"Taken down a Peg"
The fishing-boat, according to the name painted on her stern, was the
_Stor Afan_, of Carlscrona. The only member of her crew visible was a
fair-haired youth of about fourteen, who was listlessly standing by
the wheel. She was making a bare two knots under scandalized mainsail
and jib. The rest of her canvas was stowed.
The youthful helmsman, happening to glance astern, caught sight of
the approaching submarine. His lethargy vanished, and at his shout of
alarm the rest of the crew came hurriedly on deck--a weather-beaten
old man and a tall stripling of about twenty years of age.
With her pair of for'ard guns manned and trained, for even the most
harmless-looking smack might prove to be a potential enemy, R19,
taking care to avoid the line of nets, ran within hailing distance of
the Swede.
"_Stor Afan_ ahoy! I want you to take two men aboard you," hailed the
Hon. Derek in German.
The skipper of the boat shouted something unintelligible in reply,
and shook his head in a way that suggested helpless ignorance.
Stockdale repeated his request with a like result. The second hand,
however, held up a basket of fish.
"Evidently a bribe," remarked Mr. Macquare. "They don't understand
Hun lingo, sir."
"So much the better for us, then," rejoined the Hon. Derek. "It's a
good thing we are not displaying our ensign; they'll take us for a
strafed U-boat, and when they make harbour they'll report to that
effect. It will help to throw the Huns off the scent."
Greatly to the consternation of the Swedes, R19 was adroitly
manoeuvred alongside the _Stor Afan_, the crew of the latter making
fast the ropes thrown them with the utmost alacrity. It was not until
they saw the still-unconscious form of the German bluejacket being
hoisted through the torpedo hatchway that anxiety gave place to
sympathetic attention.
As carefully as possible the Hun was transhipped to the deck of the
fishing-boat and taken thence to the little cabin. The spy,
Mindiggle, was next handed over. His appearance was greeted with
renewed apprehension on the part of the Swedes, which was not to be
wondered at, for he presented a gruesome spectacle, notwithstanding
the Hon. Derek's precaution of keeping him under the influence of
morphia.
Gibbering and foaming at the mouth, Mindiggle was led to the
forepeak, and, with the battening down of the hatchway, the spy
passed from Fordyce's view for the last time.
"I don't know whether we are acting up to the principles of the
kultured Hun," remarked the Hon. Derek as he gave the old skipper a
handful of silver roubles.
The Swede took them with obvious hesitation, and pointed towards the
invisible German shore.
"No, no!" exclaimed the Lieutenant-Commander, shaking his head. "Not
Deutschland--Sverige. That's one result of being a philatelist,
Macquare," he added parenthetically.
"The old boy evidently understands you, sir," remarked the
Lieutenant. "He didn't seem at all chirpy at the prospect of being
ordered to Germany."
Casting off, the submarine passed across the bows of the _Stor Afan_,
and, steadying on her helm, resumed her former course, while the
fishing-boat, when last seen, was observed to be hauling in her nets
and standing towards the Swedish shore.
Lieutenant-Commander Stockdale had barely finished his belated lunch
when it was reported to him that Kapitan-Leutnant von Hoppner
urgently desired an interview.
"Does he, by Jove!" exclaimed the Hon. Derek. "'Urgently desires'--I
like that. I'll send for him when I'm ready."
It was the Sub's trick with Mr. Macquare, but the
Lieutenant-Commander sent a message requesting Fordyce to come to his
cabin. Then, having set the log-book within hand's reach, and slipped
a marker between the pages relating to R19's passage through the
Sound, the Hon. Derek signified that he was agreeable to receive
Kapitan-Leutnant von Hoppner in his cabin.
The prisoner appeared under the charge of two petty officers. He was
in uniform, his saturated clothes having been dried; he had carefully
upturned the ends of his bristling moustache and brushed back his
yellow hair from his beetling forehead.
The Hon. Derek rose to meet his involuntary guest, taking no notice
of the fact that von Hoppner bore himself more like victor than
vanquished.
"Well, Kapitan-Leutnant, for what do you wish to see me?" asked
Stockdale, courteously offering the Hun the best chair in the
sparely-furnished cabin.
"I wish to know," replied von Hoppner, "what you have done with the
man who was brought on board this vessel with me?"
"Quite a thoughtful request," commented the Hon. Derek. "Naturally
any officer worthy of the name would be anxious concerning the
welfare of his subordinates. (And you kicked up a shindy because the
poor blighter was told off in your precious company," mentally added
Stockdale.)
The German inclined his head. He was too thick-skinned and puffed up
with arrogance to detect the faint tinge of caustic wit in the
British officer's words.
"As a matter of fact," continued the Lieutenant-Commander, "the man
was seriously wounded, as you are doubtless aware. Without proper
medical attention his life would be threatened by remaining in the
closed compartment of a submarine, so I took what I consider to be
the most humane course possible and set him on board a Swedish
craft."
"You set him on board a Swedish craft!" repeated von Hoppner. "I do
not understand."
"I made a plain statement," said the Hon. Derek. "If I can elucidate
matters----"
"I thought you were bound either for Stockholm or Carlscrona,"
interrupted the German.
It was the Hon. Derek's turn to express astonishment.
"What made you think so?" he asked.
"Because," replied von Hoppner insolently, "you have shot your bolt,
Englishman. You are trapped. All the entrances to the Baltic are
closely guarded. Escape that way is impossible. Nor can you hope to
find shelter in Russian ports, for Russia is now under the heel of
Germany. Therefore, no other course remains for you but to be
interned in a Swedish port until Germany wins the war and decides
what is to be done with you."
"Oh, indeed!" exclaimed the Hon. Derek, his brows clouding ominously.
Fordyce had seen his superior officer look like that once before. Von
Hoppner, too, noticed the change. He felt sorry he had spoken. "Oh,
indeed; _you_ are mistaken, Herr Kapitan-Leutnant. This vessel came
through your mine-fields and she'll make her way out--or bust. Do you
understand that?"
"Then I demand to be set on shore on parole in a neutral country,"
protested the Hun vehemently.
"You may demand," retorted Stockdale composedly. "That is as far as
it gets. What will happen is that you will be taken through your
precious mine-field--recollect, Germany mined Danish territorial
waters in flagrant defiance of international law--in His Majesty's
Submarine R19. Have I made myself perfectly clear?"
Von Hoppner's arrogance dropped from him like a cloak. He implored,
raved, whined, and attempted to browbeat his captor, finally cowering
with his face hidden in his hands. Fordyce felt almost certain that
the fellow was sobbing in an agony of terror.
"This display of feelings will not help matters," continued the Hon.
Derek sternly. "I can admire a brave man even if he be an enemy. Your
anxiety on the part of your wounded seaman is, I know, merely a
subterfuge, else for what reason did you object to his presence? One
other point, Herr von Hoppner. I see that you are the possessor of
l'Ordre pour le Mérite. Was that for services rendered whilst you
were acting commandant of the prison-camp at Neu Strelitz?"
"What do you know of Neu Strelitz?" enquired the Hun falteringly.
"Enough," replied the Hon. Derek briefly. "Under your orders British
bluejackets, prisoners of war, were vilely treated. However, you have
not answered my question concerning your decoration. You refuse to
answer? Perhaps, as you have already told my Sub-Lieutenant here, you
object to tedious repetition. Let me inform you, sir, that you took
too much for granted when you claimed the destruction of a British
submersible cruiser on the night of the 9th of ----. Be pleased to
listen while I read you an extract from the log. I will afterwards
let you inspect the writing in case you have any suspicion that the
log has been 'cooked'. That's not done in the British navy, you
know."
Slowly and distinctly Stockdale translated the passages relating to
R19's escape from the toil of nets. The Hun's face grew grey from
horrified amazement. The thought of the ridicule that the revelation
would produce should the true facts become known in Germany appalled
him.
"You will not destroy my reputation, Herr Kapitan Stockdale?" he
asked brokenly.
The Hon. Derek shut his log-book with a snap. "The British navy is
based upon long and honourable traditions. One of them, by no means
the least, is that its officers are _both_ officers _and_ gentlemen!"