HELD UP IN THE NORTH SEA
"BEHOLD US, Tress old boy!" exclaimed Fuller, when in the privacy of
Lieutenant-commander Ronald Tressidar's cabin the old chums could
forget the slight differences in their respective ranks. "Three
stormy petrels; nobody loves us. Kind of social pariahs, don't you
know. Even the Huns wouldn't have us on two of their packets, after
little Seaplane 445B slung us out. And, worse, that blighter Aubyn
washed his hands of us. Suppose you'll be slinging us out next,
Tress?"
"I shall be delighted," replied Tressidar. "The moment----"
"Surly old cave-dweller!" continued the flight-lieutenant. "That's
what comes of being shipmates with a mouldy bird in a captive
balloon. You will be delighted to--what were you saying?"
"Delighted to feed, partly clothe and certainly educate you, my
festive, until we fall in with the 'Hippodrome.' This last condition
doesn't apply to your companions," proceeded Tressidar. "But when or
where we fall in with the 'Hippo' is a matter for sheer conjecture.
I believe now this duck hunt is over (the rest of the Hun
torpedo-craft bar two have been accounted for: I suppose you heard
that?) the three seaplane carriers are off south to tackle this
Zeebrugge business again. However, trust to luck and don't whine if
it kicks you. Them's my sentiments, my dear old pal."
It was the "bar two" that kept the "Antipas" and the rest of her
consorts patrolling the wild North Sea, until news had been
definitely received to the effect that the forlorn pair of Hun boats
had done one of three things--had been sunk, captured or had
contrived to slip through the cordon into a home or neutral port.
For the next twenty-four hours nothing of incident occurred. The
destroyer, maintaining her course within set limits as stolidly as a
policeman on his beat, encountered little to attract the attention
of her look-out. Every two hours she was in touch with her "next on
station," and receiving the information that all was well and
nothing doing she would starboard helm and retrace her course.
"Yes, pretty tame," commented Tressidar in reply to a remark of
Barcroft's, "but we are getting quite used to it. Yesterday's scrap
came as a little tonic, although we didn't have so very much to do.
Aubyn had the bounder well in hand already when we came up."
"This youth," remarked Fuller, indicating the flight-sub, "is an
optimist of the deepest dye. What d'ye think is his idea of
penultimate bliss? Having dinner at a swagger hotel somewhere on the
East Coast, with the blinds up and every available electric light
switched on."
"That shows, Mr. Barcroft," said the lieutenant-commander, "that you
have a pretty firm belief in the fact that the war will be over some
day--unless you are prepared to shell out to the tune of fifty
pounds for an offence against the Defence of the Realm Act."
"Heaven forbid, sir!" replied Barcroft. "But, personally speaking,
I'm fed up with having to hang about ashore in utter darkness. It's
necessary, of course."
"Of course," echoed Tressidar. "It's part of the mess of pottage we
received when we sold our birthright on that memorable morning when
Bleriot flew across the Channel. From that hour our insular
superiority was threatened not by La Belle France, though. Only the
other day----"
A knock upon the door of the cabin, followed by the appearance of a
messenger, interrupted the lieutenant-commander's narrative.
"Orficer of the watch's compliments, sir," reported the man, "an'
there's a Danish vessel; making to the nor'-west, distant three
miles."
"Very good--carry on," replied the skipper, and snatching up his cap
he hurried on deck, followed by the trio of naval airmen.
The Dane proved to be a two-funnelled, twomasted craft of about
3,000 tons. On the foremost funnel and along her sides were painted
her national colours, while to leave no doubt as to her identity the
words "Trone--Danmark" appeared amidships in letters six feet in
height.
"I've signalled to her to stop, sir," reported the officer of the
watch. "Ah, there she goes--well, signalman?"
The "bunting-tosser," with his telescope glued to his eye, called
out the letters of a string of bunting that rose to the "Trone's"
mast head. His mate, having written various cabalistic signs on a
signal-pad (the numbed state of his hands prevented his making any
legible letters), hurried off to consult the International Code
Book..
"Is it necessary for me to heave-to?" was the significance of the
Jane's signal. "I have been examined twice already."
"Then three for luck, you bounder!" chuckled Tressidar. "Signalman,
hoist the International 'I D'."
I D--signifying the peremptory order, "Heave-to or I will fire into
you," was a message not to be ignored. Patches of foam under the
vessel's counter and streaming for'ard past her water-line announced
that her engines were going astern in order to check her way.
"Like a trip in the boat, Mr. Barcroft?" asked Tressidar, as he
noticed the flight-sub regarding the boarding party with studied
interest. "Very good; you may learn a few tricks of the trade."
With her guns trained upon the suspect--for experience had taught
British officers that Hun raiders do not scruple to sail under
neutral colours--the "Antipas" circled round the now stationary
"Trone," the while maintaining a sharp look-out for hostile
submarines that have a habit of keeping in touch with ships liable
to examination much in the same manner as a pilot fish attends upon
a shark.
"She looks quite a mild cuss," observed the sub of the duty boat to
Billy, "but one never knows. A few weeks back I was boarding some
old hooker. Pitch dark night and raining like blue blazes. We'd just
run alongside when the blighters heaved something overboard--looked
like an elephant by the size of it. Anyway, it missed us by a yard
and gave us all a sousing, which we didn't mind as we were pretty
wet already. Then she pushed off for all she was worth, thinking
that our skipper would have to moon about and pick us up. He did,"
added the young officer grimly, "--after he had squared accounts
with the brute--another would-be 'Moewe.' A torpedo at five hundred
yards settled her. In bow!"
The bowman boated his oars, and balancing himself in the plunging
bows of the little craft, dexterously secured the end of a coil of
rope that was thrown from the "Trone's" deck.
Up the swaying "monkey-ladder" swarmed the British officers and men,
and gaining the Dane's deck were received by the dapper,
clean-shaven skipper.
"Of course, of course, I understand," replied the Dane in excellent
English when the sub apologised for having had to compel him to
heave-to. "Our papers are here. We are from Esbjerg to Newcastle
with passengers and general cargo."
"Very good," replied the sub in charge of the boarding-party. "I'll
have a squint at your papers. Say, Barcroft, would you mind
examining the passengers? Try a few words of German on 'em unawares.
That generally fetches the black-listers."
The civilians, to the number of nineteen, were formed upon the poop.
A few bore the appearance of being respectable, the others looked
utterly out-and-out scarecrows..
The "Trone's" second mate appeared with the passenger list. To
Billy's surprise ten of the men were English.
"Yes; men sent back from Germany," declared the mate, who, like his
skipper, spoke English fluently. "They were exchanged, and were to
have travelled through Holland, but the Dutch steamers are
temporarily stopped, so they came through Denmark instead."
The scarecrows greeted Barcroft with cheerful smiles as he
approached. In spite of their rags, the torments of hunger and
degradation that they had undergone, they were British to the
core--men over sixty years of age who, deemed to be useless by the
Germans, had been repatriated: living examples of the gentle and
humane treatment afforded to the unfortunate captives who had the
ill-luck to fall into the hands of the apostles of kultur.
Billy interrogated the men one by one. No need to doubt their words.
One and all were unanimous in their story of the horrors of the
famine-prisons of Germany.
"I won't ever turn up my nose at a dogbiscuit after this, sir," said
one old veteran of seventy-two.
"William McDonald--where's William McDonald?" inquired Barcroft
reading the names from the list.
"Here, sir."
The speaker was of different appearance from the nine. Although
dressed in rough clothes his garments bore the appearance of being
practically new, nor did his features betray the traces of months of
semi-starvation.
"Not much to complain about," he replied in answer to the
flight-sub's question. "I was at Eylau. Fair amount of food and of
good quality."
"You are not sixty, by any means," said Barcroft.
"No, not fifty yet. Heart trouble--fit for nothing, so they sent me
back to England."
"H'm," muttered the flight-sub.
"He's one of a few that drew a lucky number, I'm thinking, sir,"
remarked the man who stood next to him. "Fair slave-driven, that's
what we were. But that's all over now, thank God."
The rest of the passengers passed muster. They were Danish
subjects--merchants and farmers, brought over at the instance of the
British Government to assist in certain transactions between Great
Britain and Denmark.
"A clean bill of health," reported Billy as the destroyer's sub
rejoined him.
"And all serene down below," rejoined the latter. "We'll shove off.
Thanks, captain, for your assistance; sorry we had to hold you up,
but we're at war, you know."
"Yes," added the Dane, "and you have our moral support. I wish that
we were a bigger nation. We, too, have old scores to wipe off--my
family lived at Flensburg for years until '66. Flensburg is in
Germany now, but some day--who knows?"
"A good sort," announced the sub, as the boat made her way back to
the "Antipas." "These Danes remember Schleswig-Holstein almost if
not quite as much as the French do Alsace Lorraine. I shouldn't be
surprised if they chip in just before the end, if only to get their
lost provinces back. How about Denmark extending frontiers to the
Kiel Canal, and making that artificial waterway an international
concern, eh?"
The sight of the destroyer dipping her ensign caused both officers
to turn their heads and look at the "Trone." The latter was again
under way and had just rehoisted her ensign after saluting the
British warship.
"I feel downright sorry for those ten Britishers," thought Billy.
"Their experiences have put years on to their lives."
But, had he known, he might have made an exception; for, holding
aloof from his companions, Mr. William McDonald was thanking his
lucky stars that he had again bluffed the inspecting officer. Within
the next twelve hours William hoped to reassume the name of Andrew
Norton, trusting to his natural cunning to explain satisfactorily
the reason why he left the neighbourhood of Barborough so suddenly
on the night of the raid.
Evidently Siegfried von Eitelwurmer, _alias_ Andrew Norton,
otherwise McDonald, had strong reasons for leaving his Fatherland in
order to risk his life in the British Isles.