retire

unharmed after their brazen attempt.

"You fellows must remember we haven't official details," remarked

Lieutenant Lymore. "Another thing: you know what the North Sea is

like this time of the year, with the range of vision limited to

perhaps a couple of miles."

"Think they'll try it on again?" asked Raeburn.

"No doubt. Encouraged by their being able to avoid getting into

contact with our fleet they'll have another shot at it, but let's

hope they'll burn their fingers."

Before the "Strongbow" left Dingwall, after coaling ship, a mail,

mostly of belated letters, arrived. Amongst them was one for Aubyn

from his chum Waynsford.

"I suppose you know all about our little excitement here at

Yarmouth," he wrote. "We were rudely disturbed from our bunks by

tremendous firing, and when we turned out we discovered shells

dropping within five hundred yards of the shore. With the naked eye

one could make out the enemy ships fairly distinctly, and with

glasses quite plainly. The shells could be seen falling all around

the little 'Halcyon,' and it was most marvellous how she escaped.

Altering the position of those buoys the night you were here

doubtless upset the German gunners' calculations.

"The Press report that none of the shells did damage is incorrect. Of

course it may be advisable not to give the public full details, but

in your case I think you ought to know."

"Almost the last shell fired struck your mater's house. Went right

through the dining-room without exploding and buried itself five feet

in the earth on the other side of the building. Lucky you made your

parent clear out, wasn't it?

"I'm under orders to leave Yarmouth and report myself at Scarbro'.

Goodness only knows what for, but 'orders is orders,' as

Coastguardsman Smith is so fond of quoting. If ever you are within

easy distance of Scarbro' and get short leave, look me up.

                                 "Yours most sincerely,

                                       "RICHARD WAYNSFORD."

CHAPTER XII.

MINED.

TWELVE hours later H.M.S. "Strongbow" was on her appointed station.

It was night. The wind had moderated considerably, yet there was

quite a heavy sea running. The young moon peeped between dark masses

of drifting scud, while to windward a bank of irregularly defined

clouds fringed with ragged tails betokened a repetition of the

unpleasant climatic conditions.

It was Sub-Lieutenant Aubyn's "watch below." Seated in the plainly

furnished gun-room, the scuttles of which were carefully screened,

were most of the junior officers who were off duty.

Some were playing cards, others were reading, in spite of the raucous

ragtime melodies ground out by a gramaphone that had already suffered

considerably from the effects of two months' buffeting. In the pauses

while the junior midshipman rewound the instrument of mental torture,

the slap of the waves against the vessel's side could be distinctly

heard.

"In for another dirty night," remarked Raeburn inconsequently.

The announcement was received in chilly silence. "Dirty nights" were

too frequent and too monotonous to form the subject of conversation.

The assistant engineer tried another tack.

"What do you make of the latest report from the Russian frontier?" he

asked.

"Oh, dry up, old man!" expostulated O'Reilly feebly. "What with your

cackle and young Jones grinding away at that blessed

gramaphone--Jones, if you put on another record I'll throw this book

at your head! There's no peace in the gun-room."

Aubyn smiled grimly. He realized that in the monotonous round of

routine his comrades were almost bored to death by their own company.

Even the versatile O'Reilly was becoming as surly as a bear with a

sore head.

"Keep your wool on, old man!" exclaimed Raeburn. "Strikes me, we all

want shaking up----"

Before he could complete the sentence the ship seemed to leap

vertically out of the water. A deafening crash followed. The gun-room

furniture was thrown in all directions, the occupants were either

hurled against the bulkhead or pitched violently on top of the

overturned gear, while the failure of the electric light left the

place in utter darkness.

Terence found himself lying across the remains of the gramaphone,

with someone's heel beating a tattoo on the small of his back.

For some seconds he remained where he was, his senses dulled by the

sudden shock. Then it occurred to him that the ship was not so lively

as usual. Her movements seemed decidedly sluggish. A confused roar,

the sound of many feet hurrying, mingled with the hiss of escaping

steam, recalled him to his senses. Either the "Strongbow" had struck

a mine or had been torpedoed. Above the tumult came the sound of the

bugle, the notes quavering to such an extent that the sub. hardly

recognized their significance.

"That's 'General Quarters'," he exclaimed, and freeing himself from

the persistent attentions of the unknown's heels, he sprang to his

feet and struck a match.

By its feeble glimmer he could form some idea of the chaotic aspect

of the gun-room. Many of his comrades had regained their feet, and in

their eagerness to obey the bugle-call were groping blindly for the

door. The concussion had jammed it badly. Two of the officers were

still prone amid the débris--stunned by the shock.

The match flickered and died out, but before Aubyn could strike

another, one of the midshipmen thrust a hastily rolled newspaper into

the remains of the fire on the stove and held it like a torch.

A combined effort on the part of O'Reilly and two of the midshipmen

burst the door from its hinges. Aubyn, assisted by Raeburn, lifted

one of the unconscious men and bore him on deck. Others performed a

like office for the second victim, while the rest filed up the

companion.

By this time the short burst of uproar had entirely ceased. Officers

and men were quietly falling in on the upper deck, awaiting the

captain's orders.

Silhouetted against the fitful moonlight could be discerned the cool

and resolute form of Captain Ripponden as he grasped the bridge-rails

and looked down upon the orderly mass of humanity. In that moment of

peril he was proud of his crew. They were worthy of upholding the

traditions of gallant British seamen. To what extent the "Strongbow"

was damaged he knew not. He was awaiting the carpenter's and the

boatswain's report.

As he waited, with a true seaman's instinct, he glanced to windward.

The approaching storm was not far off. Should it be necessary to take

to the boats the chances of being saved were very remote. Nor did

there seem any possibility of rescue from any other ship, for the

explosion had dislocated the wireless apparatus. The only chances in

that direction were that a passing vessel might detect the wail of

the syren--as it sent forth its call for assistance in the long and

short blasts that corresponded to the dot and dash of the Morse

Code--or might sight the coloured star rockets that were being fired

from the bridge.

Captain Ripponden deliberately delayed giving the order to take to

the boats. Although the "Strongbow" was sorely hit she showed no

immediate inclination to make her final plunge. The engine-room and

stokeholds were clear, and the engine-room staff still remained at

their posts below the water-line; nevertheless, the ship was making

water freely and was already considerably down by the head.

Suddenly a short thick-set figure ran aft between the double line of

seamen drawn up as calmly and as steadily as if mustered for

Divisions. Terence could hear the man's laboured breathing as he

hurried. It was the ship's carpenter, on the strength of whose report

Captain Ripponden's orders for immediate action would be delivered.

Up the bridge ladder the warrant officer made his way, then drawing

himself erect saluted his superior--a courtesy that the captain

punctiliously returned. Even in the presence of fearful and imminent

peril the regulation regarding the paying of proper compliments in

the matter of saluting were carried out to the letter.

The eyes of every man on deck were directed upon the silhouetted

figures of the captain and the carpenter on the bridge. Captain

Ripponden's head was observed to nod slightly several times as he

listened to his subordinate's report; then he stepped to the

after-bridge rails.

"My men," he shouted in stentorian tones that were clearly audible

amid the moaning of the wind and the hiss of escaping steam, "we'll

save the old ship yet. Twenty men to assist carpenter's crew. The

rest remain aft and stand easy."

Away doubled the working party, their task being to build a temporary

coffer-dam in the after side of the for'ard transverse bulkhead. The

"Strongbow" had bumped upon a drifting mine, the explosion of which,

occurring right under the bows and close to the water-line, had

flooded the bow compartments. The watertight bulkhead was dangerously

strained. Water was entering in small jets under the terrific

pressure in the flooded compartments; but although the pumps were

quite capable of keeping the leak under control, the bulkhead, unless

shored up, was in momentary danger of giving way.

Feverishly the carpenter and his men tackled the hazardous task.

Bolts of canvas, rolled hammocks and tarpaulins were piled against

the bulging steel bulkhead, and held in position by baulks of timber,

braced and chocked till the coffer-dam was as strong and firmly set

as human ingenuity could devise.

Meanwhile, the rest of the crew were allowed to smoke--a concession

that was eagerly welcomed, and the quarter-deck glowered with the

dull glare of lighted cigarettes and pipes. Those men who had turned

up without adequate clothing were ordered to find additional garments

to protect them from the numbing cold, while the cooks were told off

to the galleys to make hot cocoa. Even in the midst of peril Captain

Ripponden's thoughts were for the comfort of his devoted men.

As soon as the carpenter reported that in his opinion the strained

bulkhead was properly shored up, orders were given to the engine-room

for half-speed astern and a course shaped for Aberdeen. To drive the

ship ahead with her bows seriously damaged would be placing a

tremendous strain upon the coffer-dam, while when making sternway the

pressure would be considerably reduced.

"Let's hope we don't hit another of those infernal mines," remarked

O'Reilly to Aubyn, as the two officers made their way below. "I

don't think we are in a regular minefield. The one we struck was

evidently a derelict."

"Evidently," agreed Terence. "Judging by the damage done it must

have deteriorated, otherwise it would have sent us to the bottom like

a stone. I suppose it will mean turning over to another ship?

"Six weeks, patching the old 'Saraband' up," declared O'Reilly, who

almost invariably referred to the ship by her former name. "I wish

to goodness they'd appoint us to a cruiser or a destroyer and give us

a chance of seeing some fun."

"We have had a fair share."

"Yes, of hard work--which I don't mind--and getting bashed about

without being able to strike a blow in self-defence. Of course, it's

the call of duty----"

A muffled thud, coming from almost immediately below their feet and

followed by the unmistakable sound of rushing water, interrupted the

young officer's conversation.

They looked at each other for one brief instant, hardly able to

comprehend the nature of the latest calamity.

"Bulkhead started," announced Aubyn laconically.

Snatching an oil lamp from its bracket Terence rushed below, followed

by O'Reilly. Guided by the feeble illumination, for the electric

lighting installation was hopelessly out of order, the two officers

made their way down several short ladders. On the orlop-deck they

almost collided with Raeburn.

"After magazine flooded," announced the assistant engineer

breathlessly. "Huge rush of water. I was just off to get extra

hands, but you'll do. Be quick, there's no time to lose. The water's

pouring in like a sluice."

Knee deep in water the three officers made their way aft till their

arrival at the door of the magazine. The sentry was fumbling with the

lock, while two artificers, one holding a lantern, were impatiently

urging him to make a job of it and open the door. The whole of the

magazine was full of water, while the pressure had forced a part of

the bulkhead containing the compartment.

When the "Strongbow" struck the mine the concussion had caused a

hitherto undiscovered leak aft, the flow being concealed by the

locked door of the magazine until the pressure had become sufficient

to burst the thin steel walls. Being specially constructed for

flooding in case of emergency, the floor of the magazine was some

feet below the level of the orlop-deck.

"We'll have to tackle the leak inside," announced Terence. "Here,

one of you," he added addressing the men waiting by the door. "Cut

up and inform the carpenter. Look alive."

At length the marine sentry succeeded in shooting back the strained

lock. The officers hurled themselves against the door. It opened

inwards, at the same time releasing an additional flood of water,

that surged violently along the orlop-deck.

At every heave of the ship frothing billows careered up and down the

length of the confined space, wellnigh sweeping the little group of

officers and men from their feet. Already, taking into account the

state of the flooded fore compartments, the volume of water admitted

into the ship was causing her to move sluggishly. The danger of

foundering was still imminent.

Holding his breath and setting his jaw tightly, Aubyn literally leapt

down to the floor of the magazine. The mean level of the water was up

to his neck. Momentarily it would subside, then rise till it floated

him off his feet, yet gamely he struggled onwards, partly swimming,

partly wading.

The "Strongbow" was built on the "single-skin" principle. Only a

thin steel shell, riveted to curved ribs of the same metal, formed

her hull. The after magazine was on the port side, at approximately

the spot where the "run aft" of her lines began. It was here, as

Terence suspected, that one of the seams had gaped open.

Filling his lungs to their utmost capacity with the none too

wholesome air, the sub. dived. His fingers, already numbed by the

icy-cold water, came in contact with a gap through which a steady

torrent was pressing. His surmise was correct: several of the rivets

had been fractured, and between the lap of two adjoining plates a

serious leak had developed.

Whipping off his scarf Aubyn attempted to thrust it into the gap. The

rush of water swept it away. Off came his pilot coat. Thrice he

essayed to hold it in position, but his body being practically

water-borne he could exert little or no force. He felt still more the

numbing effect of the sea. In the semi-darkness, for he had only the

reflected light from the lanterns, the horror of the position gripped

him.

"If she goes, I'm done for," he thought, for in his fevered

imagination he fancied that the ship was already on the point of

making a final plunge. He felt tempted to desist from his efforts and

make a rush for safety. Then, as quickly as it had come, the wave of

panic left him.

"Got a hand-spike there?" he asked.

"Ay, ay, sir," replied one of the carpenter's crew who had just

arrived on the scene. "And some stoppers as well."

Two of the men plunged into the flooded magazine. The hand-spike was

applied to the temporary plug until it was forced into the gap.

"That'll hold, sir," announced one of the men confidently.

"Let's hope so," replied the sub. Then to himself he muttered, "And

my very best pilot coat."

For another ten minutes Aubyn stood and shivered, till one of the men

felt the sub.'s numbed hand shaking as he assisted to hold the

hand-spike.

"Leak's well under control, sir, I think," continued the seaman, a

burly Devonshire man. "Might I make so bold, sir, as to suggest that

you stand easy? We'll see to this all right."

The man spoke truly. All the available pumps working continuously

were sufficient to keep the remaining inrush of water well under

control. Already the orlop-deck was practically cleared. In the

magazine the water was just above the sub.'s waist.

Aubyn did not reply. He was incapable of speech. In the semi-gloom

the Devonshire man saw that something was amiss.

"Do'ee take hold of this a minute, Joe," he said to his comrade, as

he relaxed his hold on the hand-spike. "Now, sir, out you do come."

With that he literally carried the numbed form of his superior

officer out of the partly flooded magazine, just as others of his

mates were preparing to complete the task which Aubyn had

successfully begun.

Of what happened during the next few hours Terence had but a hazy

idea. He was dimly conscious of being placed into a hot bath, wrapped

up in blankets, and being put into his bunk. There, as far as he

personally was concerned, scarce troubling whether the ship went down

or otherwise, he fell into the deep sleep of utter exhaustion till he

was aroused by the officers' call followed by the shrill notes of the

bo's'un's mates' whistles.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE RAID ON SCARBOROUGH.

"MY watch, by Jove!" ejaculated Aubyn. "What in the name of goodness

am I doing in my bunk at this time of the morning?"

He sprang out of bed with his customary alacrity, only to find his

knees give way under him. Then it gradually dawned upon him that his

last fully conscious moments were whilst he was in the flooded

magazine.

"Steady, old man!" he muttered reproachfully. "This won't do. Pull

yourself together."

He began to dress, rummaging for his clothes in one of the

characteristically awkwardly placed drawers under his bunk. The

garments he had worn the previous day had been taken away to be

dried. Then he remembered the fate of his great-coat and wondered

what he should do without it when on the bridge.

He glanced through the scuttle. The sea was still running high.

Flakes of snow, scudding before the wind, were falling rapidly. By

the motion of the water as it slipped past the ship's side he knew

that the "Strongbow" was still going sternforemost.

The door of his cabin opened noiselessly, and Raeburn entered.

"Here, this won't do, old fellow!" exclaimed the assistant engineer.

"You toddle off back to your bunk again. Pills will be on your

collar if you don't."

"What silly idiot made the doctor look me up?" asked Terence.

"Don't call yourself ugly names," protested Raeburn laughingly.

"Since you chose to have a cold bath and stay there till your nose

was as blue as a dungaree suit, and you looked liked a favourite for

the Triple Pneumonia Stakes, it isn't to be wondered at that Pills

had to have a chip in. But honestly, old man, you turn in, or it will

be a case for the sick bay. By Jove, you did a rattling plucky

thing!"

Terence abruptly silenced his chum.

"Rot!" he exclaimed. "I spoilt my only great-coat. If I'm to be

crocked every time I do a little job like that, the sooner I chuck

the Service the better. I'm off."

Ignoring Raeburn's threats to call the surgeon, Terence hurried from

his cabin, and having borrowed a pilot coat, donned his oilskins over

the borrowed garment and went on deck.

It was a weird sight which met his gaze.

The "Strongbow" was in the grip of a North Sea blizzard. Her tapering

masts, funnels, ventilators, even shrouds and ropes, were outlined in

glistening snow. Owing to the extreme danger of men being overthrown

by the slippery state of the frozen snow underfoot, men were busily

engaged in sweeping the decks--an apparently interminable task, as

the flakes fell quickly and heavily.

Unnoticed Aubyn gained the foot of the bridge-ladder. The ascent

caused him considerable effort. In spite of his natural activity the

prospect of a "trick" on the exposed bridge in that awful weather

damped his enthusiasm. Mr. Lymore was on duty. His back was turned

towards the sub. Before Terence could report himself the door of the

chart room was opened and Captain Ripponden appeared.

"Good morning, Mr. Aubyn," exclaimed the latter, returning the sub.'s

salute. "I am rather surprised to find you here."

"It's my watch, sir."

"It would have been," corrected the captain. "Dr. Terry reported you

unfit for duty, and I must abide by his decision. So you will report

yourself to him."

"Very good, sir," said Terence.

"And," continued Ripponden, "allow me to congratulate you on your

plucky action. I will take the first opportunity of transmitting an

account of it to My Lords for their information."

Aubyn grasped the captain's extended hand. Completely taken aback by

his superior's congratulations he could not frame a reply.

Again saluting, Terence turned to leave the bridge. As he did so a

roar of cheering burst from those on deck. Those of the crew who had

witnessed the meeting between Captain Ripponden and the plucky sub.

had rightly interpreted the "owner's" action. There are moments

when spontaneous enthusiasm ignores the dictates of discipline, and

this was one of them. The men of the "Strongbow" cheered their young

officer to the echo.

Terence Aubyn met with a boisterous reception in the gun-room. His

brother officers "chipped" him unmercifully on the subject of the

tribute of the crew. The sub. took it all in good part. He realized

that underneath the outward mask of levity was a substratum of

genuine admiration for his courage and judgment in tackling the leak.

Even the dangers through which they had so recently passed failed to

subdue the exuberant spirits of the denizens of the gun-room, and

entering into the fun, Terence soon felt so much better that Dr.

Terry was obliged to confess that his fears for the sub.'s health was

no longer justified.

Before dusk the same day two tugs put out from Aberdeen and took the

"Strongbow" in tow. Three hours later she was safely docked, and for

the first time for many a long day the "watch below" were able to

turn in without being confronted by the possibility of sudden death

in the mine-strewn waters of the North Sea.

Examination proved that the damage done to the ship was considerable.

Practically the whole of the bow portion would have to be re-built,

while in many places the hull-plating would have to be re-fastened

and re-caulked. Internal damage caused by the concussion was also

great. By dint of working day and night the shipbuilders might be

able to effect repairs in a month's time.

The next day leave was given to the starboard watch. Officers and men

were, by the special consent of the Admiralty, granted seven days'

leave. Meanwhile, arrangements were being made to turn over the

ship's company to another vessel until repairs to the "Strongbow"

were carried out.

The temporary substitute--the armed merchant-man "Vindex"--was lying

at Leith. Being of considerably lesser tonnage than the "Strongbow"

there was no necessity for the whole of the latter's crew to man her.

With mixed feelings Sub-Lieutenant Aubyn found that he was appointed

to H.M.S. "Terrier" as supernumerary.

He was sorry to part company with his old messmates, even for a

comparatively brief period. Having won praise from his captain,

possessed of the friendship and esteem of his brother-officers, and

well liked by the lower deck, he felt a mental wrench at having to

say good-bye even for a few weeks.

On the other hand, his appointment to the "Terrier" was after his own

heart, for the ship was a regular unit of the British Navy. She was,

it is true, an obsolete craft--a torpedo-gunboat of only 800 tons and

a speed of nineteen knots.

Built more than twenty years previously, the "Terrier's" original

rôle had long since been usurped by the "destroyer" class. In later

years she had been employed as a fishery-protection cruiser, until at

the outbreak of war she had been hastily re-fitted and commissioned

as a mine-sweeper patrol-boat.

The "Terrier," undergoing engine repairs, was still detained at

Newcastle, whither Terence proceeded to join her.

"I hear you've been done out of your leave," was the remark of the

"Terrier's" captain, a tall, slimly built man, who looked about

Terence's age, although he must have been some years his senior in

order to have attained the rank of lieutenant-commander. "We won't be

out of dockyard hands for another week, so if you like you can go

ashore and report yourself on Saturday."

"Can I be spared, sir?"

"A more favourable opportunity may not occur again for some time,"

replied Captain Holloway. "Lying alongside a dirty wharf with the

coal-dust flying into the officers' cabins all day doesn't make life

aboard very attractive. I'm in shore quarters myself until we're

ready to proceed to sea; so under the circumstances you will be wise

to take advantage of a few days' leave."

The sub. thanked his captain for his consideration, and having given

orders for his gear to be placed in his cabin, proceeded to pack a

small portmanteau with articles absolutely necessary for his

well-earned holiday. While he was so doing he rapidly debated with

himself as to where he intended to go. According to the King's

Regulations he was bound to leave his address in the event of being

telegraphed to rejoin his ship. The limited time at his disposal,

coupled with the idea of the expense of a first-class railway ticket

to the South of England, did not permit a visit to his mother. He had

no friends in Newcastle, and he was not at all desirous of putting up

at an hotel in that city.

Then he remembered Waynsford's invitation to look him up if he

happened to be within easy distance of Scarborough.

"Somewhat of the nature of a busman's holiday," he mused, as he wrote

his proposed address in the leave-book: "R.M.B.R. 'Lonette,'

Scarborough."

Dick Waynsford, apprised by telegraph, was on the station platform to

greet him.

"Glad you're come, old man," he exclaimed. "Anything to buck a fellow

up?"

"Why, what's wrong now?" asked Terence.

"Nothing in particular; only I'm getting thoroughly fed up in this

place. Nothing much to do but to run errands to the mine-sweepers

that occasionally put into the bay. A fisherman could do the job

equally as well as I can. You've been having an exciting time, I

hear?"

"Somewhat," replied Aubyn modestly. "Now, let's be making a move."

The two chums jumped into a waiting taxi, Waynsford giving the

chauffeur directions to drive as straight as he jolly well knew how

to Sandside, and not to take them half-way round the town to get

there.

"'Sandside'--that sounds all right," thought Terence, but his

expectations were unrealized as the taxi drew up in the rather dingy

quarter of Scarborough adjoining the harbour.

"There she is," announced Waynsford, pointing to the grey hull of the

"Lonette," which, barely water-borne, was reclining against the lofty

wall of the harbour. "One of the best runs I ever had in her was

when we brought her round from Yarmouth."

"Why, she's hard and fast aground."

"M'yes," agreed Waynsford unconcernedly. "She spends most of her time

like that, It's all right sleeping on board, unless she happens to

take a list the wrong way. Then you've got to sort yourselves out of

a horrible muddle on the cabin floor."

"What if you're wanted?" enquired Aubyn.

"We have to jolly well wait till she floats," answered his chum, with

a grin. "It's a quiet berth, and heaps better than rolling all night

in the open bay. We had one taste of it--nearly upset the whole crowd

of us. Mind that ladder: it's horribly slippery."

Waynsford indicated a perpendicular iron ladder, its lowermost end

hidden in black mud, over which the rising tide was slowly advancing.

Throwing his portmanteau to one of the crew, who, as the result of

long practice, deftly caught the heavy article, Terence descended the

fifteen feet of ladder and stepped across the intervening space

between the water and the motor-boat's quarter.

"Here's your bunk," announced Waynsford, pointing to a cot swung

against the side of the bin. "Nalder, my opposite number, sleeps on

the port bunk."

"How about you?" asked Terence.

"I'm going to turn in on the floor for the next few nights," replied

Waynsford. "I'm used to it. You see, we've another boat for actual

duty purposes in fine weather. She's smaller and handier. We use

'Lonette' mostly as a kind of parent ship. Now, I'll get the boy to

bring the grub in. Fire away and let's have all the news."

During the rest of the day while daylight lasted Waynsford piloted

his chum round the Queen of Watering Places, taking him up to the

ruined castle and introducing him to some officers of Kitchener's

Army whose acquaintance he had recently made.

"Jolly decent place in the summer, I should imagine," declared

Waynsford, as the chums wended their way back to the harbour. "But

deadly dull now. Not a light to be seen after dark. It makes one

almost wish that the Germans would pay the place a visit, if only to

make things a little more lively."

"Eh, what's that?" inquired Terence.

"Only wishing for the impossible, my dear fellow. Being an

unfortified town Scarborough will not be favoured with the attentions

of the Teutons. Apart from that they won't risk another raid. They're

too wary of our fleet."

It was quite late in the night before the officers of the "Lonette"

turned in. The crew detailed for the duty boat had departed, their

"trick" commencing at midnight. Quietude settled upon the almost

lifeless harbour. Most of the fishing fleet that still remained at

its usual work were out. Five or six of the boats, locked up for the

night, were moored in the inner harbour. Three more, preparing to

leave at high water, were tied up to buoys at the entrance to the

outer basin, their crews working silently as if infected by the

solitude that overspread the once busy port.

Suddenly Terence was awakened by finding himself slipping from his

bunk. In the darkness, for the moment, unable to recall his

surroundings, he imagined himself back in the old "Strongbow," and

that the vessel was rolling badly. But quickly he discovered that the

movement was different; there was no recovery. He felt his bunk list

more and more, until vainly endeavouring to hold himself in, he

subsided upon the still soundly sleeping Waynsford.

"Confound it!" exclaimed that worthy. "She's heeled outwards. I

thought we'd taken proper precautions. Sorry to disturb you, old

man."

"It's a case of my disturbing you, I fancy," replied Terence, after

he had extricated himself from the pile of blankets and cushions. "I

don't mind, if you don't. There goes the crockery," he added, as a

series of crashes came from the fo'c'sle.

Striking a match Waynsford lit the cabin lamp and glanced at the

bulkhead clock.

"Seven, by Jove!" he exclaimed. "It's close on low water. In another

two hours we'll be afloat again. No use attempting to turn in.

Nalder, you lazy bounder, get up and join in a hand of dummy whist."

Sub-Lieutenant Nalder, who being in the port cot had been wedged

between the bunk cushions and those on the side, was sleeping

unconcernedly throughout the racket, as if such happenings were quite

in the usual order of things. Aroused by Waynsford's voice and a

hearty slap on the back, he sat up.

"Right-o," he agreed. "Jones!"

"Sir!" replied a muffled voice from the fo'c'sle.

"Bring me my pack of cards, will you?"

Terence heard the unmistakable sounds of someone trying to open a

jammed door. Then, after a moment's delay the fo'c'sle sliding door

was thrust open and the seaman thrust his dishevelled head into the

cabin.

"Sorry, sir," he reported, "but the blessed condensed milk has gone

and upset itself all over the pack."

"That's kippered our game," remarked Waynsford. "Let's turn out and

see what it's like. A stretch before breakfast will do us good."

Donning their great-coats, the three officers contrived, without

mishap, to leap from the heeling side of the motor-boat to the rungs

of the ladder.

"Beastly foggy morning," declared Nalder.

"Just getting light enough to see," added Waynsford, as, in

contradiction to his statement, he stumbled and almost fell over a

mooring rope.

Gradually the gaunt outlines of the ruined castle that towered high

above the harbour began to grow distinct against the grey sky. The

fog began to disperse, although the cliffs to the southern end of the

town were still invisible.

"Let's stroll up to the castle," suggested Waynsford. "It will be

something to do."

Acting upon this proposal the two ascended the stony path. As they

approached the coastguard station they noticed that the signalman was

peering seawards through a telescope. The man was so intent upon some

objects out to sea that he paid no attention to the new-comers.

Presently the coastguardsman put down his telescope and seized the

mouthpiece of a telephone in the signal hut. Terence could hear him

speaking distinctly.

"Strange vessels approaching from the nor'ard, sir," he reported to

the officer at the Naval Wireless Station behind the town. "I've

signalled them, but they won't pay any attention."

The three subs. gazed seawards. Just visible through the haze were

four cruisers, moving sufficiently fast through the leaden-coloured

water to cause the foam to froth at their bows. Even as they looked

the young officers were mildly surprised to see a spurt of dull red

flame burst from the for'ard turret of the leading vessel.

Mild surprise gave place to complete astonishment as a heavy shell

hurtled overhead, carrying away several of the telegraph wires, and

plunged with a terrific detonation into the fortunately unoccupied

barracks on the Castle Hill.

Before the noise of the falling brickwork and masonry had subsided

the devoted coastguardsman could be heard shouting on the

telephone:--

"They're German cruisers: they're shelling us."

The man had done his duty. He could do no more good remaining where

he was. At a quick double he tore for safety, shouting to the young

officers to get under cover.

Aubyn, with his companions, quickly took this advice to heart. He had

in the action between the "Saraband" and the "Osnabruck" stood up to

the hostile fire, but then it was a fight on even terms. Now it was a

one-sided affair, and by the noise of the exploding shell Terence

knew that it was of much larger calibre than those that came from the

German armed liner.

Scarcely had the fugitives covered a hundred yards when another

appalling crash, followed by a distinct blast of acrid-smelling air,

caused Terence to look back. A shell, better aimed than the first,

had completely demolished the signal hut. This missile was followed

by salvo after salvo, some forty shells of various calibre raining on

the Castle Hill. Others, striking the sheer cliffs, brought tons of

rock clattering down upon the Marine Parade, while what was far

worse, many projectiles skimming the ruins of the castle, fell with

disastrous results upon the congested buildings of the town.

The three subs. were now under the lee of the frowning rock. Here

they were comparatively safe, except from stray fragments of

splintered shell and flying masonry. The coastguardsman had gone in a

different direction.

"The swine!" ejaculated Nalder. "They're shelling a defenceless

town. And the 'Lonette' is high and dry too."

In spite of the serious situation his comrades gave vent to a hearty

laugh. It seemed so incongruous that Nalder should have taken the

plight of the little motor-boat into consideration. Yet had Nalder

had his way it was quite possible that he would have blazed away with

a rifle at the huge steel monsters with as much result as a small boy

using a peashooter against an elephant.

"Not a bad idea getting down to the harbour," added Waynsford.

"We'll be fairly sheltered, and we can see what's going on."

Terence thought otherwise. Massive stone walls afford no protection

from monster guns. Nevertheless he raised no objection. For one

thing--and here the professional sailor scored heavily over the two

amateurs--it afforded a chance of making a note of the appearance of

the hostile vessels: information that might prove of immense service

to the Admiralty.

Shells were raining upon the undefended town as the three reached the

harbour pier. In several parts of Scarborough fires, caused by the

exploding projectiles, had broken out, and dense columns of smoke

rose from the demolished buildings. Having, as they thought,

completely demolished the supposed batteries on Castle Hill the

German gunners were out to do as much damage to private property as

they possibly could. It was but a phase in the terrorizing operations

that these modern barbarians delight in calling "kultur."

The attacking craft had now passed in front of the Castle Hill and

were clearly visible from the harbour, as they slowly steamed within

a quarter of a mile of the shore, vomiting death and destruction upon

the hapless town.

The leading craft Terence recognized as one of the Derfflinger

Class--an inferior imitation of our Dreadnought cruisers. Astern of

her came the "Bluecher," a vessel whose construction the German

people hailed with acclamation as the most powerful craft afloat and

one that would outclass anything that the British had or would be

likely to have. Yet, ere the "Bluecher" took the water, she was

hopelessly outmatched by the "Indomitable" class.

For once, however, these two ships were having things all their own

way. With the exception of the fiasco at Yarmouth, over a hundred

years had elapsed since the thunder of an enemy's guns had been heard

by the dwellers of our sea-girt island. British pride in the

impregnable position of our insular kingdom had received a nasty

shock, for without let or hindrance German guns were pounding her

shores in broad daylight.

Half a mile or so behind the battle cruisers were two light cruisers,

which apparently took little part in the one-sided engagement. They

were engaged in the pleasant occupation of mine-laying, in the hope

that one of the British squadrons, summoned by wireless, would

flounder blindly into the dangerous zone.

"Oh, for a couple of our submarines!" groaned Terence, as the hostile

craft moved slowly along the bay. "They'd bag the whole crowd of

them."

Twenty paces from the spot where the subs. stood was an old bronzed

and bearded fisherman--a typical Yorkshire salt. Heedless of the risk

he ran, he leapt upon the stone parapet, and shaking his fist at the

German ships rated them in the choicest language of the Shire of

Broad Acres. Nor would he descend when Aubyn pointed out the risk he

ran, and it was only when a shell tore a huge hole in the side of the

lighthouse that the old fellow would deign to move.

For a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes the two cruisers

maintained a hot fire with their starboard guns. Then came a pause in

the hitherto ceaseless roar of the ordnance, as the ships circled to

port. Retracing their course they reopened fire, till, gradually

increasing speed, they shaped a course nor'nor'east and disappeared

in the haze.

"Let's gie into town an see t' damage," suggested the old fisherman,

who, like the rest of the hardy East Coast men, had little respect

for rank and persons. "Sith'a, lads, there'll be work for us over

yonder," and he pointed to the maze of houses, many of which showed

signs of the effect of the high-explosive shells.

In the course of his sea-service Terence Aubyn had witnessed more

than one horrible sight; but in all his previous experience he had

never seen anything approaching the cold-blooded butchery of mere

civilians--men, women, and children--by the murderous German shells.

With the energy and coolness that is characteristic of the born

seaman he dashed into a practically gutted house, whence cries of

pain had attracted his attention.

The house was in one of the poorer districts, substantially built of

stone, as is frequently the case in the north of England. A

projectile had struck the building just above the ground-floor

window. The stonework had, for the most part, resisted the explosion,

the force of which had resulted in floors and roofs being either

demolished or reduced to a state of absolute insecurity. The ground

floors were piled high with débris, under which, though partly

visible, was the dead body of an old man.

The cries for aid, uttered in a childish voice, came from the upper

storey. Here a part of the bedroom floor had collapsed, exposing to

view a wooden bedstead, so insecurely perched that it threatened at

every moment to topple over into the chaotic mass thirty feet below.

The stairs had vanished, only the iron handrail and a few of its

supports remaining.

"What's the move?" demanded Waynsford, as Aubyn threw off his

great-coat and handed it to a boy who was watching the scene of

desolation with marked curiosity. "Don't be a fool, man! Wait till

they bring a ladder."

"It may be too late then," replied Terence; then turning to the old

fisherman he bade him bring a coil of rope.

"Thank goodness, there's one man who knows what he is about," thought

Aubyn, as the veteran salt hurried off. "No stopping to ask what

size or what length."

The next instant the sub. was well on his hazardous climb. Grasping

the handrail and making fairly certain that it would bear his weight,

Terence hauled himself up, using the holes in the stonework, left by

the dislodged stairs, as footholds. As sure-footed as a cat, as

active as a panther, he swung himself up, hardly pausing till he

gained the uppermost landing, where a few square inches of

floorboards remained. Between that and the bedstead was a gap nearly

ten feet in width. A professional long-jumper might have essayed the

task with success, but in his case Terence realized that a leap would

be out of the question.

Rapidly the sub. reviewed the situation. From where he stood he could

see the children distinctly. One was a girl of about nine years of

age, fair-haired and pale-faced. It was she who was screaming, more

with fright than pain, although there was a dark moist patch upon her

hair. Her companion was a child of about three, lying with his head

over the side of the bed to all appearances either dead or else

unconscious.

Already the joist nearest the gap in the shattered floor was bending

ominously. Terence felt certain that even if he could get across the

intervening space his weight would precipitate the bed and its

occupants on to the mound of rubble and broken woodwork below.

He looked above him. The laths and plaster of the ceiling had

vanished, the tiles had been blown into the street, leaving the gaunt

rafters practically intact. Raising his hand he found that he could

just grasp the sloping timber.

"If it carries away, I'm done," he thought. "But it's no use hanging

on here, so here goes."

With a resolute leap the sub. seized the two adjoining rafters. The

rough woodwork lacerated his hands, but he heeded it not. By sheer

muscular effort he raised himself sufficiently to pass his arms over

the timber, whence it was a comparatively simple matter to clamber on

top of the outside wall.

Well it was that Aubyn had a good head for heights. Looking down from

that precarious perch would make most landsmen giddy, but as coolly

as if he were walking along a street, the sub. made his way round to

the opposite side of the shattered house immediately over the still

holding floor of the bedroom.

The elder child, on seeing Terence approach, had ceased her cries and

was watching him with wide-open eyes. Then she raised herself, as if

to make a spring into his arms.

"Don't move just yet," exclaimed the sub. as calmly as he could.

"I'll help you both very soon."

He was desperately anxious lest the girl, by her action, would bring

about the calamity he was trying to prevent. At the same time he was

racking his brains to find out how he could get hold of the rope when

the fisherman returned with it.

"Eh, little lass," he exclaimed, imitating to the best of his ability

the East Riding dialect, "just you hand me up one of those sheets.

Don't hurry."

The girl obeyed, wonderingly but unhesitatingly. Terence began to

tear the cotton sheet into thin strips, binding them into one

continuous length, until he judged that he had sufficient to reach

the ground.

[Illustration: "'Don't move just yet,' said the Sub. 'I'll help you

both very soon.'"]

Hardly were his preparations completed when the fisherman returned,

puffing and blowing with his exertions.

"Eh, lad, a've got 'en," he announced. "An' a block as well. Th'

knows it might come in handy.

"Good man!" thought Terence. "He's solved an awkward problem." Then

addressing the old salt: "Stand by and bend the rope on to this," he

shouted, as he allowed one end of the cotton strip to flutter to the

ground.

Steadily the sub. began to haul in his flimsy line, while the

fisherman dexterously paid out the coil of rope, the end of which he

had made to Aubyn's means of communication. Then, as soon as he saw

that Terence had secured one end of the rope, the old man hitched on

the large pulley and continued to pay out more cordage until the

block was within the sub.'s grasp.

Whipping out his knife Terence cut off about six or seven feet of

rope, using the severed portion as a strop to make fast the block to

a pair of rafters. Then passing the rest of the rope through the

sheave his means of effecting the rescue of the children were ready

for service.

"Stand by to lower away," he shouted, as he made a loop known as a

"bowline on a bight."

"Ay, ay," replied the old salt, at the same time signing to Waynsford

and Nalder to bear a hand.

Giving a final tug at the strop to make sure as far as possible that

the rafter would hold, Terence slid into the loop and swung himself

clear of the wall.

"Belay there," he hailed after being lowered a sufficient distance to

bring himself level with the remains of the bedroom floor. "Now,

little lass, I'll hold you. Don't be afraid."

The next moment the injured girl was safe in his arms. Although the

bed shook as the rescued child moved, it still withstood the tendency

to slip into the abyss. Twenty seconds later Terence handed his

charge over to a doctor who formed one of the rapidly-gathering crowd

in the street.

"There's another child--a baby," announced Aubyn. "Badly hurt, I

fancy so haul me up smartly."

Spinning round and round like a joint on a meat-jack the sub. again

ascended, till the smaller child's body was within reach of his arms.

As he whipped off the covering he gave an ill-suppressed exclamation

of horror. The left foot of the little victim had been torn away at

the ankle.

"Good heavens, Waynsford!" exclaimed Terence, after the child-victims

had been removed, and the justly-exasperated crowd began to disperse.

"I'm not a vindictive fellow, but if I had that low-down German who

gave orders for this butchery, it would give me the greatest pleasure

in the world to punch his head."

"You may have the chance yet," replied Waynsford. He had been

thinking deeply for the last few moments. "I'm afraid I'm on the

wrong lay. Here I am, wearing His Majesty's uniform, fooling about in

a rotten little motor-boat, when I ought to be taking a man's part

out there," and he pointed towards the North Sea."

"You haven't done badly, when you come to think of it," remarked

Terence. "At Yarmouth, for instance."

"A beastly fluke. You, my dear fellow, had most of the game then."

"Buck up!" exclaimed Aubyn cheerily. "You may have a good sniff-in

yet. If you don't, remember there's some verse about people serving

who only sit and wait. I'm not fond of poetry myself, but perhaps you

may know the line I refer to. Let's make a move. There may be more

work for us amongst the ruins."

"May I coom along wi' tha', maaster?" asked the fisherman, who was

coiling away the rope that had been so instrumental. "Eh, lad,

thou'rt real champion."

"By all means," replied the sub. heartily. In spite of his years the

old fellow had his wits about him. If there should be any work of a

similar nature his assistance would be most valuable.

Before they had gone fifty yards the attention of Aubyn and his party

was attracted by the sudden appearance of an elderly corpulent man

whose garments consisted of a pyjama suit, over which he wore a

woman's jacket with the sleeves tied round his throat, an old pair of

carpet slippers and a felt hat. He had just emerged from a cellar,

into which he had bolted during the earlier stages of the

bombardment. Blinking like an owl he asked plaintively if the danger

was at an end.

"Eh, maaster," replied the fisherman. "They kind and humane Germans

sheered off half an hour agone."

"It's disgraceful!" exclaimed the dishevelled man vehemently. "Didn't

the First Lord of the Admiralty tell us plainly, only a few months

ago, that we could sleep quietly in our beds? Weren't those his exact

words?"

"Ay," replied the old salt, with a grim twinkle in his eye. "Ay, that

a' did. Th' knows the Huns gave us a look up at a time when most

folks ought to be up an' about. Naw, get you gone, friend Thomas;

thou'rt not fit to be seen in a respectable town like Scarbro'."

Terence looked inquiringly at his humble friend, as the pyjama-clad

man waddled away.

"He'll be one o' those fools as oratates on t' parade on Sundays

afternoons," explained the fisherman.

"I knows him well. Always was trying to make us believe that those

Huns were our best friends, and that there weren't no use for a

British Navy. Th' knows t' sort. For one reason, sith'a, I'm not

sorry that those Germans came to Scarbro'."

CHAPTER XIV.

THE END OF THE "TERRIER"

H.M. torpedo-gunboat "Terrier" lay at anchor just within the limits

of one of the numerous shallow estuaries of the Essex Coast. By the

aid of the lead-line and an Admiralty chart on too small a scale to

be of much assistance, Captain Holloway had taken his craft through

the intricate approach channel with often less than three feet of

water under her keel. Now she was lying head to wind, for it was high

water and no tide running, in six fathoms, and within two hundred and

eighty yards of the mud-fringed shore.

The "Terrier" had spent an uneventful week on her station, patrolling

her appointed limits in the North Sea without a single incident to

break the monotony. Swept fore and aft by huge seas that her high

fo'c'sle failed to ward off; plugging away in a zig-zag course day

after day, till her grey funnels were bleached white with salt spray;

with her guns' crews standing by their guns through watch and watch

day and night, she was "doing her little bit" as one small unit of

the vast, tireless navy.

A few hours previous to the torpedo gunboat's anchoring in the creek,

one of the crew had with great suddenness developed appendicitis.

Although the "Terrier" carried a surgeon, the case was one for a

shore hospital, and as one of the Admiralty "sick-quarters" was

situated in the village at the head of the creek, Captain Holloway

decided to land the patient with the utmost despatch.

It was blowing fairly fresh. Outside the bar the sea was

foam-flecked. Rollers came tumbling in, breaking heavily on shore or

else expending themselves harmlessly in the creek. At her anchorage

the torpedo-gunboat was pitching slightly to the heave of the open

sea.

"Do you see any sign of the boat, Mr. Aubyn?" asked Captain Holloway.

"Those fellows ought to be on their way back by this time."

Terence, who was officer of the watch, brought his glass to bear upon

the shore, where a cluster of red-tiled roofs, dominated by the grey

tower of a church, marked the position of the village--a distance of

about a mile and a half from where the "Terrier" lay.

"Boat's still at the hard, sir," he reported. "The boat-keeper is

sitting in the stern sheets."

Lieutenant-Commander Holloway gave vent to a gesture of impatience.

He knew from the fact that the seaman left in charge was taking it

easy that the rest of the party were not on their way back to the

hard.

On board the "Terrier" the crew were taking advantage of dry decks to

air their saturated clothing and bedding. The watches had just been

changed. Down on the ill-ventilated mess-deck grimy stokers, up from

the confined stokehold, were scrubbing themselves and changing into

clean rig. The fo'c'sle was packed with humanity. Amid the babel of

voices Terence could detect the burr of Glorious Devon, the broad

Scotch of the Highlands, the staccato voice of an excitable Welshman,

the rich brogue of Connemara, and the last but not least, the

unmistakable Cockney accent, but one and all stout-hearted British

seamen. The most frequent topic of conversation that drifted to the

sub.'s ears as he stood on the elevated bridge was football. Some of

the men were discussing home affairs in the blunt open fashion that

Jack Tar unconsciously adopts; others were debating the prospects of

Christmas leave. As for the war, the subject was almost entirely

ignored.

Once more the sub. brought his telescope to bear upon the shore.

There were signs of activity on the part of the boat-keeper, so

Terence came to the conclusion that the hospital party were on their

way back.

Then, with a true seaman's almost unconscious instinct he gave a

glance first to windward and then towards the open sea. As he did so

he made a sudden dash to the engine-room telegraph, signalling for

full speed astern with the starboard engine and full speed ahead with

the port, at the same time shouting in stentorian tones that

electrified the whole of the crew within hearing:--

"Submarine on the port beam!"

A bugle blared. Ere the short notes of alarm had died away Captain

Holloway was beside his subordinate on the bridge. The guns' crews of

the two 4.7's sprang to their weapons. Clang went the breach-blocks.

"Eight hundred yards!" announced the gunner calmly, as the copper

cylinders with their deadly steel heads were thrust home.

But a deadlier weapon was already on its way towards the doomed ship.

A torpedo, set at its minimum depth in order to make sure that it

would not pass under the keel of its intended prey, was tearing

towards the "Terrier" with the speed of an express train.

From his position on the bridge Terence watched its rapid progress.

He could do nothing beyond what he had already done. It was evident

that before the ship could swing on her cable, under the adverse

action of her twin propellers, until she was bows on to the deadly

missile, the torpedo would hit her.

At times the gleaming steel cylinder was clear of the water between

the crests of the waves, yet unswerving either to right or left, it

headed with disconcerting accuracy towards the ship.

The two 4.7's clashed almost simultaneously. The shell from her bow

gun, aimed at the now disappearing periscope of the hostile

submarine, missed it by a bare yard, and ricochetting, threw up five

distinct columns of spray ere it sunk for good and all.

The gun-layer at the after gun with admirable presence of mind

launched a projectile at the torpedo in the hope of diverting its

course. He made one mistake: he forgot to take into consideration the

refractive properties of water, and consequently the missile struck

the surface too far in the wake of the torpedo to affect its

direction.

"Stand clear there!" shouted the captain, seeing even in that tense

interval that several of the men were standing by the stanchions.

There was a general rush to the starboard side to avoid the direct

effect of the explosion of the "tin-fish," then a strange silence

fell upon the ship's company.

"Crash!"

A hundred feet or so in the air rose a column of spray, as the deadly

torpedo exploded on the port side nearly abreast of the fo'c'sle gun.

The ship literally jumped a yard or so out of the water, then with a

sickening thud, followed by the unmistakable sound of water pouring

into her hull, subsided heavily in the agitated foam.

With his senses practically numbed by the shock of the explosion,

Terence stood stockstill, grasping the bridge rail with both hands,

while unconscious of the fact he held his telescope under his arm. He

was dimly aware of the débris flying all around him, as the slender

pole-mast, ventilators, and other heavy objects went crashing over

the side. Then, as the cloud of spray and acrid smoke dispersed he

could discern the forms of the crew as with varying speeds the

majority regained their feet. A few, stunned by the concussion, were

lying inertly upon the deck.

For quite ninety seconds Aubyn remained in his dazed condition. Then

he realized that the ship was done for, and that he was still alive.

Further, as an officer it was his duty to exert himself for the sake

of the men. He remembered that the captain had been on the bridge,

and turning saw his superior officer standing at the head of the

ladder.

The captain was capless. There was blood upon his forehead. A

splinter had grazed his head, making a clean superficial wound. The

two men exchanged reassuring glances, then in clear, steady tones

Captain Holloway issued an order for all hands to fall in on the

quarter-deck.

The men made their way aft at the double. There was no undue

scrambling or frantic haste, although the "Terrier's" raised fo'c'sle

was now almost flush with the water, and her after part, where the

freeboard was nominally only five feet, was thrice that height in the

air.

Up through the small awkward engine-room stokehold hatchways came the

"black squad," not one man of whom had stirred from his post until

ordered to do so. Knowing full well that a catastrophe had befallen

the ship, but ignorant of the actual facts, or whether she was on the

point of making a sudden plunge to the bottom, these men had to

undergo the greatest ordeal of any of the ship's company. Yet, before

making his dash for safety, the artificer-engineer had taken care to

prevent an explosion of the boilers as the water poured into the

stokehold.

Of the boats on the davits only one was fit for service. The others

were badly strained by the explosion or damaged by the flying

débris. The serviceable one was quickly lowered, and, although

leaking freely, was manned and brought alongside.

"Pass all injured men over the side," ordered Captain Holloway. "The

rest of you can make the best of your way ashore--and good luck to

you."

The crew gave three rousing cheers and prepared for the coming

ordeal, for although the distance to the shore was an easy swim the

bitter coldness of the water had to be taken into consideration.

One by one the wounded were passed into the boat; after them as many

men as she could safely hold. The boat was ordered to lie off and

render assistance to any swimmers in difficulties.

"With your permission, sir," said Aubyn, "I'll have a look down on

the mess-deck. There may be some of the hands left below."

"Do so, by all means, Mr. Aubyn," replied his superior. "The old

boat shows no great hurry."

"I fancy she's aground for'ard, sir," said the sub. "I'll be as sharp

as I can."

Descending the now almost perpendicular ladder Terence gained the

shelving mess-deck. Already the water was surging over the forepart;

kit-bags, tables and stools were floating in a confused mass, while

those that were not yet reached by the rapidly rising flood had been

thrown about in all directions by the explosion.

It was some time before the sub. grew accustomed to the semi-gloom.

His senses were still affected by the concussion; he could see the

water pouring in, but the noise it made was barely audible. The

situation reminded him of a cinematograph show unaccompanied by a

band.

"All clear as far as I can see," he thought. "It's about time I

looked after number one. Heavens! What is that?"

Lying almost buried by a pile of gear in one corner of the stokers'

mess was the body of a man. He was insensible, and, in the hurried

rush, had been overlooked by his companions. Already the level of the

water was up to the man's chin as he lay with his head and shoulders

propped up against a broken ditty-box.

Knee-deep in water Terence hurried to the rescue. The man, a great

brawny specimen of humanity, was stripped to the waist. Surprised in

the act of washing, after coming off duty, he had been rendered

senseless by the explosion. His right leg was bent under him. The

limb, Terence knew at a glance, was broken. He was also bleeding

profusely from an ugly scalp wound in the back of his head.

In spite of the unconscious stoker's weight--he turned the scale at

sixteen stone--Aubyn dragged him along the deck to the foot of the

ladder. Here he was temporarily baffled, for the metal "treads" were

now sloping downwards at such an angle that it would be difficult for

him to get a foothold unimpeded, much more when attempting to lift a

heavy man.

It never occurred to the sub. to call upon Captain Holloway for

assistance. The captain, the only person now on deck, was

mechanically puffing at an unlighted cigarette, while his attention

was fixed upon the crowd of swimmers, good, bad, and indifferent, as

they struck out for the shore. Beyond removing his boots the captain

had made no preparations for safety, resolving to remain on his

quarter-deck until his ill-fated command disappeared beneath the

waves.

Unseen by his superior officer and equally unconscious of his

presence, Terence gained the upper deck, secured a rope, and again

descended to the aid of the luckless stoker. Bending the rope round

the man's chest and back the sub. clambered up the ladder and began

to heave away. Under ordinary circumstances Aubyn would never have

attempted such a feat, but sheer nerve gave him the strength of a

giant. Unaided he succeeded in raising the senseless man and toppling

him over the coaming on to the deck.

Just then Captain Holloway, having seen that the last of the swimmers

had reached the mud-fringed shore, remembered that the sub. had gone

below, and finding that he had not returned, hurried to the

companion.

To his surprise he found Aubyn bending over the body of a badly

wounded stoker.

"Found him below, sir," explained the sub. "Double fracture of the

leg and a nasty gash on his head."

With his captain's assistance Terence proceeded to apply rough

splints to the injured limb and to staunch the flow of blood from the

man's head.

"We'll soon have him out of it," remarked Captain Holloway. "The

gig's returning, and I see the whaler is coming up as hard as she can."

He pointed to the boat which had taken the invalid to the

sick-quarters. Alarmed by the explosion and concluding that something

had befallen the ship, the ship's crew had bent to their oars with a

will, to find on drawing clear of the hard that the "Terrier" was on

the point of sinking.

The sub. felt himself shivering. The keen wind blowing against his

saturated nether garments reminded him that it was mid-winter. As he

stooped to wring the water out of the bottoms of his trousers he

realized that the unconscious stoker, who a few moments before had

been toiling in the hot stokehold, was now lying stripped to the waist.

Removing his great-coat and muffler Terence slipped the garments over

the unfortunate man, just as the gig and the whaler came alongside.

This time there were plenty of helpers. Carefully the stoker was

lowered into the whaler and placed in the stern-sheets.

"Give way, my lads," ordered Captain Holloway. "Run this man up to

the sick-quarters as hard as you know how."

Then turning to Aubyn he added,

"The old ship seems to be hanging on. We may as well have a look

below and see if there's anything of value in our cabins."

Bidding the gig lie off at a boat's length from the ship, which was

now tilted at such an angle that her propellers were clear of the

water, Captain Holloway, followed by Terence, disappeared down the

little companion just abaft the after 4.7-in. gun.

Although Aubyn had been on board the torpedo-gunboat only a week he

was thoroughly familiar with the appearance of the little box-room

dubbed by courtesy a cabin. It would be difficult to describe its

shape, for being well aft she was cut into by the "run" of the

ship's side as it approached the stern-post. It was lighted by two

scuttles, or circular ports. Immediately beneath these lights was his

bunk, extending from bulkhead to bulkhead, yet barely long enough for

him to lie at full length.

Underneath the bunk were two mahogany drawers. In one of the two

corners of the cabin, which were rectangular, stood a wash-basin,

hidden from view by a green baize curtain. Against the opposite

bulkhead was a very small stove, its brasswork polished to a high

degree. Somewhere between the rest of the space was a chair which had

to be moved whenever the occupant of the cabin crossed from one side

of his personal and private domain to the other. Even the steel

ceiling, coated with cork cement, in a feeble attempt to prevent

"sweating" of the metal, was utilized for a secondary purpose; from

here hung the sub.'s enamelled iron bath.

Being well aft Aubyn's cabin had escaped much of the force of the

explosion, but most of the loose gear had been displaced and lodged

in the angle formed by the sloping floor and bulkhead. Two

photographs in silver frames, their glasses smashed to atoms, lay on

the carpet in company with the sub.'s silver cigarette-case, his

watch and chain and a toilet-case--the latter a present from his

headmaster upon leaving school. That little heap represented

practically the whole of his worldly belongings in the way of

luxuries: he could have stowed the lot inside his sweater.

Yet he did nothing of the sort. Like a man in a trance he stood in

the doorway. Unaccountably the dazed feeling that gripped him

immediately after the ship had received her death-blow took

possession of him again. There he remained, gazing at the scene of

disorder, without stirring a finger to save his treasures, until he

was aroused by Captain Holloway exclaiming:--

"Look alive, Mr. Aubyn. She's going."

Up the companion raced the two officers. The ship was trembling

violently. Air bubbles, escaping through the submerged scuttles,

agitated the water alongside. The whole of the fore-part of the

"Terrier," as far as the base of the after funnel, was under the

waves. It was even a difficult matter to cross the deck from the

companion to the side.

The gig backed. Captain Holloway signed to the sub. to leap; then

giving a last look round he followed Aubyn into the boat.

"Lay on your oars, man," he ordered, after the gig had gone a hundred

yards from the sinking ship.

Standing in the stern-sheets, Captain Holloway waited for the end. It

was not long in coming. With the White Ensign still fluttering

proudly in the breeze, the "Terrier" dipped more and more till ten

feet of the after-part of her keel was visible. For a brief instant

the towering mass seemed to hang irresolute, then with hardly a

splash the hull disappeared from sight, leaving only the after-mast

from the truck to the hounds above the surface.

Raising his hand to the peak of his cap the captain gave his former

command a last salute, then resuming his seat, bade the men "give

way."

All the inhabitants of the village were on the shore ready to offer

hospitality to the crew, many of whom had discarded most of their

clothing before jumping from the ship. One petty officer, three able

seamen, and a stoker were missing--doubtless killed outright by the

explosion. Four men were seriously injured, while a score more were

suffering from wounds and shock.

"Hanged if I can quite realize it," remarked Captain Holloway, as he

walked with Aubyn towards the village. "I remember going down to my

cabin and grabbing a spare cap. There were two drawers in my locker.

In one was fifty half-sovereigns, and in the other over three hundred

pounds in notes. The gold is in my trousers' pocket, but, although I

recollect seeing the notes, I've let the whole lot go to Davy Jones.

Strange, eh? Why, what's the matter with you, man?"

He turned and grasped Terence by the shoulders just in time to

prevent him from falling to the ground in a dead faint.

CHAPTER XV.

VICE VERSÂ.

"TELEGRAM for you, mum."

Mrs. Aubyn put down her newspaper and took the orange-coloured

envelope which her sister's maid had just brought in on a tray.

Telegrams were rather unusual at "Anchor Cottage," and the freckled,

red-haired girl, with eyes and mouth wide open, stood consumed with

ill-concealed curiosity.

But she was disappointed. Deftly Mrs. Aubyn tore the envelope and

scanned the contents.

"No answer, Jane," she announced, in a steady voice.

Not until the maid had closed the door did the old lady betray the

anguish that the telegram had caused.

"God grant that he is not blinded or crippled for life," she

exclaimed, in low, earnest tones; then she re-read the momentous

words of the telegram in the vain hope that she had not rightly

grasped its significance, and that on second reading the message

might not appear so terribly grim:--

"Regret to have to inform you that Sub-Lieutenant Terence Aubyn,

R.N.R., is lying here seriously wounded."

The telegram was dispatched from Shotley Naval Hospital and bore the

signature of one of the medical officers.

"Seriously wounded," she repeated. "An accident, perhaps. I must go

to my boy."

She had read all the important news in the morning paper. There had

been no mention of a naval engagement, so there could be no other

explanation of how Terence received his injuries. She was thankful

indeed that she had not gone to Portsmouth for the day with her

sister. Thankful, also, that the said relative was not in the house,

for in contrast to the presence of mind displayed by Mrs. Aubyn, Miss

Wilson possessed a highly-strung temperament that frequently

expressed itself in hysterical outbursts.

Mrs. Aubyn consulted a time-table and then rang the bell.

"Jane," said the old lady in even tones, "I want you to run across to

Smith's and order a taxi to take me to the station at once, to catch

the 9.15 train."

Quickly Terence's mother made her simple preparations. After dressing

for the journey she sat down and wrote a note to her sister,

explaining the reason for her hasty departure, and stating that she

would write the same evening and give full details. Upon second

thoughts she did not enclose the telegram, but placed it in her

handbag. Then, closing the envelope and sealing it with wax, she gave

it to the maid to hand to her mistress on her return.

It was close on four in the afternoon when the train steamed into

Harwich station. Making her way through crowds of bluejackets who

formed the bulk of the passengers, Mrs. Aubyn called a cab and bade

the man drive her to Shotley as quickly as possible.

The cabby looked curiously at her.

"Shotley?" he repeated. "'Tis a long way. It'll cost you a quid,

mum--a sovereign. Couldn't do it for less."

"A sovereign!" repeated Mrs. Aubyn aghast.

"Not a penny less, mum," declared the man, stolidly. The old lady's

hand tightened on her purse. Her means were strictly limited. A

sovereign was to her a large sum. Yet, for her boy's sake----

"Excuse me, madam," exclaimed a deep, pleasant voice.

Mrs. Aubyn turned. The cabby gave vent to an exclamation that,

although inaudible, clearly expressed his views upon "fussy toffs who

interfered with an honest chap's living."

"Do I understand that you want to go to Shotley?" continued the

stranger, a tall, bearded gentleman in the uniform of a naval

captain.

"Yes, to the hospital. My son, Sub-Lieutenant Aubyn, is lying there

seriously wounded."

She spoke bravely, laying emphasis upon her boy's rank. She felt

certain she could enlist the entire sympathy and aid of a

brother-officer, notwithstanding he was a post-captain.

"If you will allow me I will give you a passage in my gig," said the

naval officer. "It is only a short distance by water, but quite

twenty miles from here by land. I fancy that cabby knew you were a

stranger here. My name is O'Rourke--Captain O'Rourke."

Outside the station boys were selling the early evening papers.

Catching sight of the naval officer three or four of them made a rush

towards him.

"Evening paper, sir. H.M.S. 'Terrier' torpedoed and sunk."

He bought a copy, and without attempting to read it thrust it into

his coat pocket.

"When a ship is torpedoed, Captain O'Rourke, are the crew severely

injured?" inquired Mrs. Aubyn.

"A strange question to ask," thought the naval man. He glanced

swiftly at his companion, trying to read an unexpressed thought that

might have prompted her query. Her face betrayed no sign whatever.

"Well, it depends," he answered guardedly. "Unless there are men

below, close to the point of impact, there is generally very little

damage to personnel. The men would undoubtedly feel the effect of the

concussion. When the 'Hogue' and her consorts were torpedoed the loss

of life due to the actual explosion was absurdly small in comparison

to the number of men drowned. Of course, if the torpedo strikes the

magazine and caused an internal explosion, that is quite another

matter. But excuse me, what made you ask that question?"

"My son was on the 'Terrier,'" she replied simply.

"I hope----" he began; then he stopped and pulled out the newspaper.

"There are no details," he continued. "In fact, I know far more

about the disaster and how it occurred than is stated in the Press.

The number of casualties is given but no names."

Assisting Mrs. Aubyn into the waiting gig, Captain O'Rourke gave

orders to the coxswain to make for Shotley Pier. Then, having acted

the part of glorified ferryman, and handed the old lady into the

charge of a petty-officer with instructions to escort her to the

Sick-Quarters, Captain O'Rourke returned to his ship.

The short winter's afternoon had now given place to night. Well it

was that Terence's mother had a stalwart seaman to show her the way,

for, owing to possible air-raids, both sides of Harwich Harbour were

shrouded in darkness.

"Officers' wing, ma'am," announced the petty-officer. "If you'll

write particulars in the visitors' book you'll soon be attended to by

that chap--he's one of the assistant ward-masters."

After a few moments' delay Mrs. Aubyn was ushered into a fairly large

room in which were half a dozen occupied beds. Eagerly she scanned

the faces of the patients. None of the five who on hearing the

visitor turned in her direction bore the slightest resemblance to her

son. The sixth bed--ominous sign--had a screen drawn round it.

A nursing sister walked silently up to the assistant ward-master and

asked a question in an undertone, then turning to the visitor:--

"Mrs. Aubyn, I believe. You have come to see your son?"

"I have; is he dangerously hurt?" she asked.

The nurse inclined her head.

"I am afraid so," she replied gently. "The surgeons are holding

another consultation tomorrow. It may mean amputation of the right

leg, but I think he'll get over it."

"Amputation of the right leg ... he'll get over it."

Mrs. Aubyn mechanically repeated the words as she followed the

nursing sister towards the screened bed. After all, it might have

been worse. Throughout the tedious journey the idea that persistently

occupied her mind was that her only son had been deprived of his

sight. She felt almost inclined to weep with relief. Compared with a

life-long existence deprived of the light of day, the lot of a maimed

hero--whose sacrifice had been for King and Country--was light

indeed. And, besides, he would be invalided out of the Service. She,

his devoted mother, would spend no more sleepless nights endeavouring

to picture her son somewhere on the wild North Sea, beset by perils

that had never, before the present war, threatened the gallant men

who defended our shores.

She gave no sign of the emotions that surged within her. Outwardly

she was calm and self-possessed--a pattern of a modern Spartan

mother.

The nurse moved aside the screen.

On the bed, his forehead swathed in surgical bandages, and with a

rest over his injured limb, was an unconscious man. His face was

pallid, his closed eyes rimmed with red. His massive features, short

turned-up nose, long upper lip and square jaw unmistakably stamped

him as a son of the Emerald Isle.

"But this is not my son," said Mrs. Aubyn calmly.

"Not your son?" repeated the nurse. "Why, this is Sub-Lieutenant

Terence Aubyn."

"He is some other poor mother's son," declared Mrs. Aubyn; then, with

unwonted eagerness she asked, "Were any of the other officers

missing?"

"I think not," replied the nursing sister. "If you will take a chair

for a few minutes I will make inquiries. Perhaps you would like a cup

of tea in my room," she added, noticing the visitor's langour.

"Thank you," was the grateful reply. "I would."

While Mrs. Aubyn was drinking her tea the nurse held a hurried

consultation with the ward-master and one of the doctors.

"Now you mention it," remarked the latter, "I did notice that the

patient looked a bit tough for a commissioned officer. A sub., even

though he be a reserve man, does not as a rule decorate his chest

with fanciful tattoo designs. Have you any of the 'Terrier's' ship's

company who can identify the patient?"

The result of the consultation was that an able seaman, suffering

from slight shock, was brought into the officer's ward.

The man's weather-beaten face relaxed into a broad grin when he saw

the supposed sub-lieutenant.

"Strike me pink!" he ejaculated in undisguised astonishment, and

heedless of the fact that he was in the presence of a superior

officer. "Mike O'Milligan will have the time of his life when he

wakes up to find himself in with the officers."

"Mike O'Milligan?" repeated the surgeon.

"Ay; first-class stoker--that's what he is," declared the seaman,

with the air of a man who is instrumental in denouncing an impostor.

He seemed to imagine that it was a piece of audacity on the part of

the luckless O'Milligan, in spite of the fact that he was unconscious

when brought into the hospital.

"Did you see Sub-Lieutenant Aubyn after the explosion?" asked the

nurse.

"Ay, ma'am. He was all right. Saw him with my own eyes on the

quarter-deck when the hands mustered aft. Don't remember seeing him

after that, though."

"I think there has been a mistake, Mrs. Aubyn," said the nurse on

returning to her private sitting-room, where Terence's mother was

striving to forget doubts and fears in a cup of tea. "A stoker was

admitted to the ward under the inexplicable error that he was your

son. Dr. Hardiman is making inquiries, and we hope to clear the

matter up satisfactorily. You need not worry about finding a hotel;

we can put you up for the night."

The nurse remained in conversation with the old lady for some

minutes, then, excusing herself, returned to her duty.

Left to herself Mrs. Aubyn remembered that she promised to write to

her sister. The news she was able to give was far from satisfactory;

in fact, the position of affairs was very vague. Nevertheless, she

sat down to write an account of what had occurred up to the present

time, in the hope that before she had finished the letter Dr.

Hardiman's investigations might produce definite and satisfactory

results.

Suddenly the door opened. In the subdued gleam cast by the electric

table-lamp Mrs. Aubyn saw the figure of a man dressed in a long, pale

blue coat with broad red collar and cuffs. His face was darkened by

the shade of the lamp.

Thinking the intruder was one of the hospital orderlies, the old lady

turned to her work, only to feel a pair of hands grasping her

shoulders.

"Hullo, mother! What brings you here?" asked Terence.

It was all because of the fact that Terence gave his great-coat to

the unconscious man he had rescued from the mess-deck of the sinking

"Terrier" that the sub. and the stoker had changed places.

Upon Aubyn losing consciousness Captain Holloway feared that the sub.

had been wounded, and that he had kept the knowledge to himself. A

hasty examination by the naval surgeon resulted in the satisfactory

report that the young officer was not hurt beyond suffering from the

shock of the explosion.

Captain Holloway, of course, could not stay with his subordinate. He

had plenty of work to do, looking after the survivors of the ship's

company, sending telegraphic reports to the Admiralty, and tackling

fifty other problems to which the sudden catastrophe had contributed.

Owing to the limited room at the Sick-Quarters of the little village,

orders were received to send the wounded members of the crew to

Shotley. A fleet of motor-cars, lent by the well-to-do residents in

the district, was quickly organized and the work of transporting the

sufferers was put in hand.

A message had already been received at Shotley warning the medical

authorities to prepare for the reception of one officer and so many

lower-deck patients. The latter were to be distributed amongst the

various wards.

A small crowd of sick-berth attendants were in waiting when the

motor-cars arrived. The worst cases were taken into the building on

stretchers. Amongst these were Sub-Lieutenant Aubyn, clad in cloth

trousers and sweater, and Stoker O'Milligan decked in borrowed

plumage--to wit, a naval officer's great-coat. Both men were still

unconscious.

Consequently it was excusable that the sick-bay staff made a slight

mistake. O'Milligan, after his leg was properly set in splints, was

put to bed in the officer's ward, while Terence was dumped into the

only vacant cot in one of the men's wards.

He was a puzzle to the sick-berth attendants. They knew that the one

officer mentioned in the telegram had arrived. They could find no

mark of identification on the clothing of the supposed seaman. Being

particularly busy they let the matter of identification slide,

thinking that on the patient's return to consciousness he would be

able to give the necessary information as to his name and rating.

When the doctor went his rounds he gave directions for a sleeping

draught to be administered to the patient as soon as he regained his

senses.

Ten minutes after the medico's departure Terence opened his eyes.

Instantly the alert attendant pounced down, and, without giving the

patient a chance to speak, made him swallow the draught. Consequently

it was not until six o'clock in the evening that the sub. awoke,

feeling little the worse for his prolonged rest.

He sat up and looked round the room. His surroundings were strangely

unfamiliar. The very bareness of the place had a lower-deck

atmosphere.

He beckoned to the sick-bay attendant.

"What's up now, mate?" asked that worthy. "Feeling better?"

Somewhat taken aback by the familiarity of the man, Terence asked

where he was, and was informed that he was in "B" block of Shotley

Sick-Quarters.

"What's your name and rating, chum?" asked the man, producing a book

and fingering a stump of indelible pencil.

Like a flash the situation became apparent to the sub. He remembered

his great-coat--he seemed particularly unfortunate in the matter of

great-coats, he thought. He had lent it to the stoker, and as a

penalty he had been mistaken for the man he had rescued. The

ludicrous side of the affair tickled him.

"A sub-lootenant?" queried the man incredulously. "Seems likely, eh?

Either you're barmy, or else you're trying some little game on. Won't

work, chum. Who's your raggie?"

"Raggie," in lower-deck parlance, is a term used to denote a man's

particular pal. It was the sick-berth attendant's idea to get one of

the ship's company whom the patient named to identify the fellow who

was under the hallucination that he was one of the officers.

"Try Captain Holloway," suggested Terence. The man shook his head

more in sorrow than in anger.

"It would go hard with you, chum, if I did," he remarked. "Your

skipper wouldn't care to be bothered at this time o' night. 'Sides,

he isn't here."

The patient in the next cot--of the crew of a destroyer that had been

in some minor action--began to grow interested.

"Bill," he whispered in a stage aside, "'umour 'im. He's dotty. I

knowed a chap once who looked just like 'im. He was as mad as a

'atter. He would 'ave it he was the Right 'Onerable Somebody. Got

fair violent if you didn't believe 'im. So, 'umour 'im, says I."

Terence, overhearing these remarks, laughed.

"I don't claim to be anything so grand as a Right Honourable, my

man," he said.

"Maybe, then, you're not so bad as the chap wot I was talking to the

poultice-slapper about. 'E was sent to Yarmouth Loonatic Asylum, pore

chap; maybe you won't need to be if you pulls yourself together,"

retorted the seaman, with brutal candour.

"Look here, my man," said Terence authoritatively, addressing the

"poultice-slapper," otherwise the sick-berth attendant, "you'll

please fetch the surgeon on duty--and be quick about it."

There was something in Aubyn's tone that caused the man to wonder

whether, after all, there had been a mistake. He was one who was

disinclined to take any risks in the matter. He hurried off, striving

to recollect, as he went, what he had said to the unknown patient,

and whether he had used indiscreet language to one who might really

be a commissioned officer.

The doctor arrived, tardily. Although the circumstances had been

explained to him, he, too, had his doubts. Patients suffering from

shock were apt to be light-headed upon recovering consciousness.

He was a little, round-faced man, with a shiny pate surmounted by a

tonsure-like ring of jet black hair. War had dealt kindly with him.

Formerly a country medical practitioner in a poor district, having

great difficulty in making both ends meet, he had taken advantage of

the Admiralty regulations for the entry of Temporary Surgeons. With

free quarters, a home billet, and a comfortable rate of pay, he was

now "having the time of his life."

He lacked the general brusqueness of naval doctors when dealing with

men. He was eminently a doctor; as a naval officer he made an

indifferent show.

He was sympathetic as he questioned Aubyn, and although he observed

him narrowly he saw no sign that would be bound to betray to a

medical man any symptoms of lunacy.

"You are well enough to get up," he said at length. "Get your things

on."

Somewhat disdainfully Terence clothed himself in the garments

provided--rough underclothing and an ugly dressing-gown, arrangements

that My Lords think fit to provide for the lower-deck patients.

"Fit as a fiddle," remarked the doctor.

"Fit for a good dinner, anyhow," added Terence, who was feeling

desperately hungry--the craving for food accentuated by the fact that

one of the patients had just been given some roast chicken.

"Ordinary seamen don't talk about having dinner in the evening,"

thought the surgeon. "Perhaps there's some truth in his assertion

after all. I'll get him into the next ward; there are two of the

'Terrier' men there."

Nor was the doctor greatly astonished when, as the quaintly-garbed

patient followed him into the ward, the men recognized their officer,

stood up and smartly saluted.

"Well, Smith," said Terence, addressing a seaman-gunner by name, "how

goes it?"

"Can't complain, sir. Got a proper whack in the ribs. 'Tain't much to

grouse about. And how's yourself, sir, if I may make so bold as to

ask? I seed the cap'n catch you as you pitched to starboard."

In a few minutes Terence was taken to the officers' ward. Here he was

informed that his mother was waiting to see him. He wondered why. His

condition was hardly serious enough for the medical authorities to

send for her, so he settled the matter by going, just as he was, to

the room where Mrs. Aubyn was waiting.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE FLOORING OF MR. MCNAB.

PROMPTLY discharged from hospital, Terence was given six days'

leave--a period which he spent with his parent.

He thoroughly appreciated the brief spell of leisure. It was simply

great to be able to turn in at night and sleep soundly till seven

o'clock the next morning. There was no insistent voice of the

messenger: "Please, sir, it's ten minutes to four, and your cocoa's

ready;" no watch upon an exposed bridge in the cold dark hours of a

winter's morning; no monotonous round of ship routine with the

constant menace of being bumped upon a mine.

Yet, in a way, he was glad when his leave was up. The call of duty in

Britain's time of peril was too urgent. He felt he must be doing

something. Even his well-earned leave savoured of "slacking."

On the afternoon of the last day of his holiday Terence received his

order from the Admiralty to proceed to Whale Island for a second

gunnery course. Somewhat to his mother's and his aunt's consternation

he executed a war-dance round the drawing-room, to the imminent peril

of Miss Wilson's objects of art, with which the room was certainly

overcrowded. "A short gunnery course." He took it that that meant

another step to the height of his ambition. If he came through that

with flying colours he concluded that he would be sent to either a

battleship or a cruiser. There could be, he reasoned, no object in

putting a Reserve officer through the mysteries of _heavy_-gun drill

if he were to continue to serve in an armed merchantman, whose

heaviest ordnance consisted of the comparatively small 4.7-in. gun or

the 6-in. at the very outside.

On the other hand, in spite of his experience as officer of the watch

on the "Strongbow" and "Terrier" he would be of little use as

watch-keeping officer on a battleship or cruiser in company. He had

no training in the delicate art of station-keeping, whereby lines of

huge ships keep their respective distances with mathematical nicety,

which can only be acquired by years of experience.

Yet that troubled him but little. So long as he had a chance of

smelling powder under anything approaching equal conditions he would

be content. Rather selfishly he hoped that the German fleet would

skulk in Wilhelmshaven Harbour or in the Kiel Canal until the time

that he found himself on board one of the battleships or big cruisers

of the Grand Fleet.

So with a brand new kit--for he had lost practically all his gear

when the "Terrier" made her plunge--Terence reported himself at Whale

Island--the principal gunnery establishment of the British Empire,

nay, of the whole world--an artificial island, constructed by means

of earth excavated from the huge basin of Portsmouth Dockyard.

Officially Whale Island is a ship, appearing in all official naval

documents as H.M.S. "Excellent." It boasts of a "Quarter-Deck;" ship

routine is carried out almost as faithfully as if the several

thousand men were really afloat instead of being quartered in

barracks. There are spacious parade grounds, diving-tank for

instructing embryo seaman-divers, workshops, and, in the adjoining

Portsea Island, a rifle-range; but all these give precedence to the

gun-batteries.

Almost the whole of the western side of the island is occupied by a

long, low building designated the heavy-gun battery. Here types of

guns, from the monstrous 15-in. downwards, are mounted under similar

conditions to those on shipboard, and used solely for the instruction

of officers and men. Even the "heave" of a ship in a seaway is

allowed for, since some of the ordnance are mounted on "rolling

platforms" designed to make a seaman gunner in training accustomed to

the motion of a vessel under way.

Terence entered into his duties with the keenest zest. His ready mind

quickly grasped the points raised by the instructor. Difficulties

that proved well-nigh insurmountable to several of the class, he

overcame with an ease which astonished both his mentor and himself,

and at the end of the period of training he was the proud possessor

of a first-class certificate signed by the captain of the ship.

Thus it came as a slight disappointment when Terence received orders

to proceed to Rosyth to join H.M. torpedo-boat-destroyer,

"Livingstone." Still, it was a step in the right direction, the sub.

agreed, and that was something to be thankful for.

The "Livingstone" was a modern craft of 965 tons, carried three 4-in.

guns, and was propelled by turbine machinery, steam being raised

exclusively by oil fuel. It was one of the flotillas whose duty lay

in patrolling the easternmost limits of the North Sea, so as to be in

readiness to report the German High Sea Fleet should, in a rash

moment, the Kaiser or his minion Tirpitz give the order for it to

risk annihilation at the hands of Admiral Jellicoe's waiting seamen.

Every alternate fortnight the flotilla to which the "Livingstone"

belonged proceeded to take its spell of arduous duty. The intervening

period it spent in harbour, giving the crew a well-earned rest.

Terence joined his new ship on the second day of his return. The

officers, all young men full of spirits and on excellent terms with

each other, were busy planning how they were to spend the next few

days of comparative leisure. As usual the subject of the war was

hardly mentioned. After days of strenuous watching and waiting, with

the waves constantly sweeping the battened down decks, they were only

too glad to discuss matters other than "shop"--since the German fleet

showed no sign of leaving its lair.

"We're off to Tuilabrail to-morrow, Aubyn," announced the

engineer-lieutenant. "You'll come too, I hope. McNab has issued a

general invitation to the officers of the flotilla."

"Who's Mr. McNab?" asked Terence.

"Oh, don't you know? I've forgotten it's your first time at Rosyth.

McNab is the laird of Tuilabrail--quite a swagger place, not far from

St. Margeret's Hope. There's plenty of sport--shooting and fishing,

and all that, you know."

"'Fraid I'm not much of a hand with a sporting gun," remarked

Terence. "Last time I tried I made an awful ass of myself."

"Fire away and let's have the yarn, old fellow," said a sub., as

cordially as if he had known Aubyn all his life.

"There's not much to tell," replied Terence. "It was while I was

staying at a farm in Devonshire. The farmer asked me to go out

rabbit-shooting. It was tame work bolting the poor little beasts with

ferrets and bowling them over at twenty yards. Well, we were working

a hedge, set in a bank literally honeycombed with rabbit-holes. The

old farmer told me where to stand and cautioned me to let rip

directly I saw the rabbit, as there was plenty of cover about.

"I waited for perhaps five minutes. Then something dashed out of the

hedge like greased lightning. I pulled the trigger and----"

"Peppered the farmer?" hazarded the engineer-lieutenant.

"No, bowled over a fox. Shot the brute dead as a door-nail."

"You rotten sport!" exclaimed several of his listeners.

"Try your luck again," said the lieutenant. "Have you a gun? If not,

I'll lend you one--it's a good one, I can assure you."

So it was arranged that half a dozen officers, including Aubyn,

should go over to Tuilabrail on the following morning and have lunch

with the hospitable Mr. McNab.

"Who is this Mr. McNab?" asked Terence.

No one seemed to know exactly. He had only recently rented

Tuilabrail. Some one said that he had heard that McNab was a wealthy

manufacturer from the Lowlands, who had been obliged to retire early

on account of bad health, but amongst the officers there was a

general opinion that he was a real good old sport.

The sub.'s first night on board a destroyer soon enabled him to

realize that there is a great difference between cruising in an armed

merchantman and serving with a flotilla.

He was officer of the Middle Watch. The "Livingstone" and her

consorts, although supposed to be stationed at Rosyth during the

fortnight, were anchored far up the Firth of Forth, ready at a

moment's notice to steam out into the North Sea should there be a

"wireless" announcing that the German fleet was at last about to risk

The Day.

From where the "Livingstone" lay, save for the anchor lamps of the

flotilla, not a light was visible. Culross and Kincardine on the

north shore and Grangemouth and Boness on the south shore of the

Forth might have been non-existent as far as sound and visibility

were concerned.

It was a raw, misty night, with a keen easterly wind blowing in from

the North Sea. With the wind against the strong ebb tide the sea was

flecked with "white horses" that slapped viciously against the stern

of the destroyer. Overhead the insulated stays of the wireless aerial

moaned fitfully in the blast.

"Boat ahoy!" The hail came from a seaman stationed aft. He had been

indulging in a surreptitious "few puffs" under the lee of the after

4-in. gun, and in a fateful moment had been trying to light his

refractory pipe when a red, white, and green steaming light within

twenty yards of the destroyer aroused him into super-activity.

"Guard-boat!" shouted a gruff voice, intensified by means of a

megaphone.

"Guard-boat, sir!" repeated the lookout for the sub.'s information.

Accompanied by the quartermaster Terence hurried to the side, there

to find a dark grey launch, her outlines barely visible against the

leaden-coloured white-flecked sea.

From a diminutive cabin aft, the yellow flicker of a lantern feebly

illuminated the bronzed features of an officer muffled in oilskins

and sou'-wester.

"Night guard!" announced the officer, without any superfluity of

speech. "All correct?"

"All correct, sir," replied the quartermaster.

"P'raps," rejoined the officer of the night guard sourly. Making a

ten-mile round in a wet launch in the small hours of a winter's

morning tended to make him short-tempered. "Where's the officer of

the watch?"

"Here, sir," replied Terence.

"Very good. You might warn your lookout to lookout a little more

smartly, and not wait until we were alongside your quarter. Where the

dickens would you be now, do you suppose, if it had been a German

torpedo-boat? It's not unlikely, you know. Good-night."

"Good-night, sir," replied Aubyn.

The officer of the night guard closed the door of the cabin on the

unprotected light. In the engine-room a bell clanged, the artificer

started the engines to half-speed ahead and in ten seconds the launch

was lost in the darkness.

Aubyn remained peering out into the night. He could just distinguish

the hail of the destroyer next ahead, followed by the reassuring

"Guard-boat."

The luckless lookout man stood at attention awaiting the sub.'s

pleasure, and trying to forecast the punishment he would receive on

the following morning when his offence was entered in the captain's

defaulters' list. He uttered silent maledictions on the damp "navy

plug" that had distracted his attention for a few critical seconds.

In addition he was to go "on leaf" on the following day: his little

lapse would assuredly "knock the bottom out of that caboodle."

"Well, what have you to say?" asked the sub.

"Nothin', sir; I was properly caught napping," replied the seaman. He

was not going to attempt to bluff his officer by a feeble excuse. He

was too much of a man for that: he would "go through the mill" with a

good grace.

"You were smoking?"

"Yes, sir. I turned to loo'ard to light my pipe, an' that done it."

"Listen, my man," said Aubyn. "I'll not place you in the captain's

report this time. Let this be a warning to you--and be more careful

in the future."

The man saluted and returned to his duty. He was agreeably surprised.

"He's a real jonnick," he muttered. "Sort of chap as 'as got some

regard for a bloomin' matloe who gets a bit adrift. If ever I gets a

chance to repay him I jolly well will, or my name's not Jim Stairs."

After morning Divisions Terence went ashore in company with the other

officers who were to make up the party to visit McNab. Some were

armed with fishing-rods, others with guns, and some with both. All

were in excellent spirits, and evidently determined to "let

themselves go."

A picquet boat took them to Culross, where their host's palatial car

awaited them. After an all too short run Terence found himself at

Tuilabrail Hall.

The house, standing high and surrounded by spacious, well-kept

grounds, enjoyed an uninterrupted panoramic view of the Firth of

Forth. The Forth Bridge, the Grand Fleet lying off Rosyth, and

newly-constructed basins and workshops of the Scottish Portsmouth

were within easy range of vision, while, by the aid of a telescope

Grangemouth, Queensferry, Edinburgh, and Leith could be seen.

This much Terence noticed as he waited under the portico while the

various members of the party were handing their sporting gear over to

the charge of a grave and dignified manservant. Then, escorted by a

liveried footman, the guests were shown into the McNab's

morning-room.

"Our host has evidently overslept himself," remarked Gilroy, the

lieutenant who had offered to lend Terence a sporting-gun and had

faithfully kept his word. Gilroy was a young, pleasant-faced man of

twenty-eight, with three thousand a year, and capable of obtaining

any amount of influence. Yet, although he had more than once been

offered a job on one of the Royal Yachts, he had voluntarily

preferred to endure the obvious discomforts of a destroyer. "Look

here, you fellows, I'll introduce Aubyn when the laird puts in an

appearance. Don't be bashful, my boy; he's quite a free-and-easy

chap. No bally stand on ceremony, you know."

"He's a lucky man to have a swagger show like this," declared the

engineer-lieutenant, who, being without private means and newly

married, found it a hard task to make both ends meet on his Service

pay and allowances. "What a decent view. Look, there's a

battle-cruiser arriving."

The officers crowded to the window. A long, three-funnelled

battle-cruiser, mounting eight large guns and apparently brand new,

for there were patches of red-lead showing on her lofty sides, had

just picked up a mooring-buoy.

"Must be the 'Tiger,'" suggested Gilroy. "I heard she was expected

round, but I didn't think she would put in an appearance so soon. By

Jove, if the Germans pluck up courage to attempt another Scarborough

business, they'll have something to reckon with."

"More than likely----" began another sub., but a hurried footstep in

the corridor warned the guests that their host was about to enter.

The McNab came into the room with an impetuous rush. Being a long and

somewhat narrow apartment, and the door being close to one angle, he

had some distance to traverse to where the officers stood with their

backs to the window. As he strode he seemed to be peering eagerly, as

if to discern the faces of the guests as they stood silhouetted

against the light.

"Good morning, gentlemen," he exclaimed in slow, measured tones that

contrasted with his hurried arrival. "I'm sorry to have kept you

waiting."

"Not at all," replied Gilroy easily. "Acting on your open invitation

we've brought a brother-officer along: Mr. Aubyn--the McNab."

Terence made a step forward. His jaw was tightly set, his face pale

in spite of his tanned complexion. He made no attempt to grasp the

outstretched hand of the tenant of Tuilabrail, but kept his arms

close to his side with his fists firmly clenched.

For a moment the McNab stood with a look of surprise upon his face.

Then his smile of welcome changed into a venomous look. His hand flew

to his pocket.

"_Crash!_"

With a swift and powerful left-hander Terence's fist shot forward,

caught the man full in the centre of the chest and sent him reeling.

The next instant Aubyn's brother-officers were astounded to see their

host prostrate on his back with his arms and legs beating a tattoo on

the carpet, while the sub. sat on his chest.

"Are you mad, man?" demanded Gilroy, laying his hand on the sub.'s

shoulder. The apparently meaningless attack by the officer to whom he

stood sponsor--an outrage upon a man in the sanctity of his

home--could only be the outcome of the frenzy of a disordered mind.

"Far from it," replied Terence. "You fellows might bear a hand and

secure Major von Eckenhardt."

"Von Eckenhardt!" echoed the engineer-commander. "Impossible."

For the name of von Eckenhardt, the master-spy, was only too well

known in naval circles. It was generally acknowledged that more than

one carefully-planned "scoop" had gone awry owing to warnings

received by the German Admiralty from the elusive secret agent.

"Are you Major Karl von Eckenhardt?" demanded Gilroy, after the

officers had set the man upon his feet again.

"Absolutely a mistake. I did not know until a few moments ago that I

had a double whose misdoings would be to my detriment," replied the

McNab, speaking with difficulty, for the effect of the blow he had

received had wellnigh deprived him of breath.

Gilroy and his companions looked enquiringly at Aubyn. Perhaps, after

all, the sub. had made a mistake?

"Under the circumstances, although Mr. Aubyn has shown mistaken zeal

for the Service," continued the McNab, "I am willing to forgive the

outrage, and no doubt Mr. Aubyn will tender an apology. There the

matter will end as far as I am concerned. If you'll excuse me,

gentlemen, I will go and remove the traces of your zealous friend's

super-abundant energy."

Alarmed by the crash upon the floor three menservants had hurried

into the room. There they stood like automatons, each man concealing

under a wooden-like expression a burning curiosity to know what had

happened to their master.

"Don't let him go: watch his hands!" exclaimed Terence. "I'll accept

all responsibility."

The McNab's plausibility vanished.

"Enough of this horse-play," he said vehemently. "James and you

two--throw this--er--gentleman out."

"Stand back--stand back, I say!" ordered Terence, as the three

flunkeys showed signs of obeying their master.

The men paused irresolutely. There were a few seconds of tense

silence. Then the servants revealed themselves in their true

colours--accomplices of the spy, von Eckenhardt.

Drawing automatic pistols from their pockets they levelled them at

the now more than astounded British officers, while von Eckenhardt,

of whose identity Terence had not the faintest doubt, wrestled

furiously with his captors.

It was not compulsion that kept the Germans from using their firearms

it was fear--a dread that their act would assuredly, in the event of

capture, make them indictable on a capital charge.

"Shoot!" shouted von Eckenhardt in German. "Shoot, for the sake of

the Fatherland."

It was Gilroy who saved the situation. Tall and powerfully built, and

a prominent member of the "United Services," he was far away superior

in physical strength to the denounced spy.

With lightning-like rapidity he flung his arms around the Teuton, and

using him as a human buckler and a battering-ram combined, charged

the still irresolute flunkeys.

Half a dozen pistol-shots rang out; not the result of a deliberate

act but of the nervous pressure on the delicate trigger of one of the

automatic weapons. The bullets, flying wide, chipped the oak

panelling, and--omen of ill-luck to the tenant of

Tuilabrail--shattered a mirror into fragments.

In ten seconds Gilroy with his living weapon had cleared the room of

the enemy. The engineer-lieutenant locked the door, while Terence and

the others quickly bound von Eckenhardt with their handkerchiefs.

"Stand clear of the door," cautioned Gilroy. "Now that those fellows

have started to let off fireworks they might take it into their heads

to put a few pieces of nickel through the woodwork. Nixon, cut off as

hard as you can and bring up a file of Marines: be careful going

through the grounds. The whole place is a nest of Germans--beastly

cheek sheltering under good old Scots' names."

Gilroy's words, similar to those expressed by Chief Engineer McBride,

showed how deeply he, a thorough Scot, resented the colossal

impudence of the super-spy in assuming a respectable Highland

cognomen.

It was, indeed, a daring piece of work on the part of Karl von

Eckenhardt.

After his encounter with Terence on the cliffs at Yarmouth he had

succeeded in eluding the patrols and had taken refuge in London. Here

he lay low as a Russian subject. A fortnight later, by means of a

forged passport, he embarked at Shields upon a Swedish vessel bound

for Gottenberg. Thence he returned to his native country, where

during a period of activity at the German Admiralty he grew a full

beard. He was far too wily to adopt false hair as a disguise,

although he did not hesitate to dye his beard a ruddy tint.

Without difficulty, this time making use of an American passport and

registering as a citizen of New York, he returned to England by a

different route. After a short stay in Liverpool he went on to

Glasgow, whence he transmitted valuable information to Berlin as a

result of a casual acquaintanceship with an overseer of one of the

Clyde shipyards.

Gaining increased confidence his next move was to install himself in

the neighbourhood of Rosyth, in order to keep a watchful eye upon the

movements of the Grand Fleet. Plentifully supplied with money, he

assumed the honoured name of McNab, and completely deceiving a firm

of house agents, succeeded in getting the tenancy of Tuilabrail.

Then, having engaged servants who with few exceptions were German

secret agents domiciled long enough in Great Britain to disarm any

suspicion of their nationality, he proceeded to get in touch with

certain of the junior officers of the Fleet and some of the civil

officials of the new and important dockyard of Rosyth.

Fortune seemed to smile on his efforts. Acting as a friend in need to

a naval officer whose car had met with a breakdown, he found the

beginning of a chain of acquaintances. His hospitality became a

by-word amongst certain parties of naval men. He never asked

questions upon Service matters. He relied upon his sharp ears and

those of his minions to pick up useful information from the casual

conversations of his guests. Young officers were at times, he

reasoned, apt to forget the necessity for "official reticence and

reserve."

One of his duties was to send a report to Berlin of all changes in

the personnel of officers of the Fleet. This was a comparatively easy

matter, since most appointments were published in the Press.

Another was to notify movements of individual ships, both naval and

mercantile. This he did by means of a simple re-arrangement of the

International Code, the news being sent by a comparatively

low-powered wireless apparatus to a disguised trawler that was

cruising regularly off the tail of the Dogger.

Unfortunately for him, Sub-Lieutenant Aubyn's appointment to the

"Livingstone" did not appear in the papers; had it done so he would

have been put upon his guard. Cool and calculating as he generally

was, the suddenness with which he found himself confronted by Terence

momentarily took him off his guard. In spite of his disguise the sub.

recognized von Eckenhardt immediately.

It was an hour or more before Lieutenant Nixon returned, accompanied

by a party of Marine Light Infantry and a number of Metropolitan

police, who, amongst other duties, are entrusted with the guarding of

his Majesty's Naval and Military establishments.

Seeing that the game was up, von Eckenhardt gave in with a good

grace, boasting, however, that having done a great deal of work for

the Fatherland he was ready to pay the price, although it was a

misfortune that he had not been able to do all that he had hoped to

accomplish.

His assistants had already fled--one, out of perhaps half a dozen,

was arrested twenty-four hours later in a sailor's home at Leith; the

others got clear away. So hurried had been their departure that the

house was left untouched. A systematic search revealed the presence

of a secret wireless apparatus cunningly concealed in a bricked-up

chimney corner; while, amid the mass of documents impounded by the

police, experts discovered the system whereby von Eckenhardt was able

to communicate with the utmost freedom with the German Admiralty.

"A smart move, that of yours, Aubyn," commented Gilroy, as the

officers made their way back to the flotilla. "I really thought you

had gone off your head."

"It wouldn't be the first time people thought that," rejoined

Terence. "But I don't think we've done anything to brag about."

"What? Not laying that dangerous spy by the heels?" asked the

engineer-lieutenant in surprise.

"Perhaps," replied Gilroy, with a grim smile. "But the point is,

we've all been taken in by the rotter. Suppose at the court-martial

they inquired the reason why we went to Tuilabrail? We'll have to

admit that we were very nicely taken in, in more senses than one.

Then they'll make us sit up."

The "sitting up" part of the business began immediately upon their

return to their respective destroyers, for a signal was made by the

admiral cancelling all shore leave.

At four that same afternoon--being Saturday 23 January, 1915--orders

were received for the flotillas to weigh and proceed to a rendezvous

off the Isle of May.

Speculation was rife amongst officers and crew as to the significance

of this move. No one guessed what was taking place at Tuilabrail

House: that the secret wireless was being made use of to send grossly

misleading information to Berlin; and that the authorities had great

hopes that the German swift armoured cruisers would be lured into

making another raid on the supposedly defenceless East Coast.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE END OF THE "BLUECHER."

THE "Livingstone," second destroyer in the port-column of the

flotilla, was speeding through the long undulations of the North Sea

at a modest twenty knots. It was barely a quarter past seven on

Sunday morning. Dawn had not begun to show in the eastern sky, and

although a dozen or so of the destroyers were in company, only the

partly-screened stern lights of the one ahead and the phosphorescent

swirl of the one next astern betrayed the presence of others of the

flotilla.

Something was in the air. Officers and crew knew that, but vaguely.

Orders, significant in their brevity, had been issued overnight for

the ship's company to bathe and change into clean clothes. That in

itself meant the possibility of an action, while the sudden call to

the flotilla to proceed to sea instead of completing the fortnight's

"stand-by" in the Forth indicated that no minor operations were

contemplated.

The "Livingstone" was cleared for action. Ammunition had been served

up, fire hoses rigged, deck fittings removed, and every other

possible precaution taken to safeguard the frail craft in the

impending action.

The crew were on the tip-toe of expectation: eager to get in touch

with the enemy and fearful lest they should find themselves out on a

wild-goose chase.

The action, should it materialize, would not be of a minor character,

for broad on the starboard beam of the flotilla, though invisible in

the darkness, were the giant battle-cruisers "Lion," "Tiger,"

"Princess Royal," "New Zealand," and "Indomitable."

Flung out, fanwise, were the handy and hard-hitting light-cruisers,

supported by other destroyer flotillas, and serving as a screen to

the battle-cruisers should any hostile torpedo-craft attempt their

vaunted "lancer-thrust" against them.

"Something doin' this time, Aubyn," remarked Gilroy, who was

responsible for keeping the "Livingstone" in station. "Wireless from

the 'Arethusa' just through, reporting strong enemy squadron.

There--look."

The sub. turned his head just in time to catch the flash of a distant

gun, quickly followed by another and another. Half a minute later

came the dull rumble of the first report. The light-cruisers were in

touch with the enemy away to sou'-sou'-east.

A signal lamp flickered from the flagship:--

"All destroyer flotillas proceed to support the light-cruisers.

Engage enemy destroyers."

Like hounds released from leash the long, lean, black-hulled craft

dashed forward. No need to give a compass course: the now

rapidly-recurring flashes told them where their work lay.

Under copious supplies of oil fuel, the "Livingstone's" engines

quickly developed more horse-power than they had ever done before.

Trailing lurid flames issued from her four squat funnels, and threw

their ruddy glare upon the determined faces of the guns'-crews.

Ahead, and on the starboard hand, and astern the position of the rest

of the flotilla was likewise indicated by the spurts of flames from

their furnaces. Noxious oil-fumed smoke belched in dense columns,

glowing like fanned charcoal as it eddied clear of the funnels. The

scene resembled a section of the Black Country transferred bodily to

the North Sea on a pitch-dark night.

"By Jove, we're in luck!" shouted Gilroy, in order to make himself

heard above the hiss of the wind as the destroyer tore at thirty-six

knots towards the scene of action. "We've just picked up a wireless

to the Flag. We're up against the 'Moltke,' 'Seydlitz,' and

'Derfflinger,' three of Germany's best battle-cruisers, with that old

crock the 'Bluecher' chucked in, to say nothing of a swarm of

light-cruisers and destroyers. Beatty's got his chance this time:

he'll bag the lot with the force he has at his disposal."

And the lieutenant pointed in the direction of the British

battle-cruisers, whose position could now be faintly distinguished,

well on the port beam, by the splash of flame from their funnels.

"We'll give them something in return for Scarborough, Whitby, and

Hartlepool," continued Gilroy. "Ten to one the beggars were off to

try the same game again. By Jove! I pity any German submarine that

gets foul of that crowd," and he indicated the far spread-out line of

destroyers speeding towards their foes.

Just then the lieutenant-commander of the "Livingstone" ascended the

bridge.

"Rotten luck, Gilroy," he announced. "The Germans are funking it.

They've turned tail."

"The battle-cruisers will head them off yet, sir," suggested Gilroy

confidently.

"I hope so--ha! what's this?"

A signalman had just hurried up.

"Destroyers to take up position on battle-cruiser's port quarter,"

said the skipper. "Confound it! That's put the pot on it, Gilroy."

"It's our smoke, sir, that's troubling the 'Lion,'" replied the

lieutenant.

Dawn had now broken sufficiently to discern the lofty hulls, triple

funnels, and masts of the five battle-cruisers, as they raced at

their maximum speed on a south-easterly course. The four guns of the

two foremost superimposed turrets of the "Lion" were already trained

to their greatest elevation, awaiting the report of the fire-control

platform that their quarry was within hitting distance.

Gilroy was right. The smoke from the destroyers was drifting across

the line of fire of the giant ships.

"It's a case of get out and get under--their lee," commented the

lieutenant-commander, as a signal was sent up from the parent ship of

the flotilla ordering the destroyers to fall back out of the way of

the hard-hitters of the fleet.

As the day dawned the thick haze of smoke that marked the position of

the runaway raiders could be seen, although from the bridge of the

destroyer the hostile ships were invisible. The cannonading away to

the sou'-east had now ceased; apparently the enemy torpedo-boats had

attained a temporary security under the wing of their larger craft.

Suddenly Terence remembered that he had not had his breakfast.

Although it was not his watch, excitement had kept him on deck, and

now in the lull the workings of the inner man demanded attention. It

was a quarter to nine when he entered the mess. Three minutes later,

before the steward had time to bring in the coffee, a terrific

detonation caused the "Livingstone" to shake like an aspen leaf.

Breakfast completely forgotten, the sub. dashed on deck. He knew what

had happened: the "Lion" had fired the opening shot of the engagement

with one of her monster 13.5-in. guns.

She was not yet within range. Terence realized that by the fact that

she did not follow the single shot by salvo after salvo, that the

projectile--weighing nearly a ton--had shrieked ineffectually towards

the rearmost of the German ships.

To the sub. it seemed as if the fifty odd feet of steel cylinder that

projected from the "Lion's" B turret was rising slowly on its

complicated mountings. Obedient to the master-hand in the

fire-control platform the giant weapon was being "laid" upon an

invisible target 20,000 yards away.

Then--_flash! crash!_

Flames of cordite enveloped the whole of the fore-part of the "Lion."

Above the bank of haze from the so-called smokeless powder, the

gunnery-lieutenant in the fire-control platform was coolly watching

the result of his second trial shot.

There was no doubt about it. The British battle-cruisers, pelting

along at 28 1/2 knots, were slowly but surely overtaking their prey.

Already the "Bluecher," credited with but a fraction over 25 knots,

was falling astern of her consorts. In their frantic dash for the

safety of their own mine-fields the three swifter vessels paid no

heed to the fact that one of their own ships was sooner or later to

bear the brunt of the Englishmen's guns.

Naval chivalry which caused the gallant "Monmouth" to share the fate

of the luckless "Good Hope" in the action off Coronel was found

wanting amongst the disciples of "kultur." Instead of attempting to

cover the "Bluecher's" retreat, the "Derfflinger" and her

fellow-raiders ran, abandoning her to her fate.

Terence glanced at his watch as the first salvo burst from the

avenging "Lion." It was nearly ten minutes past nine. Truly, he

thought, it was a magnificent sight to see Beatty's flagship wreaking

vengeance upon the cowardly bombarders of Scarborough; yet in the

light of a general action it seemed a one-sided affair, as shell

after shell sped on its way towards the still invisible German ships

and none came in reply.

Gilroy, perched upon the bridge weather-rail, was coolly taking

snapshots of the "Flag" with a pocket kodak. The men of the destroyer

were so impressed by the sight of the "Lion" in action that it was

with the greatest difficulty that they could be brought to realize

their position: to watch for any lurking submarine that might seize

an opportunity of loosing a torpedo against the swiftly-moving mass

of 26,000 tons displacement.

A column of spray flung high in the air at fifty feet from the

"Lion's" starboard beam announced the fact that the German

battle-cruisers had been overhauled sufficiently for them to get the

range of their pursuers. Then shell after shell began to fall around

the flagship. Occasionally a projectile would strike a glancing blow

against the armoured sides of the British vessel, but unswervingly

she held on, if anything increasing her rapidity of fire.

A hoist of flags fluttered up to the signal yard arm of the "Lion"

and stood out as stiff as if made of sheet iron in the strong breeze.

From the leader of the flotilla came the answering pendant, each of

the destroyers acknowledging the signal in turn. Enemy torpedo-boats

were threatening an attack, and the British destroyers were to beat

off the hornets that had the audacity to attempt to hurl themselves

within torpedo-range of the battle-cruisers.

"Now for it," thought Aubyn, as he left the bridge and took up his

station at the after 4-in. gun.

Swift as was the "Lion" the speed of the destroyers was greater.

Forging ahead they left the battle-cruisers well on the starboard

quarter. Heavy projectiles, passing handsomely over the short masts

of the "Livingstone" and her consorts "straddled" the "Lion," some

falling short, others ricochetting from the water two hundred yards

in her wake.

The contest between the rival destroyer flotillas was of short

duration. Apparently the German boats had no intention of joining

action. It was merely a manoeuvre on their part to screen their

already severely damaged battle-cruisers by means of dense columns of

smoke.

In a sense they were successful, for under cover of the pall of black

vapour the larger German ships altered course and steered in a

northerly direction, but as the torpedo-boats drew off Terence

discerned for the first time one of the enemy battle-cruisers.

She was listing heavily to port. Flames were bursting from her

amidships, her funnels had disappeared and two legs of her tripod

mast. Yet in spite of her damaged condition she was endeavouring to

crawl out of line, slowly shaping a course to the nor'-nor'-west.

Still firing as she wallowed in her death-agony, she was being marked

for special attention by the "Indomitable," which, under the

admiral's orders, had hauled to port to complete the work of

destruction.

"Hurrah! The 'Bluecher's' done for!" shouted the torpedo-gunner of

the "Livingstone."

Terence could hardly believe his eyes. Was that battered wreck the

same vessel that a few weeks before he had seen pouring death and

destruction into the peaceful town of Scarborough?

He brought his glasses to bear upon the ill-fated raider. In spite of

her enormously thick armour huge rents were plainly visible in her

sides. One of her heavy gun-turrets had been blown clean away. 'Tween

decks the greater part of her was a glowing furnace. It seemed a

marvel how the crew could maintain even the feeblest fire, yet, under

the influence of morphia supplied by their officers, half-dazed men

still worked the remaining effective guns with the ferocity of

madmen.

Then the "Tiger," showing scars of honourable wounds, but still

vitally intact, came up, hurling shell after shell into the doomed

vessel.

Cat-like in her death-agonies the "Bluecher" sought to deal her

antagonist a _coup de grâce_ by letting loose a torpedo.

Keenly alert to such a possibility, the cool and collected captain of

the British battle-cruiser detected the ripples that marked the

approach of the deadly "tin-fish." Ordering the "Tiger's" helm to be

put hard over, he had the satisfaction of seeing the torpedo miss its

mark by a bare twenty feet.

As the "Bluecher" showed no sign of surrendering it was necessary to

hasten her end. Looming up through the black and yellow smoke that

drifted in huge volumes to lee'ard came the saucy "Arethusa."

Fearless in the midst of a rain of light projectiles her torpedo-men

gathered round two of her above-water tubes. At any moment a fragment

of a shell might strike the warheads of the two missiles ere they

took the water, and send the light-cruiser to her doom.

Like a trick swimmer making a clean dive, the first of the gleaming

cylinders left the tube and disappeared amidst the feathery spray.

Five seconds later the second torpedo sped on its way to destruction.

The first alone would have been sufficient. Striking the "Bluecher"

fairly amidships the powerful weapon blew a gaping hole in the hull

of the already foundering vessel. More and more she heeled, till the

whole length of her bilge keel became visible.

With the characteristic consideration to a beaten foe the British

vessels ceased firing. Instinctively the German sailors knew that

they were free to leave the doubtful shelter of the armoured portions

of the ship and to save themselves, if possible.

Aft poured the scorched and dazed survivors of the ship's company,

forming up upon the steeply shelving deck. Some, with a devotion to

their Fatherland, broke into song with "The Watch on the Rhine,"

while the officers, linking arms, stood awaiting the final plunge--if

plunge it might be called.

"Jump, you silly blighters!" shouted an excitable bluejacket from the

"Arethusa," and the invitation was taken up by others, while the

crews of the light-cruisers and the nearmost destroyers hastened to

lower boats to assist in the errand of mercy.

"She's going!" ejaculated Gilroy, as the huge hull turned completely

over on its side, and with hardly any agitation of the sea slid

gently under the waves, throwing those of her crew who had not

already jumped into the water.

The "Livingstone" by this time had come to a standstill at about a

cable's length from the spot where the "Bluecher" had disappeared.

The only boat she had fit for service was lowered, and into it

clambered Terence and four seamen.

Before they had gone fifty yards Aubyn noticed that the boat was

leaking badly. Already the water was above the floor boards. One of

the men was obliged to use the baler vigorously, while the others

kept to their oars, the sub. holding the boat on her course by means

of considerable lee helm.

"Lay on your oars, men," exclaimed Terence, and leaning over the side

he was just in time to grasp the hair of a scorched and blackened

German bluejacket as he was sinking for the last time. Two more men

were rescued, one stark naked, save for an inflated swimming collar;

the other wounded in half a dozen places by pieces of flying metal.

So intent were the crews of the numerous boats upon their work of

saving life that they failed to notice a new peril. Only a warning

shout from the quarter-deck of the "Arethusa" recalled them to the

fact that they were not fighting civilized foes but enemies whose

methods of waging war were on a par with those of the old Red

Indians, the ferocious Boxers, or the fanatical tribes of Somaliland.

Overhead was a Zeppelin, accompanied by a couple of German

waterplanes. Although it must have been perfectly obvious to the

observers that the British tars were rescuing their beaten foes, the

aircraft began a rapid bombardment with bombs.

One missile, fortunately without exploding, dropped an oar's length

from the "Livingstone's" boat. Others, detonating with a sharp crack,

assisted in sending a score or so of the "Bluecher's" crew to their

death.

Filled with fury, that during the engagement had been foreign to

them, the British tars were compelled to relinquish their task of

saving life. Back to their respective ships they rowed, and a hail of

projectiles was launched against the treacherous Zeppelin and her

consorts.

This was more than the unwieldy gas-bag could stand. Circling and

ascending higher and higher she flew out of the danger zone and made

off back to Heligoland.

But the engagement was not yet over.

From the flagship of the admiral commanding the destroyer flotillas

came a signal:--

"Proceed to N.E. and engage enemy-destroyers and submarines."

CHAPTER XVIII.

DERELICTS.

THE reason for this order was obvious to the officers of the

"Livingstone." The "Lion" had been disabled: whether by torpedo (for

several of the enemy submarines had been sighted) or by shell-fire

they knew not. But she was sufficiently mauled for it to be necessary

for Admiral Beatty to shift his Flag, first to the

torpedo-boat-destroyer "Attack" and afterwards to the "Tiger" as she

was returning from the sinking of the "Bluecher."

With her engines out of order, and very much down by the head the

crippled "Lion" shaped a course to the north-west, making for the

Firth of Forth. Finding that the damage to the machinery grew worse,

the badly hit battle-cruiser had to appeal for assistance, and was

taken in tow by the "Indomitable." Speed was now out of the question,

while there was great risk of both battle-cruisers falling victims to

the lurking German submarines. Accordingly one flotilla of destroyers

was detailed to escort the "Indomitable" and her tow, another was

ordered to reconnoitre to the north-east and check any attempt on the

part of hostile light-cruisers and torpedo-boats from menacing the

crippled "Lion."

The "Livingstone" was one of the flotilla told off for the latter

service. Hers was a hazardous undertaking, for ahead lay the almost

impregnable island of Heligoland, on her starboard hand was the

German torpedo-boat station of Borkum, while it was known that an

ill-defined mine-field was somewhere in this part of the North Sea.

Presumably the "Derfflinger" and her consorts, when they made a

somewhat abrupt change of course while screened by the smoke of the

destroyers, had put the mine-field between them and the British. The

supposition was mainly responsible for the breaking off of the action

and for the escape of the German battle-cruisers.

In line abreast the various units of the British destroyer flotilla

pursued their course, an interval of nearly a mile separating each

boat. At two p.m. they were within sight of the rocky plateau of

Heligoland, yet no hostile craft hove in sight. The Zeppelin which

had frustrated the humane intentions of the British tars when the

"Bluecher" sank, was just visible as it made for its lair. Away to

the eastward, where a mist was lying over the Frisian Islands, the

thick clouds of smoke from the fugitive battle-cruisers was rapidly

merging into the bank of fog.

"May as well get something to eat, Aubyn," remarked Lieutenant

Gilroy. "Nothing like taking advantage of a lull in the performance."

Terence willingly acquiesced. Now that the excitement of the

engagement was past he was beginning to feel peckish so the two

officers went below.

"Not a bad day's work," remarked the sub., as he attacked a tin of

biscuits and a cup of chocolate.

"H'm, no," replied Gilroy. "We ought to have bagged the lot, and we

should had it not been for the 'Lion' being crocked."

"I expect the Press will make a song about our not having done so,"

remarked Aubyn. "It's easy for the arm-chair critics to expound

theories of what ought to be done."

"Let 'em," declared Gilroy grimly. "If I had my will I'd ship a few

of these professional advisers--people who are ever ready to tell

their mother's mother how to extract the contents of a bird in

embryo--and let them see what's going on. I'll bet they'd change

their tune and not ask what the Navy is doing. It's impossible to ram

into their thick heads that sometimes it pays to sacrifice a small

craft in order to enable a battle-cruiser to get a sniff in. That's

what we are doing now."

Aubyn looked at his companion in surprise.

"Fact," continued Gilroy. "We have information that a German flotilla

of light-cruisers and destroyers is out: independently of the crowd

we sent home as fast as their engines could take them. What we have

to do is to get in touch with them, lure them on, and let our

light-cruisers come up and bag the lot. If the German boats won't

come out--and they are vastly superior in number to our lot--there

are two conclusions. Either they fear a trap, or else they cannot

negotiate their own mine-field. If they do pluck up courage and come

for us, we've got to make a running fight for it, and at the same

time watch these fellows' course."

"So, apart from screening the 'Lion' we have to discover the passage

through the enemy's mine-field?"

"Exactly," answered Gilroy. "The information is most necessary,

although I cannot at present say to what use it will be put. Hullo!

there's the 'Action.'"

Both officers tore up the narrow companion to find that the periscope

of a submarine had been sighted on the port-bow. Evidently the

skipper of the "unterseeboot" had a great respect for the ramming

powers of British destroyers; for, without attempting to discharge a

torpedo, he promptly dived to such a depth that on the "Livingstone"

passing just ahead of the swirl that marked the submarine's

disappearance no tell-tale oil rose to the surface.

By this time the mist had increased; the nearmost British destroyer

was just visible. The rest were swallowed up in the bank of haze. The

flotilla had changed course and was now running S.S.W. or practically

parallel with the chain of islands extending from the mouth of the

Weser to the Dollart.

Suddenly out of the mist loomed the outlines of four grey

torpedo-boats: the forerunners of the Borkum flotilla. On they came

at a good twenty-six knots, the smoke pouring from their funnels and

obscuring any hostile craft that might be following in their wake.

Boat for boat the "Livingstone" and her consorts were vastly superior

to the German craft. An action would result in annihilation of the

enemy unless the element of luck favoured the weaker side. But it was

not a time for fight. The first mission of the British destroyers was

to lure their foes, especially the supporting light-cruisers, well

away from the sand-banks and shallow mined channels protected by the

heavy guns of Borkum.

Round swung the "Livingstone," heeling outwards till her rail was

almost awash: then steadying herself on her course, steamed due west.

Although the after 4-in. gun was trained on the leading German boat,

no order was given to fire. Shells began to hurtle past, as the

foremost enemy vessel attempted to wing her foe. It was tantalizing

for the "Livingstone" to be under fire with the knowledge that her

armament could dominate that of her enemy, but forbearance was

desirable: it was a part of the grim game.

Suddenly a terrific glare flashed before Terence's eyes, followed by

an ear-splitting report. He was dimly conscious of clapping his left

hand over his eyes and feeling blindly with his right for some

support that was not forthcoming. His feet gave way under him, and he

fell--not upon the slippery deck of the destroyer but into the sea.

It was in a sense fortunate that he fell in a huddled posture; had

his body been rigid the shock on striking the surface from a craft

travelling at close on thirty knots might have broken his back.

Winded by the blow and the sudden immersion he sank, swallowing

mouthfuls of salt water as he vainly gasped for breath.

After a seemingly interminable time he knew by the light filtering

through the water that he was rising to the surface. Up he came,

spluttering and gasping. His thick clothing still retained air and

afforded a certain amount of buoyancy, enough to counteract the

weight of his sea-boots.

He looked in the direction of the "Livingstone." She was by this time

several hundred yards off and still running at a high speed. Even had

his fall been noticed he knew that it would have been impossible for

the destroyer to stop and pick him up. It was one of the grim

realities of warfare. In the piping times of peace there would be a

cry of "Man overboard," a rapid working of the engine-room

telegraph, and a prompt backing and going easy astern of the engines,

while the boat was being hastily lowered to effect a rescue. But now,

although the loss of a man overboard was to be deplored it was the

fortune of war. Under the circumstances no captain would hazard his

ship in the presence of the enemy to save life.

Terence also knew that there was no chance of rescue by the German

boats. For one thing it was an established fact that the disciples of

"kultur" had never been credited since the declaration of

hostilities with having saved a single British sailor, be he officer

or man. Again, it was not to be expected that the German destroyers

would cease in their efforts to overhaul a supposedly fugitive craft

to pull one of the hated English out of the sea.

At a distance of about ten yards from the swimmer the leading German

torpedo-boat passed. The "wash" wellnigh overwhelmed him, for by

this time his clothes were becoming saturated and his limbs numbed by

the cold. He was seen by several of the crew, most of whom regarded

him with stolid indifference, while one or two openly jeered at him.

The desire for life was strong within the young sub. He realized that

his case was hazardous in the extreme. More than likely cramp--the

dreaded foe of the swimmer--would seize him; if not there would be a

struggle for life until, numbed by the cold, he would sink through

sheer inability to move his limbs. Yet he meant to fight strongly for

his life.

"I must first get rid of my boots," he thought, at the same time

ruefully reflecting that they were practically new, and had cost him

a couple of guineas only a few days ago.

Turning on his back Terence began to fumble with his footgear. His

fingers had little or no sense of feeling.

"All right, sir; hold up--I'm coming. You're saved," shouted a voice.

Swimming towards him and pushing a lifebuoy was Stairs, the

bluejacket whose gratitude he had gained by letting him off with a

caution instead of putting him in the captain's defaulter's book. The

devoted man, seeing Terence blown over the side by the explosion of a

hostile shell, had without hesitation seized a lifebuoy and had

plunged into the sea with the laudable intention of either saving his

officer or sharing his fate. Swift though he was in making up his

mind, the "Livingstone" had put a hundred yards or so between her and

Terence ere the man took the fateful leap.

Swimming strongly, and pushing the buoy before him he took nearly

five minutes in getting within easy hailing distance of his superior

officer. Even in that moment of peril, when he realized that the

chances of the pair of them were most remote, Stairs was governed by

the regulations.

"'... approach the drowning person, assure him with a loud and firm

voice that he is safe,'" he repeated to himself. "It's a blessed lie,

but regulations is regulations, so 'ere goes. All right, sir; I'm

coming. You're saved."

Had Stairs continued to act strictly in the spirit of the

before-mentioned regulations, he would have proceeded to "take fast

hold of the hair of his head, turn him, as quickly as possible on his

back, give him a sudden pull and this will cause him to float." But

fortunately the seaman, having committed one absurdity, wisely

refrained from doing another. Seeing that Terence was afloat, he

contented himself with pushing the lifebuoy into his grasp.

"What on earth possessed you to jump overboard?" asked Aubyn.

"Never you mind, sir, beggin' your pardon," replied Stairs. "Keep

your precious breath, sir you'll be wanting it afore long."

The advice was sound, for by this time two more destroyers had

passed, one on either side of the submerged men, and the turmoil of

the water as they tore past had the effect of stopping any attempt at

conversation. Well it was that Aubyn had hold of the lifebuoy,

otherwise the buffeting of the waves would have sent him

under--perhaps for the last time.

Just then a large object shot up from under the water about fifty

feet from the two men. It was part of a British whaler, possibly

abandoned previous to going into action, or it may have floated from

one of the torpedo-cruisers during the earlier stages of the war.

The third German destroyer had cut through and had passed completely

over it. The greater part of the stern sheets had been torn off, but

there was a considerable amount of buoyancy by reason of the copper

air-tanks, some of which were yet intact.

"Good business, sir!" exclaimed Stairs. "See yon wreckage? Strike

out, sir; I'll give you a hand. We'll fetch it yet."

Before Terence had covered half the distance "striking out" was

beyond him. All he could do was to support himself by allowing his

arms to hang inertly on the curve of the buoy. For propulsion he had

to rely upon the powerful and seemingly tireless efforts of his

brawny companion.

Awaiting his opportunity Stairs scrambled through the jagged gap in

the wrecked boat, then, bringing himself against the after thwart he

hauled Terence into a position of comparative safety.

Even with the weight of the two men the buoyancy of the airtight

tanks was sufficient to keep the gunwale a foot above water. Within

the wrecked boat the water was about up to the thwarts, while the sea

dashed continuously over the frail planking and surged violently up

and down the bottom boards.

Holding Terence by the arm, for the sub. was now incapable of

stirring a finger to save himself, Stairs cautiously raised himself

and looked around. The destroyers, both British and German, were now

lost in the mists. Everywhere was an unbroken stretch of water. The

waves, although not violent, were short and steep.

He realized that there were two great perils. The waterlogged craft

might be capsized in the trough of the waves, in which case the two

men would either be stunned by the heavy woodwork or else have to

choose between drowning or suffocation under the upturned boat. Nor

was the danger of perishing from cold and exposure to be lost sight

of. Drenched to the skin, without food and water, and drifting about

in a waterlogged craft on the North Sea in mid-winter, their

condition was an unenviable one.

"Sit up, sir, and swing your arms," said Stairs, with pardonable

sternness.

Terence tried to obey, but the nerveless condition of his arms,

additionally handicapped by his wet clothing, resulted in a feeble

effort; but that was by no means satisfactory to his devoted

companion.

Grasping the sub. by the elbows Stairs began to work his arms in an

energetic manner. Before long Aubyn began to feel the blood

circulating, while the exercise also served to warm the chilled body

of his rescuer.

"Avast there!" exclaimed the seaman, after five minutes' steady

performance. "I'll take a spell a bit and then carry on. It's our

one chance."

Terence agreed. He, too, realized that only by exercise could they

hope to retain warmth in their bodies. Dimly he found himself

wondering was it worth while to prolong their acute physical

distress, with no apparent chance of rescue.

For nearly an hour Stairs repeated his operations at frequent

intervals, but it was evident that, robust and strongly built as he

was, even his bodily strength could not hold out much longer.

Neither man spoke during that fearful hour. More than once Terence

wanted to ask the seaman why he had deliberately risked almost

certain death on his behalf. He was not conversant with the

circumstances under which Stairs had leapt from the "Livingstone's"

deck, but from the fact that he arrived on the scene with a lifebuoy,

the sub. concluded that it was not by accident but by design. Yet, in

spite of his desire to question the man and to thank him for his

gallantry and devotion, Terence was unable to frame a sentence, so

utterly acute was his distress.

From time to time Stairs would stand upright, at the imminent risk of

losing his balance and being thrown out of the water-logged boat, and

scan the horizon--or rather the ill-defined blending of sea and sky.

In the vain hope that the British destroyers had vanquished their

foes and would put back to look for the missing officer, the seaman

kept a sharp lookout at regular intervals, but nothing save an

unbroken waste of water met his gaze.

He knew also that in a water-logged craft and without means of

propulsion, the rate of drift would be extremely slight. Hours,

perhaps days, would elapse ere the wrecked boat grounded on the

sand-banks fringing the German and Dutch chain of islands on the east

coast of the North Sea.

So intent was Stairs in looking for a distant sail that he failed to

notice a pole-like object appearing above the surface at less than

eighty yards from the boat. Terence noticed it; more, he remarked a

slight "wash," showing that the object had a forward as well as a

vertical movement.

"A periscope! he exclaimed, finding his voice in the excitement of

the discovery.

"Where, sir?" asked Stairs, with incredulity in his tones, for he

imagined that the sub. had become lightheaded in his distress. Then

following the direction indicated by Aubyn's limp fingers, he added,

"You're right, sir; it's a blessed submarine. I'll bet my last tanner

the brutes will poke charley at us, and sheer off. If I'd my rifle,

by smoke! I'd pepper that blessed periscope."

In his indignation the seaman began to search the bottom of the boat

for a likely missile with which to vent his rage upon the modern

pirates; but finding none he folded his arms and awaited events.

Like the wary water-rat that cautiously reconnoitres before it leaves

its hole, the submarine surveyed the seascope. For a brief instant

the eyepiece of the periscope was turned in the direction of the

waterlogged boat, then, having slowly and deliberately swept it all

round the compass, it again scrutinized the two unfortunate men.

[Illustration: "'She's one of ours!' exclaimed Stairs. 'Hurrah! we're

saved.'"]

The submarine was in no great hurry to rise to the surface. Her

commander had heard of decoys being employed to lure an inquisitive

craft within range of a distant quick-firer, so he used discretion.

Finally, having come to the conclusion that it was safe to ascend,

the submarine resumed her diagonally upward motion, and with the

green water pouring from off the fore side of her conning-tower and

surging from her narrow deck she emerged to the light of day.

"She's one of ours!" exclaimed Stairs. "Hurrah! sir, We're saved."

CHAPTER XIX.

THE SUBMARINE SCORES.

THE seaman was right. It was a British submarine, one of the E class.

Terence could hardly believe his eyes to see the craft emerge from

beneath the waves almost within sight of the German coast and

certainly within the limits of the hostile mine-field. He had yet a

lot to learn concerning the bravery and resource of the commanders

and crews of these marvellous craft, operating, without support from

the destroyer flotillas, at the very gates of Germany's naval

strongholds.

The watertight hatch in the conning-tower opened and the head and

shoulders of a young officer appeared. He bent to give an order, then

leapt out and gained the navigating platform, where he was joined by

three of the crew, clad in "fearnought" suits and seaboots.

"Come alongside as sharp as you can!" he shouted.

"Can't sir," replied Stairs. "We've no oars, and we're pretty well

done up."

The officer gave the order for "easy astern"; then judging that there

was sufficient room for the intended manoeuvre he ordered "easy

ahead," at the same time steering the submarine to pass about ten

feet to windward of the remains of the boat.

Meanwhile, those of the crew on deck had detached two boathooks from

the handrail to which they had been secured by "beckets," and

standing by, awaited for their craft to pass within reach of the

object of their attentions.

Simultaneously the two boathooks engaged, and the boat was drawn

alongside. While thus firmly held, one of the crew leapt into her,

and raising Terence, passed him on to the willing arms of his

companions. Without loss of time Stairs was likewise rescued, and

both men, practically "done up," were taken below. Then, the officer

and his men having returned to the shelter of the hermetically-sealed

steel hull, the submarine prepared to dive.

While kindly helpers were assisting to strip the clothing from the

almost unconscious sub., massaging his body and limbs with more

energy than skill, and were pouring hot drinks down his throat,

Terence could hear as in a dream the order given by the captain of

the submarine.

"Diving stations. Flood main ballast.... Flood auxiliary ballast

tanks!"

Dimly Aubyn began to realize that he was actually in a steel prison,

several feet beneath the surface of a sea sown with deadly mines.

"Easy ahead. Elevate horizontal rudders!"

The submarine, now weighing nearly the same as the amount of water

she displaced, was ready for diving. That part of the operation was

performed by means of the horizontal planes or rudders, trimming them

to give the required angle of descent.

"Down to seventy feet, sir!" reported a voice, sounding hollow in the

ribbed, vaulted space.

"Stand by--let go!"

With a subdued rattle the anchor, hitherto bedded underneath the

fore-part of the hull, dropped to the bed of the North Sea,

additional water ballast being admitted into the tanks of the vessel

to compensate the loss of weight of the ground-tackle. Save for a

faint pendulum-like motion as the submarine swayed to the tension on

the bight of her cable, the craft lay calmly in twelve fathoms, for

the time being safe from the perils of naval warfare.

Warm both externally and internally, Terence dropped to sleep in a

comfortable bunk in the officers' part of the vessel. Three hours

later he awoke, feeling much his former self, for the beneficial

effects of the oxygen-charged atmosphere were as invigorating as the

air on the summit of a lofty mountain.

The instant he awoke the circumstances which led to his being on

board the submarine flashed across Aubyn's mind with vivid clearness.

He contrasted his experiences with his regaining consciousness in

Shotley Sick Quarters. There his brain worked slowly--it took

considerable time for him to recall the events subsequent to the

torpedoing of the ill-fated "Terrier." Here, owing possibly to the

chemically charged atmosphere, his mind was as fresh as if he had

awakened from a normal sleep.

The submarine was still at anchor. Beyond the purring of the dynamos

for supplying the electric light there was no noise of machinery. Men

were laughing and talking freely: he could hear Stairs' voice,

holding forth with a vivacity that betokened no ill-effects from his

voluntary immersion.

Terence sprang out of his bunk and began to dress. His own clothing,

dried in the motor-room, was ready for him to put on. Just as he had

completed his toilet a man of about thirty, dressed in the uniform of

a lieutenant-commander, entered and introduced himself as Paul

Maynebrace, captain of Submarine "E Something."

"Sorry we can't land you for a day or two," he remarked, after

inquiring after Aubyn's state of health. "We're on observation duty,

and are not due back at Harwich until noon on Thursday. However,

we'll do our level best to make you comfortable. Of course, I suppose

I am right in assuming that you haven't been on a submarine before?

It will be something of a novelty to you, but we are getting used to

it. Rather boring, in fact."

"Boring?" repeated Terence.

"Well, rather. We are stationed to observe the approach through the

mine-field to Wilhelmshaven. It means that every few hours we have to

pop to the surface and have a look round; and except for the

departure of some of the raiding German cruisers late on Saturday

night (which we duly reported to the Admiralty, by the by) it's

usually a case of a lot of work for nothing--for the beggars won't

come out."

"Supposing a German warship did make a dash while you are down

below?" asked Terence.

"We could tell by the noise of the propellors," replied the

lieutenant-commander. "She is bound to keep almost immediately above

us, owing to the narrowness of the passage through the mine-field."

"Then what would happen?" queried Aubyn, keenly interested in the

information.

"If she were unsupported we would try the effect of a torpedo,"

replied Maynebrace, with a smile. "Ten to one the disaster to one of

von Tirpitz's pets would be put down to the accidental displacement

of one of the mines. In the case of the 'Derfflinger' and her

consorts we let the whole crowd go. It would be impossible to torpedo

the lot, and even if we hit one the remainder might scoot back to

Wilhelmshaven. On the other hand, by not giving them a scare we help

to keep their spirits up, so to speak, and let our battle-cruisers do

the smashing-up part of the business. By the by, the seaman who was

with you on the derelict boat told us of the result of the dust-up:

how the 'Bluecher' went under."

"It was a pity we didn't get the rest," remarked Terence.

"Fortune of war," declared the lieutenant-commander. "And, as luck

would have it, the three German battle-cruisers did not return to

Wilhelmshaven by the same channel, otherwise I might have had a try

for one or two of them. No, they made for Heligoland, I fancy, and

thence either to Kiel or Wilhelmshaven by a passage inside the

mine-field. Well, I must leave you for a while. I'll send young

Warborough--he's my sub.--to have a yarn with you. And as soon as I

get the chance I'll get off a wireless announcing that you are safe

and sound on board."

It was not long before Sub-lieutenant Warborough arrived upon the

scene. He was a young, easy-going officer, wholeheartedly devoted to

his career; yet, when on leave he was a worry to the police in the

vicinity of each of the great naval ports. His brother-officers in

the submarine flotilla were apt to remark that Dick Warborough was a

"bit of a scorcher" in more ways than one. On one occasion a lively

scene in a Portsmouth theatre, in which Warborough played a leading

though unrehearsed part, almost ended in a police-court. Perhaps it

was lucky for the sub. that his father was a man of position and

influence. Warborough freely confessed to half a dozen endorsements

on his motor-driver's licence. The fines he had been ordered to pay

in his twelve-month amounted to almost as much as his pay and

allowance as a sub-lieutenant in the submarine service, so once again

he thanked his lucky stars that his parent was rich and, what was

more, generous. Yet, with all his foolish pranks ashore, he was keen

and a capable officer from the moment he passed through the dockyard

gates to return to duty till the time when he was again able to

proceed on leave.

"Skipper says I'm to hold a pow-wow with you, Aubyn," began

Warborough, not with any suspicion of condescension but in a frank,

easy-going manner. "Glad to have someone to spin a yarn with. Do you

motor?"

Terence had to confess that, except for trips in hired cars during

his brief visits to his home, his experiences in that direction were

few and far between; then, by way of altering the topic of

conversation, he asked what the young officer thought of the

submarine service.

"Top-hole--absolutely ripping!" declared Warborough. "This lying in

wait is apt to be a bit tedious, but there are moments when you feel

downright happy at being in the submarine service."

"Pretty dangerous?" hazarded Aubyn, who had not entirely got over the

feeling that he was imprisoned at the bottom, or nearly at the bottom

of the sea.

"That's what gives a spice to the business," said Warborough. "If we

do bump a mine there's precious little chance for us. The worst part

of the job is when we are getting fairly close to Harwich, and

running awash. The helmsman of one of your destroyers might get a

trifle jumpy, you know--mistakes have been made in that direction,

especially at night."

"That I can quite understand," rejoined Terence, recalling the many

anxious hours he had passed on the "Strongbow" as officer of the

watch, and straining his eyes in the darkness till he fancied he saw

the periscope and conning-tower of more than one submarine.

"And the rotten part of the business is, the man in the street

grumbles," continued Warborough. "It's all very fine saying that the

Silent Navy is above public opinion and all that--it isn't, and it's

a bit rough. Our men come back from leave with the yarn that they are

continually being asked, 'What is the Navy doing?' And if people find

out that they belong to the submarine service they ask still more

pointed questions. Civilians forget that the German ships rarely put

to sea, except when they think they can do a sneaking bit of damage.

And after this recent scrap they'll be still more chary about coming

out. Now, if there's nothing or hardly anything afloat for us to go

for, it's not much use running a great risk of being rammed by our

own destroyers. Submarines can't fight submarines, and the fact that

a few German 'unterseeboots' have started playing the fool with our

merchant craft complicates the situation. However, there are four of

our submarines keeping an eye on the approach to the German North Sea

ports, so perhaps, after the war is over and people are let into the

know, we may be vindicated in the minds of the Great British Public.

Why, man, what's wrong now? Your nose has started to bleed."

Terence brought out his handkerchief and applied it to his nasal

organ. It was a very rare thing for it to bleed, and he wondered

whether it was the result of the concussion when he was blown from

the deck of the "Livingstone."

"I don't fancy so," remarked Warborough. "It's the excess of oxygen.

We are frequently affected that way. Shove your head in that basin

and let me pour cold water on your neck: that will stop it pretty

quickly."

Aubyn's companion was quite right. In less than two minutes the flow

had entirely ceased.

"How about the water?" asked Terence. "I suppose this is the pump?"

"Yes. You'll have to exert a fair amount of strength to get rid of

the water, you know."

Aubyn seized the pump lever, but in spite of his efforts he could not

force the water out of the basin. "Back pressure too much," commented

Warborough. "We're more than fifty feet below the surface. We'll have

to get rid of this water pretty quickly, so I'll ask the skipper to

bring the boat twenty feet or so nearer the surface."

"Sorry to give you so much trouble," said Terence apologetically.

"Not at all, my dear fellow. It will give the men something to do to

relieve the monotony. Come with me, if you're fit to move, and you

can see the operation."

Terence followed the junior officer to the base of the conning-tower,

and upon Warborough explaining matters to the lieutenant-commander,

the latter concurred in the desirability of ascending.

"While we are about it we may as well go up and look round," he

added.

Word was then passed for the crew to stand at their stations. Inside

a water-filled compartment, separated from the rest of the vessel by

strong watertight bulkheads, the electrically-worked winch could be

dimly heard as it hauled in the cable, till the stockless anchor was

safely housed flush with the outer plating of the submarine.

The reserve tanks were "blown," the electric motors for propelling

purposes were set in motion, and the horizontal fins trimmed for the

ascent. Steadily the pointer of the depth indicator began to fall

till it registered ten feet. At that distance below the surface it is

quite possible to make use of the periscope.

The lieutenant-commander watched the seemingly monotonous changing

panorama depicted upon the bowl at the base of the periscope, as the

eyepiece swept the horizon.

Suddenly he checked the training handle. A small and rather

indistinct object had appeared in view.

"What do you make of that, Warborough?" asked the skipper calmly.

"Light-cruiser, sir!" replied that officer, after a brief glance at

the reflected picture. "And a German, by all the powers!"

"May as well have a look, Mr. Aubyn," said the lieutenant-commander

considerately. "She seems in no hurry, and unless she takes it into

her head to change her course, she'll pass within eight hundred yards

of us."

Terence inspected the periscope representation of the German vessel.

Although she flew no ensign, her characteristic masts, funnel, and

derricks, as well as her protruding bows--a combination of both

clipper and ram--proclaimed her as one of the "Freya" class cruisers,

averaging 5600 tons. Her guns were trained abeam, but from their

direction it was evident that the Germans had no idea of the peril

that menaced them.

The sub. felt his blood tingling. It was the "Terrier" incident over

again, only the boot was on the other foot this time.

"Down to thirty feet--charge firing-tank--flood both

torpedo-tubes--stand by!" ordered the lieutenant-commander.

He would not run the risk of allowing the tip of the periscope to

remain on the surface while the crew were thrusting the two steel

cylinders into their respective tubes.

"All correct, sir!" reported the leading torpedo-hand.

"To fifteen feet, then," was the order.

Once again daylight filtered through the periscope. On the bowl stood

the image of the doomed cruiser, now showing with remarkable

vividness. A slight touch on the steering gear and "E Something"

swung a point or so to starboard to enable her tubes to be trained a

few feet in advance of the cruiser's bows--a sufficient allowance for

the vessel to be fairly in the path of the deadly weapon by the time

the torpedo travelled the intervening distance.

A faint detonation, caused by the release of the propelling charge of

compressed air was followed by the rush of the water admitted into

the now empty tube to compensate the loss of weight of the torpedo.

The missile was on its way.

A few seconds of tense silence followed, then came the muffled sound

of a terrific detonation, as the warhead exploded fifteen feet below

the surface and fairly amidships of the doomed cruiser. No need to

let loose a second missile.

"Got her!" exclaimed the skipper laconically, as the submarine dived

to fifty feet to avoid detection and its natural sequence--a hail of

quick-firer projectiles from the already sinking vessel.

A quarter of an hour later the "E Something" again showed her

periscope. The lieutenant-commander's surmise was correct. The German

cruiser had plunged to the bottom, while half a dozen boats, crammed

to their utmost capacity, were laboriously rowing towards the

invisible island of Borkum.

"Thank you, Mr. Aubyn!" exclaimed the lieutenant-commander, extending

his hand towards the sub.

"What for, sir, might I ask?"

"For letting your nose bleed at a most opportune moment," was the

cool rejoinder.

CHAPTER XX.

A DUEL WITH A ZEPPELIN.

AN hour after sunset "E Something" rose to the surface. Her hatches

were opened and the crew allowed on deck, five men at a time, to

enjoy the cold, fresh air. Owing to the possibility of the sudden

approach of a swift hostile cruiser or destroyer it was not advisable

to let more men out at once, in order that there would be no delay in

battening down and diving.

It was a clear starlit night. Away to the east the sky was

illuminated by the steely rays of the searchlights on the German

batteries, where the garrisons, kept on thorns by the dread of a

visit from the British Fleet, maintained ceaseless watch.

"I shouldn't wonder if we weren't honoured by the attentions of a few

German torpedo-boats," remarked Warborough to Aubyn, as the two

officers, sheltering from the wind under the lee of the

conning-tower, were enjoying their cigarettes. "By this time the

boats of the torpedoed cruiser ought to have reached land, and the

report of the disaster--cooked by the authorities for serving up to

the gullible Teutonic public--will have been issued."

"It will probably be reported that she struck a drifting mine," said

Terence.

"More than likely," agreed Warborough. "Drifting mines are a godsend

to the harassed German press agencies. But, all the same, those

fellows on the cruiser must have seen the wake of our torpedo, and

that's what makes me think that they'll be sending some of their

small craft to give us a shaking up--if they can."

Meanwhile, the wireless mast, which during the period of submergence

had been housed on deck, had been set up, and a report of the

torpedoing of an unknown German cruiser of the "Freya" class had been

sent off to the Admiralty. A second message, reporting the rescue of

Sub-Lieutenant Terence Aubyn, R.N.R., and Seaman Stairs, was also

despatched.

Twenty minutes later came the reply:--

"Admiralty express great satisfaction at prowess of submarine 'E

Something,'" while the news concerning the rescued officer and man

was acknowledged in stereotyped form.

"Another 'buck-up' for the British Public," remarked Terence,

"although our little piece of work--excuse me saying 'our,' but it

sounds natural--will pale into comparative insignificance after the

'Bluecher' business."

"Perhaps My Lords will not make the news public--at least, not for a

long while," rejoined Warborough. "They'll keep it in reserve until

there is a lull in the papers. Of course not a quarter of the work,

that would gladden the nation like anything, gets into the Press. It

isn't well to let the enemy know too much of their losses. By the by,

did you hear anything about a hostile submarine attempting to slip

past the Needles and into the Solent?"

"No," replied Terence. "Is it a fact?"

"Can't say, old man. Accounts differ. All I know is, that I was

staying at a house close to Lymington just before Christmas. It was

the first leave I had had since the outbreak of the war. Anyway, the

gunners on the Isle of Wight forts spotted something suspicious, and

promptly let rip for about twenty minutes."

"Did they hit anything?"

"They did," answered Warborough, with a grin. "They nearly plugged me

with a ricochet. Several shells fell inland, one of them demolishing

the chimney of a country pub. Next day I heard on good authority----"

"Something moving up aloft, sir!" reported one of the submarine's

crew. "Listen, sir. There's a distinct purr."

"A Zeppelin, by Jove!" exclaimed Warborough. "Pass the word to the

captain."

The lieutenant-commander, termed by courtesy the captain, was resting

in his bunk. He was quickly on deck, for he had "turned in all

standing," with the exception of his boots.

He looked aloft. Like a lead-pencil the Zeppelin could now be

distinguished as she rapidly advanced at an altitude of about a

thousand feet. Judging by her position she would, unless she changed

her direction, pass half a mile to windward of the submarine.

"Mr. Warborough," exclaimed the lieutenant-commander, "I don't

propose to dive."

"Very good, sir," replied the sub. of "E Something," as coolly as if

the Zeppelin were anything but a war-machine.

With very little noise the guns'-crews mustered on deck. The two

anti-aerial guns were raised on their disappearing mountings,

ammunition was served out, and the submarine was prepared to risk an

encounter with the vaunted terror of the air.

Although the petrol engines, used for running on the surface, were in

motion, the clutches of both shafts were disconnected and the exhaust

completely muffled. Thus the submarine was ready to forge ahead at a

moment's notice; but, until she was discovered by the giant gas-bag,

her captain preferred to lie low until the Zeppelin somewhat

incautiously would descend to investigate the scene of the

catastrophe to the torpedoed cruiser.

At each of the 3-pounder quick-firers the gun-layers "stood easy." To

keep bending over the sights of the high angle firing-gun would be

putting an unnecessary strain upon the men. They waited alertly for

report of the range-finding officer and the order to open fire.

"The brute is in no hurry to descend," grumbled Warborough. "She's a

good two thousand feet up now, and a pretty bad target, especially at

night. One thing, she doesn't stand much chance of dropping a bomb

within a couple of hundred yards of us, unless it's by a pure fluke."

"She's descending," exclaimed Terence, as the long, aluminium

cylinder, under the influence of the compensating weights, began to

dip her nose.

As he spoke a searchlight flashed from the foremost nacelle. The

rays, almost perpendicular in direction to the surface of the water,

played upon the sea at some three hundred yards from the quiescent

submarine. The Zeppelin had its suspicions, but as yet had not

located its intended prey.

"Don't look up, men," cautioned the lieutenant-commander, knowing

that should the searchlight play upon the faces of the crew detection

would be certain. He, as well as Warborough, had taken the precaution

of wrapping a dark muffler over the lower part of his face, while his

forehead was shaded by his peaked cap.

It was a hard thing to obey the order, but the men, subduing their

natural desire to see what menaced them from above, kept their faces

averted.

"A thousand feet up," announced Warborough at length, speaking

softly, lest the sound, borne upwards with remarkable clearness,

should give the Zeppelin the alarm. "Actual distance, one thousand

five hundred yards."

As he spoke the deck of "E Something" was bathed in a flood of

brilliant light. A sweep of the searchlight had caused the beam to

"pick up" the submarine. So dazzling were the rays that it would have

been impossible to sight either of the guns in the direction of the

airship.

With admirable presence of mind the lieutenant-commander forbore to

open fire. Rigidly the men stood at attention, not one of them

risking the temporary blindness that would ensue if he raised his

eyes to the powerful glare.

"Thank heavens," ejaculated the captain fervently, as the sweeping

rays swung round, "they haven't spotted us!"

"Eight hundred feet--twelve hundred yards," reported Warborough.

The Zeppelin was still descending; more, she had slowed down

considerably, since during the last four minutes she had travelled

three hundred yards. Heading dead into the eye of the wind her rate

over the sea was now roughly two and a half miles an hour.

The Zeppelin now presented an easy target, as, moving slowly, she

stood out clearly against the starry sky.

The lieutenant-commander raised his hand, the gun-layer of the

for'ard weapon sprang to the night-sights; in another second the

missile would have been hurtling on its way towards the bulky target,

when round swept the blinding searchlight, full on the submarine.

This time there was no swaying round the rays were kept focussed on

the "E Something." The Zeppelin had spotted her foe.

"Confound that light!" muttered the skipper, as he telegraphed for

full speed ahead.

Quickly the vessel gained steerage way, the helmsman thrusting his

helm hard over, alternately to port and starboard at frequent

intervals in order to pursue a zig-zag course and thus baffle the aim

of the bomb-trainers.

The first bomb was not long in making its presence known. From the

invisible and now noisy airship, for her engines were making a

terrific din, a powerful missile dropped fifty yards abeam of the

submarine, and burst with a loud report.

Fragments of the shell flew in all directions, some glancing harmless

from the rounded side of the submarine, and others flying overhead.

Not a man was touched.

The second bomb fell much further off and dead ahead. The Zeppelin

had overrun her quarry.

With a sharp turn of the steering gear the helmsman brought "E

Something" smartly round in a semicircle till her bows pointed in

the opposite direction to which they had been heading a few seconds

before. So quickly was the manoeuvre executed that the submarine

swept out of the irritating rays of the searchlight.

Both quick-firers barked simultaneously. One shell burst well beyond

the frail gas-bag; the other appeared to explode almost under the

foremost suspended car. Whether by accident or design the searchlight

was immediately switched off, while the Zeppelin, elevating her

horizontal rudders and frantically throwing out ballast, began to

rise in order to be out of range of the British shells.

"Crash!" went the after anti-aircraft gun. This time the range was

obtained to a nicety, and the projectile, bursting almost in front of

the bows of the Zeppelin, gave her a mortal blow.

To the watchers on the submarine the whole fabric of the airship

appeared to jump, then, with the slightest perceptible interval

following the explosion of the missile, a second detonation occurred

in the fore-part of the Zeppelin. There was a blinding triple flash,

followed by a deafening report. The aluminium envelope seemed to

disperse amidst a cloud of fire-tinged smoke, while the heavier

portions of the airship fell with ever-increasing rapidity.

Amidst a series of heavy splashes, the wreckage plunged into the sea

at less than half a mile from the submarine. A quantity of heavy oil,

taking fire as it streamed downwards, remained burning upon the

surface of the water for quite a considerable time, then with a

number of spasmodic flashes the flames died out, leaving only a

slowly drifting cloud of smoke to mark the spot where the wreckage

fell.

During the final catastrophe the men of the British submarine

remained almost spellbound. They had gained the victory, but all

thoughts of elation were subdued by the awfulness of the fate of the

vaunted terror of the air.

The "E Something" was then run to the spot where the ill-starred

Zeppelin had disappeared, in the vain hope of rescuing any survivors.

For a radius of several hundred yards the sea was covered with oil

which had escaped combustion, but of actual relics of the airship

nothing was visible. Her twisted and bent aluminium framework lay a

hundred and twenty feet down at the bottom of the North Sea.

Just before dawn the submarine descended and lay hidden, save for a

brief interval of reconnaissance, during the whole of the day. At

night she came up in order to give the crew a "breather." Nothing of

incident occurred, neither on the two following days, so Terence had

a good idea of the monotony of life in a British submarine on

observation duty.

At daybreak on the following Thursday the "E Something" prepared for

her homeward run. She travelled awash, without sighting any enemy

cruiser or destroyer. At a rendezvous she fell in with her relief,

and having exchanged greetings the two submarines parted, one to

enjoy a welcome rest in Harwich harbour, the other to play her part

in sweeping the North Sea of the enemy's flag.

"We're giving that fellow a rare funk, Aubyn," remarked Warborough,

as the two officers were standing on the navigation platform.

"An example of the far-reaching effect of Teutonic kultur, I

suppose," replied Terence. "By Jove, I reckon her old man is shaking

a bit!"

The subject of their conversation was a Dutch tramp steamer of about

1500 tons. Anticipating the execution of von Tirpitz's cowardly

threat to sink British merchantmen, she had lost no time in stating

her nationality in an unmistakable manner. Her wall sides were

painted in horizontal bands in the national colours, in addition to

her name and country in letters a yard or more in length. From her

ensign staff she flew a Dutch ensign far out of proportion to those

usually sported by vessels of that size, while, to make additionally

certain that no mistake on the part of a German submarine was

possible, she flew another Dutch ensign at her main-masthead.

Directly they spotted the "E Something" running awash and with the

White Ensign prominently displayed, the tramp altered her course.

Dense columns of black smoke poured from her funnel; every available

man of her engine-room staff gave a hand in shovelling the "black

diamonds" into the furnaces.

At the very best she could make only eleven knots; had the "E

Something" been a German vessel the Dutchman would have stood no

chance of escape.

Even as the two officers were watching the panic-stricken tramp, a

column of spray shot up fifty feet in the air, about half a cable's

length astern of the submarine.

To the accompaniment of a peculiar screeching sound another and yet

another column of foam leapt skywards. Both men knew at once from

experience what was the meaning of those pillars of spray; they were

caused by the series of ricochets of a "common shell."

"Hard a-starboard!" ordered Warborough. The submarine awash presented

too big a target broadside on. End-on the area exposed to the distant

gun-layer was comparatively small.

"Diving quarters!" shouted the junior officer of the submarine.

In fifteen seconds the hatches were closed and the boat trimmed for

diving. At an unusually steep angle she disappeared beneath the

surface.

"Just our confounded luck," declared the lieutenant-commander. "One

of our own cruisers trying her level best to smash us. That tramp

altering her course gave her the tip. But the fellow who laid that

quick-firer ought to have his cross-guns taken away for a bad miss,"

he added grimly, referring to the "gun-layer's badge" worn on the

right arm.

A careful survey by means of the periscope revealed no sign of the

cruiser or destroyer that had been so inconsiderate as to fire upon

one of her submarines; but the modern "Flying Dutchman" was well

within view, and about a couple of miles on the submarine's port bow.

The lieutenant-commander knitted his brows in perplexity. His craft

was in an awkward predicament. She had been fired on at sight, owing

possibly to the tramp signalling to the British warship that she was

being chased by a German submarine. If "E Something" had remained

awash a second or third shot would in all probability have sent her

to the bottom for good and all, since it was impossible to convince

the cruiser or destroyer of her error in time to stop the

over-zealous guns'-crews.

By diving, the submarine was safe from the effect of gun-fire so long

as she kept submerged; but directly she reappeared she might be

instantly fired upon or else rammed by the now alert cruiser, which

would certainly follow the supposed course of the unseen craft.

Suddenly an idea flashed through the brain of the skipper of "E

Something." The Dutch tramp had been the cause of the somewhat

disconcerting incident: he would make her the means of getting out of

an awkward, not to say hazardous, position.

Terence held his breath when he heard the order to ascend to the

surface. The operation savoured of suicide, for it seemed evident to

him that the mere showing of the top of the conning-tower would

result in a salvo from the guns of the cruiser, which must by this

time have greatly decreased the distance between the position from

which she fired the first shot and the spot where the submarine had

vanished.

Up rose the "E Something," but no shell burst with devastating

effect within her vitals. Almost before she regained her normal

position the order was given to open hatches.

"Now, Aubyn, up with you!" exclaimed Warborough.

Terence needed no second invitation. Nimbly he ascended the iron

rings of the vertical ladder and gained the deck. To his surprise he

found that the submarine was close alongside the Dutchman's starboard

quarter and moving at practically the same speed and in the same

direction as she was.

The submarine's White Ensign, which, owing to the hasty descent had

not been lowered and untoggled from the halliards, was hanging limply

from the staff, resembling an umbrella. For the purposes of

recognition it was useless. Even had it been otherwise, the minds of

the crew of the tramp were so completely obsessed with the idea that

the craft was a German submarine that they would have regarded the

ensign as false colours.

Imagining that the game was up, the stolid Dutch skipper leant over

the bridge rail, while a dozen of the crew peered anxiously over the

side.

"This is a Dutch ship," announced the skipper vehemently in German.

"Why are you stopping me?"

"We are not stopping you, my friend," replied Warborough, in English.

"Can you understand?"

"Yes, ver' well," was the reply; then pointing to the distant British

cruiser, which was now recognisable as one of the "Astraea" class, he

continued: "If you English, why dat sheep fire?"

"Just what we don't want her to do," replied Warborough. "So we've

taken the liberty of ranging up alongside you. They can't very well

fire at us now, and they'll soon discover their mistake."

Meanwhile, the signalman had hoisted the submarine's code number, but

owing to the confusing background afforded by the tramp's tricoloured

sides, the hoist was not readily "picked up" by the cruiser, which

was now approaching to ascertain the mystery of a supposedly hostile

craft that had the audacity to hold up a merchantman under the very

guns of a British man-of-war.

"There's the answering pendant, sir--at the dip," announced the

signalman, pointing to a red and white strip of bunting hoisted

half-way up the cruiser's yard-arm. "Now it's hoisted close up,

sir!" he added after a brief pause.

The cruiser had seen and had read the submarine's signal. Closing,

she ramped up at a cable's length from the little craft that she had

done her level best to sink.

A facetious exchange of compliments by means of hand-flags was

indulged in, and with a mutual farewell the British vessels parted,

while the skipper of the Dutch tramp, devoutly grateful that things

were not so bad as he had imagined, resumed his course towards

Ymuiden.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE LAST OF THE "SYNTAX."

"YOU'RE a troublesome card, Mr. Aubyn; delaying the march of justice

by taking French leave."

This was the greeting of Lieutenant Gilroy, after Terence had

reported himself on board the "Livingstone."

The sub. looked inquiringly at the speaker.

"Fact," continued Gilroy. "You are under notice to appear as

principal witness at the trial of Major von Eckenhardt. The business

was to have come off to-day, but in consequence of your tumbling

overboard (we had the wireless report of your rescue) the trial is

postponed till to-morrow. Congrats, old man, on your escape.

Apparently you've had a lively time on board 'E Something'?"

"Fairly," admitted Aubyn, modestly. "But I wish to goodness I could

cut this trial business. Why couldn't they push on with the show

without me?"

"Ask me another," replied the lieutenant, shrugging his broad

shoulders. "So buck up and make the best of a bad job. You'll be in

good company, my lad, for I'm warned as a witness."

But the trial, which was to be held behind closed doors under the

summary authority of the Defence of the Realm Act, never came off.

Von Eckenhardt succeeded in escaping from Edinburgh Castle during a

dark, tempestuous night. Although searched when received into

custody, he had contrived to secrete a small bottle filled with

corrosive acid. This liquid applied to the bars of his cell made

short work of those barriers. His knowledge of his environments must

have been remarkably accurate, for after dropping a height of

twenty-five feet from the window to the floor of the dry moat without

sustaining any injury sufficient to impede his movements, he found

his way down the precipitous sides of the Castle rock and got clean

away.

The authorities left no stone unturned to attempt the recapture of

the dangerous and daring spy, but their efforts were in vain. The

disquieting thought remained that von Eckenhardt was still within the

limits of Great Britain. His activity, amounting almost to

recklessness, made it pretty certain that he would not return to the

Continent while there was scope for work amongst his enemies; and,

although it was unlikely that he would carry on his secret service

work either in the vicinity of Rosyth or Great Yarmouth, it was

surmisable that he would recommence operations in the neighbourhood

of another important naval or military centre.

Shortly after the escape of von Eckenhardt the various units of the

torpedo-boat-destroyer flotilla to which the "Livingstone" belonged

were sent out on detached service. Since the repetition of the

luckless German raid seemed unlikely, at least until the extensive

repairs to the "Derfflinger" and "Moltke" were carried out, the

necessity for keeping the full complement of flotillas ceased to

exist. Hence the "Livingstone" was ordered to proceed to a certain

rendezvous off the Lizard, in the vicinity of which one of von

Tirpitz's pirate submarines was making itself a considerable nuisance

to British merchantmen bound up and down Channel.

Twenty-four hours after leaving the Firth of Forth the destroyer

arrived at her appointed station, where she had the mortification of

hearing that a large tramp steamer, the "Quickstep," had been held up

and sunk only two hours previously.

All the destroyer could do was to tow the ship's boats with the

survivors within an easy distance of Falmouth; then back the

"Livingstone" doubled, her officers and crew filled with the utmost

keenness to meet and destroy the skulking terror of the deep.

About three bells in the First Dog Watch the lookout reported a sail

in sight, which quickly proved to be a large two-masted cargo vessel

bound down Channel.

As she came within signalling distance she made her number,

announcing that she was the SS. "Syntax" of London, and inquired if

the destroyer had seen any of the enemy's submarines.

"Tell them 'yes'," ordered Gilroy, who was the officer of the watch.

"And inform them that we will escort her as far as the Wolf Rock.

Beyond that she ought to be fairly safe."

"Tough old skipper of that packet," remarked Terence, pointing to the

"Syntax." "He doesn't deign to sail under false colours--there's the

good old 'red' flying as proudly as any merchant skipper could wish.

And I wouldn't mind betting that there isn't a firearm on board,

except the signal gun and perhaps the old man's revolver."

"We'll mother him all right," declared Gilroy optimistically. "It

would go hard with any German submarine that dared to show her

periscope now," and he indicated the man standing by the for'ard

4-in. gun, ready at the first alarm to shoot and shoot straight--for

the No. 1 was one of the best gunlayers of the flotilla.

With her speed reduced to a modest twelve knots, in order to keep

station with her convoy, the destroyer turned and followed the

"Syntax" at a distance of one seamile astern and slightly on her port

quarter.

Just as the sun was setting, the lofty needle-like pinnacle of the

Wolf Lighthouse was observed, rising above the horizon and backed by

the vivid crimson of the disappearing orb of day.

There was little or no wind. The surface of the sea was as placid as

a mill-pond, broken only by the bow-wave of the two vessels. So calm

was the air that the savoury smell from the galley of the merchant

vessel was wafted to the nostrils of the officers on the bridge of

the destroyer. On the lofty fore-deck a seaman was about to hoist the

steaming-lamp. His figure silhouetted against the ruddy light was,

when viewed from the destroyer, just clear of one end of the bridge.

For no apparent reason Terence kept his glasses focussed on the man,

who, awaiting the order to send the light aloft, was taking a

farewell view of the rapidly-receding coast-line of Old England, for

the Cornish hills were just visible abaft on the starboard quarter.

Suddenly the fellow put the lamp on deck and shouted. Although Aubyn

heard no sound, he could distinctly see the seaman's mouth working as

he pointed to something on the starboard hand. Then heeling heavily

to port the "Syntax" circled in the direction indicated.

"A submarine, by Jove!" ejaculated Terence. "On the tramp's starboard

bow--and the old man's trying to ram her."

Gilroy, too, levelled his glass, but owing to the glare on the water

he could pick up no sign of the submarine. But Terence was right in

his surmise. A periscope had emerged from beneath the surface at less

than a cable's length from the "Syntax." The courageous old skipper

had put his helm hard a-port, with the laudable intention of ramming

and sending the submarine to the bottom.

He missed; more, the hull of the cargo steamer screened the submarine

from the destroyer's bow-gun.

"That's done it!" ejaculated Gilroy, as a column of water tore

skywards on the far side of the luckless vessel. The merchantman

heeled violently, recovered herself with a corresponding roll, as her

main-mast buckled, burst its shrouds and toppled across the deck.

"Full speed ahead!"

The engine-room telegraph gong had scarce ceased vibrating ere the

"Livingstone" leapt ahead like a greyhound released from its leash.

With the oil-fired engines running at their utmost capacity the

destroyer quickly circled round the doomed vessel, but not a sign of

the modern pirate was to be seen. Having shot the cowardly bolt, the

submarine had quickly dived, and perhaps was lying _en perdu_ eighty

feet beneath the surface.

Even in the midst of peril the heart of the stout old merchant

skipper never failed him. Immediately his ship had been torpedoed, he

steered towards the distant shore, hoping against hope to beach his

vessel on the iron-bound Cornish coast.

In less than ten minutes it was obvious that the attempt was in vain.

The "Syntax" was settling rapidly by the bows. Already the stern was

so high out of the water that the boss of the swiftly-revolving

propeller was visible amidst the cascades of spray churned up by the

blades.

Presently the propeller ceased to revolve. Not until the water was

over the level of the engine-bed did the skipper give orders for the

engine-room staff to save themselves. Up on deck they poured,

hurriedly yet without undue confusion. The boats were already swung

out and made ready to lower.

So sluggish was the partly-flooded vessel that she lost way rapidly.

One by one the boats were lowered, and the disengaging gear of the

falls cast off without a hitch. The old skipper was the last to

leave. With the ship's papers thrust inside his buttoned,

weather-beaten coat, he waved a salute to the destroyer that had

attended the "Syntax" in vain, then slid down into one of the boats.

Before the boat had rowed a dozen lengths from the ship, the "Syntax"

all but disappeared from view, boisterously, amid a series of veiled

explosions as the compressed air burst from her seams. Amidst a

miniature maelstrom the stern hung irresolute for a brief instant,

with the red ensign still fluttering in the calm air. Then, with a

quick dive, the emblem of the Mercantile Marine vanished from view.

"Shall I take you in tow?" shouted the lieutenant-commander of the

"Livingstone."

"Better not, sir," replied the "old man." "That skulking submarine

may be showing her snout again. Another couple of yards and I would

have given her a bump. No, sir, we're all right. Sea's calm. All

being well we'll land at Sennen Cove before another couple of hours.

"There's pluck," commented Gilroy. "I always had a certain respect

for the Mercantile Marine, and after this, by Jove----"

Terence made no reply. He was thinking regretfully of that

magnificent specimen of British construction lying fathoms deep, a

victim to the brutal violation of all conventions and compacts of

modern civilization.

CHAPTER XXII.

THE TABLES TURNED.

"THE swine!" ejaculated Gilroy furiously. "They know we play the

game, but if I had my will, I really believe I'd ship a couple of

captured German officers on board every merchantman clearing our

ports."

"That wouldn't stop them, Gilroy," remarked the captain. "Not even if

you had old Tirpitz's son as a figure-head. Instead of which he's

living in luxury at our expense, while our officers and men are being

housed like cattle. No, we must do our work with clean hands."

"Not even employ a ruse, sir?" queried Gilroy.

"That doesn't enter into the question," replied his superior officer.

"As a matter of fact, I mean to have a little try on. It's hardly in

accordance with Admiralty procedure, but I'll explain, and if any of

you gentlemen have any objections, don't hesitate to say so."

"I am willing to take the risk, sir," declared Gilroy, after the

captain had outlined his plans. "And if we succeed I don't think My

Lords will give us a rap on the knuckles."

"And you, Mr. Aubyn?"

"I am of the same opinion as Mr. Gilroy, sir."

"Very good: we'll carry on," concluded the skipper of the

"Livingstone."

Accordingly the destroyer returned to the rendezvous off The Start.

From there she sent a wireless announcing certain engine-room

defects, that might well have stood over to a more convenient time,

and requested permission to put into Brixham, where the work could be

carried out.

Back came the reply: "Concur. Make good defects on relief by

'Radimus'."

At ten p.m. the destroyer "Radimus" came up, and exchanged signals

with the "Livingstone," which at once steamed for Brixham.

There was just enough water for the destroyer to enter the outer

harbour and tie up alongside the wall. An hour later she was aground;

a little later she was high and dry in the tidal harbour.

Both the captain of the "Livingstone" and Lieutenant Gilroy had ample

private means, and they did not hesitate to spend money for the good

of the country and the Navy in particular. So within forty minutes of

the destroyer entering Brixham Harbour, the two officers,

notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, had concluded a bargain

with a local owner for the hire of three of the weatherly trawlers

for which that Devonshire port is so greatly celebrated.

At two in the morning, when Brixham slept, the crew of the

"Livingstone" were hard at work, transporting stores and munitions to

the three hired trawlers. By dint of great exertion one four-inch gun

with its mountings was transferred to each of the trawlers and set in

position just abaft the mainmast.

Directly the tide rose sufficiently, the trawlers, each containing a

third of the "Livingstone's" crew, in addition to the regular hands,

warped out into the Roads, hoisted sail, and with a fresh easterly

breeze "reached off" towards The Start.

Thus Terence Aubyn found himself, for the first time in his career,

senior executive officer of an armed vessel--the ketch "Asphodel,"

with a sturdy Brixham fisherman as his sailing master, and twenty

bluejackets lying upon the deck.

The three trawlers maintained a "line ahead" formation, the captain

of the "Livingstone" leading in the "Myrtle," Lieutenant Gilroy

second in the "Cinema," and Terence as the rear-guard. To all outward

appearance the unofficial flotilla was off to the fishing-grounds.

Five miles S.S.E. of the Devon promontory known as The Start, the

destroyer "Radimus" crossed the bows of the trawlers, bound for

Portland Bill, the eastern limit of her patrolling ground.

Unsuspecting, her officer of the watch brought his glasses to bear

upon the three peaceful ketches, and proceeded on his way.

Half an hour later a large auxiliary barque came ploughing her way up

Channel. Although absolutely unarmed she showed no fear of the

threatened submarine blockade, her red ensign proudly and

unmistakably announcing the fact that she belonged to the greatest

mercantile navy the world has ever yet seen.

"That rascally submarine, sir!" announced the master of the

"Asphodel" to Terence, pointing to a peculiar swirl in the placid

water about a mile astern of the barque, followed by the

sinister-looking conning-tower and twin periscopes of the German

pirate.

Doffing his regulation cap, Aubyn raised his head just above the low

bulwarks and kept the submarine under observation with his telescope.

Owing to the "line-ahead" formation of the trawlers, the "Asphodel"

was nearest the enemy craft, which bore well on that trawler's port

quarter.

The barque was helpless. Being under a full press of canvas she could

not even attempt to ram her antagonist, while the wind being light,

and her auxiliary engines of comparatively low horse-power, flight

was out of the question.

The German submarine approached quickly and fearlessly. A survey of

the horizon revealed to her captain nothing formidable in sight, only

three harmless trawlers off to the fishing-ground. When he had

finished with the barque, he decided, he would send two of the

trawlers to the bottom, in order to let the English know that even

fish was to become a scarce article of food, and let the third craft

go with the crews of their sunken consorts.

It did not take the submarine long to range up on the starboard

quarter of the barque. A brief argument took place between the German

captain and the British merchant skipper, with the result that the

latter, finding resistance useless, had the vessel hove-to.

On the deck of the submarine, just in front of the after quick-firing

gun that had been raised from below and was trained on the barque,

stood a steel boat lashed down and secured in chocks. In the boat's

garboards were four large apertures, each capable of being closed

watertight by the manipulation of a single interrupted thread screw.

When open these holes allowed the boat to be emptied or flooded with

great rapidity as the submarine rose or dived.

Yet for some reason the pirates made no attempt to use their own

boat; they ordered the barque to lower two of hers, and with three

men in each to row alongside the submarine.

It was the intention of the Germans to rifle the prize before they

placed explosives on board. They were evidently short of provisions,

oil, and petrol, and these were to be found in abundance upon the

luckless barque. The ship's boats could be more conveniently employed

upon this business, as in the case of a surprise there would be delay

in hauling the steel tender on to the submarine's deck and securing

it, before she could dive.

Terence watched this part of the operation with extreme annoyance. If

the pirate meant to keep some of the British crew on the deck of the

submarine, her destruction could not be accomplished without great

risk and peril to the men of the mercantile marine. However, he

decided the capture or destruction of the unknown submarine--for she

had no number painted on her grey sides or conning-tower--was

imperative, and acting in accordance with a prearranged plan, he gave

the master of the "Asphodel" instructions to steer towards the now

motionless barque, approaching on the starboard hand, while the other

trawlers held steadily on their course.

It was sound strategy. The captain of the submarine evidently

imagined that the trawler was approaching out of sheer curiosity, or

that, seeing the barque hove-to, her master thought that the skipper

of the British craft wished to communicate with the shore. Lying

snugly under the port quarter of the barque, the submarine was now

invisible from the trawler's deck, while the crew of the captured

vessel were ordered not to give the alarm under penalty of death.

Meanwhile, the "Myrtle" and "Cinema," having crossed the barque's

track, were able from a convenient distance to see what was going on.

The pirates made their captives work with the utmost dispatch, and in

a very short time almost all of the barque's cargo and stores that

they were in need of was transported to the submarine and stowed

below.

This done, the captain was ordered to surrender his papers, but the

stubborn old salt declared that he had heaved them overboard before

capture. As a matter of fact they were slipped into the lining at the

back of his coat. This act of non-compliance aroused the German

captain's anger. Ordering the boats back to the barque, he told the

skipper and crew that they had five minutes to clear out. At the

expiration of that time limit, he would sink the vessel by gun-fire.

Directly the British officers on the "Myrtle" and "Cinema" saw that

there were no longer any of the crew of the barque on or alongside

the submarine a signal was sent to the "Asphodel." Instantly the

ketch luffed up, ran under the barque's stern and came in sight, and

within eighty or a hundred yards of the submarine, the crew of which

were standing by their quick-firers, ready to hull and sink the

prize.

"Heave-to, 'Asphodel'!" shouted the German captain in good English,

as he read the name of the apparently unsuspecting trawler that had

blundered right into his clutches. "Heave-to, or we'll sink you

without mercy."

"Let them have it!" shouted Terence. He had no scruples now. It was a

fair fight between a modern submarine, with her guns ready for

action, and a trawler manned by a trained Navy crew.

Like a sheet of tissue paper caught in a furious wind the tarpaulin

concealing the gun was whipped off; cool and collected the

highly-trained gun-layer lingered a fraction of a second over the

sights, then--_crash!_

Almost before the recoil of the weapon had been taken up by the

hydraulic mountings the breech-block flew open with a clang and a

fresh cartridge was inserted.

One round was enough.

The shell, fired at almost point-blank range, had penetrated the

conning-tower, killing the captain and ripping the steel plating like

cardboard. More, the fragments of the exploded missile had put out of

action all the crew of the fore quick-firer.

Terrified by the appalling concussion the engine-room ratings of the

submarine abandoned their posts at the motor and ran on deck, while

the after-gun's-crew, realizing that they were trapped, made no

attempt to use their piece, especially as they were covered by the

formidable 4-inch on the "Asphodel's" deck.

With their hands held high above their heads the pirates raised a

monotonous shout of "Mercy, Englishmen!"

The submarine was done for. With the conning-tower shattered she

could not dive; apart from the abandonment of the motors, she could

not seek safety in flight, for even if running on the surface she

would quickly be swamped by the seas pouring over her low freeboard.

"Mercy, Englishmen! Mercy!"

The cry was repeated over and over again. The recreant Teutons, taken

red-handed, were firmly convinced that their captors intended putting

them to death--the extreme penalty for their guilt.

Terence glanced in the direction of the two trawlers. They were

approaching slowly, for the wind was still light. Before the arrival

of his superior officer the sub. realized that the mischief he

anticipated might be consummated.

"Where is your captain?" he shouted.

The babel ceased. One German, a petty officer, knew how to speak

English after a fashion.

"He kapitan Schluk he dead," he replied.

"The senior officer, then?"

There was a movement on deck. Some of the men bawled down the

hatchway. After some delay a fat, fair-haired sub-lieutenant

appeared. Being unable to speak or understand English the new arrival

made use of the petty officer as an interpreter.

"Do I understand that you surrender?" demanded Terence.

"Yes; if our lives are spared," answered the German officer through

the medium of the interpreter.

"Very good; I accept your surrender on conditions," agreed Terence,

speaking deliberately, and with a stern, menacing tone in his voice.

"Your craft must be given up exactly in its present condition. If

any attempt be made to open the valves no quarter will be given."

It went against his sense of honour to speak in this strain. He knew

perfectly well that, happen what may, quarter would not be denied

these modern pirates. But experience taught him that on more than one

occasion a German submarine had surrendered to a British vessel, and

as soon as the crew was safe, the ballast tanks would be deliberately

flooded to let the boat sink for good and all, so that the secret of

their construction should not be revealed to the hated English.

Consequently he was not surprised when the German officer, on hearing

the conditions, made a gesture of defiance and disappeared below.

Before many seconds had passed the crippled submarine began to sink

deeper and deeper in the water. The survivors of her crew, now

animated by the example of their young officer, lined up,

bare-headed, and joining hands burst into the words of "Deutschland

uber alles." One brawny, yellow-haired man produced a German ensign

lashed to a boat-hook stave, and held it defiantly aloft. It was

perhaps fortunate that they did not attempt to use the still intact

quick-firer, otherwise Terence might have been compelled to put his

empty threat into execution.

The end was not long in coming. The slight reserve of buoyancy of the

submarine was quickly destroyed by the inrush of water, both through

the valves and through the huge rent in the base of the

conning-tower.

The water mounted to the knees of the double line of men. Still

singing they looked death in the face. Then with a sudden lurch that

threw the ranks into complete disorder, the submarine plunged.

"Deutschland uber alles" trailed away into a grim silence, broken by

the rush of water and the hiss of escaping air.

The next instant the submarine was lost to sight, taking with her the

resolute sub-lieutenant, whose devotion to the Kaiser had out-weighed

his conscience in the matter of the utter disregard of international

law.

There was still life to be saved. More than a score of the German

crew were swimming strongly.

"Out with the boats!" shouted the master of the "Asphodel."

A dozen willing hands helped to launch the hefty boat which was

stowed bottom upwards on the trawler's deck. With a loud splash she

was thrust overboard and volunteers hastily tumbled into her. Already

the boats of the barque were heading towards the spot marked by

bobbing heads of the swimmers. The seamen knew that, but for a

fortunate change of circumstances they might be swimming for dear

life and jeered at by the crew of the submarine into the bargain but

petty spite and recriminations are not to be found in the creed of

true British seamen.

Long before the "Myrtle" and "Cinema" came up, every one of the

swimmers had been rescued, and since the crew of the barque dumped

their living cargoes into the "Asphodel," the latter's decks were

packed with humanity. Round every half-drowned German a dozen British

tars, all more or less sympathetic, were gathered, doing their utmost

to assist their foes.

"Smart shot, Mr. Aubyn," sang out the captain of the "Livingstone,"

as his temporary command shot up into the wind within easy hailing

distance. "Your gun-layer took good care not to let us have a finger

in the pie."

"We acted under your orders, sir," replied Terence.

"You did," admitted the captain, with a hearty laugh. "You did, but

you might have given the others a chip in. They hardly--why, what's

that?"

He broke off suddenly at the sound of a terrific cheer. The barque

had now gathered way. Her sails had been sheeted home. The weather

shrouds were black with men who were cheering the three trawlers with

all the force of their lungs, while aft stood the old skipper, waving

his cap with the vivacity of a schoolboy.

Considering the unusual means whereby the German submarine had been

destroyed, the necessity of keeping the incident a secret, until the

Press Bureau thought fit to dole out another morsel of information,

was most desirable. There was also another reason. The enemy must not

know of the actual circumstances, otherwise the submarines still at

large would take steps to prevent a similar surprise.

So the crews, both temporary and permanent, of the three trawlers

were mustered and sworn to secrecy, their respective naval officers

impressing upon the Brixham men the fact that, being an Admiralty

chartered vessel (this was a piece of pure bluff) they were liable to

the pains and penalties of the Naval Discipline Act, the Official

Secrets Act, and a dozen other statutes passed for the safety,

honour, and welfare of the King's dominions.

The next question was how to dispose of the prisoners. Gilroy

proposed delaying the arrival of the trawlers till after dusk and

then setting the Germans ashore under an armed guard at a remote and

unfrequented cove in the vicinity of Dartmouth; but the captain

overruled.

While the council of war was in progress the destroyer "Radimus,"

returning on her patrol work, came in sight. In answer to a signal

hoisted on the "Myrtle" the destroyer altered helm and ran down to

investigate.

Her officers and crew were good sportsmen all. Although chagrined to

find that the German submarine had been sunk almost under their

noses, and by three sailing trawlers, a type that the Admiralty

persistently deprecated as being of no service in the war, they

tendered their congratulations, in the spontaneous British way, by

giving three rousing cheers.

To the "Radimus" the prisoners were transferred, while the captain of

the "Livingstone," having drafted a report, requested the officer

commanding the destroyer to forward it with all dispatch, and at the

same time to send a wireless to the Admiralty announcing the bald

fact that another modern pirate had been sent to its last account.

Gilroy and Terence then boarded the trawler under the command of the

"Livingstone's" skipper. The latter, in spite of the success of his

ruse, looked somewhat anxious. He was not quite certain what My Lords

would think of the unofficial commissioning of the trawlers, and he

expressed his fears to his subordinates.

"Never fear, sir," remarked the lieutenant. "We'll stand by you."

"That you will not," replied the captain. "It's my pigeon. I take

the responsibility; you are under my orders."

"I don't suppose there'll be any fuss up topsides, sir," reiterated

Gilroy.

"H'm! Don't know so much about that. We've attacked a hostile craft

without displaying our colours: that's against the King's

regulations----"

"But we've sent a far worse transgressor to the bottom, sir,"

interrupted Gilroy. "After all, that's the main thing."

"I suppose so," admitted his superior. "And we've done all we can to

impress upon the men the urgency of official reticence and reserve."

So it happened that just before four in the afternoon the three

trawlers entered Brixham Harbour, and, amidst the wild and erroneous

conjectures of the inhabitants of that little Devonshire town, the

naval men landed and went aboard the "Livingstone," whose engine-room

staff had kept steam raised during the absence of their comrades.

Half an hour later the destroyer put to sea to resume her interrupted

patrol duties.

But, somewhat unfortunately, the carefully laid plans of the skipper

of the "Livingstone" went awry. The third hand of the "Myrtle" had a

wife. The wife was an excellent cook and studied her man's weakness

for the fleshpots of Glorious Devon. Moreover, she had a small cask

of prime cider in her cottage, and Dick Ottery, the third hand, was

very partial to the juice of the apple. Mrs. Ottery had a knack of

extracting information from her spouse, and curiosity prompted her to

question him as he fed and drank. Before the delayed meal was over,

Mrs. Ottery knew as much as her husband.

At Brixham, like many other British towns, men had gone either to the

Front or else to adventure themselves on the High Seas; and a

committee of well-meaning ladies had volunteered to do this, that,

and the other for the wives of the absent warriors.

That same evening one of the committee paid a visit to Ottery's

cottage, where his sister-in-law lived since the day when her husband

shouldered his kit-bag and went to report himself at Devonport as a

Naval Reservist.

Mrs. Ottery, unable to keep the startling news of the sinking of the

German submarine, told full details and embellished them with highly

imaginative extras to the lady visitor. "Of course," she added, "it

be quite a secret, my man du say."

Half an hour later the committee heard the news, also in strict

confidence, with the result that when the "Livingstone" put into

Portland to replenish her stock of oil-fuel the news of the exploit

preceded her.

Magnified out of all proportion by the little additions it had gained

in being passed from mouth to mouth, the latest version was to the

effect that "the crew of H.M.T.B.D. 'Livingstone,' having been

compelled to take to their boats owing to their vessel being

torpedoed, were rescued by a Brixham trawler. They thereupon rammed

three German submarines, sinking them with all hands."

"Absolutely without foundation," was the Press Bureau's comment, but

people in the know winked solemnly. It was significant that the

captain of the "Livingstone" was appointed to the command of a

light-cruiser; that Lieutenant Gilroy was promoted to the rank of

lieutenant-commander, and that Sub-Lieutenant Terence Aubyn, N.R.,

blossomed out into a lieutenant.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE STRUGGLE IN THE CUTTING.

POSSIBLY no one was more astonished than Terence to find himself a

full-blown lieutenant. Yet it was a fact and a pleasant surprise,

especially when he had misgivings as to the unorthodox method of

destroying the hostile submarine.

Promotion, he knew, meant an appointment to another ship. That was

the fly in the ointment, for in spite of certain discomforts that

life on a destroyer brings in its train, he had become thoroughly

attached to the "Livingstone."

He had hopes that his old skipper, Captain Holloway, late of the

"Terrier," might use his influence in getting him appointed to the

"Bombard"--a modern light-cruiser which Captain Holloway had recently

commissioned, and which, according to well-founded rumours, was to

proceed to the Mediterranean to take part in the operations against

the Dardanelles.

It was therefore with mixed feelings that Terence found himself

appointed to his old ship, the armed merchantman "Strongbow," which,

having completed her extensive repairs and refit at Aberdeen, was to

be recommissioned, as far as practicable, with her former officers

and crew.

The newly-appointed lieutenant was sorry, since it meant being

relegated to the somewhat monotonous, although necessary task of

patrolling, instead of having a chance to smell powder on one of the

fighting ships. Unless an unforeseen incident occurred, the

possibilities of quitting the patrol service seemed very remote. The

number of hostile mines in the North Sea had been steadily reduced by

systematic sweeping while the German pirate submarines seemed to give

the northern area of the North Sea a wide berth--possibly owing to

the fact that there was more scope for the despicable energies in the

Channel and in the vicinity of the great mercantile ports. Thus the

element of risk that prevailed in the earlier stages of the war had

been considerably diminished; henceforth, according to Aubyn's

opinion, patrol work would be one long round of cruising, examining

neutral vessels, and, perhaps, making a few isolated captures of

ships carrying suspected contraband.

Yet it was his duty, and he accepted it in the spirit of a true

British seaman: he had to obey orders even if they entailed work of a

cheerless and uneventful character.

On the other hand, Terence was pleased at the thought of having to

meet his former comrades. Nor would the severe climatic conditions be

so intense. The days were longer and the nights correspondingly

shorter, and although the temperature was low and the Equinoctial

gales about due, the fact that spring was rapidly approaching was in

itself sufficient compensation for the passing rigours of patrol work

in the North Sea.

The lieutenant had two clear days before rejoining the "Strongbow,"

which had left Aberdeen and put into Leith to replenish magazines and

bunkers. Owing to the dislocation of the train service through the

moving of large numbers of troops from the North to Salisbury Plain,

Terence knew that it would be unwise to delay his journey. He

therefore decided to proceed straight to Edinburgh, put up for the

night, and go on to Leith on the following morning.

Arriving in London he seized the chance of visiting a theatre in

company with some friends, knowing that it might be months before a

similar opportunity occurred again; then, having had supper, he

caught the night mail train to the north.

There were comparatively few passengers. The lieutenant, finding that

he had a first-class carriage to himself, thought it best to spend

the tedious journey by snatching a few hours' sleep.

Accustomed to slumber under awkward conditions he was soon lost in

oblivion. How long he slept he had no idea. Suddenly he was awakened

by the hurried application of the brakes. The train slowed down so

quickly that the alteration of momentum wellnigh threw him off the

seat. He glanced at his watch. It was ten minutes past two. Under

ordinary circumstances the journey was a non-stop one, the mails

being dropped or taken up by means of nets while the train was in

motion.

Curiosity prompted Terence to open the window and look out. It was a

pitch dark night. Rain was falling in a steady drizzle. The lamps in

the carriages had been screened by drawing the blinds, as a

precaution against hostile air-raids, but in many cases the

passengers had rushed to the windows. Thus the glare of the lamps

showed the lieutenant that the train had come to a standstill in a

rocky cutting.

"Rotten night," commented Aubyn to himself.

He looked along the line. The signals were not set at danger, for a

hundred yards ahead of the engine a bright green light gleamed

through the mirk.

"What's up, guard?" asked Terence, as that official, followed by two

or three passengers, walked briskly along the permanent way. Already

he had gone to the front part of the train to confer with the driver,

and was now on his way back.

"Man killed or something," replied the guard vaguely. "A soldier

stopped the train--one of them chaps guarding the tunnel. You're not

a doctor, by any chance, sir? We had half a dozen ships' doctors in

the train last night."

"I am not," replied Terence. "But I'll go with you, in case I can be

of any use."

Buttoning his great-coat up to his chin and pulling the peak of his

cap well over his eyes, the lieutenant descended and joined the

little band of volunteer helpers.

The rear end of the train was only just clear of the tunnel, so

promptly had the driver brought the engine to a standstill. Lying by

the side of the rail was a motionless figure in khaki, while standing

by him and still grasping his rifle and bayonet was another soldier.

"No doctor, my man," declared the guard. "I've inquired of every

carriage. How did it happen? We didn't run over your mate, did we?"

"No," replied the Tommy, an elderly National Reservist. He was

shaking like a leaf. "No, it was that goods train. Cut his foot off

as clean as a bloomin' whistle. But that ain't the point. Poor old

Bill was put across the metals, only the bloke didn't do the job

properly."

"What?" exclaimed the guard incredulously.

"Truth--honest truth--an' my eyesight ain't at fault, even though

it's a beastly dark night. Bill was standin' easy over there. I was

about here. S'elp me, as true as I'm a-standin' here, I saw a bloke

spring upon my chum and push him across the line. Afore I could up

with my rifle the train comes tearing along. When it had gone it was

too late. The bloke had done a bunk. And," he added reminiscently,

"Bill was a right good sort. Never had a grudge against nobody, so it

licks me why the fellow wanted to out him."

Meanwhile, Terence had been paying attention to the unfortunate

sentry. The man was dead. His left foot had been severed at the

ankle. That in itself would hardly be sufficient to cause death.

"Turn your light this way, guard," said Aubyn, as he began to

unbuckle the man's ammunition pouches and to unbutton his coat. A

thin streak of blood upon the victim's shirt told its own tale. He

had been shot--evidently by a small yet powerful pistol at close

range, for the great-coat and buff straps were pitted with the grains

of powder.

"Did you hear a shot fired?" demanded Terence.

"No, sir," replied the Tommy. The suggestion of a shot being fired

aroused a new train of ideas in his mind. "No, sir; see, his rifle

hasn't been discharged."

"I mean, did you hear a shot being fired at him?"

The sentry shook his head.

"The man's been murdered by a pistol shot, right enough," declared

Terence. "Either the noise of the train deadened the report, or else

the murderer muffled the weapon in a cloth. The best thing you can

do, guard, is to take the poor fellow's body on to the next station."

"An my relief ain't due for another hour and a quarter!" gasped the

remaining sentry. He had been completely unnerved at the sight of his

chum being foully done to death.

"All right, my man," said Terence, "I'll stop with you. I suppose I

can get to Edinburgh by another train, guard?"

"Yes, sir," replied that official. "Next station's only a matter of

three or four miles. But you won't be lonely. There's half a dozen

troop trains on the up-line within the next three hours. I'll take

the corpse, sir, if these gents'll bear a hand. 'Tain't the first

poor chap that's been done in like this: not by a long way.

Good-night, sir, and good luck."

Presently the mail train resumed its journey. The sentry, nervously

fingering his rifle, seemed grateful to the young officer, but at the

same time he regarded him with a certain amount of suspicion. Perhaps

his naval uniform was a disguise. He might be an accomplice of the

man who had murdered his chum. Troop trains? That started a fresh

chain of surmises. This dastardly act might be that of a spy, intent

upon damaging the tunnel and wrecking the crowded trains.

"Look here, my man," said the lieutenant, "are you game to going and

standing where your chum was posted?"

"What for, sir?" asked the soldier, with obvious reluctance at the

suggestion.

"Oh, never mind. I'll go. You remain here. If you see or hear

anything suspicious, don't hesitate--shoot. You're a fairly good

shot, I hope?"

"Don't know about that, sir; I feel all of a tremble."

"Then fire anywhere, as long as you don't wing me. I want you to prop

yourself between these two rocks and keep as quiet as you possibly

can. Don't let yourself be seen. I'll take your chum's rifle. If you

hear me fire, hop across the line as sharp as you can, with your

bayonet at the charge. Buck up, man, and keep your nerves."

Having seen the sentry take up the position indicated--in a niche

formed by two large boulders in the side of the cutting--Terence

secured the rifle and bayonet of the dead man. The rifle was a

magazineless '303, with Martini action, similar to those issued to

troops engaged in home defence.

Donning the pouches of the unfortunate sentry, the lieutenant took

out a cartridge, inserted it into the breech and closed the

breech-block. Then, having ascertained by touch that the back-sight

was down, he crossed the line and commenced to walk the murdered

sentry's beat.

In the darkness his naval cap and great-coat were not to be

distinguished from those of the man he was impersonating. He felt

certain that should the crime have been committed by a German agent,

the reason was the destruction of the tunnel. When the mail train

stopped, the miscreant would certainly betake himself to a safe

distance; but with his work uncompleted, he would almost certainly

return. He had marked the time when the two sentries were posted he

knew when their reliefs were expected. Before that time he must

render the second sentry incapable of raising an alarm and then

proceed with the blocking of the line.

In his operations the spy had made one serious blunder. He had shot

the sentry, as had been surmised, and had thrown his body on the line

in front of the goods train, so that it would be taken for granted

that the luckless man had been knocked down while incautiously

walking his beat. But instead of the train mangling the victim's body

and thus destroying all traces of the fatal shot, the wheels had only

severed one of the unfortunate man's feet.

For half an hour Terence maintained his sentry-go. The rain was now

falling heavily. His great-coat felt as weighty as lead. The moisture

dropped from the peak of his cap and filled the palm of his left hand

as he held the butt of his rifle.

The sub.'s nerves were in splendid condition. The hand that held the

rifle was as steady as a rock. With eyes and ears strained he paced

to and fro, prepared at the least sound to face about, bring his

rifle to the ready and fire.

From a strategic point of view his position was an unsound one. By

the remaining sentry's description the miscreant must have retired

from the scene of action not by running into the tunnel but by

scaling the fairly accessible wall of rock. Consequently the

anticipated attack would be from that direction, and Terence was

liable to be fired at from a height of from ten to fifty feet above

his head.

Presently a dull but increasing rumble greeted his ears. It was a

local down-train, which had just entered the far end of the tunnel.

Instead of grounding the butt of his rifle and facing the line, as he

had seen other sentries do, the lieutenant marched to the mouth of

the tunnel; then, leaning his shoulder hard against the massive stone

buttress, waited for the train to pass.

A vivid flame spurted from the opposite side of the cutting, followed

practically simultaneously by a sharp report that outvoiced the roar

of the train. The sentry, without waiting to challenge, had "let

rip."

Bringing his rifle to the ready, Terence waited. He had not long to

wait. Silhouetted against the gloomy rain-laden sky--for by this time

Terence's eyes were used to the darkness--appeared the head, arms and

shoulders of a man. In his right hand he held an automatic pistol,

and was now blazing away indiscriminately, judging by the splash of

flame that stabbed the night in varying directions. He seemed to be

leaning over a rock in the side of the cutting with the intention,

now that he had been fired upon, to get at close quarters with the

sentry.

Bringing his rifle to his shoulder Terence aimed low and pressed the

trigger. The fellow gave no convulsive spring; he merely toppled over

and fell on the permanent way just as the train emerged, with a rush

and a roar and a dense cloud of steam, from the tunnel.

Jerking the lever of his breech-block, the lieutenant inserted a

fresh cartridge. He still kept close to the buttress, even after the

train had passed. Experience had taught him the necessity for caution

in dealing with a wily foe. Not that he feared anything from the man

who had been shot. His headlong tumble down the almost precipitous

side of the cutting was too realistic for a person shamming death.

The soldier, emerging from his shelter, began to cross the line.

Before he was half-way across, another shot rang out from the top of

the cutting. The Tommy collapsed in a heap.

Terence let him lie. His whole attention was centred upon the spot

from whence the last bullet had sped. With his rifle ready to be

lifted to his shoulder, Aubyn waited like a hunter stalking his prey.

He knew that he would not have to wait long. A desperate attempt was

being made to destroy the tunnel--an attempt in which the lives of

two or more men mattered but little provided success attended the

miscreants' efforts. The firer of the last shot, he reasoned,

imagined that with the murder of the first sentry, he had only one

man to deal with, and now he was lying motionless on the ballast.

Thinking that "the coast was clear" the desperado would presently

show himself.

A hunched-up shape appeared at the top of the embankment. Some one

was descending with his face towards the rock. He was progressing

slowly and cautiously, making certain that he had obtained a firm

foothold before he groped for a lower one. Every now and then he

would turn his head and look towards the doubled-up body of the

sentry, till, satisfied that there was no danger in that direction,

he gave his whole attention to his descent.

Levelling his rifle, Terence took deliberate aim. He had no qualms in

so doing. The fellow was a murderer and train-wrecker, and

undoubtedly an agent of the German Government. The lieutenant was

alone and unsupported. If he should be "done in" there would be no

further obstacle between the miscreant and the success of his

diabolical scheme. Besides, there might be more than two men engaged

in the enterprise, which, if it matured, might mean the death of

perhaps hundreds of human beings.

Terence aimed fairly in the centre of the climber's back. It afforded

the best target in the darkness.

With no more compunction than if he were shooting a rat, the

lieutenant pressed the trigger.

The report of the rifle was outvoiced by a loud detonation,

accompanied by a vivid flash. For one moment Terence stood stock

still, his eyes temporarily blinded by the sudden glare. Then he

realized that his cap had gone. His face was wet, not with the chilly

rain but with a warm moisture. Something had struck him on the cheek,

inflicting a small cut from which the blood flowed freely.

"A pretty rumpus!" he soliloquized. "The rotter has plugged me--no,

it can't be that. It's only a slight gash. I wonder if he hurled a

bomb."

"Blowed to atoms, sir; that's what's happened to him--the blighter!"

exclaimed a voice that seemed to come from the ground.

"I thought you were a dead man, by Jove!" exclaimed Terence bluntly,

as he recognized the sentry by his voice.

"Not yet, sir," replied the man. "He put a bullet through my

leg--just above the knee. It don't hurt much, but it kippered me, so

I thought I'd lie low and see what happened. I'd a cartridge ready,

though, in case of an accident."

"We ought to stop the next train," said Terence, as he stooped to

recover his cap. "The rail might be damaged. I think that fellow had

a few detonators on him, and my shot did the trick. How did you stop

the train I was in?"

"Had a lantern, sir. It's somewhere along the line. But our chaps

must have heard the racket, an the sergeant'll be coming along in

half a tick."

"Wind the wrong way," declared Terence laconically. "I'll bandage

that leg of yours and then I'll get the lantern."

The miscreant's bullet--from a small calibre high velocity

pistol--had passed completely through the soldier's leg, fortunately

without severing any arteries. Having attended to the wound and

bidden the man sit down by the side of the bank, Aubyn set out on his

search.

It was a fruitless quest. Other means had to be found to bring the

troop train to a standstill.

"There's a signal a couple of hundred yards down the line, sir,"

announced the sentry. "It's worked from a box a long way off. Maybe,

sir, you can climb up and tie this red handkerchief of mine over the

green light."

Terence took the handkerchief. He knew that the plan was a useless

one, since the result would be a semi-opaque gleam, as the red would

neutralize the green. But the red cloth might come in handy. The

matter was urgent, for the train was about due.

As he passed along the up-line his progress was checked by an

enormous boulder that, dislodged by the explosion, had fallen on the

permanent way and across one of the metals. Its weight was far beyond

his strength to move.

Skirting the obstruction the lieutenant broke into a run, keeping up

a hot pace till he reached the foot of the signal post. Already the

red disc had changed to green, showing that, to the signalman's

belief, the line was clear.

Terence knew that if the operating rod could be severed the signal

arm would, by reason of a weighted lever, rise to the "stop"

position. He tugged savagely at it, but without success. A spanner

might have saved the situation, but he was without such an article.

Suddenly an idea flashed through his mind. Ascending the swaying

ladder, he gained the platform just below the arm. Here he could

reach the discs with comparative ease.

"Wind's right direction," he muttered. "Can't blow the light out

very well, so here goes."

Unlacing and pulling off his boot, Terence made a determined

onslaught upon the thick green glass. It stoutly resisted several

blows, cracking at the sixth and shivering out of its frame at the

two next. As the lieutenant had foreseen the now open space was away

from the wind, and beyond a slight unsteadiness the lamp burned well.

Knotting the red handkerchief across the open disc, Terence descended

to take a more remote view of his handiwork. The red light shone

sufficiently bright to be observed at a considerable distance, but as

a matter of precaution he held his rifle ready to fire into the air

to attract the attention of the driver of the on-coming troop train.

"Here she comes," exclaimed Terence, as a dull rumble could be heard

in the distance. Presently a cloud of flame-tinged smoke announced

that the engine had rounded the curve.

Terence raised his rifle, but there was no need to fire. With a loud

grinding of brakes, accompanied by showers of sparks, the train drew

up, the engine coming to a standstill within eighty yards of the

signal post.

"What's up now, mate?" demanded the engine-driver, as, leaning over

the side of the "cab" he saw what he imagined to be one of the

soldiers whom he knew to be stationed on either side of the tunnel.

"Line blocked," replied Terence. "And what's more, two men killed

and another injured."

Leaving the driver to act for himself, Terence passed along the row

of stationary carriages, filled with troops, who, for the most part,

were singing uproariously. A few were looking out of the windows, but

the pulling up of the train had aroused but little curiosity. They

were already too used to being held up on sidings, even in the course

of a comparatively short journey.

At the first first-class carriage he came to, Terence clambered on to

the foot-board and opened the door. Within were a couple of majors, a

captain and a lieutenant enjoying a hand of cards. Briefly Aubyn told

them of what had occurred, and suggested that an investigation should

be made of the victims while the line was being cleared.

"Good idea, by Jove!" exclaimed the senior field-officer.

Alighting, he blew a whistle. The uproar ceased as if by magic, and

the men began to descend from the train. For the most part they

imagined that a Zeppelin had been sighted. They treated the

possibility almost with indifference, but their interest was quickly

excited when they learned that an attempt had been made to derail or

blow up the train.

Accompanied by several of the officers, and escorted by the driver

and the guard of the train and a score of soldiers, Terence led the

way. The obstruction had, fortunately, not fractured either the rail

or the chairs. By the aid of plenty of willing helpers, the rock was

levered back into a shallow ditch at the foot of the cutting. Then

there was just room for the train to pass, for the stone was nearly

ten feet in circumference.

"Here's the sentry," announced Terence, indicating the wounded

soldier.

A number of men carried the luckless Tommy into one of the carriages,

where he was promptly attended to by a captain of the R.A.M.C., while

it was decided to detail two of the men from the troop train to mount

guard until the proper reliefs arrived. Meanwhile, the wounded man

could be taken to the nearest station, close to which was a hospital

where he could be well looked after.

By this time there was light in plenty. Terence had no idea that a

train carried so many lamps.

The next task was to look for the bodies of the two miscreants. That

of the first was discovered in a ditch. He had been shot through the

forehead and through the body, either wound being sufficient to cause

death.

The explanation was simple: one of the wounds had been caused by the

bullet from the sentry's rifle. The victim in his death agonies had

convulsively gripped the trigger of his automatic pistol, and thus

had caused the fusillade Terence had seen and heard. When he fired,

the lieutenant's bullet had also struck the fellow, but by that time

he was already a corpse.

A further search revealed a considerable cavity blown into the side

of the embankment. The rocks around were scorched by the heat of the

explosion, which had horribly mangled the corpse of the second

conspirator, although strangely enough his features were hardly

injured.

A light was flashed upon his face. Terence recognized it instantly.

It was that of Major von Eckenhardt, master-spy and desperate

plotter.

The rascal had met with his deserts. After his escape from Edinburgh

Castle he had, according to his usual practice, laid low for a time.

Then, owing to the adroit manner in which the authorities had made

use of his secret wireless installation, the German Admiralty found

itself landed into a very awkward situation on more than one

occasion. It was not until von Eckenhardt contrived to send a secret

message to his employers, explaining the reason for his failure, that

the German authorities realized that they had been tricked. In reply

came a message savouring of a reprimand. Von Eckenhardt ought, it

said, to have taken greater precautions to prevent such

eventualities. Finally the message hinted pretty broadly that an act

of signal service to the Fatherland would alone atone for the

blunders that the spy had made.

Von Eckenhardt was desperate. He knew that the German Secret Service

had no mercy for its servants who had failed. Indeed, he wondered why

he had been given another chance. By the implied tone of the

communication he realized that he had to undertake a "forlorn hope."

If successful, then, perhaps, he might be reinstated into favour;

otherwise it would be preferable to die rather than face the penalty

for failure.

Hitherto, he had been more or less a director of the spy system. With

the exception, perhaps, of the part he played in attempting to wreck

the "Saraband," he had kept aloof from the actual espionage work.

Now, he decided he must employ his energies in a direct attack upon

the resources of the British Empire.

The news of forthcoming movements on a large scale of troops from the

North of England and Salisbury Plain suggested the great possibility

of a striking example of German "frightfulness." He knew that the

bridges and tunnels would be slenderly guarded, for the precautions

adopted by the British Government at the commencement of hostilities

had slackened.

Accordingly, accompanied by an accomplice who had acted the part of

servant at Tuilabrail Hall, he motored to a town within a few miles

of the tunnel he had selected for his nefarious designs. It was a

simple matter to bluff the proprietor of their hotel, while to excuse

their late hours, von Eckenhardt resolved to send a wire from a place

twenty miles distant, announcing the breakdown of the car. Then,

returning to within half a mile of the tunnel, the two miscreants

left the car in a field and walked stealthily towards the scene of

their proposed operations.

"Time I was out of this," thought Terence. He had no desire to be

dragged into a long-winded coroner's inquest and the subsequent

official inquiries. His evidence would not alter matters in the

faintest degree. Von Eckenhardt would be identified without his help,

and publicity he shrank from.

No one attempted to question the lieutenant as to his name. In the

excitement such a procedure never entered the heads of the military

authorities. So, without attracting the least attention, Terence

walked quietly away, scaled the embankment, crossed a couple of

ploughed fields and struck a roadway.

It was growing light as he entered the town. At a drinking fountain

he washed the dried blood from his face, and having brushed the mud

from his uniform, made his way to the railway station.

Here, exciting little attention, he obtained a ticket to York; had

breakfast at the station, and boarded the next express to Edinburgh.

For the time being, at least, he had evaded the consequences of

having performed another duty for King and country.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE "STRONGBOW'S" PRIZE.

BEFORE eight on the following morning Terence rejoined the

"Strongbow." The heartiness of his welcome almost banished the sense

of disappointment he felt at having to serve on patrol duty instead

of in a sphere of belligerent activity.

Captain Ripponden honoured him by requesting his company at

breakfast; Commander Ramshaw was enthusiastic at seeing his former

fourth officer again; even the somewhat taciturn Lymore smiled grimly

as he shook Aubyn's hand; while Chief-Engineer McBride delivered such

a welcome in the broadest Scotch that he was seized with a fit of

violent coughing that did not subside till he rushed to his cabin and

drained a stiff glass of "Hie'land Dew."

Kenneth Raeburn, who happened to be on watch in the engine-room on

Terence's arrival, quickly sought out his chum as soon as he was off

duty.

"I hear you've been having a high old time," he exclaimed

boisterously. "You always were a lucky chap, old man. Let's hear all

about it."

"I'll begin stern-foremost," began Terence, and to Raeburn's

astonishment he related the circumstances that culminated in the

death of Karl von Eckenhardt.

"By Jove, old man, you'll be lionized over this business!--saving a

troop train and settling that bounder."

"I think not," rejoined Terence. "Fact is, I slipped away while they

were all busy with the investigations. Didn't want to be detained

over a rotten inquest. Don't believe in them myself."

"Neither do I," asserted Raeburn. "I had to attend one once, and the

whole thing struck me as an utter farce, beginning with the false

evidence of the village bobby and finishing up with the doctor's

report. I know for a fact that when he examined the body he was as

drunk as a fiddler. But is there anything in the papers?"

"Can't tell," replied Terence. "The bumboat hasn't come alongside

yet. Anyway, I don't want you to say a word to anybody about the

business; I want to be afloat. Any idea of the programme?"

"Same old game," said Kenneth, with a grin. "Between the south of

Iceland and the Faroe Islands. Hullo, here's the bumboat! Now for a

paper."

The "Strongbow" was lying about a mile from the West Pier of the port

of Leith in company with half a dozen Admiralty craft of various

sizes. Communication with the shore was maintained by means of

frequent picquet boats, while tradesmen were allowed to supply

luxuries to the ships by means of sailing craft known from time

immemorial as bumboats.

Terence showed no hurry in securing his copy of the paper, but his

interest was none the less acute. Having received one he retired to

the seclusion of the deserted smoking-room and opened the damp

sheets.

Quickly he scanned the news columns. Nothing escaped him, but there

was no mention of the attempted outrage on the troop train. For good

reasons, mainly to avoid creating any alarm on the part of the public

and partly to conceal the fact from the German authorities that their

master-spy had paid the penalty for his activities, the news had been

completely suppressed by the Censor, although already eight-hundred

soldiers were spreading the report amongst their comrades on

Salisbury Plain.

Terence gave vent to a chuckle of satisfaction. Nevertheless, he kept

an anxious eye on the boats putting off to the ship, in case one of

them contained a messenger bearing a demand for the lieutenant to

report himself to the civil authorities. Nor did his uneasiness

subside until the "Strongbow" weighed and proceeded towards her

station.

For weeks she cruised, save for the short visits she was compelled to

pay when requiring coal and provisions. Yet nothing occurred to mar

the uneventfulness of that lone patrol.

The principal topic on board was now the question of the Dardanelles

operations, of which reports were received by wireless.

Amongst the officers there were two distinct parties in the matter of

opinion. One, headed by Commander Ramshaw, expressed the belief in

the success of the attempt to force the supposedly impregnable

waterway. The other, though smaller, was represented by Lieutenant

Lymore, who pessimistically regarded the operations as hopeless.

"It's not the Turkish guns," he declared. "It's that rotten current

setting down from the Marmora. I've been there, and I know what it's

like. The Turks will be chucking cartloads of mines overboard, and

there'll be no end of a mess up."

The very next morning came the news of the totally unexpected

appearance of the Super-Dreadnought "Queen Elizabeth." Ramshaw was so

elated that he upset a cup of coffee over the ward-room tablecloth,

and cheerfully paid up the sixpence demanded by McQuid, the assistant

paymaster, who in his capacity of member of the Mess Committee was as

sharp as needles in mulcting a delinquent.

"That's the way," declared the commander. "Taking those forts in the

rear. They'll be through within a week."

A week passed, and still no news of the successful forcing of the

Dardanelles. Then came the disquieting tidings of the sinking of the

"Ocean," "Irresistible," and "Bouvet" and the disablement of the

"Gaulois."

"Just what I said!" declared Lymore. "It's those beastly mines. Now,

if I had a prominent voice----"

"You have, old man!" exclaimed the assistant paymaster.

Lymore glared at the interrupter.

"I'd chuck the idea of pushing up through the Narrows."

"A pretty figure you'd cut," remarked McBride. "There's nae true

Briton wha'd back down once he's taken on the wurrk."

"I didn't mean that, my dear sir," continued the lieutenant. "I'd

devote my energies in another direction. There's the Peninsula of

Saros, about five miles in width and about eighty feet in height."

"Well?" inquired the assistant paymaster.

"I'd land a strong force under cover of the warship guns, whip

together a regular army of navvies and all the steam navvies I could

lay my hands on. In six weeks, and at a cost of less than that of the

battleships we've already lost, there would be a canal twelve feet in

depth from the Gulf of Saros to the Sea of Marmora. And, remember,

both seas are practically tideless."

"Sounds feasible, laddie," remarked McBride.

"And then it would be a simple matter to send out the monitors. With

their draught of seven feet they could easily pass through, as well

as our earlier type of destroyers. Without paying the faintest

attention to the Dardanelles forts the monitors could strike hard at

Constantinople."

"Lymore, you ought to be on the Board of Admiralty," said Commander

Ramshaw gravely.

"Instead of which I'm only a Reserve officer on the armed merchantman

'Strongbow'," added Lymore, with a grim smile.

At that moment came a knock at the wardroom door, and a messenger

announced that an accident had occurred in the engine-room.

McBride was on his feet in an instant. The thought of anything

happening to his beloved engines acted like a red rag to a bull.

All the executive officers not actually on duty gathered round the

engine-room hatchway, from which clouds of steam were issuing. It was

as far as they dared go towards setting foot in McBride's domain.

After ten minutes' wait, two stokers were sent on deck, both

suffering from severe scalds. These were followed by Kenneth Raeburn,

whose right arm was swathed in cotton waste soaked with oil.

"Rotten luck, old man!" he exclaimed, with forced cheerfulness, as he

caught sight of his chum, Terence. "It's not much as far as I am

concerned; merely a slight burn."

Aubyn could see by the expression upon the assistant engineer's

features that he was suffering acutely. He did not know at the time

that in addition to being severely scalded by the bursting of a steam

pipe, Raeburn's wrist had been broken in a gallant attempt to rescue

the two stokers as they lay, overcome by the hot steam, upon the

floor of the stokehold.

Terence accompanied his chum to the sick-bay, where the surgeon

quickly made the discovery that the plucky officer had sustained

injuries that would probably necessitate his being invalided out of

the Service.

Kenneth read the doctor's fears as clearly as if he had been bluntly

told the truth.

"Hard lines," he exclaimed. "Looks as if I'm to be chucked out of

the old 'Strongbow'."

"Only for a time, I hope," rejoined the surgeon. "Now, keep as steady

as you can. I may hurt you a bit."

Aubyn watched his chum's face as he proceeded to dress the doubly

injured limb. Beads of perspiration stood out on the young assistant

engineer's face, but not a sound escaped from his lips, but before

the dressing was completed Kenneth fainted.

"He's real pluck," declared the surgeon. "I dare not give him an

anaesthetic, and the fracture of the wrist, complicated by the burns,

made it a fearfully painful business for him. It's as well he's

unconscious."

"Will he be invalided?" asked Aubyn.

"I'm afraid so," replied the medico. "The effect of the burn upon

the tendons will probably result in a permanent weakening of the

muscular action of the hand. I may be wrong--I hope so; but time

alone will tell."

For the next week Raeburn was confined to the sick-bay. At the end of

that time he was able to get on deck, with his bandaged arm in a

sling. The doctor suggested to Captain Ripponden the desirability of

landing the patient at the first opportunity, and the captain

concurred.

Two days later a sail was reported. Of late the "Strongbow" had not

fallen in with any craft, either British or neutral, and the news was

hailed with mild excitement. Anything to relieve the monotony of the

daily routine was welcome.

As soon as the stranger sighted the British merchant-cruiser he

turned tail and steamed as hard as he could. A thrill of expectancy

took possession of the "Strongbow's" crew. They were out to chase

something, and the mere fact that the unknown vessel had shown her

heels went to prove that she was a of suspicious character.

Calling every ounce of steam, Captain Ripponden stood in pursuit. It

was the first time in her existence as an armed merchant-cruiser that

the "Strongbow" was called upon to engage in a chase. Hitherto every

craft she had subjected to examination had submitted passively. Now

she was having a run for her money. Her hull quivered under the rapid

pulsations of her powerful engines. The grey paint on her funnel

casings blistered and peeled in large flakes, while for miles astern

the thick cloud of smoke gave some indication of the activities of

the "black squad" as they piled shovelful after shovelful of coal

into the furnaces.

Half an hour's chase showed that the "Strongbow" was overhauling her

quarry. Twenty minutes later the merchant-cruiser dropped a plugged

shell a hundred yards abeam of the fugitive. Even this was not

sufficient to impress upon the stranger that the game was up, and it

was not until the "Strongbow" planted another shot within fifty feet

of the unknown vessel that she slowed down and hoisted Norwegian

colours.

The craft proved to be the "Roldal," a passenger and cargo steamer,

of Bergen; but the fact that she had attempted to escape was in

itself significant.

"Boarding-party away."

Into the boat tumbled fifteen bluejackets. In command was Lieutenant

Terence Aubyn.

"I protest against the outrage," exclaimed the Norwegian captain in

good English, as the boat ran alongside the "Roldal," which was now

hove-to within two cables' lengths of her successful pursuer. "This

is a neutral ship."

"And carries twenty passengers--citizens of the Republic of the

United States of America, sonny," added a man standing by the

gangway, whose "twang" would in itself be a sufficient indication of

his nationality.

"Sorry, captain," replied Terence, "but my duty compels me to board

you."

"Then a curse upon your duty!" retorted the captain. "Your

Government will regret this outrage."

"If you will kindly allow me to come on board," remarked the

lieutenant courteously, according to his instructions, although he

felt he would have given a month's pay to have spoken his mind,

"I'll go through the formality of examining your papers, and if they

are in order you will not be detained more than a few minutes."

After intentional delay a tarry rope-ladder was lowered. Terence

could have insisted upon having the accommodation-ladder let down,

but instead he swarmed up the swaying perpendicular means of access,

and followed by six of his men gained the "Roldal's" deck.

Ignoring the studied rudeness of the passengers, one of whom loudly

protested against the "darned interference of cocksure Britishers!"

Terence requested the captain to produce the ship's papers.

Grudgingly these documents were handed over. The "Roldal" was a

Norwegian-owned vessel, bound from Boston, U.S.A., to Bergen. Her

passenger list showed that there were nineteen American subjects and

four Norwegian. Her cargo consisted of wheat and iron ware.

Glancing down the passenger list Terence saw the name "Octavius P.

Rand, of Norfolk, Virginia." Going to the door of the cabin he

requested the owner of the name to step forward.

There were looks of blank astonishment on the faces of eighteen of

the American citizens. The nineteenth, the fellow who had protested

so emphatically, began nudging a round-faced man in the group.

"You are Octavius P. Rand?" inquired the lieutenant, and receiving an

affirmative reply, conveyed by means of a decided inclination of the

head, he asked the man a few questions of various places in

Norfolk--a town with which Terence happened to be fairly well

acquainted. It was quickly apparent that the so-called Octavius had

never set foot in that part of Virginia. By his Teutonic accent he

was either a German or a German-American.

Of the others not one could speak English properly. They were

eighteen Germans, domiciled in the United States, but on the way to

the Fatherland to join the reserves. The nineteenth was a Yankee

agent for a munition business in Hamburg.

A peculiar buzzing from the wireless-room of the "Roldal" told

Terence that the operators were at work. Ordering two armed seamen to

follow him, the lieutenant peremptorily told the wireless men to

cease operations, and having placed sentries outside the door, he

returned to his work of examination.

The Bills of Lading, Manifest, and Charter Party were palpable

forgeries, while a survey of the hold showed that a quantity of the

"iron ware" was copper ingots.

"You must consider your ship under arrest," declared Terence to the

still aggressive skipper.

Without a word the captain flung himself into his cabin. He did not

mind the ship being taken as a prize. His liberty would not be

affected, since he was a Norwegian subject, while a substantial sum

of money had already been paid to him by his employers, and the money

had been sent by mailboat to his home. He had no interests at stake,

but he was determined not to render his captors the slightest

assistance in navigating the ship.

Leaving a strong armed party on board the prize, Terence returned to

the "Strongbow" and made his report. On the strength of this Captain

Ripponden had no hesitation in taking possession of the ship. A

wireless was sent to the Admiral of the Armed Merchant Fleet

announcing the capture, and proposing that the "Strongbow" should

escort the "Roldal" into Cromarty Firth.

Promptly came the reply: "'Strongbow' not to escort prize. Send

'Roldal' into Cromarty Firth with a prize crew."

"Very good," commented Captain Ripponden when the message was

delivered. "Mr. Aubyn, you will please take command of the prize,

and upon arrival at Dingwall hand her over to the authorities for

disposal. Then bring your men on to Leith. We will be putting in

there for coal on the 26th, and you can rejoin the ship on that

date."

The lieutenant saluted, and turned to go to his cabin and make brief

but urgent preparations for his independent command.

"One moment, Mr. Aubyn."

Terence saluted and awaited the captain's pleasure.

"You may as well take Mr. Raeburn with you," continued Captain

Ripponden. "Dr. Hardiman seems to think that the sooner he is ashore

and able to obtain hospital treatment the better. Now, carry on, and

good luck to you."

Ten minutes later Terence and Kenneth were ready to proceed to the

prize. The assistant engineer, in spite of the fact that his right

arm was still crippled and showed no immediate prospects of healing,

was in the best of spirits and, unassisted, gained the stern-sheets

of the boat amid a fire of farewell greetings from his

brother-officers.

"Give way!" ordered Terence.

The men bent to their supple ash oars with a will, while the

lieutenant steered towards the prize.

"What's up, old man?" he asked, suddenly noticing a perplexed look on

Raeburn's face.

"Left my best pipe behind," was the dejected reply. "No, don't put

back--'tis beastly unlucky."

He faced aft, then using his sound hand as a speaking trumpet he

shouted to another assistant engineer.

"I say, Smithers, I've left a presentation pipe in my cabin. You

might look to it, old man."

"Right-o!" was the reply. "I'll send it off as soon as we arrive at

Leith. You can rely upon getting it by Monday morning. So don't get

into a tear."

"If I don't, look out for squalls," retorted Kenneth.

Smithers shouted something in reply that was evidently intended to be

facetious, but by this time the distance between the "Strongbow" and

the receding boat was too great for the words to be understood.

"I'll never forgive old Hardiman for having me sent ashore," declared

Raeburn. "It isn't as if I were properly crocked. I could do a trick

in the engine-room even with a damaged hand. It's hard lines on

Smithers and the others: they'll have to put in extra time."

Terence did not reply. He knew that it would be a long time--perhaps

never--before Kenneth Raeburn would be on duty in the engine-room of

a British warship, or even on a merchantman.

By the time the boat came alongside the "Roldal" those of the

"Strongbow's" crew who had been left on board the prize had cleared

away and lowered the accommodation-ladder. The Norwegians had stood

sullenly aside, not a man stirring a finger to help. The skipper had

made up his mind to adopt an attitude of passive resistance, and his

crew took their cue from him.

As soon as the rest of the prize crew boarded the ship and their

scanty gear and provisions hoisted up, the boat returned to the

"Strongbow."

From the yard-arm of the latter a string of bunting fluttered in the

breeze. It was the signal to part company. Then gathering way the

armed merchantman circled to port, and steamed in a westerly

direction.

Left to himself Terence proceeded to take the necessary steps for the

safeguarding of his charge. The Norwegian crew were ordered to keep

for'ard; the officers were allowed the run of the deck aft, while the

passengers, with the exception of the American, were placed under

arrest as German subjects capable of bearing arms.

Since the ship's officers bluntly refused to take any part in

navigating the ship, Terence had a bed prepared in the chart-room. He

knew that it meant forty-eight hours' duty.

He was short-handed. With sentries posted at the wireless-room, the

fo'c'sle, and over the prisoners, the number of men at his disposal

was far too small. He could not compel the engine-room staff to work;

so some of his own men were sent to the stokehold and engine-room

under the charge of an experienced engine-room artificer. Yet in

spite of the willingness of the volunteer stokers, it was impossible

to keep a full head of steam. Eleven knots was the maximum speed that

could, under these circumstances, be screwed out of the captured

"Roldal."

Before night the wind freshened. By six bells in the middle watch it

was blowing a gale from the east'ard. The "Roldal" made bad weather

of it. Broadside on to the direction of the wind she rolled like a

barrel, shipping green seas amidships.

Clad in oilskins Terence remained on the bridge throughout the

terrible night. He mentally condemned the fate that put him in charge

of a cranky tramp-steamer, when he might be sleeping soundly on board

the weatherly "Strongbow." Hour after hour he stood gripping the rail

of the erratically swaying bridge and peering through the welter of

broken water and pitch-dark sky. For the first time in his nautical

existence he realized the responsibility of being in sole charge of a

ship and of the lives of men.

Before it was dawn a hideous clamour, distinctly audible above the

howling of the gale, came from somewhere for'ard. Terence strained

his ears to try to detect by the nature of the sound what had gone

adrift. It was the clanging of metal against metal.

Watching their opportunity during the slight interval when the broken

water receded from amidships, two of the prize crew dashed aft from

the fo'c'sle and sprang up the bridge-ladder.

"Starboard anchor broken adrift, sir," reported one. "It's hammering

against the bows for all it's worth."

Aubyn considered the problem for a few moments. To send some of the

scanty crew to work upon the exposed fo'c'sle to secure and re-cat

the recalcitrant anchor would be a difficult task even with

sufficient hands and in a moderate sea. Better by far unshackle the

cable and allow the anchor to go.

He gave the order. Between the pounding of the heavy mass of forged

steel, for the anchor weighed more than a ton, could be heard the

blows of the mauls as the two seamen knocked out the pin of the

shackle. Then, after the whirr of the chain through the hawse-pipe,

the noise ceased. Terence knew that the anchor had plunged to the

bottom of the Atlantic.

A babel of shouting came from the forepeak. The Norwegian seamen were

clambering to be let out. There was no need for Terence to ask why:

the damage was already done, for the "bills" of the anchor had

penetrated the hull below the water-line.

The sense of danger had overcome their resolution to remain passive.

They had attempted to plug the hole with hammocks, but the inrush of

water was too great. Already the forepeak was flooded to a depth of

three feet.

Shouting orders to the engine-room for the bilge and condenser pumps

to be brought into action, Terence bade the quartermaster turn the

ship head to wind. Even as the "Roldal" swung round, a terrific sea

slapped her quarter and wrenched away the rudder brackets. The strain

upon the insufficiently supported rudder resulted in the carrying

away of the sole means of steering, for being a single screw vessel

it was not possible to control her by means of the propeller.

Her only chance lay in forging ahead and trusting to luck that she

did not fall off and wallow in the trough of the mountainous seas.

Mechanically the quartermaster stood by the steam steering-gear.

Years of implicit trusting to a vessel to answer to her helm had left

such an impression upon the seaman that he could not realize that the

sole means of keeping the vessel on her course was denied him.

The "Roldal" was slowly turning to starboard. At one moment her stern

would be deep in the waves, at another it would be high in the air,

accompanied by a nerve-racking jar as the propeller, lifted from its

natural element, raced wildly. Then, _swish!_ A cascade of surging

green water would sweep across the deck and pour in a smother of

white foam to leeward.

Another appalling crash aft caused Terence to turn his head. To his

dismay he saw that one of the fore mainmast derricks, which had been

triced up and housed in a perpendicular position, had broken adrift.

Like a gigantic flail it swept from side to side, clearing rails and

deck-fittings as easily as if they were made of matchwood.

For a few seconds the heavy spars would bring up against the foremast

iron wire shrouds supporting the mainmast, then, with the roll of the

vessel, it would fly against the corresponding one on the other side,

making the stay sing like a gigantic harp-string. A few minutes of

that sort of game, Terence knew, would result in the carrying away of

the shrouds and the loss of the mainmast.

The lieutenant motioned to some of the men: his own crew and a few of

the Norwegians were sheltering under the lee of one of the intact

deck-houses. At all costs the erratic derrick must be secured.

The men obeyed the unspoken order, for it would be useless even to

shout in the midst of the tumult. Rigging a tackle they awaited an

opportunity to slip a stout strip over the end of the terrible flail.

Over came the spar, missing a man's head by a hair's-breadth. Two of

the Norwegians sought to secure the derrick during its temporary

inactivity, but an extra roll to leeward caused the spar to give an

irresistible lurch. The next instant the men were hurled into the

mountainous sea.

Nothing could be done to save them. To lower a boat would be a worse

than useless act. It would be simply throwing away human life in an

impossible attempt to save two already doomed men.

One of the unfortunate wretches was apparently stunned by the blow,

for he was never seen again; the other could be discerned for a brief

instant as he raised his arms in a mute despairing appeal for aid

that was not humanly possible; then he was lost to sight in the chaos

of the dark turmoil of broken water.

Dawn was just breaking as a sudden rush of steam through the

engine-room fidley, followed by the slowing down of the engines,

announced the disconcerting fact that the water had put out the

stokehold fires. Quickly losing way the "Roldal" rolled excessively,

helpless in the trough of the raging sea.

Hanging on to the rail like grim death the now thoroughly chastened

Norwegian skipper mounted the bridge. Terence offered no objection.

In the hour of danger little unpleasantnesses were lost sight of.

They were now human beings fighting against a common foe.

"Can you set canvas on her?" shouted Aubyn.

The Norwegian understood.

"Ay," he roared in reply. "I will see to that."

Calling half a dozen of the men the skipper, accompanied by the first

and second mates, made their way for'ard, not without imminent danger

of being washed overboard. From the partly flooded sail-locker a

storm staysail was produced. It had been rolled up for months,

perhaps for years. Its hanks were stiff with rust. It took ten

minutes' hard work to bend the canvas to the forestay; then slowly it

was sent up and sheeted home. Gradually the vessel's head began to

pay off. Under the pressure of the sail she would run before the

wind. It was her one chance. Scudding before the mountainous seas the

"Roldal" might keep afloat some hours longer, in which time she might

be sighted by another ship and her crew given a fighting chance of

being rescued.

Without warning came a sharp, whip-like crack. The clew cringle of

the sail had burst. With a series of terrific reports, like the bark

of a quick-firer, the rotten canvas flogged itself to ribbons. In two

minutes hardly a vestige of the staysail was to be seen.

Once again, helpless and in imminent danger of foundering, now that

the steam-pumps were useless, the ship rolled broadside on in the

trough of the waves. The motion was now decidedly sluggish, her

recovery slow. Another hour, or two at the very most, would see the

end unless something totally unforeseen occurred to baulk the sea of

its prey.

"Land ahead!"

Five miles to leeward appeared a chain of rugged cliffs, topped with

treeless ground that culminated in a gaunt peak. Here and there were

gaps of varying sizes, but whether these were inlets, or merely

patches of low-lying ground, invisible owing to the curvature of the

ocean, the lieutenant could not for the time being decide.

All this while, from the moment the Norwegian operator thought it

advisable to relinquish his attitude of passive resistance, the

wireless had been sending out calls for aid; but, although Terence

swept the horizon with his glasses, no smoke announced the approach

of a succouring steamer.

Presently a line of surf, as the tremendous seas hurled themselves

against the rock-bound coast, became visible. The "Roldal" was

evidently doomed either to founder or else be driven upon the bleak

and frowning cliffs.

Suddenly the quartermaster, forgetting disparity in rank in his

excitement, grasped Terence by the arm.

"Look, sir!" he exclaimed. "A submarine!"

CHAPTER XXV.

THE WRECK.

THE Norwegian skipper saw the twin periscopes almost at the same

time, as, owing to the "jump" of the submarine, they bobbed up and

down in the raging sea. At one moment they would be completely

submerged; at another the top of the conning-tower would appear above

the surface.

"German, eh?" asked the skipper, with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Them everywhere; but I think they will not hurt us--we Norwegian

ship. They go to read name on our stern."

Terence did not reply. He gripped the rail and looked stedfastly in

the direction of the latest menace. It reminded him of that awful

period of suspense when the torpedo came speeding towards the

ill-fated "Terrier."

Perhaps, seeing the desperate plight of the "Roldal" the German

commander would not waste a precious torpedo. If he did, Terence

reasoned it would only hasten the seemingly inevitable end.

"By Jove, what a chance if we had a quick-firer!" exclaimed a voice

in his ear, and turning the lieutenant saw that Raeburn had emerged

from the chart-room, where he had been during all those hours of

danger.

"And if we had use of the helm we would settle her," added Aubyn.

"As it is----"

A glistening object cleaving through the waves caused him to break

off suddenly. The submarine, with a fiendish disregard of humanity's

laws, had let loose a torpedo.

It came straight towards the luckless "Roldal," at times jumping

clear of the terrific seas, at others cutting through the great waves

with a hiss of escaping air and a smother of foam from its double

propellers.

Fully expecting the missile to strike fairly amidships and

immediately under the bridge the three officers scurried to the

starboard side, Kenneth being assisted by his chum as he lurched

across the steeply shelving planks.

"Missed!" he shouted, as the wake of the receding torpedo caught his

eye. The weapon had, owing to an erratic roll of the ship, passed a

few inches beneath her keel and was now expending its store of

compressed air in a useless run.

"The lubbers! The lubbers!" exclaimed the Norwegian skipper, using a

term which he considered to be the last word of nautical malediction.

Whatever sympathies he had for the Teuton had now flown to the winds.

The torpedo from the recreant submarine had converted one more

biassed neutral into a staunch moral foe of kultur.

Chagrined by the failure, the German submarine did not discharge

another torpedo. Her periscopes disappeared, and although Aubyn kept

a vigilant lookout, he saw no more signs of her.

By this time the "Roldal" was badly down by the head. At intervals it

seemed as if she would not shake herself free of the tons of water

that poured over her decks. Her very sluggishness suggested to the

experienced seamen that there was very little life left in the

vessel.

"Release the prisoners, Saunders," ordered Terence, leaning over the

bridge rails and addressing a petty officer. "See that they are

served out with lifebelts."

"Ay, ay, sir," replied the man, as he hurried below, where eighteen

frenzied Germans were clamouring to be let out.

There was nothing more to be done to safeguard the lives of the crew.

The men, British and Norwegian, were steady and under perfect

control. All wore either life-belts or inflated swimming-collars,

although the possibility of gaining the shore seemed very remote in

view of the mountainous seas breaking against the sheer wall of

iron-bound cliff.

"Let me give you a hand, old man," said Terence, offering a life-belt

to Raeburn.

The assistant engineer shook his head.

"Thanks, I'm not having any," he replied. "I never was fond of icy

cold water, so the sooner it's over the better. Wonder what old

Smithers will do with my pipe? I wish I had it now."

"Try a cigarette," suggested Aubyn.

Kenneth took one from the proffered case, and, awaiting his

opportunity, made a dash for the lee side of the chart-house. In a

few seconds he was back again, with the cigarette between his teeth.

A shower of ice spray extinguished it, but seemingly unconscious of

the fact he puffed away at the unlighted cigarette.

One of the "Strongbow's" men ascended a few rungs of the ladder and

saluted. Terence beckoned him to come close.

"Beg pardon, sir," announced the seaman, "I know the coast. We're

drifting on to a bad part of the Shetlands. Yon island's Unst;

t'other is Fetlar, and beyond it, though it looks all one island, is

Yell. D'ye happen to know what time o' tide it is, sir?"

"High water at about seven o'clock at Lerwick," replied Terence.

"Then, sir, if we hit to the south'ard of Fetlar, God help us. It's

sure death; but if so be we get swept to the nor'ard of it, there's a

'swilkie'--that's what they call a race in these parts--that'll take

us into Dalsetter--unless we founder first," he added, as an

after-thought.

Anxiously Aubyn kept his telescope levelled on the north end of

Fetlar. By taking a bearing he was able to realize that the ship had

a perceptible northerly drift. If this movement were maintained it

might be possible to escape being cast upon the perpendicular cliffs,

otherwise all hopes of rescue must be abandoned.

In breathless suspense the crew watched their vessel bear down upon

the forbidding shore, till caught by the "swilkie" she was swept

clear of the dreaded cape. Yet so close had she shaved the land that

in fine weather it would have been possible to "toss a biscuit"

ashore.

Although the sea still ran high the force of the wind was lessened by

the slight shelter afforded by the island. Ahead lay the large island

of Yell, wherein could be distinguished the comparatively safe haven

that terminates at the village of Dalsetter.

"Look, sir," exclaimed the seaman, who at Terence's request had

remained on the bridge. "There are people ashore. They're signalling

to us to edge to starboard."

"Would if we could," muttered the lieutenant grimly. "By Jove,

they're sending out a couple of boats."

Such was the case. In spite of the mountainous seas, some of the

hardy Shetlanders had put off in two of the typically seaworthy craft

for which Lerwick and the fishing harbours of these islands are

justly celebrated.

Tack after tack they made. At times only the peaks of the closely

reefed dipping lugsails were visible. The rest of the boats were lost

to sight between the crests of the waves.

It was soon evident to the Shetland fishermen that they could do

nothing in the way of salvage, and having been able to ascertain that

the distressed vessel was not under control and incapable of

answering to her helm, they contented themselves by tacking to and

fro to wind'ard, waiting for the "Roldal" to make her final plunge.

Yet the Norwegian vessel showed no undue haste. She had reached a

certain stage when she retained just sufficient buoyancy to keep her

afloat. After all, it seemed as if she would ground rather than

founder.

"We can't fetch the creek, sir," declared the seaman. "We're setting

too much to the nor'ard. It's only a question of time, sir."

Almost as he spoke the "Roldal's" hull shuddered under a terrific

blow. Heeling to port, she swung almost broadside on to the waves;

with a crash her masts went by the board, the foremast buckling close

to the deck, and about ten feet of the main-mast remaining.

Two more heavy bumps she gave, then, settling on hard rock, merely

quivered as the seas broke over her.

"Hold on, men, for your lives!" shouted Terence. "The tide's ebbing.

We may be all right even yet."

The crew needed no caution in this respect. Hanging on desperately to

whatever came to hand they resisted the efforts of the breakers to

sweep them overboard and into the chaos of broken water between them

and the low cliffs.

The fishing-boats had gone. Brave as were their crews the hardy

Shetlanders knew that to venture anywhere in the vicinity of the

stranded vessel meant almost certain death without the slightest

chance to render any assistance.

Then, with surprising suddenness, the summit of the hitherto deserted

cliffs was teeming with people--men, women, and children. The

inhabitants of the little village had been waiting by the side of the

sheltered firth, fully expecting to see the disabled vessel crawl

into safety. But with the news that she had failed to weather the

headland they rushed to the cliffs, and, what was more, they brought

a rocket apparatus with them.

The first rocket, deflected by the wind, fell fifty feet from the

wreck. The second was fired immediately on the deck of the "Roldal."

Several of the seaman, at imminent risk of being swept overboard,

secured the light line and began to haul away.

In ten minutes a means of communication with the shore was

established. Beginning with the prisoners, the shipwrecked party were

hauled to land, one by one till only Raeburn and Terence were left,

for in spite of Aubyn's representations that the partly disabled

officer should be sent early in the course of the operations, Kenneth

stoutly refused to budge until all the passengers and crew were

saved.

"Now, then, old man," exclaimed Terence. Gently he assisted his chum

into the breeches-buoy, and, since the assistant engineer was

incapable of raising his right hand and arm, the lieutenant made him

additionally secure by lashing a rope round his shoulders and to the

slings of the buoy.

"'Fraid I'll get a ducking after all," remarked Kenneth, with mock

ruefulness. "Never mind, I'll get my pipe again."

Terence gave the signal. The strain on the hauling rope increased,

and Kenneth started on his semi-aerial, semi-submarine journey to the

cliffs of Yell.

Anxiously the lieutenant followed his chum's progress. He knew how

hard the tail of a wave can hit, and that Kenneth was in serious

danger of having his still unhealed arm broken again by even a fairly

light blow. White-crested waves were breaking right over the occupant

of the breeches-buoy, for he was now nearly half-way to the shore and

at the lowermost limit of the sagging rope. At times lifted by the

seas, he would be swung into an almost horizontal position. At others

he would be suspended in the air, with the water pouring from him

like a miniature cascade.

"He's making slow progress," thought Terence. Then he looked at the

endless travelling line. It was not running through the block.

Something had jammed and the men on the cliff were unable to haul the

breeches-buoy another foot.

Frantically Terence signalled for them to slack away. Putting every

ounce of strength into his effort he tugged at the line in the hope

of freeing it from the jammed block, but without avail.

"He'll be drowned, or he'll die of exposure," thought Terence, as he

desperately taxed his powers of resourcefulness to devise some means

of extricating his comrade from his dangerous position.

"There's only one thing to be done," he continued. "It's kill or

cure, so here goes."

Pulling out his pocket-knife, Terence made his way to the stump of

the mainmast, to which, ten feet above the deck, was bent the "tail

jigger," or rope through which the endless line was rove and the

stout hawser from which the breeches-buoy was suspended.

Securing a foothold on the spider-band Aubyn found that he could now

easily reach the object of his attack. The blade of his knife, though

small, was sharp. The strain on the hemp aided his efforts, and in a

very short time both means of communication with the shore were

severed.

His own retreat was cut off, but the helpers on the cliff were now

able to haul Kenneth through the breakers. They understood the act of

self-sacrifice of the solitary figure on the wreck and acted

promptly.

[Illustration: "The strain on the hemp aided his efforts."]

Anxiously he followed the progress of that small black object that

was being towed rapidly towards the base of the cliffs. He knew the

risk. Even in the case of a man in full possession of the use of his

limbs the danger of being hurled against that almost perpendicular

wall of rock was appalling.

He held his breath. Kenneth was clear of the waves--no, almost, for a

smother of white foam had hidden him temporarily from the

lieutenant's sight. The next moment the surf had subsided, revealing

the breeches-buoy and its occupant like a spider at the end of its

thread.

The rope was swinging violently, but owing to the fact that here the

cliffs overhung the sea Raeburn was not being continually bumped

against the rocks. Instead he seemed to be clear of that danger, and

the higher he was pulled up, the shorter became the swing of that

exaggerated pendulum.

Men were lying flat upon the brink, waiting to receive the rescued

officer. Others, still hauling, but with less speed, awaited the

order to belay. The last ten feet of the ascent were the most

difficult of all, for here Kenneth's body and maimed limb were in

actual contact with the rugged granite. Yet, from where he stood,

Terence could see no sign of life in the saturated burden of the

breeches-buoy.

Now the rescuers had the object of their attention within arms'

reach. Grasped by the muscular hands of the hardy Shetlanders,

Kenneth was lifted clear of the jagged edge of the cliff. Willing

helpers released him from the buoy, and still without showing signs

of movement Raeburn was carried out of his chum's sight.

Leaning against the lee side of the chart-house, for the bridge was

now at an alarming angle, Terence quietly reviewed the position. The

"Roldal" was breaking up fast. Already the bow portion had vanished,

and the 'midship portion seemed in a great hurry to disintegrate

itself under the sledge-hammer like blows of the waves.

His first idea was to throw himself into the sea and trust to fate.

He might perhaps escape being dashed against the cliff and contrive

to seize a bowline lowered from above; but the possibility of getting

safely through that turmoil seemed wellnigh hopeless.

The tide was still falling. Every few minutes meant the uncovering of

the reef on which the vessel struck, and a compensating diminution of

the force of the waves. On the other hand, delay resulted in the

increase of the numbness of his body and limbs, which were already

feeling the effects of the cold and wet.

Hundreds of eyes were fixed upon him. In addition to the inhabitants

of the village and the surrounding district, his own men and the

Norwegian crew were standing on the cliffs in apparent helplessness,

waiting for the final act of the tragedy.

Presently a hand-cart drawn by half a dozen fishermen appeared upon

the scene. It was another life-saving apparatus, for the first had

been rendered useless owing to the accident.

With a hiss the light-line fell handsomely across the wreck, the rope

almost falling into Terence's hand. To it was attached the hawser,

but the lieutenant knew that it was beyond his strength to attach the

stout rope to the stump of the mast. Since Raeburn had been hauled

through the breaking seas, he argued, why could he not follow his

example?

Securing the running rope round his waist, and making sure that no

part of the gear was likely to foul any part of the wreckage, Terence

made his way down the shelving bridge. The lee side was now only six

or seven feet above the water. The whole structure was quivering

violently. At the most it could not hold together for many minutes

longer.

Using his arms as a semaphore the lieutenant signalled to those on

shore that he was ready to be hauled through the surf. A reply to the

effect that he was understood came from the "Strongbow's" men. Then,

making a leap clear of the bridge, Terence plunged into the sea. Even

as he did so, the chart-house and the weather part of the bridge were

swept bodily away.

Upon rising to the surface Aubyn found himself being dragged through

the water at a rapid rate. Ten yards or so behind him was an enormous

mass of woodwork--a part of the bridge-planking--bearing down on the

crest of a billow. Swift as was his progress, the floating timber

threatened to overtake and overwhelm him.

The rescuers, too, saw the danger, and redoubled their efforts to

haul the lieutenant clear of the pursuing mass. Buffeted by the

waves, his limbs completely numbed by the action of the icy-cold

water, Terence was hardly conscious of what was happening, till he

found himself being lifted clear of the chaos of broken water.

Before he was out of danger an exceptionally heavy sea completely

buried him as he swung with irresistible force towards the base of

the cliff. The "backlash" of the foam alone saved him from being

dashed to death against the solid mass of granite. As it was he

received such a severe blow that he lost consciousness.

CHAPTER XXVI.

"THE PRICE OF ADMIRALTY."

WHEN Terence recovered his senses he was lying in a crofter's

cottage. A white-haired venerable dame was busying herself with a

large iron pot over a peat fire, while an old fisherman, her husband,

was spreading the lieutenant's clothes to dry. The reek of the peat

and the vapour of the steaming garments seemed to fill the confined

space.

Through the diamond panes of the small window Aubyn could see the

heads and shoulders of several of his men. The devoted tars, having

been provided with dry clothes of weird fit by their poor but

hospitable hosts, were mounting an impromptu guard outside the

cottage in order to hear the news of their popular young officer's

return to consciousness.

Terence sat up. As he did so he became aware of a throbbing pain in

his left hip and leg, while he noticed that his left arm was roughly

bandaged. Fearful lest his leg should be broken, he raised his knee.

Although it caused him agony he realized to his intense satisfaction

that he was capable of moving it.

Hearing him move the old fisherman spoke to him, and although Terence

could not understand one word of the broad Shetland dialect the

lieutenant guessed rightly that the man wanted to know whether the

patient would like to see those of his crew who were disconsolately

lingering outside in spite of the howling wind.

In trooped the seamen; seven burly and extremely diffident specimens

of the Royal Naval Reserve, who, slow of speech except when amongst

themselves, could hardly find means to express their thoughts. They

did not know whether to congratulate their temporary skipper on his

escape or to commiserate with him on his injuries.

"How is Mr. Raeburn, Griffiths?" asked Terence.

The Welsh petty-officer fidgeted with his hands, attempted to reply,

but at last turned with mild entreaty to his comrades.

"Fairish, sir, only fairish," vaguely declared another. "But how's

yourself, sir, if we may make so bold as to ask?"

"Stiff, bruised, but otherwise all right, I think," replied Terence.

"And awfully peckish. Have you men been fed?"

"Yes, sir, we were victualled down at the village," announced the

man. "They did us right well. They say as how we'll have to hang

about on this island till the gale moderates; but they've

communicated with the authorities at Lerwick, sir, and the senior

officer is going to send a vessel to pick us up."

Dismissing his men Terence contrived to borrow some clothes from his

humble yet kindly hosts, and making his way with considerable

difficulty to an upstairs room, proceeded to dress.

Considering the terrific buffeting he had received Aubyn had come off

pretty lightly. He was black and blue from his shoulders to his

knees, his forehead was grazed through coming in contact with the

rock, and there was a clean cut across his cheek. Rigged out in rough

ill-fitting Shetland tweeds, his chin and cheeks black with a stubble

of forty-eight hours' growth, he looked anything but a spruce officer

of his Majesty's Service.

His efforts to borrow a razor were fruitless. His host had never

shaved in the whole course of his existence, and he was now over

eighty years of age. Nor did he know of any of his neighbours who

would be in a position to oblige his guest.

Having found out where Kenneth had been taken, Terence went to see

him. He had to traverse nearly half a mile of bleak moorland, over

which the wind blew with great force. Shelter there was not, except a

few stunted thorns and patches of gorse.

Looking seawards the vista was a turmoil of broken water, divided by

the Island of Fetlar. Close under its lee the sea was comparatively

calm, but owing to the tidal race, the "Sound" or intervening

channel seemed too violent for any craft to navigate in safety.

Cautiously the lieutenant approached the brink of the cliff and

looked down to the cauldron of foam beneath. The tide had ebbed

considerably. Fang-like rocks showed their jagged heads above the

breakers for nearly a quarter of a mile off shore. It seemed

marvellous how the almost waterlogged "Roldal" had contrived to be

swept over those dangerous rocks. In vain he looked for traces of his

first independent command: the ship had literally gone to pieces.

After considerable difficulty Terence succeeded in finding the little

cottage to which his chum had been taken. A big-boned, gaunt-featured

man answered his knock, and without betraying the faintest surprise

at his visitor's garb, invited him into the room. The Shetlander

asked no questions; he seemed to know Aubyn's business. Like the rest

of the islanders, most of whom had played a prominent part in the

rescue of the survivors of the "Roldal," he already know the officers

and most of the men by sight.

Impressed by the gravity of the man's manner, Terence fully expected

to find his chum in a desperate plight, but to his surprise he was

greeted by an outburst of laughter.

"Excuse me, old man," exclaimed Kenneth, "but you do look a sketch!

Who's your tailor? And are you about to cultivate a torpedo beard?"

"How's that arm of yours?" asked Aubyn.

"Feels a bit rotten," admitted Kenneth, "or rather, I can't feel it

at all. It seems a bit numb. But it will be all right in a day or so,

I guess. It was a real plucky thing of yours, old man. Looked like a

case of attempted suicide, when you cut that rope.

"I should have felt like your murderer if I hadn't," retorted Aubyn.

"But it's over and done with. We're lucky to get ashore. By the by,

I suppose you know that they're sending a steamer from Lerwick as

soon as the weather moderates?"

Terence could not talk rationally. He touched upon half a dozen

subjects in as many minutes. His mind was full of sorrow for his

chum's misfortune. He knew what Raeburn was yet to learn: that the

lack of sensitiveness in Kenneth's arm meant that never again would

his chum be able to use the limb.

Raeburn's sanguineness was most pathetic. He had fully made up his

mind to get to Leith and await the "Strongbow's" return. He rehearsed

the little scene he would have when Smithers restored to him his

cherished pipe.

Two days later the sea moderated sufficiently for the shipwrecked men

to be taken to Lerwick. Here they were split up. The German

reservists were sent into detention quarters to await the decision of

the War Office as to their disposal; the Norwegians, whose

indignation towards the apostles of kultur showed no signs of

abatement, were forwarded to Aberdeen, whence they were permitted to

return to their native land, while the detachment of the 'Strongbow'

were given a passage as far as Dingwall, whence they were told to

proceed by train to Leith.

Kenneth Raeburn did not go with them. Upon arrival at Lerwick he was

promptly taken to hospital. A preliminary examination resulted in the

doctors' seriously considering the advisability of amputating his

wounded arm, but upon a further consultation it was found that there

was a possibility of saving the limb, although it would be

practically useless for the rest of his life.

Raeburn was not told of this. In spite of his disappointment at not

being allowed to go with the rest of the prize crew his optimism was

remarkable.

"Can't understand why those doctors insist upon keeping me here, old

man," he remarked to Terence, when the lieutenant came to bid him

good-bye. "I feel as fit as a fiddle, except for the long-winded

business over my arm, you know. And it's rotten not being able to see

the 'Strongbow' come into port. You'll take good care to remind

Smithers to send along that pipe of mine, won't you?"

"I won't forget," asserted Terence.

"And another thing," continued Kenneth. "If you get a chance to go

to Edinburgh you might look up my tailor--you know, the fellow in the

Hogmarket--and get him to knock me up another No. 5 rig. I can't

possibly present myself in this shabby uniform when I have to report

myself for duty. Explain to him that my arm is crocked and I can't

write at the present moment."

The lieutenant could not commit himself to reply. Gripping Raeburn's

left hand he bade him "buck up," and made an undignified retreat from

the man who was never again to wear the uniform of the R.N.R.

Throughout the tedious journey to Leith, Aubyn was on tenterhooks,

for he was a day and a half overdue. During that time the "Strongbow"

might have arrived, coaled, and put to sea again, without waiting for

the men who had formed the prize crew of the "Roldal."

As the train swept across the Forth Bridge, Terence anxiously scanned

the shipping below, on the off-chance of "spotting" his ship should

she by any possibility leave the open roadstead and ascend the Firth.

At Leith he ordered his men to fall in and marched them down to the

harbour. Inquiries of various naval officers elicited no information

of the "Strongbow's" presence. Almost all of the people he questioned

were convinced that the armed merchant-cruiser had not put in an

appearance.

Allowing the men to "stand easy," Terence made his way to the office

of the admiral commanding the Forth division of the auxiliary

cruisers. On sending in his card he was received by the admiral in

person.

"We've had no news of the 'Strongbow' for the last three days," said

the admiral. "She is now forty-eight hours' overdue."

"Has anything happened to her, sir?" asked Terence.

"There is no saying. On Tuesday we received a wireless from her,

reporting all well and giving her position. From that hour till now

there has been a complete blank. Of course, she may have had to stand

by a prize, and if her wireless has broken down her silence is

explicable. However, I wish you to say nothing about the matter. Send

your men to the 'Sailors' Home' and report yourself here at noon.

Remember to leave your telephone number at the office as soon as you

have completed your hotel arrangements, so that, if necessary, we can

send for you."

Terence carried out these instructions and resigned himself for a

disquieting wait. Something serious, he argued, must have befallen

the armed merchant-man. He was somewhat reassured when, on giving his

men orders to proceed to temporary shore quarters, the prize crew

expressed astonishment neither by word nor gesture. His peace of mind

would have been greatly disturbed, however, could he but have heard

the men discussing the "Strongbow's" non-appearance amongst

themselves.

Upon making his third call at the office Terence was again received

by the admiral. The sturdy old officer's face was grave.

"I'm afraid it's a case, Mr. Aubyn," he said. "The 'Strongbow's'

hopelessly overdue. I have just reported her to the Admiralty as

regarded as lost. You had better proceed on leave, and I will notify

Whitehall accordingly."

Terence almost reeled out into the street. The blow had temporarily

unnerved him. Not one thought did he give at the time to the fact

that Raeburn and he had been almost miraculously preserved from

sharing the fate of their gallant comrades: his whole mind was

centred on the appalling disaster.

He mentally pictured the old ship ploughing along in that terrific

gale. A staunch vessel such as she was would have made light of the

climatic conditions. It was fairly safe to conclude that she had been

sunk either by a mine or a torpedo--and sunk so suddenly that there

had been no time to send out a wireless call for aid. The state of

the sea, he knew, would render it impossible to lower the boats even

had there been time. Out in the wild North Sea, miles from land, and

with no means of recording her end in the course of duty, the

"Strongbow" had vanished utterly.

He thought of his comrades. The cool and collected Captain Ripponden;

Commander Ramshaw, one of the very best; Lymore, taciturn, yet a man

who set duty on a high pedestal; slow and deliberate McBride, and

more than a dozen others. All of them, tried comrades in stress and

storm, had given up their lives for their country. Only Raeburn and

he were left--and Raeburn incapacitated for further service afloat.

Verily, the "price of Admiralty" is a huge one, but men will ever be

found ready to comply with its demands.

CHAPTER XXVII.

"MEPHISTO" AND THE SUBMARINE.

"GOOD business! Now there's a chance of seeing life!" exclaimed

Lieutenant Aubyn.

"I should have thought you have been seeing plenty of life already,

Terence," remarked his mother, with a faint tinge of reproachfulness,

"and death also," she added.

"Ay, and death," agreed Terence. "Unfortunately, yes; but it's part

of the work. It was the future to which I was referring. Fancy,

mother, a real cruiser at last--not an armed merchantman, nor a

destroyer, although I'll admit I had a real good time in the

'Terrier'--but a modern cruiser."

Terence's appointment had arrived in the form of an Admiralty

telegram, ordering him to join H.M.S. "Sunderland" as soon as

possible.

H.M.S. "Sunderland" was a light cruiser of the "Town" Class, a vessel

of a little over 5000 tons displacement, and armed with eight 6-in.

guns, four 3-pounders, and two submerged 21-in. torpedo tubes. Her

speed was nominally 25 knots, but this rate had been considerably

exceeded when conditions called for her to do her level best.

Accordingly, within four hours of receiving his appointment, Terence

bade his parent farewell and proceeded by rail to Devonport, where

the "Sunderland" was lying. It was nearly dark when he alighted at

Millbay station. Here he called a taxi and was whirled off to the

Dockyard, whence a picquet boat conveyed him to the cruiser, which

was lying at a buoy in the Hamoaze.

"We're off under sealed orders at six o'clock tomorrow morning,"

announced one of his new shipmates, a junior lieutenant, Teddy

Barracombe by name. "Of course, we are quite in the dark, but there's

a strong idea floating around that the ship's off to the Near East.

Just my mark! According to all accounts we'll be pretty busy in the

Dardanelles."

"That's all very fine for you," commented Oswestry, the torpedo

lieutenant, "but where do I come in? We can't use torpedoes against

fortifications, you know, and there's precious little floating about

for us to go for."

"Don't take on, Torps," said Barracombe cheerfully. "You never know

your luck. Wait and see."

"I'd rather t'were the other way about," corrected Torps. "Seeing

your torpedo leave the tube and waiting for the enemy ship to be

blown up. No Dardanelles for me. So I hope to goodness it's the North

Sea. By Jove, I do!"

As soon as the "Sunderland" was clear of the breakwater the momentous

orders were opened. It was not to the Near East; the cruiser had to

proceed to Dover and await further instructions.

All the way up Channel a rigorous watch was maintained, for hostile

submarines had made their presence unpleasantly felt off Prawle

Point, the Bill of Portland, and south of the Royal Sovereign

Lightship. The cruiser pelted under forced draught, steering a

zig-zag course in order to baffle the carefully-planned calculations

of the lurking tigers of the deep, while the guns were manned and

trained abeam ready to be laid upon the first suspicious object

resembling a periscope.

Being the first day of the month the ship's company was to be paid,

and soon after six bells final preparations for the solemn rite were

in progress.

At a quarter to one two "G's"--the officers' call--sounded, and the

first hundred men, mustering by open list, assembled in the Port

Battery. On the quarter-deck tables were placed in position, on each

of which were teak trays divided into small compartments by brass

strips. In each of these divisions a man's monthly pay and allowance

money had already been placed and checked by the paymaster and his

staff.

Owing to the conditions of war-time the captain was not present, his

duty of superintending the payment being taken by the commander. At

the tables stood the staff-paymaster, the R.N.R. assistant-paymaster,

and the chief writer.

The staff-paymaster glanced at the commander, indicating that all was

in readiness. The commander gave the word to carry on, and the

disbursing of coin began.

The assistant-paymaster called the men's names from a book. Each

seaman stepped briskly forward to the chalk line, removed his cap,

and, according to instructions, looked the accountant officer

squarely in the face and gave his name and rating. Then, receiving

his money in the crown of his cap, the recipient saluted and moved

away to make room for the next man.

All was proceeding smoothly and with the regularity of clockwork when

suddenly a diversion occurred.

The ship's company had a mascot in the shape of a young African

monkey, that had been presented to the "Sunderland" by a French

cruiser during a visit to an Algerian port. Although usually

good-tempered "Mephisto" could and did exhibit fits of sulkiness and

outbursts of insubordination that would have earned a lower deck man

ninety days' "confined to detention quarters." But the monkey being a

sort of chartered libertine, was idolized by the ship's company and

mildly tolerated by the officers.

Mephisto was lazily sunning himself under the lee of the quarter-deck

6-in gun shield when his eye caught sight of the chief writer's

silver watch, which that petty officer had occasion to consult.

Probably the monkey imagined that it was one of the tins of condensed

milk for which he had great partiality.

Getting on his four feet Mephisto ambled across the quarter-deck,

past the line of men drawn up at attention. Before he could cross the

chalk line, a symbol for which he had no respect, the chief writer

had replaced his timepiece.

Foiled in that direction the monkey made a grab at a pile of brand

new copper coins, and before any of the officers and men could

prevent, had made a rush for the weather-shrouds.

"Stop him!" yelled the commander.

A dozen men hastened to comply, jolting against each other in their

alacrity to pursue the animal, which with marvellous agility had

gained the extremity of the signal yard-arm.

Here he perched, hanging on with his hind paws while he tasted each

coin with his teeth--at first with an expression of hopefulness upon

his features that rapidly changed into one of profound disgust.

Holding the rest of the coins against his chest Mephisto hurled one

on to the sacred precincts of the quarter-deck. It landed in one of

the compartments of the pay-table, displacing a sovereign, that

rolled between the staff-paymaster and the assistant-paymaster.

Both officers simultaneously stooped to recover the errant piece of

gold. The result was that their heads met with a thud in spite of the

protection afforded by their peaked caps.

Several of the men could not conceal a grin. One broke into a laugh,

and meeting the stern glance of the commander tried to side-track

into a painful cough.

Fortunately for the culprit the commander was inwardly affected by a

similar complaint, for he, too, saw the humour of the business.

"Confound you!" shouted the staff-paymaster, removing his cap and

rubbing his bald head. "Confound you, you brute! Throwing away the

money from the public chest!"

The only reply from Mephisto was another penny that, thrown with

splendid aim, rebounded from the staff-paymaster's shiny pate.

"The ship's company will have to make up the loss," he muttered.

"They're responsible for their confounded pet."

"But you're responsible for the money, Staggles," remarked the

commander drily. "At any rate, Mephisto is paying you back by

instalments."

It wanted all the self-control at their command to keep the lookout

men's attention from the comic scene to a duty of a serious nature,

while the gun's crews temporarily forgot their duties to watch the

encounter between the mascot and the staff-paymaster.

"Catch it--oh, you rotten butterfingers!" groaned the accountant

officer to the assistant-paymaster, who, missing a coin thrown by the

animal, allowed the sum of one penny to be committed to the deep.

"Here, ship's steward, nip below and open a tin of condensed. That

may tempt the brute below."

"You're condoning an offence, Staggles," said the commander in an

undertone, with a humorous gleam in his eye.

Another coin tinkled on the deck. The commander promptly placed his

foot on it to check its career towards the side.

"Where did that go?" asked the staff-paymaster, who, curiously

enough, had a miserly regard for any money except his own, which he

spent liberally.

The commander shifted his foot and pointed to the retrieved coin; as

he did so, another penny, hurtling through the air, hit him smartly

on his bent neck and promptly slithered inside his collar and down

his back.

Unfortunately the commander was a man of a most ticklish temperament.

The contact of the metal disc with his back caused him to writhe like

a lost soul in torment. He had recently unflinchingly faced death in

a hotly-contested engagement in the North Sea, but this rear attack

completely unnerved him. His grotesque efforts to capture the elusive

coin was too much for the rest of the officers and men. They were

unable to conceal their amusement. Finally the commander dived down

below and divested himself of his uniform.

Just then the ship's steward appeared with the tin of condensed milk,

and handed the unopened can to a seaman. Away aloft the man made his

way till he gained the cross-trees. Owing to the "Sunderland"

altering her course she was swinging considerably to starboard, and

the motion made the man advance cautiously, his feet sliding along

the foot-ropes while he held on grimly with his free hand to the

spar.

Mephisto eyed the approaching delicacy with marked approval. Letting

the remaining coins drop, some of which tinkled on deck although most

of them fell overboard, he whisked along the yard-arm, and before the

seaman realized the brute's intention, snatched the can from his

grasp.

A snarl warned the bluejacket that if he advanced it would be at his

peril, and unwilling to risk an encounter with an agile monkey on the

swaying yard, he followed the precept of discretion being the better

part of valour, and regained the deck, leaving the spoils in the

hands of the elated ape.

Presently the monkey had another disappointment. The intact tin

baffled him. He tried his teeth upon it--but unavailingly, so he

began to batter it upon the metal eye of a band encircling the spar.

"There'll be an unholy mess, by Jove!" ejaculated the commander, who

had now reappeared upon the scene, for the tin showed signs of

capitulating to the strenuous frontal attacks on the part of

Mephisto.

"Bring up another tin--and take care to open it this time," ordered

the staff-paymaster recklessly, who had now taken the precaution of

covering the pay-tables with a green baize cloth.

"Bang, bang, bang!" went the tin under the muscular efforts of

Mephisto. Already large drops of the viscous fluid were descending

upon the hallowed quarter-deck, bespattering officers and men

indiscriminately, for owing to the ship's speed a strong current of

air was drifting aft and spraying the stuff far and wide.

"Clear the quarter-deck," ordered the commander. "Up aloft a couple

of hands and collar the brute. By Jove! if it gives much more

trouble, I'll have it shot."

Suddenly, above the scuffling of feet as the men doubled for'ard,

came the shout: "Submarine on the port quarter."

Sharply the bugle sounded "Action," and as the "Sunderland" began to

circle to starboard in answer to a quick movement of her helm, the

quick-firers began to bark at a pole-like object four hundred yards

off.

The unexpected detonation, as a gun was discharged fifty feet under

his nose, completed Mephisto's brief spell of unalloyed liberty.

Temporarily stunned by the terrific concussion the monkey relaxed his

grip and fell.

Just at that moment the staff-paymaster, who was scurrying below with

one of the pay-trays, happened to be passing in the direct line of

Mephisto's descent. The next instant the portly officer was rolling

on the deck in a puddle of condensed milk with the monkey's paws

clutching at his scanty crop of hair, while to complete the

staff-paymaster's discomfiture most of the money he was carrying

rolled overboard.

Regaining his feet Staff-paymaster Staggles contrived to reach the

companion, and with Mephisto still firmly attached to him,

disappeared below.

But the men's attention was now directed towards more serious

matters. An ever-diverging line that rippled the placid water denoted

the approach of a deadly torpedo. Now it was heading as if about to

hit the bows of the "Sunderland," a second later and the arrow-like

ripples seemed to be approaching directly abeam; then, as the cruiser

swung almost on her heel the wake of the formidable missile was

merged into the churning froth astern. It had missed by a bare yard.

From the fire-control platform telephone bells were clanging and men

shouting through the voice-tubes. From their elevated position the

watchers could discern a long, dark shadow that marked the position

of the submarine.

Completely circling the "Sunderland" was steadied on her helm and

steered straight for the spot. In vain the submerged craft attempted

to dive to a depth greater than that of her enemy's draught.

Terence, who was stationed on the after-bridge, felt a faint shock as

the five thousand tons vessel literally cut the luckless submarine in

twain. For a brief instant the lieutenant caught sight of the

after-portion of the "U" boat, as, rendered buoyant by the trapped

air, it drifted past. Then amidst a smother of foam and oil the

wreckage vanished.

"The eleventh to my certain knowledge," remarked the commander, as

coolly as if he were reckoning up the score at an athletic meeting.

"Any damage for'ard, Mr. Black?"

"No, sir; all as tight as a bottle as far as I can see," replied the

carpenter, who immediately after the impact had hurried below to see

if any plates had been "started."

A little later in the afternoon several of the ward-room officers

were enjoying their cups of tea and biscuits, when the

staff-paymaster entered.

"Well, Staggles, what's the shortage?" asked the commander

facetiously.

The accountant officer eyed his tormentor reproachfully, as if that

officer were responsible for his former discomfiture.

"One pound three shillings and threepence--and two tins of condensed

milk," he announced stiffly. "According to paragraph 445 of the

Admiralty Instructions there will have to be two separate reports on

the shortage."

The staff-paymaster spoke seriously. The man was heart and soul in

his work, and his mental horizon was bounded by official forms and

other red-tapeism connected with the accountant branch of H.M.

Service.

"By the by," interposed Oswestry, "Staggles ought to be recommended

for the V.C."

"What's that, Torps?" asked Barracombe. "Our staff-paymaster the

V.C.?"

"What for?" inquired the staff-paymaster innocently.

The commander entrenched himself behind a double number of an

illustrated periodical.

"For bringing Mephisto in out of action," he replied with a chuckle.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE FOILED AIR RAID.

LATE that evening the "Sunderland" brought up in the Admiralty

Harbour at Dover, in company with three other light cruisers, two

monitors, and a flotilla of destroyers. All night long the men slept

at their guns, while the cruiser's searchlights aided those of the

forts both ashore and on the breakwater in sweeping the approach to

the sheltered harbour.

"Nothing to report," announced Barracombe, as Aubyn relieved him as

officer of the watch. "A jolly fine night. I shouldn't wonder if we

were favoured by a visit from a Zeppelin or two."

"A pretty jamb in the harbour," said Terence, giving a quick glance

at the maze of vessels. "Fortunately, I hear, we've several seaplanes

at our disposal."

Barracombe wished his relief good-night and descended the ladder to

retire to the seclusion of his cabin and sleep the sleep of

exhaustion, for he had had a strenuous time before the cruiser left

Devonport.

During the first hour nothing unusual occurred. The midshipman of the

watch reported "Rounds all correct, sir," to which Aubyn replied with

the stereotyped "Very good." Across the harbour came the faint hail

of the Night Guard as the picquet boat studiously visited every

vessel within the limits of the breakwater.

The masthead light of the flagship began to blink. A signalman on the

"Sunderland's" bridge snatched up a slate.

"General call, sir," he announced.

Deftly the man took down the message, then hurried to the chart-room

to decipher the code.

"Submarine E27 reports three hostile aeroplanes passing S.W. by W.

Position eleven miles N.N.E. of North Goodwin."

The warning was a brief one, for hardly had the ship's company been

called to their action stations when a faint buzzing, immediately

becoming louder and louder, announced that the raiders were

approaching the town and harbour of Dover.

Searchlights flashed skywards, while from beneath the old castle on

the lofty chalk cliffs half a dozen intrepid British airmen ascended

to meet the foe. Already the anti-aerial guns were stabbing the

darkness with lurid spurts of flame, while their shells, bursting

perilously close to the hostile aeroplanes, caused the calculating

Teutons to think better of the attempt.

It was an easy matter to steal over an unfortified town or village

and drop explosives; but for once the Germans were to learn the

wisdom of discrimination. Higher and higher they banked, until

catching a glimpse of the British seaplanes as they passed through

the path of one of the searchlights they precipitately turned tail.

"'Sunderland' and destroyer flotilla to proceed in support of

seaplanes," came the signal.

Hastily the pins of the mooring shackle were knocked out. Steam was

already raised, and in a very few minutes the light cruiser and her

attendant destroyers were slipping between the heads of the detached

breakwater and the Admiralty Pier.

But swift as were the light cruisers the seaplanes were quicker.

Already they were five or six miles out to sea, their position being

revealed by the flashes of the light guns as they exchanged shots

with the fugitive Taubes.

Suddenly with a dazzling flash a bomb exploded hardly twenty feet

from the "Sunderland's" starboard quarter. Five seconds later another

struck the water almost under the cruiser's bows, and a waft of

evil-smelling gas drifted across the navigation bridge, causing

officers and men to cough and gasp for breath.

The captain tried to give an order, but was unable to utter a sound.

Mutely he signed for the helm to be put hard over.

Terence understood. Literally groping his way through the thick

vapour, that even in the darkness showed an unmistakable greenish

hue, he found the quartermaster, who was clutching his throat and

struggling for breath.

Pushing the man aside Aubyn rapidly revolved the steam steering-gear.

Obediently the cruiser swung round, narrowly escaping a high

explosive missile that, had she maintained her course, would have

played havoc with her fo'c'sle.

All around the "Sunderland" the destroyers were dodging hither and

thither in order to attempt to avoid the hail of bombs that rained

from the sky. It was little short of a miracle that collisions did

not take place, for owing to the darkness, the suffocating fumes from

the missiles, and to the fact that most of the helmsmen were

temporarily blinded and choked, all attempt at formation was out of

the question.

From the after-bridge of the cruiser a searchlight flashed skywards.

For a few seconds even its powerful rays failed to penetrate the pall

of smoke, till an eddying gust freed the "Sunderland" from the

noxious fumes.

Then the source of the mysterious missiles was revealed. At a height

of over two thousand feet were a couple of Zeppelins. Taking

advantage of the fact that the attention of the British seaplanes and

destroyers was centred on the fugitive Taubes, these giant airships,

by reason of their altitude, were able to manoeuvre immediately above

the flotilla.

It was an opportunity too good to be missed, for although the

objective of the Zeppelins was a raid on London--they having decided

upon a circuitous course over Kent and Sussex borders in order to

avoid the air-stations at the Isle of Grain--the chance of raining a

shower of bombs upon the British cruiser and her attendant destroyers

was too tempting.

For once, at least, the German Admiralty had not been kept well

posted as to the details of armament of the cruisers of the "Town

Class," for the "Sunderland" and her consorts had recently been

equipped with a couple of 12-pounder anti-aircraft guns. These

weapons fired a shell of unique character. Somewhat resembling a

shrapnel, the missile was packed with short lengths of chain and

charged with a high explosive.

Almost as soon as the Zeppelins were discovered both guns barked

venomously. From the point of view of the observers on the

"Sunderland's" bridge the shells appeared to burst close to the frail

targets. Both airships were observed to pitch violently, while one,

with her nose tilted downwards, began to descend.

"She's done for!" exclaimed Terence.

A round of cheering burst from the throats of the crew. It seemed as

if nothing could arrest the seaward plunge of one of the Kaiser's

gas-bags. Not only had her bow compartments been holed but the

nacelle containing the propelling machinery was completely wrecked.

Both Zeppelins began to throw out ballast with frantic haste. They

also released the whole of their remaining supply of bombs, which

fell with a rapid series of deafening detonations more than half a

mile from the nearest destroyer.

With the release of the ballast the undamaged Zeppelin shot skywards

until her altitude was not less than ten thousand feet. Comparatively

safe for the time being from the effect of the anti-aircraft shells,

she floated, a mere speck in the concentrated yet diminished glare of

a dozen searchlights, and awaited events.

Meanwhile, the damaged Zeppelin had checked her plunge, and, in spite

of a hot fire, was slowly rising. By dint of strenuous efforts her

crew succeeded in shifting aft the travelling weight that served to

trim the unwieldy craft. Even then her longitudinal axis was sharply

inclined to the horizontal.

Everything that could be jettisoned was thrown overboard. Guns,

ammunition, stores, and the metal framework of the wrecked car were

sacrificed, till without being hit by the British guns, she rose to a

terrific height.

"We've lost her!" exclaimed Oswestry savagely.

"One thing, she won't trouble us again," added the commander. "And

I'm not so certain that she will get clear. We've wirelessed the

seaplanes, and they'll have a chip in. Hullo! What's the game now?"

A searchlight flashed from the undamaged Zeppelin and played in

ever-widening circles until it picked up her damaged consort. The

latter was consequently more plainly discernible to the crew of the

"Sunderland" than it had hitherto been, since the distance between

the two airships was less than a thousand yards and was visibly

decreasing.

"They're going to take her in tow, by Jove!" ejaculated Aubyn, who

had brought his binoculars to play upon the scene.

Oswestry gave a snort that implied disbelief in his brother-officer's

assertion, but presently he exclaimed:--

"Well, blest if you aren't right, old man. And a deuced smart move,"

he added, with a true sailor's admiration for a smart manoeuvre,

whether executed by friend or foe.

"What a chance for our seaplanes!" said the torpedo lieutenant.

"They ought to have been on the spot before this."

"They're on the way all right, Torps," declared the commander. "I

wouldn't mind betting a month's pay that they've spotted their

quarry. By Jove, they've established communication!"

The undamaged Zeppelin had circled round her consort and was now

forging gently ahead. An upward jerk of the other's bows announced

that the strain on the towing hawser was beginning to be felt.

Gradually the hitherto uncontrollable airship began to gather way,

both vessels rolling sluggishly in the light air-currents.

The aerial searchlight had now been switched off, but by means of the

rays directed from the British ships the progress of the two

Zeppelins could be followed as their huge shapes, showing ghost-like

in the silvery light, moved slowly in a north-easterly direction.

Having resumed their respective stations the cruiser and the

destroyer flotilla followed. Owing to the greatly reduced speed of

the hostile aircraft it was an easy matter to maintain a fixed

relative distance between them and the British vessels, whose

attention was divided between the prospect of an aerial meeting with

seaplanes and the risk of being intercepted by the torpedo of a

German submarine, to say nothing of floating mines.

"She's cast off!" shouted a dozen voices.

Such was the case. The two Zeppelins had parted company, one flying

off at a terrific speed, rising rapidly as she did so, while the

other, being without means of propulsion, drifted at the mercy of the

winds.

It was now dawn. The grey light of morning was already overcoming the

strength of the searchlights and it was already possible to discern

the outlines of the abandoned Zeppelin by the natural light of day.

Pelting up from the eastward came the air squadron of seaplanes. Half

a dozen circled and started off in pursuit of the fugitive airship,

which, travelling at high speed, was now but a faint speck against

the ruddy sky.

The rest advanced boldly upon the disabled Zeppelin, although

ignorant of the fact that she had jettisoned her guns, and, save for

a few rifles, was without means of defence.

The seaplanes' automatic guns spat viciously, and as the range

decreased almost every shot began to tell. The huge fabric once more

began to drop, as the small projectile ripped through the flimsy

aluminium envelope.

Presently the seaplanes ceased firing and circled triumphantly over

their vanquished foe. They knew that the Zeppelin was doomed, and

instincts of humanity forbade them to take undue advantage of the

plight of her crew.

"Away, boats!" ordered the "Sunderland's" captain.

Instantly there was a rush to man the boats and to stand by the

falls. With an alacrity that was part of his nature, Jack Tar

prepared to rescue his enemy, in spite of the fact that that enemy

had sallied forth with the deliberate intention of hurling bombs with

the utmost indiscrimination upon combatants and non-combatants alike,

not excepting helpless women and children.

Before the boats could be lowered a lurid blaze of light rolled out,

rivalling the rays of the rising sun. Where the Zeppelin had been

only a cloud of flame-tinged smoke remained, while from the

mushroomed pall of vapour that marked a funereal pyre of yet another

unit of the Kaiser's air-fleet, scorched and twisted girders and

other débris streamed seawards.

Whether by accident or design the only remaining petrol tank had

exploded, and the flames instantly igniting the huge volume of

hydrogen had in the twinkling of an eye completed the work of

destruction.

For ten minutes the destroyers cruised over the spot where the

débris had disappeared, but there were no signs of survivors, not

even of wreckage. The remains of the Zeppelin had been swallowed up

by the insatiable sea, and no visible trophy remained in the hands of

the men who had baulked an attempted raid on the largest city of the

world.

Before the flotilla regained Dover Harbour the remaining seaplanes

came in sight. Unfortunately their efforts at pursuit were futile.

The Zeppelin developing a turn of speed far in excess of which she

had been credited by her detractors, had shaken off the British

aircraft, and when last seen she was high over the Belgian coast.

Nevertheless, her wings had been clipped, although she survived to

tell the tale that the hated English were still able vigorously and

successfully to dispute the mastery of the air.

CHAPTER XXIX.

"LIEUTENANT AUBYN, R.N., D.S.O."

ON the evening following the return of the "Sunderland" to Dover,

Terence obtained leave to go ashore in order to visit a

brother-officer who, owing to his ship being under repairs, was

temporarily installed in the Lord Warden Hotel.

Aubyn was proceeding along the Admiralty Pier when his progress was

barred by a tall, bronzed young fellow in the uniform of a

flight-lieutenant of the Naval Air Service.

"Hullo, Aubyn, old man!" exclaimed the latter cordially, as he

extended his hand. "Forgotten me already?"

"Waynsford, by Jove!" ejaculated Terence. "Bless you, Dick, I never

expected to see you here and in this rig. What has happened?"

"Oh, I chucked the Motor Boat Reserve," declared Waynsford. "It was a

bit too dull. They sent me to Southampton, and that was the limit. A

superannuated postman could have done my job, which was delivering

letters to transports. So I applied for the Naval Air Service. It's

more in my line."

"Been across yet?" asked Terence, indicating the twenty odd mile

strip of water that separated Great Britain from the scene of land

hostilities.

"Dunkirk twice," replied Waynsford. "Was there when the Germans

started shelling the place. But we're off again early to-morrow

morning."

"Yes, I heard," said Aubyn. "Big operations. We are to engage the

Zeebrugge and Ostend batteries while the Allied airmen play with the

German lines of communication. So I may see something of you."

"I hope so--after the fun is over," replied the young airman. "Well,

I must be moving. Early hours and a good night's rest are essential

to this sort of work."

The two friends parted, Terence making for the hotel, while Waynsford

walked off in the direction of the castle, in which the airmen

detailed for the great raid were temporarily quartered.

Precisely at one hour before sunrise the first British waterplane

rose from the surface of Dover Harbour. Almost simultaneously an Army

aeroplane "kicked off" from the sloping ground beyond the chalk

cliffs. Each was followed at regular intervals, until a double row of

swift air-craft flying with methodical precision headed towards the

Flanders shore.

Already the "Sunderland" and three other light cruisers, accompanied

by a torpedo-boat destroyer flotilla, were shaping a course for the

Belgian coast.

Off the East Goodwins they were joined by two monitors and three

pre-Dreadnought battleships, and the battle line was formed. Away

steamed the destroyers to act as screens to the heavier vessels, and

to guard them from submarine attack. The monitors led the main

division, the cruisers acting as links between them and the

battleships, which, owing to their greater draught, could not

approach the coast nearer than a distance of from four to seven

miles.

From Aubyn's point of view the forthcoming operations were entirely

new. For the first time in his experience he was to take part in an

action between ships and shore batteries, the latter being both fixed

and mobile. It was a comparatively easy matter to plant shells into

forts the position of which were known, but the Germans had brought

up heavy guns mounted on travelling platforms, which could be moved

with considerable celerity behind the long, low-lying sand dunes

between Nieuport and Zeebrugge.

It was partly to locate the latter that the airmen had preceded the

bombarding ships, and also to harass the enemy's lines of

communication. Moreover, hostile submarines were reported to have

been brought in sections to Zeebrugge, where they were being bolted

together ready to take the offensive against the British vessels

operating off the Belgian coast.

The "Sunderland," like her consorts, was already cleared for action.

All the crew were behind the protected portions of the ship, but the

captain and seven of the officers elected to fight the ship not from

the armoured conning-tower but from the fore-bridge.

"By Jove! They're at it already," exclaimed Oswestry, as a series of

rapid detonations came from across the dunes.

By the aid of their glasses the officers could discern the fleecy

mushrooms of smoke caused by the bursting of the anti-aerial guns

directed against the British airmen. Viewed from a distance it seemed

impossible that a frail aeroplane could exist amid that tornado of

shell.

"Wireless reports mobile battery three hundred yards sou'-sou'-east

of Clemskercke church, sir," reported a signalman.

Promptly the news was transmitted to the fire-control platform. In

his lofty perch a gunnery-lieutenant was busy with a complication of

instruments, assisted by a midshipman and three seamen.

"Fire-control to for'ard 6-inch gun: stand by!" came the telephonic

order. "Fire-control to port battery stand by."

Round swung the guns, "laid" by the master hand of the

gunnery-lieutenant on the fire-control platform. Docilely obedient to

the delicate mechanism they reared their muzzles high in the air.

Then, with a crash that shook the ship, five of the 6-inch guns spoke

simultaneously. To the accompaniment of a long-drawn shriek the

100-pound missiles hurtled through space.

"Eighty yards short," came the wireless report of the observing

seaplane that, hovering a bare five hundred feet above the German

mobile battery, had marked the point of impact of the shells.

Again a salvo was let loose. This time came the encouraging statement

that the hostile guns were knocked clean out of action, and that

swarms of artillerymen and infantry were scurrying across the dunes.

The next discharge practically annihilated the fugitives. In one

minute and twenty-five seconds the "Sunderland's" particular task was

accomplished. It was but the beginning, for acting upon orders from

the flagship she was ordered to engage a battery at close range.

Meanwhile, the rest of the battleships and cruisers had not been

idle. A perfect tornado of shell was being directed upon the Belgian

shore.

"Hard aport!" shouted the captain of the "Sunderland."

Round swung the cruiser, only just avoiding the tell-tale line of

bubbles that marked the track of a torpedo. With consummate daring a

German submarine had dived under a part of the torpedo-boat destroyer

flotilla, and had discharged a weapon at the British cruiser. The

torpedo, having missed the "Sunderland," was tearing straight for one

of the monitors, which, having to go full speed astern to avoid a

collision with a couple of damaged destroyers, was now practically

stationary.

Owing to the light draught the weapon passed six feet beneath her

keel, and finishing its run rose to the surface three hundred yards

beyond; for, instead of the torpedo sinking at the end of its course,

the Germans, in direct contravention of the laws of naval warfare,

had closed the sinking valve so that the torpedo virtually became a

floating mine.

In this instance the trick did not avail, for a well-directed shot

from one of the monitor's quick-firers exploded the war-head and sent

the missile into a thousand fragments.

"A feeble reply," observed Oswestry to Terence. "These fellows seem

afraid to stand to their guns."

Even as he spoke the air was torn by a terrific salvo of shells from

powerful batteries hitherto well concealed in the dunes. The

"Sunderland," being fairly close, seemed the special mark, for in six

seconds she received as many direct hits. One of her funnels showed a

jagged gash ten feet in length and was only prevented from toppling

overboard by the steel-wire guys. A three-pounder gun, that

fortunately was not manned, was blown completely from its mountings,

while the rest of the shells passed clean through the unprotected

parts of the ship, totally wrecking the ward-room and the stokers'

mess-deck.

Terence felt a strong desire to make a hasty rush for the shelter of

the conning-tower, for splinters were flying and wafts of pungent

smoke from the hostile shells were drifting over the bridge, but the

sight of his captain standing cool and collected and without a

vestige of protection tended to restore his confidence.

With unabated fury her guns replied to the German fire. The

"Sunderland" proved that she could receive as well as give hard

knocks.

It was time to give the almost overheated starboard guns a chance to

cool, so orders were given for the helm to be starboarded. Seeing the

cruiser in the act of turning, a destroyer tore across her bows,

purposely throwing out huge volumes of black smoke from her four

funnels in order to mask the "Sunderland" as she circled.

Terence recognized the destroyer as his old ship the "Livingstone,"

as she darted swiftly round the turning cruiser, then, leaving a

thick pall of smoke in her wake, hastened off to assist another

destroyer that was evidently in difficulties.

The "Livingstone's" manoeuvre undoubtedly saved the "Sunderland" from

destruction, for a fifty-two centimetre shell, aimed to hit the exact

position where the cruiser would have been had she not altered

course, struck the water with a tremendous splash not fifty yards on

her beam.

Before the "Sunderland" had drawn clear of the friendly cloud of

smoke she had increased her distance from shore by nearly five

cables' lengths; while, until the German gunners had found the range

anew, she was able to enjoy a brief respite.

"Seaplanes returning," announced the gunnery-lieutenant on the

fire-control platform, who from his elevated post could command a

wide and almost uninterrupted view.

Their task done, the seaplanes, which had been engaged in dropping

bombs on the railway stations in the rear of the German batteries,

were on their homeward way. Anxiously Terence counted them. Thank

heaven! Not one was missing.

Apparently the last but one of the aerial procession was in

difficulties, for the seaplane was rocking violently, and in spite of

a dangerous tilt of the elevating planes was appreciably descending.

Suddenly the frail craft plunged, literally on end, towards the sea,

the force of gravity, acting with the pull of the propeller, greatly

increasing its velocity.

When within two hundred feet of the surface the seaplane made a

complete loop, then after climbing a hundred feet or so, began to

side-slip.

"By Jove! He'll be drowned for a dead cert," exclaimed Terence, for

he knew for a fact that the aviator had not been thrown from the

chassis when the seaplane "looped the loop," and in consequence must

be strapped to his seat.

"Away sea-boat," ordered the captain, at the same time giving

directions for both engines to be reversed.

The "Sunderland" was considerably the nearest warship to the

descending airman. Already the "Livingstone" and her two sister-ship

destroyers were a mile or so away, and wearing at full speed to

investigate a suspicious swirl in the water.

Shells were again dropping unpleasantly near to the cruiser as Aubyn

hurried towards the boat which was, owing to being cleared for

action, secured inboard, abreast the after funnel.

Before he reached this spot the seaplane had struck the surface of

the water. Falling obliquely and at a sharp angle, the impact had

shattered one of the floats. When the cascade of spray had subsided

the wrecked craft could be seen still afloat but listing acutely. The

aviator had survived the shock and was hurriedly unbuckling the strap

that held him to his seat.

"Boat's done for, sir," announced one of the would-be crew. Such was

the case. The explosion of a shell had wrenched her keel and

garboards out of her.

"Then overboard with that!" ordered Terence, indicating a Carley

life-buoy, which, though scorched by the blast of the shells, was

still practically intact.

The Carley life-buoy is a "new departure" in life-saving appliances

on board ships of the Royal Navy. It is a glorified edition of an

ordinary buoy, but elongated in shape and provided with gratings, and

capable of being propelled by oars.

Half a dozen bluejackets seized the huge buoy and slung it overboard.

Held by means of a line it floated alongside the cruiser until

Terence and three men clambered into it.

Although the rate of propulsion was not by any means so rapid as that

of a boat the progress of the rescuers was far from slow. More than

once they were splashed by the spray thrown up by a ricochetting

projectile, as the German gunlayers were gradually correcting their

aim, yet unscathed the rescue party came alongside the gradually

sinking seaplane.

"Hullo, Aubyn!" shouted a well-known voice.

The airman was Waynsford. In his pneumatic helmet and huge goggles he

was unrecognizable, but his voice proclaimed his identity.

"Hurt, old man?" asked Terence.

"Not a bit," replied Waynsford coolly. "They clipped a couple of

stays just as I was getting out of range. But we did the trick, by

Jove! Blew the railway station to Jericho."

"Hurry up," interposed Terence. "She's going."

The young airman methodically gathered together several important

instruments, and giving a final look round at the aircraft that had

served him so faithfully, stepped into the waiting "Carley."

Before the men had pulled five yards the wrecked machine gave a lurch

and capsized completely. Supported by trapped air in the partially

intact float the seaplane sank slowly, and with hardly a ripple

disappeared from view.

With the least possible delay rescuers and rescued were taken on

board the cruiser. Gathering way the "Sunderland" steamed in a

westerly direction in order to baffle the range of the shore

batteries, using her after guns with terrific speed.

Somewhat unceremoniously leaving his friend Terence hastened towards

the bridge. Just as he was abreast of the wreckage of the shattered

funnel a deafening detonation, that completely surpassed the roar of

the cruiser's guns, seemed to burst over his head. Staggering under

the blast of the explosion and temporarily blinded by the pungent

smoke, the lieutenant groped his way until his progress was checked

by a jagged mass of plating rendered almost red-hot by the impact of

a huge shell.

Recoiling, he stood stock still for quite thirty seconds, his senses

numbed by the nerve-racking concussion. Then, as the smoke drifted

away, he could discern the débris of the bridge. Charthouse,

stanchions, semaphore, signal-lockers--all had vanished, and with

them the captain and those of the officers and men who had dared fate

by rejecting the shelter afforded by the conning-tower, which,

stripped of its surroundings, stood out a gaunt, fire-pitted steel

box.

The shell, a 42-centimetre, had literally cleared the forepart of the

ship, from the for'ard 6-inch gun to the second funnel. Everything in

its path had been literally pulverized, with the exception of the

conning-tower. Had the projectile burst on or below the main deck the

fate of the "Sunderland" would have been sealed; as it was, she was

still intact under the waterline.

Instinctively Aubyn realized that the ship was not under control.

Steaming rapidly she was heading towards the "Bradford"--her sister

ship--which was steering in a north-easterly direction at about five

cables' distance on her port bow.

With a tremendous effort of will-power Terence cleared at a bound the

formidable glowing plate of metal that obstructed his path. Making

his way across the scorched and splintered planks, some of which gave

under his weight, he reached the entrance to the conning-tower.

The steel citadel was full of acrid-smelling smoke that eddied in the

air-currents which drifted in through the observation slits.

Bending, and holding his left hand over his mouth and nostrils,

Terence entered. As he did so he stumbled over the body of the

quartermaster.

Propped against the circular walls were the first lieutenant and two

seamen. All the occupants of the conning-tower had been overcome by

the noxious fumes from the highly-charged projectile.

Gasping for fresh air Terence flung himself upon the steam-steering

gear and put the helm hard over. A glimpse through one of the slits

revealed the fact that the cruiser was answering to her helm. Yet so

narrowly had a collision been averted that the "Sunderland's"

starboard side was within twenty feet of the "Bradford's" port

quarter as the two vessels swung apart.

The guns were now silent, for with the destruction of the foremast

the fire-control platform and its occupants had been swept out of

existence. The cruiser was temporarily out of action.

Terence was beginning to feel dizzy and faint. Why, he knew not.

Perhaps it was the pungent fumes. Leaning over the mouthpiece of the

speaking tube he ordered a couple of quartermasters to be sent to the

conning-tower. He could hardly recognize the sound of his own voice.

It seemed miles away.

Again he looked ahead. The cruiser was still drawing further and

further out of range. Having satisfied himself on that score and that

there was no fresh danger of colliding with any of the rest of the

fleet, he staggered into the open air and leaned heavily against the

outer wall of the conning-tower, He was barely conscious that the

metal was still hot.

Up came the quartermasters. At their heels was a sub-lieutenant, his

face grimed with smoke and his uniform torn.

"Take over, Garboard," ordered the lieutenant brokenly. "Report to

the flagship and ask instructions. I'm feeling deucedly queer."

"Why, you're wounded!" exclaimed the sub-lieutenant, noticing a dark

and increasing patch upon Aubyn's coat.

"Am I?" asked Terence incredulously.

Turning his head to ascertain the nature of his injury, of which

hitherto he was unconscious, his shoulder slipped along the curved

steel wall. Garboard was only just in time to save him from

collapsing inertly upon the deck of the ship he had brought safely

out of action.

"Congratulations, old man. You'll have to get your tailor to make

some alteration in your uniform."

"What do you mean?" asked Terence.

Two months had elapsed since the day on which Lieutenant Aubyn had

received a dangerous wound in his right side in the fight off Ostend.

He was sitting in the grounds of the Royal Naval Hospital at Chatham,

having made a fairly rapid recovery.

The officer who offered his congratulations was Oswestry, the

torpedo-lieutenant of the "Sunderland," who was also a convalescent,

having managed to intercept a flying fragment of metal during the

momentous engagement.

"Torps" flourished a newspaper with his left hand, for his right arm

was in a sling.

"Stop press--Latest news and appointments," he read. "The Admiralty

has approved of the following transfer. From R.N.R. to R.N.:

Lieutenant Terence Aubyn, to date 3rd of June, 1915."

For a moment Terence looked incredulously at the torpedo-lieutenant.

"Torps," he knew, was fond of a practical joke, but if he were

playing a prank it was carrying the game a little too far.

"Here you are," continued Oswestry, noting the expression on

Terence's face. "Read it for yourself."

"It's worth getting this," said Aubyn, indicating the position of his

wound. "All I want now is to be afloat again."

"Young fire-eater!" exclaimed "Torps" facetiously. "Don't you

worry--you'll have a look-in before The Day comes. By Jove, Aubyn,

you'll have to ask the surgeon if he'll allow you to hold a

fête----"

The crunching of boots upon the gravel path caused both officers to

turn. Standing at attention was a Marine orderly; behind him a

telegraph boy.

"Congratulations pouring in already," remarked "Torps."

Terence took the buff envelope and opened it.

"Great Scott!" he exclaimed brokenly, and without another word he

handed the telegram to his companion.

"It never rains but it pours," quoted "Torps." "You'll attain

Flag-rank in another fifteen years, mark my words. Lieutenant Aubyn,

D.S.O."

The "wire" was a private tip from a personal friend at the Admiralty,

informing Terence that His Majesty had been graciously pleased to

bestow upon him the Distinguished Service Order for gallantry in

bringing H.M.S. "Sunderland" out of action during operations off the

Belgian coast.

"Torps" was not far short of the mark, for a D.S.O. almost invariably

means a rapid promotion to the fortunate and heroic recipient.

"Flag-rank," echoed Terence. "There's plenty of time for that.

Meanwhile, that's where duty calls," and with a wave of his hand he

indicated the distant North Sea, on which the supreme contest for the

supremacy of the waves will prove that the heritage of Nelson is

still worthily upheld by Britannia's sons.

The End