Homeward Bound
"IT's a pure piece of bluff--that's my opinion," declared Thompson.
"The most remarkable thing about the whole business is the quiet way
in which the British and United States Governments have accepted the
German authorities' explanation."
Thompson, Bennett, and young Stirling were seated in the former's
sanctum at _The Westminster Daily Record's_ offices, just off
Whitehall.
"Well, what else could they do under the circumstances?" asked
Bennett. "They couldn't very well tell His Imperial Majesty that he
was telling a deliberate untruth; now, could they?"
"Hardly. No, it's the old story--international diplomacy, which,
reduced to its simplest form, means which party can tell the biggest
lie without being found out."
"But we've proof," objected Bennett. "Why on earth wasn't the German
Admiralty asked to produce the alleged spies in spite of their
assurances?"
Thompson shrugged his shoulders.
"What actual proof have we?" he asked. "Only a letter from a German
sailor stating that a friend of his saw Hamerton and Detroit on the
island of Heligoland on the same day as they were supposed to be
washed overboard. The fellow might have made a mistake, all in good
faith, or he might be playing the fool with Stirling."
"But there's the instance of the German destroyer persistently
cruising off the Dollart. That tallies with Pfeil's statement that
the _Diomeda_ was to be taken possession of and brought back to
Heligoland," persisted the editor of _The Yachtsman's Journal_.
"I quite agree with you. There seems something strange about the
whole matter," replied Thompson. "For the moment I am a
self-constituted mouthpiece for our friends the enemy. Again, the
German sailor might be mistaken; while, since a part of the Dollart
is German waters, one of the torpedo-boat destroyers is quite at
liberty to cruise about there, I take it."
"Quite so," agreed Bennett affably. He was about to play his trump
card. He paused while he lit a cigarette, and then continued: "I've
had the tip, my dear Thompson, that the Admiralty have given orders
for the torpedo-boat destroyer _Boxer_ to proceed from Sheerness to
Delfzyl tomorrow morning, to tow the _Diomeda_ back to Lowestoft.
What do you make of that, eh?"
"Stirling," said Thompson quietly, "there's a job for you. I believe
you can be regarded as one of the yacht's crew? Good! I'll 'phone to
Sir Theophilus and ask him to get you a passage on the _Boxer_."
Before two that afternoon the head of the Foreign Office obtained the
necessary permit from the Admiralty, and at six that evening Gordon
Stirling presented himself on board the torpedo-boat destroyer
_Boxer_, lying alongside Sheerness Dockyard. Three hours later the
permission of the Dutch Government for the British warship to enter
Delfzyl was obtained, and at six the following morning she slipped
quietly past the Garrison Fort en route for Holland.
"Do you anticipate any trouble with the German destroyer?" asked
Stirling, in the course of conversation with the lieutenant-commander
of the _Boxer_.
"No, worse luck!" replied Lieutenant Mallet. "I wish the blighters
would fight. Of course this is not for publication, but I can assure
you that there's hardly an officer or man in the British Navy who is
not as keen as mustard on the question of smashing the Teutons. It's
got to come, mark my words, and the longer the delay the harder the
job will be."
"And what is your private opinion about Hamerton?"
"My private opinion is this," said the lieutenant-commander slowly:
"Hamerton is as much alive as I am. For some reason, inexplicable as
far as we are concerned, the Germans are concealing his identity and
that of his friend Detroit. That's the opinion of almost every
thinking man, woman, and child in the British Empire and in the
United States. And yet, what is the result of the joint Ambassadors'
Note? Dust in their eyes. And the worst part about the whole business
is that the affairs of state are in the hands of a few weak-kneed,
peace-at-any-price individuals, who believe that the German is our
best friend. I suppose I've said more than I ought; but, hang it! a
fellow cannot always keep his feelings bottled up. You're going back
with the yacht, I presume?" he added.
"Yes; I am expecting to get another 'scoop'--some startling news--but
it looks like a fizzle out."
"If I could have my way I would put you ashore at Harlingen. You
could easily get to Delfzyl by train. Then you could assist Smith in
working the yacht out to sea, and we would be cruising about ready to
drop on S174 should she try any of her little tricks. Then you might
have a 'scoop'. But orders are orders, and one-eyed Nelsons who could
deliberately ignore signals are not to be found in the navy of
to-day."
Just then the look-out reported land on the starboard bow.
"The Frisian Islands," remarked the lieutenant as he made his way to
the bridge. "Another two hours will bring us within sight of
Rottum--that's the Dutch island nearest to the German island of
Borkum. We'll go a little way out of the direct course and let our
friend S174 know that there is such a thing as a White Ensign."
"Is that Borkum?" asked Stirling of the sub-lieutenant, pointing to a
low-lying island, apparently occupied by a few cottages on the side
and a row of sandhills.
"Aye; looks harmless enough. Tucked away on the lee side of those
dunes is a regular hornet's nest of torpedo craft. Batteries, too,
everywhere, and jolly well masked."
"Don't you think it somewhat remarkable that a destroyer should be
sent from Heligoland to watch the movements of my friend's yacht when
Borkum is so much nearer?"
"I do; but questions have been asked and have been answered--after a
fashion. The powers that be seem satisfied, and we have to accept the
situation. It's galling, but----"
And with a deprecatory movement of his hand the sub-lieutenant
hurried off to join his chief on the bridge.
"Ting-ting!" The bridge telegraph signalled to the engine-room for
half-speed ahead. The _Boxer_ was nearing the shoals outlying the
Frisian Islands.
"There she is!" exclaimed Mallet, removing his binoculars from his
eyes and pointing almost dead over the bows. "That's S174."
The German destroyer was heading straight for the _Boxer_. In a very
few minutes the two craft would be passing each other unless the
German boat altered her course considerably.
In obedience to a sign from the lieutenant-commander, a seaman made
his way aft to where the White Ensign floated proudly in the breeze.
Uncleating the halyards he waited.
"Port your helm," came the order. Mallet, though loath to give way,
was resolved to take no risks of collision. As the British destroyer
swung away a point to starboard the German followed suit; then
resuming their former course the two vessels swept past each other at
a difference in speed of quite thirty-eight knots.
Slowly, almost defiantly, the Black Cross Ensign of S174 was lowered
and quickly rehoisted. The compliment was smartly returned by the
_Boxer_, and ere her White Ensign was hauled up to the truck the
German vessel was observed to be circling to starboard.
"What's her game?" asked Mallet indignantly. "Surely she isn't going
to follow us? At any rate she won't overhaul us if I can help it."
The lieutenant-commander's hand was on the bridge telegraph, ready to
give the order for full-speed ahead, when the German destroyer shaped
a course to the nor'-west. Her commander realized that his attempt to
recapture the _Diomeda_ by a ruse or otherwise was a failure. Rather
than see the yacht leave the Dollart under the convoy of a British
warship he preferred to return to Heligoland.
Since the _Boxer's_ visit to Delfzyl was entirely of a private
character there was no official welcome by the burgomaster.
Nevertheless all the town seemed to congregate on the quay to await
the British destroyer's arrival.
Smartly the _Boxer_ came alongside, and without the loss of so much
as a square inch of paint was soon moored to the jetty.
"Ready, Mr. Smith?" asked Mallet, after Stirling had duly introduced
the skipper of the _Diomeda_ to the lieutenant-commander of the
destroyer. "Good! we'll get out a hawser at once. The tide won't
serve us much longer. The sooner we start the better, for, unless I
am very much mistaken, there's heavy weather knocking about within
fifty miles of us."
Octavius Smith had, in fact, already made all preparations for the
_Diomeda's_ departure. As soon as he had received a communication
from the Admiralty, acquainting him of the special visit of a British
destroyer to tow the yacht back to Lowestoft, he obtained his
clearance papers at the Custom House, reprovisioned the craft, and
stowed away or securely lashed on deck every article that might
otherwise be swept overboard or damaged down below.
"What's the game, old man?" he asked of Stirling, as the latter
returned with him to the yacht. "It seems a queer thing to do to send
a destroyer solely for the purpose of towing us home. Of course I'm
jolly glad, although I enjoyed my detention at Delfzyl. At the same
time the letter from the Admiralty is so emphatic on the point that
the yacht must be brought home that I can't help fancying that
there's more in this than meets the eye."
"There I cannot help you," replied Stirling. "For one thing, I know
our friend S174 has cleared off. You received those papers I sent you
safely?"
"Oh yes--thanks awfully! It was a rotten climb down on the part of
the British and American authorities at Berlin, but I'm inclined to
think they are lying low about something."
"I hope they are," agreed Stirling. "By the by, how have you been
getting on since I left you in the lurch?"
"Can't complain," drawled the skipper of the _Diomeda_. "Business
fairly brisk; sent off four instalments of those idiotic
'Heart-to-heart Chats' and answered a regular batch of queries from
love-sick servant girls. And--funny thing--old Dangler wrote and
asked me to contribute a series of articles on 'Art in the Home'. Of
course I started the wretched things, but as I couldn't get hold of
any copies of London furniture manufacturers' catalogues I was a bit
hung up. You can't get inspirations on 'Art in the Home' when you're
cooped up in this dog-box of a cabin, can you? They'll have to wait
till I get back. But there's the hawser coming aboard."
It did not take long to get the six-inch hawser from the _Boxer_ to
the _Diomeda_, where the end was bent round the yacht's mainmast
close to the deck and securely stopped to the gammoning-iron. The
bowsprit had already been run in, so as not to have the risk of its
being snapped off by the tow rope in the broken waters of the North
Sea.
The ropes that held the _Diomeda_ to the quay were cast off, the
destroyer's propellers began to churn twin columns of white foam, and
the hawser slowly tautened.
As the _Boxer_ and her tow glided away from the wharf the usually
phlegmatic Dutchmen raised a cheer, which compliment Smith and
Stirling returned by raising their caps. Then, with the speed
increased to ten knots, the _Diomeda_ followed in the wake of the
British destroyer, homeward bound. As soon as the two craft were
outside the Dollart the scope of the towing hawser was considerably
increased. Nevertheless the _Diomeda_ pitched and strained in a
manner that caused Smith grave misgivings.
Although there was little wind there was a long, heavy swell that
presaged a strong breeze, if not a gale, before many hours had
passed.
At sunset Smith placed the red and green navigation lights in
position, satisfied himself that the hawser was not being chafed by
the stemhead, and, having given the tiller into his companion's
charge, went below to prepare supper.
Five minutes later he was up on deck again.
"Blessed if I can stick down below," he remarked. "I never felt so
much like being seasick in my life. The motion is too rotten for
words. It will mean an all-night watch on deck. Of course if you care
to go below you can."
"Thanks, I'd rather not," replied Stirling, realizing that he stood
little chance against the attacks of _mal de mer_ when Smith had been
forced to admit defeat.
"Very well. I'll hand up the oilskins. There's a stiff breeze piping
up already."
With alarming rapidity the wind increased, blowing two points abaft
the beam to starboard. At midnight it was half a gale. In spite of
the speed of the towed yacht crested waves repeatedly broke inboard,
till the cockpit was frequently filled with water almost to the level
of the seat on the port side.
"Hang on to that lamp," shouted Smith, who had taken Stirling's place
at the helm. "We may want it. I wish they would slow down; this pace
is a jolly sight too hot."
His comrade was just in time to lift the signalling lamp from a
bracket on the after side of the bulkhead when a vicious sea poured
inboard. The stem dipped, then, jerked forward by the strain of the
towrope, the yacht plunged her bows under till there was solid water
as far aft as the mainmast. Just then the hawser parted like a piece
of pack-thread, and the _Diomeda_ was drifting helplessly under bare
poles in the midst of the angry sea.