The Mystery Ship: A Story of the 'Q' Ships During the Great War by Percy F. Westerman
CHAPTER XVIII
A BIG PROPOSITION
"KNOW anything about motor bikes?" inquired Morpeth, helping himselfto a liberal chunk of margarine and pushing the earthenware jaracross to his companion. "After you with the jam. Thank heaven it'snot the everlasting plum and apple!"
Meredith and the "owner" of Q 171 were at tea in the ward-room.Wakefield was taking deck duties in conjunction with the Q-boat'sofficial sub-lieutenant--a youth of twenty, Ainslie by name.
Tea was served in war time fashion afloat--an iron-mouldedtable-cloth, two enamelled cups, plates of the same material, andwooden-handled steel knives that had evidently not made theacquaintance of a knife-board since they came aboard. A loaf of largeand decidedly ancient appearance, a pot of jam and a generous pat ofmargarine (referred to in conversation as nut-butter) formed theedible part of the feast. Black, strongly brewed tea, condensed milkand moist sugar in more senses than one combined to provide liquidrefreshment. The whole contents of the swing table were executing arhythmic dance with the vibrations of the twin engines, the propellershafts of which ran under and on either side of the table.
"I have one," replied Meredith. "At least I believe I have--unlessmy young brother has pinched it," he added feelingly and with theknowledge of past experiences. "Why?"
"Rather curious to know what you paid for it?" replied Morpeth.
"As a matter of fact I got it a great bargain from a pal of mine whowas given a commission in '15," replied Meredith. "Twenty-twopounds."
"I guess I can beat that," remarked the R.N.R. officer, deliberatelyand deftly harpooning a slice of bread in the act of skimming overthe fidleys on to the floor. "I bought one for a sovereign."
"Scrap iron, then," declared Kenneth.
"No; in good running order," continued Morpeth, "twin cylinders,magneto, countershaft, kick starter and all that sort offake-a-lorum. True, the old 'bus had been in the ditch for afortnight. Do you remember when the old _Tantalus_ was torpedoed somewhile back? They got her into shallow water down Cornwall. Well, thismotor bike was on board. Bought it from a chap called Farrar, whotold me he had bought it from a marine officer for four bob and hadrefused a fiver for it as the vessel was sinking. Spent best part ofseven days' leave cleaning the thing up, and now, by Jove!----"
"You're wanted on deck, sir," exclaimed a sailor excitedly. "We'vejust sighted two men in the ditch----"
Taking a hasty and copious gulp of tea on the principle that "younever know when you may get another chance," Lieutenant-CommanderMorpeth ran up the ladder, Meredith only hanging back sufficiently toclear the heels of the R.N.R. officer's seaboots.
The mystery ship had already slowed down and altered course. Men,grasping coiled bowlines, were grouped on her long narrow bows.Ainslie, standing well for'ard, was conning the ship by movements ofhis arms. Wakefield, binoculars to his eyes, was keeping the men indistress under observation.
"A pair of Huns!" he exclaimed, as Morpeth and Meredith joined him."They're clinging to a U-boat's buoy. I can see the number 'U 247'painted on it."
"One of our submarines has been busy, then," remarked Morpeth. "Hopeto goodness she doesn't jolly well take it into her head to slap atinfish into us."
Wakefield shrugged his shoulders. This was another phase of U-boattactics. When a fellow rigs himself up like a Fritz to bag a Fritz,presumably he must run the risk of being taken for a genuine Fritz byother Fritz-hunters. He glanced at Morpeth inquiringly. The R.N.R.man's face was set and determined.
Above the risks of war another issue dominated. Human life was atstake, not in the heat of battle but in the ceaseless struggle of manwith the sea--a fight that has been waged ever since men adventuredthemselves upon the waters. Friends or foemen made no difference:Morpeth was determined to pluck the two distressed men from the gripof the voracious sea.
The swimmers were Ober-leutnant Hans von Preugfeld and Unter-leutnantEitel von Loringhoven. More than an hour had elapsed since they hadbeen ruthlessly jettisoned by the mutineers. Their chances of beingpicked up were small indeed. Had it not been for the fact that one ofthe U-boat's crew, more humane than the rest, had surreptitiouslyreleased a life-buoy from the starboard side of the submarine--he haddone this just before the two officers were hurled overboard--vonPreugfeld and von Loringhoven would have perished. As it was, thesupport afforded by the cylindrical hollow metal buoy had kept bothafloat, although they were almost exhausted by the numbing cold.
Slowing down until she carried bare steerage way, Q 171's bows passedwithin three yards of the life-buoy and the two men. A bowline,thrown with admirable judgment and precision, fell over theunter-leutnant's head, but von Loringhoven was too exhausted to sliphis arms and shoulders through the looped line. Without hesitation,the bluejacket who had hurled the coil of rope thrust the tail endinto the hands of a man standing next to him.
"Hold hard, mate!" he exclaimed, as he took a flying leap over thelow stanchion rail.
Deftly the rescuer adjusted the bowline under von Loringhoven'sshoulders, and with a stentorian "Heave away roundly!" he swunghimself back to the Q-boat's fo'c'sle.
In another fifteen seconds two dripping and water-logged individualsjoined the rescuer.
Kapitan von Preugfeld, gasping like a stranded carp, was speechlesswith exhaustion and astonishment. Up to that moment he had beendeceived into believing that the vessel that had effected his rescuewas a U-boat. He was still hazy on that point, but there was noshadow of doubt that the crew were British.
"Give the blighters a stiff glass of grog and shove them into hotblankets," ordered Morpeth. "I'll see them later and find out howthey came to be in the ditch."
But von Preugfeld, recovering his speech, was anxious to explainmatters at once. The thought paramount in his mind was that ofrevenge. It mattered not by what motive or through whose agencyretribution was accomplished as long as the mutineers were accountedfor.
"I kapitan am of _Unterseebooten_ 247," he announced in his brokenEnglish. "My crew haf mutiny make an' throw me into der zee. Dersubmarine is dere"--he pointed eastwards--"not von hour an' halfgone."
"Peculiar bird," thought Morpeth, then--"Good enough, cap'n," hereplied. "We'll be on her track. With luck she'll be scrap ironbefore night."
"No, no," protested von Preugfeld. "Do not to der bottom send. Makecapture. I tink not dat she can sink."
"Won't she," interrupted the R.N.R. officer grimly. "You leave thatto us."
"He means 'submerge,' I fancy," remarked Wakefield.
"Ach! Dat is so. She submerge cannot make. Take prisoners dosemutineer sailors."
"What's he driving at, Wakefield?" inquired Morpeth. "Hanged if I cancotton on to the yarn."
"He apparently wants to get his own back," suggested Wakefield. "Atrue type of the egotistical, arrogant Prussian. D'ye notice he neverreferred to his fellow victim of the mutiny. Perhaps they got whatthey jolly well deserved."
"No business of mine," quoth the R.N.R. man. "Sinking Fritzes is myjob. Take that fellow below, Walters."
He jerked his thumb in the direction of the fore hatchway, whithervon Loringhoven had already been escorted; but von Preugfeld hadanother card to play.
"Englisch officers der are on board der submarine," he declared."Four officers prisoners--nein, it is three," and he held up threefingers to emphasise the fact.
Except to serve his own ends, von Preugfeld would not have mentionedthe fact. It mattered nothing to him whether the prisoners were sentto the bottom inside the hull of the U-boat if she were destroyed bythe British craft; but as a lever to influence Morpeth's decision, inorder to enable von Preugfeld to take vengeance on the mutineers atsome distant date, the Prussian blurted out the disconcerting news.
Almost at the same time he realised that the situation was acomplicated one. There was the question of the spy, von Preussen. TheR.A.F. officers would, on their release, certainly demand anexplanation of their supposed comrade's whereabouts, and then the spywould be revealed in his true character. It would beawkward--de
"What officers are they?" demanded Morpeth. He pictured the plight ofmaster mariners of Mercantile Marine held captive on board thesubmarine that had sent their vessel to the bottom--hostages who,contrary to all the recognised canons of war, had been compelled torun a grave risk of being slaughtered by their fellow countrymenwhile in the hold of a modern pirate submarine.
"Von der Air Regiment at Auldhaig," replied von Preugfeld. "It faircapture vos," he hastened to explain.
"We know most of them," exclaimed Meredith. "I wonder who they are?"
Morpeth as inquisitor-in-chief put the question, but von Preugfeldshook his head and professed ignorance on the matter.
With a gesture Morpeth dismissed him. Shivering with cold andtrembling with rage, the kapitan of U 247 disappeared below, to enjoya far greater hospitality than he had ever bestowed upon hisprisoners of war.
Meanwhile Q 171, running at thirty knots, was fast overhauling themutineers. In forty minutes after von Preugfeld's rescue theconning-tower of the fugitive was sighted at a distance of fivemiles.
Morpeth immediately rang down for fifteen knots. The enormous speedof the Q-boat would be sufficient to cause surprise and suspicion inthe minds of the U-boat's crew, and supposing it were anothersubmarine which could dive and succeed in getting away, then thestory of a decoy capable of attaining a terrific pace would be knownto the German Admiralty. In that case Morpeth's "little stunt" wouldbid fair to become a "wash-out."
Ten minutes later the White Ensign was hoisted at Q 171's masthead,and a shell, purposely fired wide, threw up a column of water fiftyyards from the U-boat's port bow.
"That's done the trick," exclaimed Wakefield, as a white flag waspromptly hoisted on the mutineer. "It's 'Kamerad' all the time whenthey're cornered. By Jove! the old blighter did speak the truth foronce. There are fellows in khaki standing aft."
Morpeth merely grunted. He was pondering in his mind--not on thequestion of how to deal with his prize, but one on which weightiermatters depended. It meant an addition of thirty odd people to feedand quarter--a big proposition indeed.