Almost Recaptured
"What's that light, Jan?" asked the Flight-Sub.
The _Hoorn_ was now well beyond the three-mile limit. Ross and his
fellow-passenger were standing aft, sheltering from the keen
south-westerly wind. The mate of the vessel was with them, the skipper
being on the bridge.
"Those lights?" corrected Jan. "They have been visible all the time.
They are the two white leading-lights to Ymuiden harbour."
"No, I don't mean those," said the Flight-Sub. "Away to the south'ard,
quite a mile from the harbour. See, it's showing again."
From the dunes a white light blinked thrice and then disappeared.
"I do not know," answered Jan gravely. He thought for a moment and
then said: "Half a mo'. I will speak to the skipper."
"Hanged if I like it," muttered the Flight-Sub. "I say, Trefusis, that
light blinking away looks very fishy. It would mean a fifty-pound fine
in England; but here, apparently, it is not objected to."
The skipper and the mate were talking rapidly. Both men were leaning
over the after side of the bridge-rails, with their eyes fixed upon the
dark shore from which the mysterious light flickered at regular
intervals.
"Light on the port bow," reported the helmsman. Both of the _Hoorn's_
officers turned just in time to catch sight of a steady white light
before it disappeared. Whatever its meaning, it was remarkable that
from that moment the shore light ceased to blink.
"Put out our navigation lamps, Jan," said the skipper. "Someone has
betrayed your English friends. Nevertheless I will do all in my power
to aid them. We'll steer south-west for an hour. Perhaps we may
outwit yon craft, whatever she may be, before dawn."
Ross and his companion were quick to note the alteration of helm. They
knew, too, that the removal of the steaming-lights was for the purpose
of baffling what must be, to a dead certainty, a German craft--a
submarine, or perhaps a torpedo-boat, since the latter frequently
ventured out of Borkum and crept stealthily towards the Schelde,
keeping close to the Dutch territorial waters in order to avoid being
snapped by the vigilant British destroyer flotilla.
Slowly the wintry day dawned. Anxiously the British officers scanned
the horizon. The low-lying Dutch coast was now invisible. All around
was a waste of grey, tumbling waves, unbroken by a sail of any
description.
The _Hoorn_ was ploughing her way at a modest ten knots. Short, beamy,
and deep-draughted, she was pitching heavily, sending a frothy bow wave
far to leeward each time she dipped her nose into the steep seas.
"I'd give a fiver for the sight of a good old White Ensign at the
present moment," remarked the Flight-Sub anxiously. "Good heavens,
what's that?"
Ten seconds later he laughed mirthlessly.
"Nerves going to blazes," he muttered. "A bit of wreckage gave me the
jumps. By Jove, don't we look a pair of comical objects?"
They had discarded their grotesque head-dress. Ross had a woollen
muffler wrapped round his head, while his companion had been given the
loan of a red stocking-cap, but they still retained the weird garb in
which they had made their journey down the ship canal.
Suddenly Ross gripped his companion's arm and pointed with his right
hand to a spar-like object projecting a few feet, close to the waves,
at less than a cable's length on the port quarter.
"A periscope!" ejaculated the Flight-Sub.
"Let's hope it's one of our own submarines," said Ross.
"We'll soon find out," added his companion. "It's forging ahead.
Whatever it is, they've got us under observation."
Jan, who was now on the bridge, had his attention called to the
disconcerting fact. He beckoned to his two passengers.
"You had better go below and stow yourselves away," he suggested. "We
will be boarded before long."
"Not I," replied the Flight-Sub. "They've marked us already. If they
do take us they won't have to dig us out of a coal-bunker."
The submarine was emerging. At a pace that more than held its own with
the _Hoorn_, she shook herself clear of the water, although green seas
were breaking across the flat deck as far aft as the conning-tower.
Then muffled forms clambered through the hatchway; a young,
yellow-bearded officer appeared on the navigation platform and hailed
the _Hoorn_ in Dutch to heave to instantly.
Even then the tough old Dutch skipper was not going to give in without
a protest.
"For what reason?" he shouted back. "This is a Netherlands ship."
"That I do not doubt," rejoined the officer of the submarine. "But you
have two Englishmen on board who have broken their parole----"
"You lie!" interrupted the skipper vehemently.
"Not a word more!" exclaimed the German fiercely. "Heave to, or we
sink you!"
Reluctantly the "old man" gave the order to stop the engines. Jan,
sliding down the bridge ladder, communicated to the British officers
the text of the conversation.
"Some rascal of a German spy has betrayed you," he added. "If I could
lay my hands upon him----"
There was a look on the Dutchman's face which showed that his anger was
genuine.
"All right, Jan," said the Flight-Sub. "It's the fortune of war."
* * * * *
"Deucedly rotten morning," remarked Sub-lieutenant Fox as he greeted
the officer of the watch, whom he was about to relieve.
Eccles, the Lieutenant, who had been on the _Capella's_ bridge for four
long and dreary hours, merely nodded sleepily. He was thinking, with
feelings of satisfaction, of the hot coffee and fragrant bacon and eggs
awaiting him below. Three minutes had to elapse before eight bells.
Wearily he rubbed his salt-rimmed eyelids with a heavily gloved hand.
"_Taurus_ wirelessed twenty minutes ago," he reported, as the two
officers entered the chart-room. "She was then at the extreme limit of
her northerly course. You ought to sight her very shortly. Here's our
course"--he indicated the pencilled line on the chart. "Nothing to
report: there never is when I'm officer of the watch. It's this
infernal monotony that plays havoc with a fellow's nerves."
Noel Fox nodded sympathetically. Although the _Capella_ had been only
six days on her new station--keeping a watch on the Dutch coast between
the Texel and the North Hinder Lightship--he, too, was mightily "fed
up" with the task of "treading on the tail of Germany's coat".
Not so much as the periscope of a hostile submarine had been sighted.
The German torpedo-boats that occasionally sneaked southwards from
Borkum were taking an enforced holiday. Perhaps it was in sympathy
with the "High Seas Fleet" skulking in the Kiel Canal. In any case,
the six motor craft of the _Capella_ class had a full share of wintry
conditions in the North Sea without any compensating adventures to
mitigate the monotony.
As Eccles descended from the bridge, a great-coated muffled-up figure,
followed by a large dog, swung himself up the ladder.
"Morning, Haye," was Noel Fox's salutation, as he stooped to pat Shrap,
the chartered libertine of the _Capella_. "Dash it all, it is cold!
Makes a fellow wish he were a sheep-dog. Here, Shrap, off you go and
get your whiskers trimmed. I can see Tomkins waiting for you."
The dog needed no second order. Every morning just after eight bells
Shrap would be taken over by the watch below. Every man took a delight
in combing the animal's long hair, until Shrap's coat was the pride of
the _Capella's_ crew and the envy of the rest of the flotilla, whose
mascots never aspired to be more than a tame rat, parrot, or canary.
"Sail on the port bow, sir," bawled the look-out.
The Sub and the midshipman promptly levelled their telescopes. A small
cargo-steamer was pitching and rolling as she forged slowly ahead on a
westerly course. Although she was fairly discernible against the pale
grey of the eastern sky, it could be taken for granted that from the
Dutchman's bridge the neutral-grey-painted _Capella_ would be
practically invisible.
"She's slowing down," declared Vernon.
"What on earth for?" enquired the Sub. "She couldn't possibly have
spotted us. Starboard your helm, quartermaster. Good! Keep her at
that. We'll get her to make her number, if nothing else."
Again Noel Fox levelled his telescope. Then he thrust it into a rack
on the side of the chart-room, and bellowed:
"Turn up, both watches. Action stations. Submarine ahead."
His quick glance had discerned the after part of a large unterseeboot
as she ranged alongside the Dutchman, whose high sides screened most of
the submarine from the _Capella_, and conversely prevented the Germans
clustered amidships from noticing the approach of the swift British
patrol-vessel.
For the next few minutes, all was bustle and orderly confusion on board
the _Capella_. Taking three steps at a time, Captain Syllenger gained
the bridge, closely followed by Eccles, to whom the sudden interruption
of a hearty breakfast came as a welcome call.
At a terrific pace the sleuth-hound of the sea tore towards the
_Hoorn_, for such she was. Rounding under her squat counter, and
reversing engines, the _Capella_ brought up within fifty yards of the
submarine before the astonished Germans could realize their precarious
plight.
"Surrender, or I sink you!" roared Captain Syllenger.
The grim muzzles of the _Capella's_ 4.7's, trained at a point-blank
range, were a conclusive argument. Without waiting for orders, the
majority of the unterseeboot's crew held up their arms. For a brief
instant did her Kapitan hesitate.
"Me surrender," he replied.
"Very good; I accept your surrender," replied the _Capella's_ skipper.
"But understand, any attempt to open the sea-cocks will mean that no
quarter will be given. Order all hands below, and leave the hatchways
open. You will oblige me by proceeding on board His Majesty's ship
_Capella_."
By this time the _Hoorn_ was forging ahead, since she was in danger of
drifting down upon the captured submarine. In the excitement of the
capture, no one on board noticed two grotesquely garbed men on the
_Hoorn_ whose antics resembled those of a pair of demented creatures;
nor was the presence of a couple of dejected German leutnants and five
seamen, stranded on board the Dutchman, observed, as the Huns
frantically besought the obdurate skipper of the _Hoorn_ to steam as
hard as he could towards the Dutch coast.
It was Vernon Haye's duty to take the cutter and board the prize. It
was a hazardous piece of work, for the sea was now fairly high, and
breaking under the effect of tide against wind; but, with the exception
of a broken top-strake, the boat managed to lie sufficiently close
alongside the submarine to enable the midshipman and five seamen to
board.
Already the German crew were below. Hatches were lowered and secured,
with the exception of the one in the after side of the conning-tower.
This could be left open without fear of the submarine being swamped,
while, to prevent the captured crew closing it and making an attempt to
dive, the steel cover was removed from its hinges and secured on deck.
The Black Cross flag was hauled down and rehoisted under the White
Ensign, and preparations were made to take the prize in tow.
It was some time before a grass rope, to which a stout wire hawser was
bent, could be veered from the _Capella's_ quarter and taken on board
the submarine, but eventually the hawser was made fast.
"Now, sir," said Vernon, addressing the German Kapitan. "Will you
please step into that boat? Where are the other officers?"
"In that ship," replied the Hun sullenly, as he pointed towards the
_Hoorn_. "They will not welcome you, but there are others who will."
Not knowing what the German meant, Vernon indicated that he should get
on board the cutter.
"There are two German officers on board that vessel, air," reported the
midshipman, as the boat came alongside the _Capella_. "Am I to bring
them off?"
Captain Syllenger hesitated before replying. It was a knotty problem.
To remove by force the subjects of a hostile nation from a neutral ship
was contrary to international law. However much the Germans violated
the "right of search", it was not Great Britain's policy to engage upon
reprisals. Holland, although a third-rate Power, had to be treated
with due courtesy.
"It's all the same in the long run," replied Captain Syllenger. "Board
that vessel, Mr. Haye, and see what those fellows are doing there. If
the Dutch skipper objects to their presence on his hooker, then bundle
them into the boat. If, on the other hand, he protests against their
removal, let them remain. They will be collared as soon as the ship
enters our three-mile limit."
The _Hoorn_ had once more come to a dead stop, at two cables' length
from the British patrol-vessel.
As the _Capella's_ cutter came alongside, Vernon agilely scrambled up
the "monkey ladder" and gained the deck.
"Hulloa, old man!" exclaimed a well-known voice.
Vernon looked at the speaker. He knew the voice, but for a moment he
failed to recognize in the oddly garbed youth his chum Ross Trefusis.
Then he grinned broadly.
"My word!" he exclaimed. "You do cut a pretty figure."
Had they been of any nationality but British, the lads would have
fallen on each other's necks and perhaps kissed each other. Instead,
they stood a yard apart and laughed--but their mutual joy was none the
less genuine.
"So you've come to fetch the German Leutnant and his boat's crew," said
Ross, after Haye had been introduced to the Flight-Sub. "He's
somewhere below. You'll recognize him right enough."
"Eh?" asked Vernon incredulously.
"Rather!" declared Ross emphatically. "You'd never guess. It's our
old pal, Hermann Rix, late of U75. No wonder he's tearing his hair,
for he must have broken his parole. He knew me directly he came over
the side, and didn't forget to rub it in. You should have seen his
face when, in the midst of his beastly gibes, the old _Capella_ came
snorting up."
With Jan acting as interpreter, Vernon put his case before the Dutch
skipper, who seemed only too delighted at the way events had turned.
His satisfaction at getting rid of his Hunnish visitors was evident, in
spite of the stolidity of his manners.
"I want no pirates on board the _Hoorn_," he said. "Take them and
welcome!"
While the Flight-Sub and Ross were "squaring up" with the good-hearted
Jan, Vernon rounded up Ober-leutnant Rix and his boat's crew. Finding
that their protests to the Dutch skipper were of no avail, they
sullenly gave in.
"Look here," said Ross, taking his chum aside. "I don't want to crow
over that fellow. It isn't cricket. You might take him to the
_Capella_ and come back for us. You'll have a pretty good load as it
is."
"Two British officers, escaped from an internment camp, on board the
_Hoorn_, sir," reported Vernon, as he delivered his cargo of German
prisoners on board the _Capella_. "They would like to be taken off."
"Carry on, then," replied Captain Syllenger.
As the cutter returned from her second trip to the _Hoorn_, the
_Capella's_ crew awaited with undisguised curiosity the arrival of the
men who had contrived to escape from irksome detention in a neutral
country.
Presently Shrap, who was sitting up on the quarterdeck, gave a bark of
delight.
"Good old Shrap!" said Ross. "He knew me in spite of my rig-out."
"Blow me, if it ain't Mr. Trefusis!" exclaimed one of the men.
The next instant the first of three hearty cheers burst from the
throats of the crew, with whom Ross was a great favourite. The
Dutchmen, too, joined in, to the accompaniment of a prolonged blast
upon the _Hoorn's_ siren as she resumed her interrupted voyage.
"It's like being home again," declared Ross, after Captain Syllenger
and the other officers had congratulated him. "But, I say, can anyone
lend me a decent suit of togs?"