The Captured Convoy
"What do you propose to do with this, sir?" enquired Mr. Macquare,
indicating the sack-enclosed form of the spy.
"Goodness knows!" replied the Hon. Derek. "What is it?"
"Only Mindiggle, sir," announced the Sub.
"Explain yourself, Mr. Fordyce," ordered the Lieutenant-Commander.
"I can explain but very little, sir," said Fordyce. "It was an
absolute surprise to find him at the house in Bobbinsky Prospekt. I
hadn't the faintest idea he was in Russia. Klostivitch is dead, and
another of the gang. I have a number of documents for your perusal,
sir. Captain Orloff handed them to me. I think you will find them
interesting."
"His Majesty's submarines were never intended as receptacles for
spies," grumbled Stockdale. "Pass the fellow below. Hallo! the
weather's clearing. That's good. Directly the _Zabiyaka_ signals us
inform me, Mr. Macquare."
Already the ice-breakers had cleared a path through the frozen water.
In the outer road-stead the _Zabiyaka_ was lying at moorings with
steam raised ready to slip and proceed. Apparently she was awaiting
the return of the cutter with her disguised skipper.
Soon after Captain-Lieutenant Orloff boarded his vessel he reappeared
on deck rigged out in correct uniform. A hoist of bunting fluttered
from the destroyer's signal yard-arm. It was an intimation, in
International Code, that R19's escort was ready to proceed.
Amidst the cheers of a crowd of Russian bluejackets and marines the
British submarine cast off. Under the action of her petrol-driven
engines she slipped away from the quay-side and felt her way
cautiously down the narrow waterway. Then, taking station a
cable-length astern of the now-moving destroyer, R19 began her long
and hazardous voyage to Old England's shores.
Once clear of the Gulf of Finland mine-fields the _Zabiyaka_ flung
about and bade the submarine _bon voyage_. From that moment
Stockdale's command was alone in an inland sea where German warships
held almost undisputed sway and German mines closed every exit. More
than likely the departure of R19 had been communicated to Berlin, and
the Huns would be keeping special watch for the returning British
craft.
[Illustration: "PASS UNDER MY LEE!"]
Yet, with one exception, not a man on board was the least dismayed.
Confident in the skill and daring of their gallant skipper, and with
the knowledge that every revolution of the propellers was taking the
submarine nearer home, the men were in high spirits. The exception
was the spy Mindiggle. Not only was he viewing with the deepest
apprehension the prospect of being handed over to justice, but the
dread of being imprisoned in the hull of a submarine, in the midst of
countless dangers, reduced him almost to the verge of panic.
At the first possible opportunity the Hon. Derek ordered the crew to
diving stations. With the exception of the lost portion of false
keel, R19 was restored to her normal state, but it was highly
desirable that the vessel's capabilities after refit should be
severely tested. In order to compensate for the loss of several tons
of outside dead weight a corresponding amount of pig-iron ballast had
been taken on board and securely wedged to prevent shifting under
diving conditions.
The test gave admirable results. The intricate mechanism worked
without a hitch, the submarine descending without difficulty to a
depth of 20 fathoms. The only disconcerting part of the evolution was
the behaviour of the prisoner. The moment the vessel slid beneath the
waves he began shouting and screaming hysterically, keeping up the
performance during the whole period of submergence.
Almost without incident R19 came within sight of the Swedish coast.
It was the Hon. Derek's intention to make a landfall in the vicinity
of Braviken Bay, and thence, keeping just within Swedish territorial
water, skirt the long chain of small islands as far as Oland.
Just before sunset on the second day after leaving Cronstadt, R19
sighted seven small merchantmen steering due south at a distance of
about eleven miles from the coast. They were German vessels laden
with iron-ore. Deeming the Baltic to be now free from the attentions
of Russian destroyers, the hitherto idle shipping of Memel and
Dantzic had put to sea. They were without escort, and steaming in
single line at varying intervals behind one another.
"We'll have that lot, Mr. Macquare," decided the
Lieutenant-Commander. "Fortunately the moon is almost full. We'll
show Fritz our version of _spurlos versenkt_."
Altering helm, R19 steered athwart the course of the oncoming
merchantmen. With her guns manned and trained, and the White Ensign
floating proudly in the rays of the setting sun, she made no secret
of her intentions.
Stockdale had them entirely at his mercy. Between the merchantmen and
the shore he could have easily headed them off and destroyed them by
gun-fire or torpedo. Had he been a German, and these vessels unarmed
British ships, the latter would have been sent to the bottom, and
their crews fired upon with machine-guns; but as the Hon. Derek was a
member of a time-honoured and unsullied profession, and not a pirate,
he acted otherwise.
At the peremptory signal: "Heave-to or I will fire into you!" the
leading German ship reversed engines. Others followed her example,
until the seven were bunched together within a radius of two
cables'-lengths.
"They are taking matters for granted," observed Mr. Macquare as the
crews began to lower away the boats. So anxious were they to leave
that in their haste two of the boats capsized before the falls could
be disengaged.
"I'll give you fifteen minutes!" shouted the Hon. Derek through his
megaphone in German. "Pass under my lee. Each master will hand over
his papers, and you can then make for the shore."
These orders were promptly executed, and, having seen the flotilla of
boats well on its way, R19's crew set to work to destroy the prizes.
The whaler, under the charge of Sub-Lieutenant Fordyce, went from
vessel to vessel, the work of destruction being silently and
expeditiously performed by opening the sea-cocks.
Just as the Sub boarded the seventh ship the first flung her stern
high in the air and disappeared from view. Others were on the point
of making their last plunge. It was not a pleasant sight nor a
congenial duty, but stern necessity demanded the sacrifice of those
seven ships to the exigencies of war; and Fordyce, remembering the
fate of many a helpless British merchantman, torpedoed without mercy
in the midst of an angry sea and far from land, steeled his heart.
Suddenly the coxswain of the whaler gave a warning shout and pointed
in the direction of a trail of flame-tinged smoke showing faintly
against the warm afterglow.
There could be very little doubt concerning the approaching vessel. A
German destroyer, too late to save the convoy, was doing her best to
avenge its loss.