A Treacherous Plot
A ragged volley of musketry followed the departing submarine. One
bullet mushroomed itself against the steel conning-tower; another
zipped through one of the guard-rails. The rest either flew harmlessly
overhead or ricochetted from the surface of the placid water.
Nevertheless the firing was a signal for the crew to hasten below.
Kapitan Schwalbe and the Unter-leutnant disappeared with ignominious
speed within the conning-tower. The men, bending low, bolted for the
fore hatch. In twenty seconds the deck of U75 was deserted save for
Ross and Vernon, who, padlocked to the stanchion, were unable to move
six inches in either direction. They were only partly screened by the
rise of the conning-tower. A sharp splinter from the bullet that had
splayed against the steel wall cut cleanly through Vernon's coat sleeve
and inflicted a slight gash in the lad's forearm, yet in the excitement
he hardly noticed it.
"I say, old man," exclaimed Ross, as a wave slapping against the
submarine's bow threw a shower of spray over the two prisoners. "What
will happen if they submerge? It seems to me as if old Schwalbe has
forgotten us."
"He would have dived before this if he intended so doing," replied
Haye. "Ten to one he's going to pay us out for attempting to take
French, or rather German, leave. It's jolly cold and mighty
uncomfortable, but we'll keep a stiff upper lip and show him what we
are made of."
"With all due deference to you, old chap," rejoined Trefusis, his teeth
chattering as the keen wind played upon his saturated garments, "I
would far rather be without this badge of German kultur." He indicated
the chain that encircled his ankle. "I don't think that you can hold a
brief for Kapitan Schwalbe. I am not so sure about it that he is not
going to dive."
U75 dipped as he spoke, submerging her fore deck almost to the base of
the conning-tower. Then, with a double cascade of water pouring from
her, she shook herself free, throwing her bows high above the surface.
A man, gripping the stanchion-rail as he made his way knee-deep in
water, came towards the two prisoners. It was Hans Koppe. He had
obtained the Kapitan's permission to release his charges from their
uncomfortable position.
"Hold on tightly as you go aft," he cautioned. "There is hot coffee
waiting for you below."
It was impracticable to descend by means of the fore hatch. That means
of communication had already been closed and battened down, owing to
the constant flow of water over the bows. Even the after hatch, in
spite of the protection afforded by the conning-tower and the raised
coaming, was admitting water into the interior of the submarine.
Cold, exhausted, and hungry, the lads were glad to be able to eat and
drink, discard their wringing-wet garments, and turn in. Without
waking they slept solidly for ten hours. It was one in the afternoon
when they turned out. U75 was rounding Land's End. She was submerged,
steering a compass course, but frequently showing her periscope to
ascertain her whereabouts. Already the Longships Lighthouse was broad
on the port beam.
It was a tedious, discomforting run from Land's End to The Lizard. The
Mounts Bay fishing fleets were out, a circumstance that compelled the
submarine to keep below the surface. Kapitan Schwalbe knew that once
the alert skippers of these boats sighted even the tip of the
periscope, the news of the presence of a hostile submarine would be
quickly sent to the naval authorities at Devonport. The necessity for
secrecy also prevented him from making use of the wireless: not that
the message would be deciphered, but because the origin of the message
could be fixed with comparative certainty by any of the British
wireless stations that "picked up" her call.
The approaches to Plymouth Sound, too, gave Kapitan Schwalbe a bad
time. Far beyond the Eddystone, and from Looe Island to Bigbury Bay,
armed trawlers and torpedo-boats patrolled incessantly, their movements
aided by sea-planes. It was almost a matter of impossibility for a
hostile submarine to approach Plymouth Sound by daylight, since the
aeroplanes were able to discern any sinister object moving under the
comparatively shallow and clear waters between Rame Head and Stoke
Point; while at night the precautions taken were of such an elaborate
and efficient description as to seal the fate of any submarine rash
enough to run her head into a noose.
Accordingly U75 gave the Eddystone a wide berth, shaping a course to
pass twenty miles to the south'ard of the far-famed lighthouse. Here
she was in the thick of the Channel traffic, a stream of mercantile
ships passing up and down as unconcernedly as if such a thing as a
German submarine did not exist.
Although there were plenty of opportunities, Kapitan Schwalbe made no
attempt to molest the ships. For one thing, experience had taught him
that the British merchant skipper possessed a bull-dog tenacity, and a
courage not to be daunted by the sight of a hostile periscope appearing
from nowhere in the midst of a waste of water. For another, he was now
on the look-out for more important game--his chance to retrieve his
already vanishing prestige.
However, one of the merchant vessels served him a good purpose,
although unknown to her. Marking a large ocean tramp bound up-Channel,
U75 dived deeply, so as to be free from any danger of being hit by her
forefoot.
With the noise of the tramp's propeller to guide her, U75 followed,
unsuspected, in her wake as she made for the Lizard Light.
Arriving safely at the rendezvous, Kapitan Schwalbe waited until it was
dark, and then cautiously brought the submarine awash. Punctually at
ten o'clock a feeble violet light blinked through the night. It was
U77's call to her consort.
"What's the game, I wonder?" asked Vernon, as a hail in German was
borne faintly to their ears.
The chums had turned in. There was nothing else for them to do, since
they had been ordered to leave the quarters allotted to the crew. As
there was no furniture of any description in the alley-way that had
been made their sleeping compartment, they had climbed into their
bunks. Here they could maintain an almost uninterrupted conversation.
"Hist!" exclaimed Ross warningly. He had been lying with his ear
almost touching one of the many voice-tubes that led from the
conning-tower to various parts of the submarine. Quite by accident, he
discovered that the pipes formed an excellent conductor of sound in a
manner that had not been intended.
"What are you doing?" asked Haye curiously.
"Jam your ear against the centre one of these three pipes," said his
chum.
Vernon did so. It required very little movement on his part, since the
bunks were rather narrow. The same voice-tube that Ross was "tapping"
ran vertically past Haye's bunk, which was immediately underneath the
one Trefusis had appropriated from the time when he had been laid upon
it under the influence of the injection.
This particular pipe formed a means of vocal communication between the
conning-tower and Kapitan Schwalbe's cabin. For some reason the
whistle had been removed from the cabin end, and consequently sounds
from the Kapitan's quarters were conveyed with tolerable clearness.
There were two men engaged in conversation. One was Kapitan Schwalbe;
the other, who spoke in a lower key, and so rapidly that Ross had great
difficulty in mentally translating his words, was the
Lieutenant-Commander of U77. He had been put aboard U75 only a few
minutes previously.
"My dear von Hoffner," Kapitan Schwalbe was saying. "Your plan is all
very well as far as you are concerned; but where do we come in?
Understand that while we are on the surface our risks are increased
ten-fold. Suppose, for instance, the battleship does not notice, or
affects not to notice, the white flag?"
"She will, right enough," assured the Lieutenant-Commander of U77.
"These English are such fools that in their anxiety to observe the
rules of warfare" (here von Hoffner laughed sardonically) "they play
into our hands. More than a twelvemonth of war has not taught them
that the hitherto recognized observances of war are no longer binding.
This is not a petty squabble between two nations. It is a struggle for
existence; consequently it is where our frightfulness scores."
"It hasn't up to the present, according to my experience," objected
Kapitan Schwalbe gloomily. "These Englishmen simply won't be
frightened. But to return once more to the point: what steps do you
propose to take to minimize my risk?"
"There must be risk, of course," remarked von Hoffner. "According to
latest reports, it seems pretty certain that we cannot hope to
intercept the _Tremendous_ during the hours of darkness. Consequently
we have to make use of a ruse. Directly I spot her I dive, keeping as
much as possible close to her track, say three hundred metres off."
"Yes, you dive," commented Schwalbe caustically. "That is quite
feasible. But what of U75?"
"She will keep on the surface almost exactly in the indicated path of
the battleship. You will strike your ensign and hoist a large white
flag in its place. It will mean scrapping your best tablecloth, mein
herr. With the wind in its present quarter the flag will blow athwart
the battleship's course, so there is no risk of it not being seen. You
and your crew will, of course, form up aft. That will give more colour
to the deception."
"Perhaps it will work," said Kapitan Schwalbe.
"Perhaps? Of course it will," declared von Hoffher sanguinely. "Then
the rest is child's play. Directly the _Tremendous_ slows down--it's
the speed of these battleships that has caused us to miss hitherto--I
will let loose two torpedoes. There will be no bungling, I assure you.
I'll take good care to hit her close to the magazine, and there will be
no opportunity for her to use her quick-firers.
"By the by, I've two English boys on board," said the Kapitan of U75.
In a few words he related the circumstances in which they were made
prisoners. "I suppose they ought to line up on deck with the hands?"
"Certainly," replied von Hoffher, with one of his cold-blooded
sniggers. "It will heighten the illusion. It will do them good to see
what one of our unterseebooten can do. But it is highly important that
there be no survivors from the torpedoed battleship. The ruse is a
grand one, and can be employed over and over again, provided that the
secret does not leak out. After all, I don't think I would bring these
English youths on deck."
"They are safe enough," protested Schwalbe. "If we return to
Wilhelmshaven, they will be locked up in safe custody until the end of
the war. If we do not, then I fancy there will be no survivors from
U75 as well as from the English battleship _Tremendous_."
The two treacherous officers conversed in a similar strain for several
minutes longer. Then came the sound of glasses being clinked as an
accompaniment to a boastful toast. Talking boisterously, the two
officers left the cabin, and presently the lads heard the sound of oars
as von Hoffner was rowed back to his command.