An Unexpected Capture
"I can see no possibility of landing you at present," said the officer
of the watch, after Ross had reported the events that had led up to the
rescue of the two boats. "We're under sealed orders. We have to make
for a certain rendezvous at full speed. When we arrive we shall know
where we are bound for--until then we are quite in the dark. We'll
wireless, however, and let the Commander-in-Chief at Portsmouth know
that you are safe."
"Have you any news of the _Capella_?"
"Yes; she was mined while in pursuit of a submarine. It is a dickens
of a puzzle to know why, for our sweepers were over there early that
morning and never found a single mine. Whatever it was, it was not so
powerful as they generally are, for the _Capella_ was able to make for
shore and run aground within a few miles of Barfleur. All hands were
saved, luckily, but I'm afraid this gale will do for her entirely.
It's blowing great guns."
"Then those fellows on the unterseeboot were wrong," remarked Vernon.
"They said she had gone down with all hands. We believe that the
submarine is a mine-layer, and perhaps it was one of her mines that the
old _Capella_ bumped against."
"Let's hope the patrol-vessels will settle her," rejoined the officer
of the watch. "But you must be awfully knocked up. I'll introduce you
to your new messmates, and they'll give you a shake-down in the
steerage flat. The _Orontabella's_ officers can mess with the
'warrants', and the men will be berthed for'ard."
The Lieutenant stepped to the top of the ladder from the navigation
bridge. A couple of midshipmen were standing on the superstructure,
watching with professional interest the splicing of a six-inch hawser.
"Mr. Sefton!" sang out the officer of the watch.
The midshipman ran up the ladder and saluted.
"Your messmates for the time being," continued the Lieutenant, after he
had formally introduced Trefusis and Haye. "They've had a pretty rough
time, and they are jolly peckish, I know."
Midshipman Sefton led the two chums below, and piloted them into a very
long room on the main deck. It was plainly, nay scantily furnished,
and appeared at first sight to be utterly cheerless. Possibly the idea
was heightened by the fact that frequently the scuttles were obscured
by the seas that slapped viciously against the cruiser's sides.
"This is the gun-room," explained Sefton apologetically. "We've had to
clear it out pretty thoroughly, you know. No knick-knacks or
pretty-pretties in war time. Sorry the other fellows aren't here.
We're four one-stripers, three midshipmen R.N., and five midshipmen
R.N.R.--a jolly lively crowd of us, I can assure you."
He touched a bell. A messman appeared.
"Jones," ordered the midshipman, "a good square meal for two, and jolly
well look sharp about it."
"You've got to be dead nuts on that chap if you want anything done in a
hurry," explained Sefton after the man had cleared off. "It's the only
way to check slackness. No doubt he gets his own back by giving us
plum-duff without troubling to extract the cockroaches; but we manage
to thrive on it. By the by, I'll tell my servant to sling a couple of
hammocks for you. There'll be no need to turn out before dinner."
Sefton hastened below to acquaint the marine who, for the sum of ten
shillings a month, acted as the budding Nelson's factotum to make the
necessary preparations for his new chums. By the time he returned, a
substantial lunch had been set before Trefusis and Haye.
"I say, you fellows," remarked the midshipman; "I notice that
Eccles--that's the officer of the watch, you know--was greasing his jaw
tackle a good bit. Did he mention where we are bound for?"
"Nothing definite," replied Vernon. "He said that the ship was under
sealed orders."
"Then it's no use hazarding a guess," decided Sefton. "It might be
anywhere from China to Peru. In any case, it's a change from what
we've been doing--knocking about in the North Sea, waiting for an
appointment which the Germans flatly decline to keep. Four months
solid, and I've never seen a gun discharged except at target practice."
During the progress of the meal young Sefton was a little inclined to
patronize his guests. Perhaps he did it unconsciously.
"My governor's a post-captain," he observed in the course of
conversation. "What's yours?"
"Only an Admiral," replied Ross.
"Is he, by Jove!" exclaimed Sefton. "Then why the deuce are you a
'with but after'?"
"A what?" asked Trefusis, somewhat mystified.
"An R.N.R. man ranks with, but after, an R.N. fellow with equal rank,"
explained the midshipman. "It's a fact: look it up in the King's
Regulations. But, I say, do you play footer? We're in a match.
Gun-room versus Ward-room, coming off this week. If you play, I'll get
Cranbury--he's president of our mess--to put you in the team."
The meal over, Ross and Vernon were taken to the steerage flat, an
electrically lighted space out of which opened the cabin of the junior
officers. At the after end of the flat, a marine sentry paced day and
night, his post extending from the stern torpedo-tube to the gun-room
door on the port side, and to the armoured door on the starboard side.
Amongst his varied and multitudinous duties, particularly strict orders
were given him not to allow anyone to put their hands on the
paintwork--one of the standing orders dating from the prehistoric days
before the war, when "spit and polish" were regarded as being
absolutely essential to the efficiency of H.M. ships.
At three bells in the second dog-watch, the _Oxford_ having arrived at
the rendezvous, the sealed orders were opened. It was then found that,
in company with the _Guildford_ and the _Launceston_, the cruiser had
to proceed to Halifax, Nova Scotia, to escort a contingent of Canadian
troops to Liverpool.
This was but one of the manifold odd jobs performed by the British Navy
in connection with the war--necessary, but without any prospect of
excitement. The trip was regarded as a picnic, after weeks of
monotonous patrol duty, for when 800 miles west of Ireland there was
little likelihood of falling in with any hostile submarine, while other
German craft had been swept off the board months previously.
On the third day out the football match came off. Ross and Vernon were
included in the gun-room team, and never before had they participated
in a rugger match in such strange circumstances. The _Oxford_ was
pitching slightly in the long Atlantic swell. The "ground" was the
port side of the quarter-deck, nets being rigged up to prevent the ball
getting very much in touch with the sea. The fun was fast and furious,
the referee being inclined to tolerance; and before half-time half the
players were off the field owing to minor injuries, ranging from the
smashing of the Assistant Paymaster's eyeglasses to the laying out of
the portly Engineer-Commander.
Suddenly the _Oxford_ turned 8 degrees to starboard. The alteration of
course resulted in a break in the game. Something out of the usual had
occurred for the cruiser, which was the leading vessel in line ahead,
to break out of station.
A bugle sharply sounded the "G"--officers' call. For'ard the bosn's
mates' pipes were turning up the hands. The Captain, Commander, and
officer of the watch were on the fore-bridge looking steadily at a dark
cloud of smoke showing beyond the horizon.
It was a ship on fire. The alert officer of the watch had noticed the
smoke, which was much too dense to be caused by the vessel's furnaces.
On reporting the matter to the captain, the latter immediately ordered
the _Oxford_ to be steered in that direction. As senior officer, he
gave orders for the other cruisers to stand on that course.
"She's quite a small packet, I should imagine," remarked one of the
Subs. "At any rate she's not fitted with wireless."
In half an hour the cruiser was sufficiently near to see clearly the
distressed vessel. She was a cargo-boat of about two thousand tons.
Amidships, flames were mounting fiercely from her hatches. She had
stopped her engines, and was preparing to lower boats. Aft, she flew
the Stars and Stripes, upside down as a signal of distress.
The ship was doomed. Fanned by the light breeze, the flames were
rapidly spreading. Her cargo undoubtedly consisted of highly
inflammable material, since it blazed freely, while the smoke smelt
strongly of burnt oil.
The _Oxford_ stopped at four cables' length to windward of the burning
ship. She could do nothing beyond rescuing the crew on board. There
was no necessity to lower her boats, since the cargo-boat obviously had
enough for all hands.
At length the boats of the unfortunate ship were lowered. There was no
undue haste. Men deliberately threw their bundles into the arms of
their waiting comrades before they swarmed down the falls. The captain
was the last to leave, a bulge under his coat betraying the fact that
he had taken the ship's papers with him.
"Nothing of an explosive nature in her cargo," said Ross to his chum.
"Otherwise they would have sheered off a bit quicker. My word, how she
does burn! Isn't it a grand sight?"
"Yes," admitted Vernon. "It's lucky there's help at hand. Knocking
about in the boats in mid-Atlantic must be ten times as bad as in the
English Channel."
"I beg to differ," remarked one of the Subs who was standing by.
"There's not so much shipping, I'll admit, but the waves are longer and
more regular in mid-ocean. It's marvellous what an open boat can do
when she's put to it, except in very broken water."
The boats were now approaching the _Oxford_. A monkey-ladder had been
lowered to enable the men to surmount the lofty side of the cruiser,
while the sailors, always ready to lend a hand in cases of distress,
were swarming down to the net-shelves in readiness to receive the
personal belongings of the American seamen.
"Look!" whispered Vernon. "Isn't that chap like our old pal
Ramblethorne?"
He pointed to a tall, bronzed man clad in canvas jumper and trousers,
and wearing a grey slouched hat. He was sitting in the stern-sheets of
the second boat, with his shoulders hunched and his face half-averted.
"Like him?" echoed Ross. "By Jove, it's he, right enough!"
Trefusis was right. Von Hauptwald, alias Ramblethorne, had succeeded
in evading the hue and cry after his escape on Harley Bank, and had
continued to remain hidden in the house of a naturalized German in
Cheshire until the search for him had somewhat relaxed.
He then managed to ship as a fireman on board a vessel bound for
Montreal, knowing that his chances of getting out of Great Britain
would be greater if he made for a Dominion port rather than one in the
United States.
At Montreal he promptly deserted, made his way across the border, and
thence to New York. Here he picked up with a German-American
shipowner, who readily agreed to help him back to Germany.
A cargo-boat, the _Tehuantepec Girl_, was loading with a cargo
consisting of cotton, ready-made clothing, and leather equipment.
Nominally her destination was Leith. Her manifest and bill of lading
were made out to that effect, but secretly her skipper had instructions
to make for Stockholm. If he were overhauled and taken into Lerwick by
a British patrol-boat, well and good. The owners must be compensated
by the British Government, even if the _Tehuantepec Girl_ was miles out
of her course for Leith. On the other hand, if the boat succeeded in
reaching the Baltic, she would be conveniently "captured", by previous
arrangement, by a German cruiser or destroyer and taken into Kiel.
Unfortunately the fact of keeping secret the real destination of the
_Tehuantepec Girl_ led to her undoing. A German dock-hand, who was
really in the pay of the Teutonic Government, had placed an infernal
machine in the cargo, setting it to explode two days after leaving New
York.
In less than a quarter of an hour after the discovery of the outbreak,
the fire had taken such a firm hold that all attempts to subdue it were
hopeless.
And now von Hauptwald, in the disguise of a Yankee deck-hand, was being
rowed towards a craft which he would have given almost anything to
avoid--a British cruiser.
Still, he was not dismayed. The chances of detection were absurdly
small. None of the _Tehuantepec Girl's_ crew knew his true personality
except the captain, and he was to be handsomely rewarded as soon as the
spy was safe in German territory. On the other hand, there might be
one amongst the 655 forming the complement of the _Oxford_ who might
recognize the one-time doctor who had lived at Devonport.
"Let's get out of his way," suggested Vernon. "We'll inform the
Commander, and he will order him to be put under arrest."
"I'm not going to budge," declared Ross. "If he sees us, what can he
do?"
"I'm not afraid of him," protested Haye.
"Very well, then; let's stop where we are. He's got to know sooner or
later."
The first boat had already delivered her human cargo Upon the cruiser's
quarter-deck. As each man's name was taken down by the master-at-arms
he was sent forward. The first mate remained in conversation with the
Commander until the arrival of the _Tehuantepec Girl's_ skipper.
Von Hauptwald was one of the last men to come aboard. As he swung
himself over the rail he gave a swift glance at the group of officers.
His eye caught that of Ross Trefusis.
For a moment the spy thought that he was mistaken, but a second glimpse
confirmed his suspicions.
"Steady on there!" shouted the Commander. "What the deuce are you up
to?"
Von Hauptwald had broken into a run across the quarter-deck. With a
bound he cleared the stanchion-rails, and plunged head foremost into
the sea.
He had realized that to remain on the cruiser meant arrest and ultimate
death as a dangerous spy. Better by far to be drowned without further
delay than to experience all the horrors of lying under sentence of
death.
He had acted spontaneously, yet there was method in his madness. By
running across to the other side of the ship there was little chance of
the boats being able to pick him up ere he sank for the last time. Not
until he rose to the surface did he realize his difficulty. He was a
strong swimmer, and the natural instinct to strike out overpowered his
determination to sink.
There was a rush of officers and men to the ship's side to see what was
taking place. With two exceptions, they thought that the supposed
seaman had suddenly lost his reason.
Two seamen, one a brawny specimen, the other a red-haired
middle-weight, dived after the would-be suicide. Others were on the
point of following when the Commander restrained them.
"Away sea-boat!" was the order.
The _Oxford_ was now forging slowly through the water. During the
rescue of the _Tehuantepec Girl's_ people, she had drifted rather too
close to the burning ship to be safe, should an explosion occur.
Already von Hauptwald was fifty yards astern, with the two seamen
swimming towards him with powerful strokes.
His efforts to drown were a failure. He simply couldn't keep his head
under. His attempts to swallow quantities of salt water only increased
the instinctive motion of the limbs to keep himself afloat. Bitterly
he regretted that he had not picked up some heavy metal object during
his career across the cruiser's quarterdeck.
The approach of his would-be rescuers made him realize the necessity of
self-destruction. At the encouraging shout of "Cheer up, old mate,
you're safe!" spluttered by the leading seaman, he dived, pressing his
chest with both hands in the hope that he would be able to expel the
air from his lungs.
A horny hand gripped him by the arm. He felt himself being drawn to
the surface. As his head appeared, he swung round and dealt the seaman
a powerful blow with his fist. The man, taken completely by surprise,
relaxed his grip. Von Hauptwald's blow had almost broken his shoulder.
"Be careful, Ginger!" he shouted to his mate. "He's fair balmy. Mind
he don't plug you."
The second seaman swam in a circle just beyond reach of the spy's arm.
His attempt to get behind the German failed, for the simple reason that
von Hauptwald gave no opportunity for an attack in the rear. The other
sailor, floating on his back and rubbing his injured arm, was content
to shout advice and await developments.
The red-haired man was not deficient in courage, but he did not at all
relish the idea of tackling single-handed a powerfully built
maniac--for such he took the spy to be. He wisely awaited the approach
of the _Oxford's_ sea-boat, which, manned by four rowers who were
encouraged by Midshipman Setley, was being urged rapidly towards the
scene.
"Way enough!" shouted the middy.
The bowman boated his oar and leant over the bows. As he did so von
Hauptwald avoided his grip, and, seizing the boat's keel, brought his
head in violent contact with the elm planking.
Then it was that Ginger saw his chance and took it. Grabbing the
German by the legs, he hung on like grim death, shouting to his
comrades to "tackle the lubber".
Within an ace of capsizing the boat, von Hauptwald was hauled on board.
He fought desperately. For a moment it seemed as if he would more than
hold his own against the four seamen, until one of them, seizing a
stretcher, dealt the spy a crack on the head that laid him senseless
across the thwarts.
"Couldn't help it, sir," exclaimed the man apologetically.
"You did perfectly right, Dickenson," said the midshipman. "He's
properly mad. Come on, you men, are you going to bathe for the rest of
the day?"
The victim of von Hauptwald's attack had to be assisted into the boat,
which, on making the ship, was quickly hoisted and secured.
Meanwhile the _Tehuantepec Girl_ was on the point of sinking. From
stem to stern she was a roaring furnace. Mingled with the roar of the
flames could be heard the hiss of water coming in contact with the
red-hot plates, while ever and anon came the crash of metal as the deck
beams gave way and fell into the hold.
Suddenly she parted amidships. The flames died out, overpowered by the
inrush of water. A thick column of smoke and steam arose as the bow
and stem [Transcriber's note: stern?] portions floated apart. Then
with the roar of escaping air the remains of the Yankee cargo-boat
disappeared, to find a resting-place 7000 fathoms deep on the bed of
the Atlantic.