"Flirt, you're a Brick!"
"What do you make of it, Mr. Macquare?" enquired the Hon. Derek. "It
looks as if winter has stolen a march on us."
"It has, sir," agreed the Lieutenant, as he rubbed his hands to
restore the circulation. Even in the electric radiator-heated cabin
the temperature was only a few degrees above freezing-point.
Mr. Macquare had just returned from a "spell ashore". It was close on
sunset, by which time the British officers and crew had to be on
board. During the hours of daylight they were allowed to wander
freely over a considerable part of the great Russian arsenal,
provided they conformed to the regulations laid down by the very
democratic commandant.
The work of repairing R19 was proceeding apace. Already the
diving-rudder had been straightened, and would be replaced the
following day unless unforeseen circumstances arose to delay the
operation. New tubes for the periscopes had been obtained, and only
the fitting of the lenses and minor adjustments had to be made before
the submarine was again ready for sea.
"The ice is forming rapidly on the Neva," continued the Lieutenant.
"It's thick enough to bear a man's weight almost everywhere, except
in the Morskoi Canal. They've got the ice-breakers hard at work
already."
The Morskoi Canal is an artificial channel cut in the comparatively
shallow Gulf of Finland, and affords deep-water communication below
Cronstadt and the capital.
"Let's hope that the Baltic won't be completely frozen over during
the next few days," remarked the Lieutenant-Commander. "We're running
things pretty fine, but I see no alternative."
"Any news of Fordyce, sir?" asked the Lieutenant.
"Not yet," was the reply. "In fact I hardly expect to hear until he
puts in an appearance. The youngster's not a sort of hare-brained
fellow who would look for trouble. Just before he left----"
A discreet tap upon the cabin door interrupted the Hon. Derek's
remarks.
"Come in!" he called out.
The door was opened, and the heavy curtain pushed aside, revealing
the anxious features of Able-Seaman Cassidy.
"Well, Cassidy?" asked the skipper encouragingly.
"It's about that dawg, sir," began the sailor. "Mr. Fordyce's dawg."
"Has she bitten anyone?"
"Sure, no, sir; leastwise not as I knows of. But she's absent without
leave, sir."
"For how long?"
"Can't say, sir. Cook's mate says as 'ow Flirt was in the galley just
afore dinner. Me and my mates have looked everywhere."
"Have you tried Mr. Fordyce's cabin?"
"Sure that Oi have, sir."
"Well, she's not here, Cassidy," said the Hon. Derek, giving a
perfunctory glance under the settee. "Have another hunt round and
then report to me. The dog may have taken it into her head to go
ashore for a prowl round."
Cassidy saluted and backed out of the cabin to confer with his
equally anxious mates on the next course to adopt. The men were
grievously concerned about Flirt's disappearance. Never before had
the mascot been "absent without leave ".
Some of the crew went on deck and began a pantomime conversation with
a Russian seaman on sentry duty on the quay side. By dint of signs
and the promise of a "plug o' ship's 'bacca", the Muscovite was made
to understand that R19's mascot was missing, and that her recovery
would result in a substantial reward.
All that evening there was a constant stream of Russian bluejackets
and marines, bringing with them curs of all sizes and descriptions,
until the harassed officer of the watch was reduced to the borders of
unparliamentary language, while the crew were partly solaced by the
sight of the impromptu dog show.
Morning came, but with it no signs of Flirt. A sympathetic Russian
petty officer, who could speak English, volunteered to make enquiries
at all the landing-places, although he expressed his opinion that the
dog must be roaming about somewhere on the island.
With the resumption of work Flirt's disappearance was temporarily
forgotten. The Hon. Derek and Mr. Macquare were anxiously dividing
their attention between the progress of the repairs and the steady
formation of the ice. Already the water alongside was covered with
two inches of clear ice, while, in order to enable the divers to
labour at their task of refixing the hydroplane, men had to be told
off to keep the floes away from the submarine's bows.
Suddenly Cassidy, who was engaged in red-leading the newly-fixed
periscopes, gave a shout of surprise.
"Sw'elp me!" he exclaimed, pointing at a small brown object showing
clearly on the glistening field of ice. "There's Mr. Fordyce's dawg."
The animal had made her way across the expanse of frozen water until
she gained the edge of the still-open channel, on which slabs of ice
of varying sizes and thickness were drifting.
Informed of Flirt's return by the A.B.'s shout, the
Lieutenant-Commander whipped out his binoculars.
"By Jove," he exclaimed, "the little beast's about to swim for it!
She'll be done in, Macquare."
Even if the dog managed to withstand the low temperature of the
water, she would be in considerable danger from the drifting floes.
Quickly the Hon. Derek rose to the occasion and ordered the Berthon
to be launched.
The collapsible boat was unfolded in record time and dropped over the
side on the ice. Three men, one of whom was Cassidy, followed, and,
grasping the gunwale, urged the Berthon forward like a sleigh across
the 300 yards of frozen water that separated the submarine from the
canal.
"Avast there, Flirt!" shouted Cassidy when the boat drew within
hailing distance, for the terrier was dipping one paw into the water
as a preliminary to jumping in.
At the sound of the A.B.'s voice Flirt cocked one ear, gave a yelp of
welcome, and leapt from the fixed ice to a detached piece that had
drifted within reach.
"Silly little josser!" exclaimed another of the Berthon's crew as the
floe tilted under the dog's weight. It looked as if the animal would
slide backwards in spite of her frantic efforts to find a firm
foothold. Not until her body was half immersed did the sheet of ice
recover itself, only to tilt in the opposite direction and
precipitate Flirt into the bitterly cold water.
Slipping and floundering, the three men pushed the boat to the edge
of the canal, then, heedless of the danger of the sharp edge ripping
the canvas hull, they launched her and leapt in.
"Give way for all you're worth!" shouted Cassidy, who, in the absence
of a rudder, gave the rowers directions by pointing with his hand.
Already Flirt was showing signs of exhaustion. Her fore-paws were
threshing the water, instead of moving strongly and noiselessly
beneath the surface. Her hind-quarters were sinking lower, while her
head was thrown well back--sure signs that the task she had
undertaken was beyond her power.
"Way 'nough!" ordered Cassidy. "Grab her, Bill!"
The seaman addressed boated his oar and leant over the gunwale, but,
caught by the stiff breeze, the lightly-built craft drifted to
leeward, just beyond arm's length of the now-benumbed animal. Before
the man could grasp his oar, Flirt disappeared beneath the surface.
Without hesitation Cassidy took a header over the pointed stern of
the Berthon, to reappear ten seconds later with Flirt firmly held by
the scruff of her neck. Willing hands relieved the brave sailor of
his burden and helped him into the boat.
"Crikey! Ain't it 'orribly parky!" he exclaimed. "'Ere, Bill, give me
an oar before I'm frozen stiff."
"'Ow about it?" enquired Bill, who, having taken Cassidy's place in
the stern-sheets, was devoting his attention to the now torpid dog.
"Do the 'Instructions for the Treatment of the Apparently Drowned'
hold good for a bloomin' animile? Lumme, what's she got lashed round
'er neck--'er kit in a brown-paper parcel, I believe."
"Don't heave it overboard," protested Cassidy, as Bill cut the
lashings. "Strike me pink! There's writing on it--'Prisoners in a
cellar in this house.--Fordyce'. Hallo! This is news for our skipper.
Flirt, old girl, you're a brick!"
Flirt, beginning to take a renewed interest in life, feebly wagged
her stumpy tail. Perhaps she was rather glad she wasn't one in the
literal sense of the word, as a brick would have made a poor show in
the waters of the Neva.